So Dean and Sam pay a visit to the witch's house. Here's what went down at her place...

Chapter Two

Dean's fury grew incrementally all the way along the drive to the witch's residence. Cursing as Sam drove, he threatened all forms of horrible vengeance upon the witch, whose name was Alison Greer according to the advertisement. Despite Sam's efforts to calm him down, Dean swore he would make her pay dearly for what she had done to him. While it was true that some women emasculated men in some form or another at some point (a lot of times deservingly), this girl had taken it to an all new, obscenely low level. And for that she had to suffer the consequences.

"Would you calm down a little?" Sam asked. "She might not be evil per se. Just a little wicked. It's not like she tried to kill you or turn you into an animal or anything."

"This is just as bad," Dean pouted. Then grasping at his non-existent male genitals, he added, "And could very possibly be worse."

Sam scoffed at that statement.

"She might have been playing a joke on you," suggested Sam, "Granted, a very bad one. We don't even know what the duration of this curse is. What if it's not even permanent and will wear off? She could just be a little misguided."

Dean murmured to himself, "Any woman who could find it in her to do this to a man can't be anything less than hell spawn."

Sam sighed and cut the ignition. It was almost eight thirty. The siblings Winchester had parked their faithful Impala at a safe distance from the, rather swanky, house that served as Alison Greer's abode.

"Would you look at the size of that house?" Sam asked.

"House? What house? Check your eyes, Sam. I see a mansion. I guess that the old cottage in the woods deal just wasn't good enough for her. Materialistic bitch."

The house itself was not located on prime real estate. And there were no immediate neighbors nearby. Sam supposed that maybe the witch didn't want to be disturbed by prying eyes when performing her rituals. And the lack of distraction would come in useful for concentration.

"Oh please," Dean said crankily, "I bet she sacrifices virgins, and lives out here in seclusion so she can hide the bodies easier."

"Stop being so bitter," Sam chided. "We need to be sure."

"I can't help it," Dean replied. "It feels natural. Like second nature even."

"Hey, not all women are bitter."

"Maybe not the ones born into womanhood. But I'm a new breed of woman. And considering what I'm going through adjusting to this - don't judge me!" said Dean.

"Alright, sheesh! Born into womanhood... You make it sound like you've been enslaved or something."

Under cover of darkness, the brothers sneakily moved towards the house, shielded by the thick shrubbery bordering the walls that surrounded the residence. The grounds themselves were fairly well lit to the front. But the sides were dark enough to allow slinking around unnoticed. Especially since both Winchesters were in black. Dean scanned the grounds and didn't make out any noticeable security cameras or guards patrolling about the place.

"Maybe she doesn't need them," Dean suggested. "Maybe she watches over her grounds with a crystal ball or something?"

"Or - assuming she's actually evil - maybe she's overconfident and thinks she's above discovery. And then she's not expecting us to be hunting her either. Or anyone else for that matter."

Yes, Dean thought, The Bitch was supremely overconfident. Maybe it wasn't just limited to her sexuality but extended to her sense of security as well. Dean hoped that they'd fare better dealing with her security than he did with her sexuality. Instinctively, he looked towards the direction where the Impala was parked.

"You think the car's safe?" he asked Sam.

"Glad to see that some things about you haven't changed," Sam scoffed. "I guess it's true. You ARE still a man inside. Still thinking 'bout the damn car at a time like this."

Even though the tone was a bit mocking, Dean was glad to hear it, ranking it as something of a compliment.

"Now remember," Sam spoke up, "there's a good chance she won't be at home. She might be out prowling for men again."

Dean nodded. And in that case, they could search the house for clues as to what sort of a person and witch she was. If they could locate her ritual space they'd be able to tell if she was into the seriously dark stuff or not, based upon whatever paraphernalia they might find there. And hence, they'd know exactly how to deal with her based on the level of threat she posed.

"We can check for photographs too," Sam suggested. "Just to be sure that she's the one. You could have mistaken the voice."

"I didn't!" protested Dean. "And I don't know if photos will prove anything."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Dean answered thoughtfully, "she could be using a magical disguise to seduce men. When we were in the alley, I thought I saw her with the face of an old bat for a second. I just assumed I was really sleepy and drunk. But I ain't so sure now."

Sam commended Dean for his recall and quick thinking. They were two qualities he seldom found plentiful in blondes. Especially ones who were as blonde as Dean was. But he still thought that they should have a look at the photographs anyway. Even IF she was currently an old crone in her true form, she might be masquerading as her younger self. And that could have been the form of the girl that tried to get into Dean's pants. In such a case, they'd be able to tell if she was indeed the culprit. Dean admitted that the idea made sense. With that, both brothers turned their gazes once more towards the house.

"Well, now's as good a time as any," Sam remarked and motioned towards the wall. Time to climb...

Alison Greer chuckled in amusement as she beheld the Winchester siblings scrambling over her walls. They might have thought that they were being stealthy, with the all black attire and catlike motions. But she was well aware of their intended intrusion into her lair. As an adept witch, skilled in the arts of magic, she had no need for hidden security cameras and guards to make safe her estate. Her scrying crystal allowed her witch's sight to extend itself into the surrounding countryside. And right now, she was making good use of its surveillance properties.

Earlier that day she had received a telephone call. At first she was inclined to believe it was an anonymous caller who had made a mistake dialing her business number. Or perhaps someone who was calling about an occult job they wished her to work on and chickened out at the last moment. There were people like that. They usually were so desperate for a solution to their problems that they resorted to alleged practitioners of the occult arts - then chickened out due to fear of perceived Evil. Or being conned. Or perhaps both. Alison wouldn't have been bothered too much if that were Dean's case. Business was good. Her ancestral powers of witchcraft had served her very well and made for lucrative living. She had a surplus of clients.

As it turned out, it wasn't a case of a potential client calling and chickening out. She saw, on the Caller ID, a number that looked somewhat familiar. Not remembering its significance, but feeling quite certain it was of some measure of importance nonetheless, Alison cast a memory recall charm on herself. It was then as clear as day. The number was the same one that sexually confused man from the bar had written for her on a scrap of paper. Smiling wickedly to herself, Alison realized that her little trick must have made him desperate enough to start searching for some supernatural help.

He must have recognized her voice, she surmised. With little doubt, she assumed that he had tracked her down and was sneaking into her house, either to confront her, or try to find some way to reverse the curse. Quite a brave one. She knew there had been something special about his aura when compared to the other men at Joe's. That was what had drew her to him like a moth to a flame. The intense masculine energy smoldering just beneath the surface. Like embers on the verge of bursting anew into flame once more.

She was in need of energy like that and would have loved to sample what he had to offer. Sadly, it was not meant to be. Sex was the best means to drain energy. Although she had managed to steal some power from Dean in desperation, by draining his masculine essence, most of the energy had dissipated into the ether (and transformed him into a woman in the process). Energy lost in the transfer from him to her. She did manage to obtain her energy infusion later on. But had to sexually drain ten men during the night before she was satisfied. They wouldn't be transgendering. She could quite possibly use them again. One must always make appropriate use of one's resources. In men, Alison Greer had found her personal renewable supply of energy.

I have the power to defend myself, Alison thought reassuringly, let them come...

"So far so good," Dean whispered as he forced open a window at the back of the house. "Ow, fuck!"

"Dammit, would you quiet down?!" Sam fiercely whispered. "We're trespassing and if we get caught the cops will get involved."

True. And then they'd be mistaken as burglars given the way they were dressed. It would eventually lead to a cascade of events which would end up in law enforcement being unable to source Dean's personal information and records. Just as Sam had warned him before, it would lead to a whole lot of messy complications. Dean murmured an apology, "Sorry, I - uh - chipped a nail."

Satisfied with a sarcastic glance, Sam entered through the window. It was a tight fit and Sam landed on the floor ungracefully, though thankfully he made the drop in silence. He was closely followed by Dean, whose new, more sinuous form allowed him to fit through with comparable ease.

"I move like a dancer," said Dean, with a glimmer of his past humor." You need to cut back on them cheeseburgers." Sam was well aware that his brother was nervous, as he always tried to compensate with bad humor whenever he was. Trying so hard to display a false mask of bravado when Sam knew he was always just as tense as he was - if not more at times.

The house was dimly lit. No one seemed to be at home.

"Yep, she looks like one of them old fashioned witches who favor seclusion," Sam said, whilst scanning the room for photographs. Having gotten no response, Sam turned around only to find Dean missing. He didn't have to wander long to find him. Dean was in the kitchen enjoying a slice of cheesecake that he had nabbed from the fridge.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam asked pointedly. "We're supposed to be searching for -"

"I was looking to see if she had any weird stuff in her fridge. Potion bottles and shit. There was this witch dad and I had to hunt down one time. She used to keep her eye of newt and oil of boil in the icebox," Dean offered by way of explanation.

Sam surmised that it was logical. Oil of boil tended to spoil rather quickly. The convenience these lucky modern day witches had...

"Well, did you find anything magical?" Sam eagerly queried.

"Just the magical handiwork of Sara Lee," said Dean, smacking his lips. "Oh don't look at me like that."

"What if it wasn't safe?" Sam worriedly asked. "Witches sometimes have strange tastes."

"Please. It tasted good enough. You're just upset I didn't save you a piece."

"You ate the entire cake?!" Sam exclaimed.

"Serves the bitch right. She turned me into a cheesecake loving fiend. She deserves it," Dean said, opening the fridge once more and rummaging about.

"What are you doing now?"

"Just checking to see if she has any frosting. Or better yet, cookie dough," Dean explained, "I would just love to see the look on her face when she finds it missing."

Dragging his older brother out of the kitchen, Sam led Dean back towards the vicinity of the living room.

"You could have at least let me pee in her apple juice!" the elder Winchester hissed. "For the last time, I'm telling you! It's HER. I didn't mistake the fucking voice."

Sam merely replied, "Let's check upstairs."

With that, they began ascending the flight of steps...

"See, I told you it was her," Dean triumphantly stated as he bounced up and down on the Bitch's bed. There, on the dresser at the side of the bed, was a photograph of the young woman who had attempted to seduce Dean the night before. She must have photographs of her false form in her house to make her deception all the more convincing, the brothers believed.

Sam mumbled incoherently as he started pulling out loose hairs from the hairbrushes of Alison Greer. According to old folk sources, one way of weakening the power of witches was to burn their hair. The one place in the house that they had not searched was the basement. And Sam was more or less convinced that they'd find some of her witchery stuff there. Maybe even her ritual space. The house didn't seem to have an attic. Dean had commented that she was a wicked witch and wouldn't work her spells up so close to Heaven. She would prefer to perform her unholy acts in the basement so she could be as close to Hell as was possible.

Sam didn't know what to say to that bitter statement. But he no longer doubted that this practitioner of the arcane arts was evil, as opposed to mischievous and misguided. Her bedroom bore several items that had erased all skepticism from Sam's mind. Chief amongst them was an extremely large black mirror. Whilst a black mirror was a standard magical implement, the blatant demonic symbols carved into its wooden edge were reason for concern.

"Alright, I managed to gather up enough hair for a decent burning," Sam announced.

"Have you now?" Dean asked in superiority.

"Thank goodness she's not home," Sam sighed. "It takes a really skilled practitioner to work a black mirror. Most of the black mirrors I ever saw online were small things that fit on a desk. Size must really count in her book. Would you look at the size of this thing?"

"Maybe the mirror double functions for magical spying, and for whatever kinky supernatural sex she has in her bedroom," Dean suggested. "I mean, it practically spans the entire length of wall opposite the bed."

"There's the Dean I know and pity," Sam said, rolling his eyes, but smiling crudely all the same. "Honestly, does everything have to have some sort of sexual connotation with you?"

"You have to admit, Sam, it makes sense."

"Well, that's one thing the two of you crazy kids have in common. You're both obsessed with sex in one form or another," Sam remarked. "She's hooked on the act, and you just can't help but ascribe sexual undertones to stuff."

Dean merely grunted whilst messing around in the opposite corner of the large room, busily looking for anything of use. A diary of her evil exploits, a spell book...something. Dean was so engrossed in searching that he missed Sam telling him that all the details would probably be in her Book Of Shadows, which would most likely be in her ritual space. Sam repeated it twice, then gave up trying to dissuade Dean's futile search. Either the witch Dean had hunted with their father kept the tools of her craft all over the place, or Dean simply didn't remember these things and chose to look about willy nilly...

Sam's words, unfortunately, weren't the only things Dean failed to pay attention to. For, whilst Dean was digging around in a chest of drawers, Sam was examining the black mirror carefully. It seemed to him that, for the briefest of moments, its dark surface seemed to shimmer, shift and ripple. Like a stone dropped into a still body of water. Upon moving closer for a peek, two hands shot out of the mirror, whose surface had by then transformed to a fluid-like substance...and drew Sam wordlessly into its depths. It all happened so quickly that he did not have time to exhale, far less to scream.

"Sam, I think we better go check the basement now," Dean commented, having found nothing worthy of mention.

Turning around to an empty room, Dean faced his share of annoyance for the night. He quickly corrected his irritation. After all, he had vanished in a similar manner (or so he thought) into the kitchen earlier. Sam must have been messing around in the study, Dean thought. It was just loaded with books. And they always seemed to draw his brother like a magnet. Sam didn't think that The Bitch would keep her spell books in the study. Maybe he had decided to go back and check them for a secret passage or the like. Just like in the movies where moving a particular book causes the bookshelf to swing open, revealing a dark passageway.

"Come on. Let's bust down the door to the basement already," Dean said as he entered the study, flicked on the light and scanned the room. The room that was empty of everything other than furniture, upholstery, various paintings and...lots and lots of books, the sight of which was an offense to Dean's eye ever since his school days.

"Dude, this is not funny," Dean said, childishly thinking that Sam was trying to pay him back for his own disappearance earlier. Even in the midst of a serious investigation.

Room by room, Dean scoured the upstairs floor of the house. Finally, in desperation, he repeated the process downstairs, cursing all the way.

"Sammy, this had better not be a joke," Dean angrily sighed, hands on hips. "Cuz this is not the time for joking arou -," He stopped mid-sentence when he realized how stupid that statement would sound coming from him, considering his own track record. Dean decided to wait in one place for a couple of minutes in the hope that Sam would run into him.

Kind of like when you're lost, Dean thought. It's best to stay in one place. He waited in the main hall for ten minutes. Then anger quickly started giving way to worry. Reaching for his cell phone, Dean dialed Sam's number. Upon hearing a wicked feminine cackle on the other end, Dean dropped the phone...

Sam sat on the throne-like arm chair, bound motionless by some unseen force. The high back seemed to immobilize his head, forcing him to look straight before him. The armrests did the same thing to his forearms, and both his wrists felt as if they were held firmly by invisible shackles. Sitting in front of him in an identical chair, but with no such discomfort, was Alison Greer. Sam couldn't help but think, Dean musta been really tired to pass up fucking her on the spot.

"You've been staring at me for half an hour now," the girl spoke up.

"My head is being forced to face forward. And I didn't think it would be wise to take my eyes off of you," Sam stated. Besides, she had been staring at him too. Eye to eye.

"I take it you like what you see?"

Immediately after being pulled into the black mirror, Sam was forced down into the devil of a chair that now held him in its constraints. The witch, Alison, had merely sat down in her chair and spent the entire half an hour looking at him. Well, aside from answering his cell phone when it rang, no doubt it was Dean calling, and laughing like the Wicked Witch of the West into it. The fact that the laugh sounded like that of an old crone seriously disturbed Sam. Despite her youthful appearance, Alison probably had the craftiness that came to a witch with age.

"Hardly," was Sam's frigid reply to her question.

"There's something odd about you," Alison remarked, ignoring Sam's icy tone. "Your aura confuses me. It's rather difficult to read and interpret."

"I tend to generate that perplexing effect a lot," Sam said, adding a tad bit wickedly, "especially with dumb blondes. Don't take it personally."

To his surprise, Alison merely started up another round of disconcerting laughter, before commenting, "I suppose your bro - er - I mean sister, has trouble understanding you all the time then."

Sam's eyes shot up. "How did you know he's my brother?!"

"From your thoughts. What? You think I've been staring into your eyes for the last half hour cuz of your looks?" Alison asked lightly. "Though you ARE a cute one. Love those green eyes."

Sam ignored the compliments from the hag and asked, "You were reading my thoughts?"

"Barely. Like I said. There's something...special about you. I could hardly scratch the surface. I was amazed when the mirror reacted to you."

The mirror. Sam remembered its surface becoming misty, then watery. It seemed to draw him towards itself, and into here. At least Sam was pretty sure that they were not in some weird alternate dimension. After all, his cell phone had rung when Dean called his number. The mirror must have served as a portal, leading him to the witch's ritual space.

"Dean will eventually figure it out," Sam said, trying to sound brave.

"Do you think she will?" Alison asked mockingly, "She IS a dumb blonde after all." Clearly she was letting her anger show at Sam's quip earlier in the conversation.

"My guess, is that you work your magic somewhere on the grounds of your house," Sam stated, "And the only place we didn't check was the basement. So, I take it we're in the basement."

"You're a very smart boy, Sam," Alison said drawing closer. "Brains and beauty. A rare and...powerful combination."

Uncomfortable with the closeness, Sam tried to squirm further into the chair and away from her. She may have looked pretty, but beneath that façade, he had no doubt that there lurked an old crone.

"You know, I didn't suspect that you two knew your stuff...until I saw you going through my hairbrushes."

Sam watched her twirl the strands of hair in her fingers for a moment. Hair that he had collected from her bedroom. She must have grabbed it from his jacket whilst he was being pulled through the mirror.

"We know a thing or two," Sam said as it was clear that Alison expected a reply.

"Hmmm, that explains the intensity I felt emanating from your brother. Well, from the man who was once your brother," the witch mused to herself. "I suspect he's seen things that most men can only imagine."

"He'll be doing some things to you when he gets here alright," replied Sam. With relish, he added, "Things you can only imagine."

"Oh enough about her," Alison said, dismissing Dean for the moment. "Let's talk about you."

"Huh?"

"How did you activate the mirror? Are you are a sorcerer? You boys ever dabbled with the supernatural?"

"Um, yeah. In a matter of speaking. Not much magic though. We usually just kick supernatural ass."

That seemed to cast a look of worry on Alison's face.

"Well, I kick ass, mostly when provoked. Dean's motto is usually just kill the fucker. His words, not mine," added Sam, pressing on with the intention to shoot some scare into the witch. Which he seemed to have done. Certainly the self-assured demeanor she wore at the start of the exchange had vanished.

"Hunters," she said to herself.

"Awww, are you scared? We know what your game is, Alison. IF that's even your real name."

"Oh, really?" Alison asked dubiously, and in as haughty a manner as she could manage.

"It was easy to figure out actually. I AM such a smart boy," Sam mocked her words and continued. "You're using magic to live it up. And to maintain your lifestyle and looks, you need a constant supply of mystical energy. Energy you steal when you have sex with men."

The Bitch looked satisfactorily stunned.

"Though one thing confuses me," Sam admitted.

"Oh? Didn't think a smart boy like you could be confused."

"If you were in need of energy, why did you waste it transforming Dean? Just because he rejected you?" Sam queried. "I mean, transmutation spells need a lot of energy to pull off. And the bigger the object and the more drastic the change, the more power is needed."

"You forgot one other factor," Alison said smugly.

Sam stopped for a moment, deep in thought. Then the last factor hit him - level of permanence. Obviously it would take less energy to temporarily transform something than if you were to permanently alter it.

"How long before this spell wears off?" Sam asked.

"You're assuming that it DOES wear off."

"Considering that you were probably low on energy when you cast it...it most likely is a temporary thing."

"If you really believed that, Sam" Alison wickedly stated, "then you wouldn't have come breaking into my house searching for clues. And in any case, you have seriously misunderstood the nature of the magic at work."

Sam opened his mouth to say something more. But then stopped as he saw Alison reach for his phone that had started vibrating on the small table next to her chair. Dean must be calling again. Sam hoped that he had taken the time to think things through and come up with a plan. The worst thing would be for them to both end up in Alison Greer's power. Goodness knows what she would do to them. Especially now that she was all charged up again, she might even decide to curse Sam similarly. Just for spite's sake. Sam didn't relish the thought of sharing Dean's fate, even though it was better than the worst possible outcome...

"You hand over my brother, bitch!" Dean shouted over the phone.

"Take a good look in a mirror before you call someone a bitch, Dee Dee," was Alison's calm and amused reply.

Dean resisted the urge to let the swear words fly. It wouldn't be wise to risk genuinely angering the witch. He had Sammy's safety to think about. As always, there hung over him the dictum of their father - take care of your brother.

"What do you want?" Dean asked. "Let him go and maybe we can work something out."

There was an audible laugh on the other end. Then a scornful scoff.

"Dean, I have been a woman a lot longer than you have. I know when someone's lying to me. Like I'd hand him over and then have you backstab me. Besides, who's to say that Sammy isn't what I want now?"

"You hurt him and I'll -" Dean started on a threat.

"You'll what? Hunt me down and engage me in a catfight?"

"Your ass is MINE! You hearin' me?! MINE!" Dean ranted.

"Why would you want my ass, Dee Dee? Didn't I endow you with a fine ass of your own?" The Bitch trailed off in devious laughter.

Upon hearing that statement, Dean's mind was accosted with the remembrance of the slap and squeeze his ass had been subjected to earlier. Those men had all seemed to think it was 'fine'. He lost it then and began rambling on in a near gibberish-like volley of cursing.

"Seems like I didn't make you lady-like enough," Alison commented. "Such filthy language. Why dontcha come on down here and let me finish the job right?"

That casual statement of Alison's lit up a light bulb over Dean's head. She said, why don't you come on down... His mind's eye immediately visualized the heavy door to the basement. Maybe that was where she kept her lair after all. Alison must have let that slip through in her insults. Dean decided to play along. He needed to find out if she suspected whether he had any clue of where base was. Where she was probably keeping Sammy.

"Where did you take him?" Dean asked in a mock defeated voice. He needed to feign ignorance of her lair's whereabouts.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Alison said in the midst of chuckles. "Give it up, Dee Dee. You'll never figure it out. Be nice and when I'm done you can have him back. Yes, I said HIM. And don't you dare think about clearing my fridge while you wait. I'm pissed enough as it is about the cake."

"Okay," Dean pretended to acquiesce, "just don't hurt him. Please."

"Don't worry. I won't be hurting him. As a matter of fact, I'm going to do just the opposite."

"Huh?"

"He's a smart boy. He won't resist me. Your little brother is something special, Dean. I'd just love to have a taste of what he has to offer. So much power..."

Dean's eyebrows raised. Didn't Sam say that she was draining energy from men via sex with them? What if Sam was all gay today? He had a habit of being bicurious a little now and then. But he always leaned a lot more towards guys even through that. What if he didn't so much as get aroused? What if it angered Alison so much that she thought he was another girl in a guy's body and did the same thing to him? Before Dean could say anything to Alison's last statement, she hung up.

"Dammit! Does faggotry run in your family?!" Alison snapped viciously. She had spent the last fifteen minutes trying desperately to get Sam hard. Even her praiseworthy blowjob skills didn't seem to stir him in the least. The first thing that crossed her mind was that he was gay. Had to be it, she thought. She was, of course, right in Sam's case. But his lack of response also had a lot to do with the nervousness and fear he was feeling in his current situation. It tended to ruin his mood for sex. Just like extreme lethargy ruined Dean's.

"I dunno," Sam said. "Does sluttiness run in yours? Cuz you are quite the cock whore."

Alison got off her knees and looked at him with the fire of determination blazing in her eyes.

"You've got a lot of power inside you," She stated. "The mirror sensed it and was forced to reveal its true nature to your sight."

Alison made it quite clear that she intended to claim that power for her own. She just needed time and she'd manage to get Sam hard enough to have her way with him. She knew of some powerful herbal aphrodisiac that would do the trick. They would just need preparation, that's all.

She thought to herself, there's no way I'll drain him like I did to Dean. She wanted the maximum benefit. Not just a sip with massive wastage as had happened with his brother. Having brought Dean again to mind, she decided to consult her scrying crystal. She needed to see what he was up to.

So she proceeded to stare into its clear depths. To her irritation, she did not get the usual quick results. After a further five minutes of attempting to scry, she gave it up as futile. She had a suspicion as to what the problem was. Sam. He must have the Sight, she thought to herself. The mirror reacted under his gaze. And now her own scrying crystal was refusing to obey her. Not to mention that she herself couldn't interpret his aura or read anything but the basics of his mind. She theorized that Sam must have had the ability to not only See, but Conceal as well. No doubt it must have been latent. Otherwise he would have used it to discover where she was without having to search the entire house. So it had to be an unconscious thing. Involuntary but powerful.

"So much power," Alison whispered to herself. She decided to write off Dean. The fool sounded as if he - SHE, Alison corrected herself, as if she had all but given up. What Alison couldn't know was that Sam and his brother had discussed the possibility of the basement being her lair. After all, the scrying crystal could only show images. It couldn't broadcast sound. Underestimating the brothers, she assumed that Sam had figured out the location only after he'd wound up trapped.

"You are so wasting your time," Sam stated, as Alison made her way towards the altar...

Dean was well aware that he had to make his move quickly. But moreover, he had to act stealthily. For all he knew, the witch could have supernatural means with which to spy upon his actions. Though she would most likely be too busy trying to sex Sam to use them, Dean felt it best not to do anything to draw the evil witch's attention. Like making too much noise near the basement door for instance. There was still the matter of getting inside the basement.

I need something to pick the lock, Dean thought to himself. It was a pity that Sam was the one carrying all their usual housebreaking tools. They were a bit too heavy for Dean and Sam had offered.

"Wish I had a damned hairpin," Dean mused. Then realization hit him and he slapped his head. They were in a girls house. There was bound to be hairpins in the house. And where else better to look than in the bedroom? On the dresser or so? So Dean quickly and quietly made his way back upstairs.

Sure enough when he got there, he found them on the dresser. Grabbing a few of them, Dean walked past the bed, intending to head on back downstairs and pick the lock on the basement door. He didn't make it out of the room though, for as he walked past the bed, he chanced to see his reflection in the large black mirror spanning the wall on the opposite side.

"Holy shit," Dean softly swore, while slowly walking towards the black mirror. Reflected on its surface was an image of himself, his untransformed self. Dean raised his arm, the image did the same. If he had bothered to examine the mirror, like Sam had, then he would have noticed it earlier. Dean quickly thought back to what he knew about black mirrors. They were used for scrying, and had the property of revealing the true nature of things. Unconsciously, Dean made to touch the mirror's surface, as if by touching the reflected image he could reclaim something of his former self.

He never did manage to touch the mirror's surface. As a matter of fact, he touched nothing at all. Dean's mouth opened wide as he saw that his fingers were effortlessly penetrating the black mirror. In an instant, he realized what must have happened to Sam. His brother had been deeply engrossed with that mirror. What if he had somehow fallen...or was pulled through and ended up as Alison Greer's captive? Stepping closer to the mirror, Dean swallowed and crossed the threshold.

Hold on, Sammy...

"Here comes the airplane!" Alison coaxed, whilst trying to spoon feed Sam a bit of her brew. Sam was tempted to tell her to stick that spoon somewhere else (use your imagination) but was afraid that the moment he opened his mouth, she force the brew down his throat.

"It don't taste nasty or anything," Alison offered, "tastes like cherry soda."

Sam always hated cherry soda. He looked up to Alison. If he couldn't risk opening his mouth to tell her off, the least he could do was death glare her. In doing so however, his eyes were drawn towards the black mirror on the opposite side of the room. There was a hand sticking out of it. But not just ANY hand. A hand bearing Dean's bracelet! Before Alison could notice his sudden interest in what was happening behind her, Sam looked away from the mirror and at her face.

"This is a rather potent brew," Alison explained, "it doesn't need to be ingested to work. I can use a volatile form and have you inhale it. But that usually leaves a person nauseous and with a splitting headache...and could cause brain damage."

Sam's eyes widened in fear. If she put a bowl of that under his nose, he couldn't hold his breath forever. Sam had read that if someone were drowning, they would not be able to stop the body's reflexes from kicking in and would continue to gasp under the water, trying to get air in their lungs. And all they'd get would be even more water in there. The same thing would happen to him, except it would be an herbal aphrodisiac powerful enough to make men screw the first living thing on sight (or so Alison claimed).

Glimpsing more of Dean slipping through the mirror, Sam decided to risk having a spoonful of that down his throat and buy his brother some time.

"Wait, wait. Please don't," Sam begged. The fear was real. Alison seemed to be a bit mentally unstable. She may have been using a sweet tone, but that didn't fool Sam. Some of the worst psycho killers were rather sweet.

"Well? Are you going to drink?"

"Um..." Sam stalled. Dean's head and most of his body was now through the mirror. Why couldn't he just step through at once instead of inching forward? At least he was almost inside the room and still unnoticed.

"What is it, darling?" Alison earnestly asked.

Thinking of something to say in order to buy Dean more time, Sam came up with a farfetched excuse. Surprisingly, Alison accepted it.

"Well, it's just that you're making me feel so emasculated," Sam said.

"Huh?" Alison asked, with raised eyebrows.

"I mean," Sam quickly continued (Dean was fully in the room by then and was approaching the witch with murder in his eyes), "I mean, you have me all tied down. Treating me like a baby, spoon feeding me. As if I can't drink on my own. I'm a man - and um - I really would rather take it down with a swig."

"Oh..." Alison said in an understanding manner.

"And," Sam said again (Dean was within inches of Alison), "you made it cherry pop flavor. It makes me feel like a damn kid. So...emasculated."

"Aw honey, we certainly can't have THAT, now can we? I'll whip up a fresh batch - it packs a kick in its native form! A worthy drink for a macho man like you!"

She never did get to make that drink, as by then Dean had caught up to her. With one hand he held her throat, and with the other he proceeded to slap her relentlessly. Alison tried to fight back, but she was hopelessly outmatched. She seemed to be one of those mages who relied completely on their magic and were nigh helpless without it.

"W-haat?!" Alison managed to gasp out.

SLAP!

Sam hurriedly spoke up, "Dean, take it a little easy on her. She needs to be able to speak for our interrogation."

SLAP!

"Just a couple more, Sammy. I never knew that bitch-slapping somebody could be so fulfilling. Helluva good stress reliever."

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Sam looked at his brother incredulously but agreed that Dean deserved a little revenge...

Once more, Alison was sitting on one of her throne-like chairs. But now the situation was reversed. With her concentration occupied by Dean, and no doubt the bitch-slappings, her hold on Sam had disintegrated and he was able to finally extricate himself from his chair.

Dean had gotten a length of rope from Sam's pack and tied her feet to the legs of the chair with it. Not taking any chances, Sam slapped a pair of cuffs on her wrists. Witches often channeled their powers through arcane gestures after all.

"Do those cuffs turn ya on, bitch?" Dean asked the supernatural sex predator evilly. "Cuz the sight of 'em on you is really doing something for me."

"Getting all moist and juicy are you?" was Alison's malicious reply. Dean got a scowl in response at no extra charge.

"You just keep taunting me. My hand is itchin' to be bitchin'," said Dean in a threatening manner.

"How the hell did you get in here?!" Alison snapped. "How did you activate the mirror?"

Dean looked confused. He thought that the mirror was like a door. That it could be open or closed. He merely had thought that Alison had left it open. And so he was able to come through.

"Did YOU activate the mirror," Alison asked turning her attention to Sam.

Sam responded, "Look, I didn't activate the damned mirror. I think you got bigger problems to worry about than that."

Alison ignored that statement and mused to herself, "I knew it. You must have innate mystical ability."

Dean looked at Sam oddly.

"How does she know that? Did you tell her about the visions?" the elder Winchester asked.

"No, Dean. She read - well, tried to read my mind."

"Tried to?" Dean asked, with a confused expression. It was not Sam who answered, but Alison.

"Yes, tried to. Like I said, there's something about your brother, something...special."

"And there's something about you too. Something...crazy." Dean continued, "Now tell me what you've done to me and how to reverse this spell of yours."

Alison, seemingly not paying heed to the gravity of her situation, merely began cackling like the bitch witches of old. A sound SLAP from Dean managed to snap her out of it though. She frowned and replied, "I can't."

All of the color temporarily drained from Dean's face. Then it came back very quickly - Dean became red with fury. Sam quickly grabbed his arm before he could get any closer to Alison.

"Look, I think you've seen that chivalry is dead in my brother's book," Sam started.

"You mean your sister," Alison replied.

"You fucki -" Dean swore.

"No, I mean my brother," said Sam, with conviction. "Now out with it."

"You better get used to having an older sister, Sammy." Alison considered a moment before adding, "And be careful too, don't get her mad. The bitch throws one hell of a slap."

"I can throw a lot more than that," Dean said, "eyeing a heavy chalice on the altar."

"If you don't start answering our questions, we're going to have to get physical," Sam warned. "And not in the way you would like either."
Alison didn't know if Sam would hit her. But she had no doubt that Dean would. Finally, she decided to appreciate her circumstances and nodded. She was ready to talk. The first thing that Dean did was to repeat his opening question, how to undo what she had done.

"I - um - don't know," Alison hesitantly responded.

"Wrong answer," said Dean, before raising his hand once more. The hovering hand elicited a nervous gasp from Alison.

"I swear! I don't know how to reverse it or IF it can be reversed!"

Dean slowly lowered his hand. He was going through one of those rare moments in which he needed to sit down upon hearing a bit of news. It was such a smack in the face that he couldn't find it in him to say or do anything for a few moments - Alison's outpouring seemed rather believable. Sam, however, got irate.

"Well I don't believe you! You had better 'fess up now or I'll bitch slap the truth outta you myself," Sam warned.

Dean looked in mild surprise at Sam's sudden vehemence, so not like him. But then having to deal with something like this was totally new to Sam as well.

"And my hands aren't as soft as Dean's," Sam added.

Alison's eyes widened at the threat and she quickly responded, "It's true. I don't think it CAN be reversed because it wasn't caused by a spell per se."

Sam squinted. This was a new development. And it complicated matters significantly. Spells could be undone in the overwhelming majority of cases. This apparently wasn't one of those cases. He motioned for the restrained witch to get on with it.

"Well, you know that I trade sexual satisfaction for masculine energy," said Alison.

"Yes, we've established that you're a supernatural whore. Move it along," Sam urged.

"But sometimes despite my efforts, I just can't seem to get a guy in bed. And then, in desperation, I have to...drain energy in another way," the witch offered cryptically.

Alison went on the explain that the alternative was a wasteful method, as most of the guy's energy would bleed out into the environment, and she'd only get to taste a minute portion of it. But in desperate times, she had been forced to do it. Dean gasped.

"How many other have you turned?!" the aggrieved Winchester demanded.

"You and two others," she answered.

"What happened to them?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Alison replied spitefully, "I never really kept in touch."

Sam, silent during the exchange between Dean and Alison now spoke up. Whining at their troubles was not going to solve them. They needed to accept and start working on a solution.

"Tell me how your alternative procedure works," Sam asked with coldness in his voice and fire in his eyes. It subdued Alison once more.

"Well, I pierce the guy's aura and while his energy is escaping, I try to take some."

Sam seemed to think that made sense. Sex was facilitated energy transfer. The draining process took a while and worked itself up gradually until climax. It gave the absorber time to adjust the flow. Draining directly by piercing the aura would release everything at once - and the drainer would have a hell of time absorbing it.

"Yeah, exactly," Alison agreed.

"I don't get how it made me a woman though," said Dean, inserting himself once more into the conversation.

"I think it has something to do with your masculine essence being lost to the surroundings when I pierced your aura. Um, kinda like a wound in your aura," explained the witch.

Sam and Dean reasoned. It would explain why the transformation process took time and didn't happen all at once. Whilst Dean was sleeping, he must have been losing masculine energy all the while and slowly transformed over the night. Dean scowled in anger.

"So there's nothing that you can do to help me? No hocus pocus?" Dean asked.

Alison shook her head in the negative. Dean walked over the altar and picked up the witches athamae, the consecrated blade used to direct mystical energy. He walked over to Alison with determination in his eyes. She started screaming in horror.

"Whoa, whoa! Dean, don't!" Sam shouted, not wanting his brother to have the blood of a human being on his hands.

"I'm not going to kill her," Dean said in a trembling voice, "though I wish it was a sorcerer we were dealing with instead of her."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"So I could chop his dick and nuts off," was Dean's response. "Then it would count as something closer to vengeance."

Dean walked up to Alison and said, "Well since there's nothing your magic can do to help me - there's no point in putting this off any longer."

At that he began to cut off huge chunks of Alison's hair. Immediately she caught on. Dean intended to burn her hair, and thus, cripple her powers. She began to beg.

"Please, I won't use them like that again!" she promised. "You can't!" Alison started to beg and plead until her cries bled together into gibberish.

"I don't think I trust you very much. And I'm not running the risk of you doing this to some other guy. You're like an addict - and they can never quit so easily," said Dean, cutting almost all of Alison's hair off. He tossed it into the empty chalice, threw in a bit of the parchment on the altar and set it alight. Alison began to scream as if she herself were set on fire.

"You goddamned melodramatic bitch," Dean grumbled.

However when Sam issued a shout, Dean turned around.

"She's...ageing, Dean!"

And sure enough, when Dean looked at the woman in the chair, she was no longer young and beautiful. Sitting before them was an ancient crone, emaciated and wrinkled with the passage of many winters. Even her clothes seemed to have aged along with her.

"Holy shit," came Dean's usual oath.

"I guess with her magic crippled, she couldn't hold onto this form any longer," Sam offered by way of explanation. The two brothers looked at the now withered old husk. Her eyes were no longer bright, and she seemed to be lacking any sort of cognitive ability.

"You think she's senile, Sam?" asked Dean.

"Now that her age has caught up to her - quite possibly."

They decided that they'd have to leave an anonymous call to emergency health services. They'd come find her and probably put her in a home for treatment and care.

"We'll have to carry her upstairs, Dean," Sam said, twisting his face. He didn't want to have people finding the occult artifacts. Dean merely nodded, though he too was disgusted at the thought of touching the creature.

"First thing's first, we take her spell books and shit," Dean said. "They might have information we could use."

"Shit."

"What, Sam?"

"They'll probably come back to investigate the house. To look for links to finding her family and stuff. My guess is they're long dead...but then they'd find the stuff in the house when they search," Sam explained.

"Well...then we'll carry her in to a hospital ourselves. We'll say we found her on the streets or something. She sure looks like it. And I say we burn this house down. That way we get rid of alla the artifacts. So no one find 'em and messes around with 'em."

It made logical sense. And since the house was secluded, with no other buildings in sight, the threat of fire endangering life would be practically non-existent.

"It bites ass having her in our car though," Dean said bitterly.

Sam knew he didn't mean having someone so aged and repulsive in the Impala. Rather it was having the person who had done him wrong in his most prized possession.

Sam nodded at Dean's suggestion, and both brothers went to work gathering the ex-witch's belongings...

"Dean?"

"Mhmm?"

"I think maybe we should call Dad tomorrow," Sam proposed.

It was well past five in the morning. And even after the stressful day and night they'd both had, neither Sam nor Dean managed to fall asleep. Not after the revelation that Alison Greer had made - that she, who had done the deed, was ignorant of the means to reverse the effects.

Dean had yet to reply to Sam's suggestion.

"I think we tried it our way. And it didn't work out. You said if we couldn't solve - " Sam said before he was cut off.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"So is that a yes?" Sam asked, wanted to have it stated in unambiguous terms.

"We'll call him first thing tomorrow morning. IF he even takes us seriously."

Sam sat up in his bed. He, more so than Dean, knew that their father could be a bit callous at times. But the man always came through for them when he felt it counted. And finding out what his son was going through...well, Sam had a feeling that John Winchester would consider it to be of enough significance to warrant his attention.

"Of course he will," Sam said. He was a little worried though.

Back in college, Sam had studied gender issues. And there were cases where women, who had been BORN women, looked like women and thought like them, found out later in life that they were in fact genetic males (with no ovaries or uterus and a blind ending vaginal canal) and had to undergo serious psychotherapy.

Their father, whilst Sam didn't think he'd be callous, always seemed to have a problem with feelings and comforting others. A problem that Dean himself seemed to have inherited. Sam hoped that Dean wouldn't be too scarred psychologically - especially considering the sudden and involuntary nature of such a change as he had undergone.

"Dean, if you ever feel like you need to talk..."

"Nah, you know me and where I stand on talking shit out," Dean replied.

"But you're going through this and I don't want you to feel like you're facing it alone. So I'm here if you need to talk."

Dean laughed a bit dryly.

"What's so funny?"

"Well," Dean started, "you dealt with being gay all those years all on your own. And you never tried to talk to ME about it. And here you are telling me -"

Sam quickly interrupted, "That was different."

"It's ALWAYS different with you. How come you never talked to me about that? You want to be there for me - I get that. But why did you never let me be there for you?"

Sam didn't respond immediately. In retrospect, it was a foolish decision on his part to assume that Dean would freak out on him if he found out. But when you're scared and have something dear to lose, you don't think right.

"It's just that - I always knew that Dad would most likely have a problem with it. And then you, and your 'Dad can do no wrong' complex..."

"What?" Dean asked incredulously. "You thought that if he freaked the hell out, I would too?"

"You're a lot like him, Dean. I was afraid, okay? You were always his perfect son," Sam quietly said. "I've always been the disappointment. He never even trusted me to be able to look out for myself, trying to keep me where the two of you could watch out for pathetic little Sammy."

"I'm a lot like him," Dean admitted, "but I'm NOT him."

"No. And I regret not telling you earlier."

"Me too," Dean said, "walking in on you and Jesse going at it like bunnies on the couch is something I REALLY wish I hadn't seen."

"YOU busted down the door to MY apartment!" Sam protested.

"Only cuz you weren't answering and I got worried."

Sam eyed Dean sarcastically, "It didn't occur to you that I might not have been at home?"

"Well, yeah it DID. But then I heard scrambling around inside and thuds. I thought someone was messing about in your place or something. So I -"

Sam laughed, "Well, the look on your face was priceless."

Dean wickedly replied, "So was the look on yours."

Several moments passed in silence before Dean spoke again, "Let's just not keep the important things secret from now on. Okay?"

This was the closest that Dean ever came to supporting the 'talking it out' ideal. Sam decided that, for his brother's sake, he'd take what he could get.

"As long as it applies to you too, Dean. So if you ever need to talk about something that's bothering you - I'm here to help you get it off your chest," Sam said sympathetically.

"I wish someone would get these boobs off my chest," Dean grumbled.

"We'll find a way, Dean. Dad will know what to do," Sam stated with confidence, hoping all the while that his words were not hollow.

"Yeah. He will. 'Night, Sammy."

"It's Sam," the younger Winchester grumbled. With their minds at a relative ease for the time being, both Sam and Dean were finally able to drift off to sleep...