The drive to Salem was relatively uneventful. Both boys just sat glancing at one another from the corners of their eyes and contemplating how odd they looked in the opposites of their usual seats until, finally, Dean pulled into the long driveway of the house where the witch resided.

When they got out of the car, Dean stepped up to the door in front of Sam, subconsciously guarding him as always, and knocked on the hard wood.

A moment later, it swung open. No one was behind it, but a, "Come in, boys," echoed from somewhere down the hall, and the brothers followed it to a small living room.

"Thought you two might be back."

"What the hell-" Dean began, barging into the room and positioning himself face to face (or face to chest, really, considering Sam's height) with the witch.

Sam reached a hand up and placed it on Dean's shoulder, cutting him off. "Hey. We, uh... We just wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Gemma, is it?"

The witch nodded, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, Sam."

Sam wasn't surprised in the least that she knew which of the brothers she was addressing. He'd known since the beginning that it was her fault. However, the fact that she spoke his name with such certainty just pissed him off. "Look, can you just tell us why you did it?"

She grinned – actually grinned – and lifted her hand to cup Dean's face. "Well, see, you're both pretty good looking men. Can't deny that. But this body... it's bigger. I like it. Decided I wanted it. And Mr. Prude over there obviously wasn't going to give it up, so I thought, hey, maybe the whore would like to have a good time in his not-so-little brother's skin."

Dean looked like he was about a flat second from drawing back his fist and knocking her lights out.

She raised her hand in front of her face, letting out a slightly demented laugh. "Easy, killer. I'm just kidding. Well, okay, it was the truth, really, but that's not why I did this."

"Then why?" Sam asked again, fighting to keep his tone calm.

She widened her eyes as if the answer was just hanging in the air around them. "Hello? You killed my sister?"

"Hello?" Dean echoed. "Your sister was killing children! For some fucking youth ritual! And you hated her!"

Gemma shrugged, unaffected by Dean's sudden change in tone. "Well, yeah, I hated her. Who wouldn't have? She was a bitch. I mean, I may not be the sweetest cupcake on the tray myself, but black magic? She needed to be eliminated."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Then why are you punishing us for getting rid of her? Didn't we kind of do you a favor?"

"Oh, definitely," Gemma agreed, taking a seat on the couch behind her. "Gracias. But, you know... she was still my sister. You cut a bloodline that was already a little too short. Had to make you pay somehow. And it could've been worse, right? I'm not actually hurting anyone, here. I never do. Just having a little fun. It'll wear off."

Sam and Dean breathed a sigh of relief in unison, and Dean asked, "When?"

"A week," Gemma responded nonchalantly.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Great."

"You think you've got it bad? Dude, I don't know how you live like this, but I'm tellin' you right now, I can't handle a week as Sasquach."

The amused twinkle in Gemma's eye was countered by a tone of what sounded a bit like honesty when she said, "I'd fix it if I could, guys. Really. I may have been just a bit angry at the time, and I'm sure you can understand why, but you both seem nice enough. As much as I'd love to take it back, though," and there was the sarcasm again, "I can't. It's a spell. It has to take its sweet time and end when it's ready."

Sam placed his head between his hands, elbows rested on his knees, and blew out a long breath. "Well, thanks for... at least telling us, I guess. There's nothing we have to do, right?"

"Nope. Just wait," Gemma told him. "And call me when you get your body back if you change your mind, since it doesn't look like Dean here's gonna take advantage of it."

Sam tried to ignore the offer (and the wink) and stood up, all but dragging Dean out of the house behind him.

"Dude," Dean said once they were back inside the car, "what's with her?"

Sam shrugged. "She's a witch, man. Whether she's a dark one or not, they're all a little screwy."

"No, not that. Why the hell is she into you instead of me?"

Sam shook his head almost chauvinistically and leaned against the window. "Have you seen me lately?" he asked, mocking his brother's words from earlier that morning. "Damn."

"Fuck you," Dean spat, no real fire behind the words; just brotherly banter.

"See?" Sam teased. "She's not the only one that wants to."

That statement probably shouldn't have sent chills down Dean's spine. Maybe he'd had thoughts once or twice, but that was when he was a kid. Eighteen years old with raging hormones and a not-all-that-unattractive little brother who was just hitting puberty attached to him at the hip twenty-four-seven. He'd pushed all that away a good five, ten years ago. Until he'd woken up in Sam's body. And as much as he tried to deny it, that wasn't helping the situation. Not at all.