Sam shook his head, attempting to clear it. "So let me get this straight. You both had the same dream, about the same guy, chanting some mumbo jumbo in the background?" We glanced at each other from opposite beds, then nodded in unison. I hadn't mentioned exactly what had been said to me; neither did Dean. "Unbelievable," he groaned, hands covering his face. "If this is some practical joke from those winged bastards, it's not very funny."

"I don't think a killjoy like Castiel could've come up with this," I offered, though it did little to help.

Dean and I had miraculously changed genders after sharing a dream, if that's even what it was. He was now a 5'7" female with long dirty blonde hair and permanent frown lines which made you question approaching them in a room full of people. As for me, I was a man with a mop of curly brown hair and soft yet masculine features which would have made my heart skip a beat if I'd seen them walking down the street.

"Can we change now?" I begged, my clothes starting to cut off my circulation. My pajama pants had become high waters on my six-foot frame, and I was certain the seams of my shirt would split if I moved too fast. Dean had a firm grip on his boxers to keep them from slipping off his slim hips.

Picking out some of your own clothes for your best friend to wear was even weirder than it sounded. Black jacket, skinny jeans, blue tank top, and underwear; did I give him my favorites or only enough to get by? I didn't realize I wasn't mentally prepared to explain how one should properly wear a bra.

"The hell am I supposed to do with this?" his feminine voice asked, grappling with the fabric like it was a medieval torture device. With all the ones he'd taken off over the years, you'd think he'd know how to put one on.

I ripped it from his hands, worried he'd break it somehow. "Nope," I simply said; it wasn't worth it. Instead, I threw him a sports bra and told him to put it on like a shirt.

Sam had hopped in the shower, leaving the two of us alone with our new bodies. I turned my back, knowing I would vomit if I caught sight of him touching himself. Quickly, I stepped into faded jeans with holes under the pockets and a plain t-shirt. As I threw on the army green button down and popped the collar, I shuddered thinking of how many times I had watched him make the same motions. The clothes fit me too well, his scent clinging to my skin. I gritted my teeth, wishing I would die instead.

Dean's voice brought me out of my self-inflicted torment. "I'm pretty hot as a chick," he purred, admiring his side profile in the mirror. It was like staring at an older sister who had raided my closet. My clothes looked better on him than they ever had on me, accentuating every curve like a second skin.

"Glad to see you're enjoying this," I grumbled, messing with my hair in the mirror space above his head. At this length, the curls bounced off my scalp in every direction, the sides shaved against my will.

He tipped his chin up, back of his head nearly resting on my chest. I rapidly blinked, caught off guard by the intimate act. "God, is this what it's always like for you?" he asked, ruining it.

"Try here," I retorted, shoving him down a few more inches to get the real experience. He started to make a derogatory remark about my height, but Sam interrupted, steam rolling out the door around him.

The brains of this operation chose the library to be our starting point. When questioned on his decision, the younger Winchester acted like we were stupid. "Are you two really dumb enough to think this and the case aren't related?" he'd said, the tone in his voice matching the expression on his face. The older of the two thought we should be interrogating the man who cursed us. Sam was quick to point out we had no idea what we were dealing with. Of course, his words had sent Dean and I bickering about who's idea was more stupid.

We continued to argue as we walked into the plaster covered building, an employee hastily shushing us. I shot a glare at Dean as he sauntered to the counter, planning on using his charms on the young librarian busily stamping away at books. Sam and I pretended to browse the nearby shelves, waiting for the magic to happen.

A loud slapping sound made us jump, turning our attention to the desk. Dean had his hands raised, apologizing so hastily he tripped over his words. The librarian picked up another book to aim, shouting he should be ashamed of himself.

He dipped behind the shelf where we were hiding, away from her line of sight. "You owe me a beer," I joked with Sam, smacking his shoulder playfully.

He nodded in agreement as his brother scoffed. "Did you seriously bet if I could pull that off?" Dean demanded, the anger of his feminine form making the situation comical. Sam could barely contain his laughter, hand clamped over his mouth. That only made his brother madder which made him laugh harder.

"You think you could do better?" he shouted at Sam, someone shushing him in the same breath.

Between laughs, Sam managed to choke out, "Nah, but I bet she could."

My jaw dropped at the ridiculous suggestion. It had to be a joke, something to make his brother's blood boil. "But I'm not-" I started to protest, "me…". The realization slowly crept over me as Sam continued to stifle his laughing. "No, no, no-" I insisted, as Dean started talking me off the ledge.

"Hey, don't over think it. You just gotta charm her," he coached.

"Charm her?" I squeaked out. "I'm about as charming as a cabbage!" This joke was being taken too far.

"Go," the brothers said in unison, shoving me out into the open.

The librarian's eyes snapped to me, narrowing slightly. My mind raced as cumbersome feet carried me closer. Was flirting with girls the same as with guys? What made the Winchesters so attractive to every woman they came across? My chest tightened as a nervous heat crawled up my back.

She couldn't have been much older than me, cute red hair, and a plethora of freckles underneath thick glasses. I glanced at her through my lashes, causing a blush to creep across her cheeks. She pretended to be absorbed in her bookkeeping, waiting until I cleared my throat to acknowledge me.

"Yes?" she asked, pursing her lips like I was a nuisance.

Everything I'd been thinking left my mind in a great gust. "Sorry to bother you… Nancy, but I'm a grad student writing papers on cold cases and how the justice system's evolved over the last hundred years. And I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction." I fiddled nervously with my fingernail, just knowing she was going to scold me. I forced myself to flash a kind smile, a simple gesture.

Her blush deepened, spreading to the tips of her ears. "Well, we obviously carry public records of such things, but it's under restricted access and not available to the public."

"Of course," I responded, leaning against the counter to bring us to eye level. "I was just hoping you could make an exception since it's for my thesis." My drawl turned the last half of the sentence into honey as I did my best impression of Sam's puppy dog eyes.

"I'm really not supposed to," she trailed off nervously, eyes darting to the side.

"I don't want to get you in trouble-". I gently moved off the counter, figuring I had pushed my luck.

Her tiny hand grabbed my arm, preventing me from leaving. "If I were to help you, then maybe you could take me out for coffee and tell me about your thesis?" she offered, a hopeful sparkle entering her eyes.

I couldn't find the words to lie so I nodded instead. She motioned with her head, slipping from behind the counter to lead me upstairs. Handing me her access card, she said, "If anyone asks, I had nothing to do with it."

I quietly thanked her as she scurried back to her post. Sam and Dean weren't far behind, slipping into the room with me. Sam applauded me as soon as the door closed, smacking his brother on the back. The motion caused his small frame to stumble forward, an unimpressed glare settling onto his features. Dramatically with arms spread, I took a bow as he cheered me on. Dean, however, didn't join in the fun. Instead, he ignored the whole interaction, throwing John's journal on the table with a thunk.

Dividing and conquering, we combed through old newspapers, coroner's records, and police reports, searching for any clues hidden to the past. Several hours passed with very little to show. The murders were easy enough to find with the dates listed in the journal, but nothing seemed to connect them other than the MO.

I reread the coroner's report from the seventies for the eighth time before I caught the nuance. Shuffling through papers to find the eighties report from the same coroner, it wasn't where I'd last seen it. I spotted it in Dean's hands, hastily snatching it from him.

"The hell's your problem?" he exclaimed, checking his fingers for papercuts. I ignored his grumbling, trying to quickly absorb the words on the page.

"I've got it!" I shouted in excitement, waving the paper in the air. That seemed to be enough to shut him up. The boys gathered around me, Dean forcing me to sit in a chair so he could see over my broad shoulders. "Right here," I said, pointing to a specific line of text.

"No obvious identifying marks except for lacerations related to cause of death," Sam read aloud. Two sets of confused eyes turned to me, their unspoken question obvious.

Rolling my eyes, I asked, "How many scars do you have?" Sam's eyes scrunched in concentration while Dean started counting on one hand and pointing to various parts of his body with the other. "That's exactly my point; too many to count. Every one of these bodies had no scars, no birthmarks, no nothing. That's not normal," I insisted. Even I'd had a few small scars before becoming a hunter.

They both searched for words, looking at the other reports I arranged for them. "She's… right," Dean grudgingly forced out. A smile curved across my face, savoring those sweet words coming from his mouth. Oh, I hope they tasted like vinegar.

"But why?" Sam questioned, ignoring us. "The lunar cycles aren't right for a werewolf." He ran an aggravated hand through his long hair. "None of this makes sense."

"We need something fresher," his brother pointed out, already stealing the journal off the table. Sam and I agreed, gathering our things to leave.

I followed them down the stairs, key card in hand. The librarian made a point to catch my eye, so I shot her an appreciative grin. Dean stopped at the bottom, checking we weren't noticed by anyone. I was too focused on returning the card to notice the placement of his foot.

My feet came out from under me on the second to last step. I careened through the air, sliding on my belly across the waxed floor. In slow motion, I watched in horror as the key card spilled out of my grasp. Dean's combat boots tapped across the floor as he strolled calmly towards the exit. But not before flipping his hair at the librarian, a dirty smirk plastered on his face.

The girl immediately paled, assuming the worst. Another employee, drawn to the interaction at the sound of my fall, noticed what had been in my hand. "Hey!" he shouted after me. I scrambled off the floor, nearly pitching over again in my haste to leave. The Impala was already running as I bailed inside.

I landed on my belly after diving into the backseat, the breath knocked out of my lungs. "You tripped me!" I breathlessly accused Dean, adjusting my clothes as I sat upright.

"Yeah, right!" he shouted back, red in the face. "You just don't know where those gangly legs of yours are."

I fumed, starting to cuff my sleeves. "Sam, buckle up," I instructed, "cause I'm about to strangle your brother." The car swerved as I lunged over the front seat, intent on throttling the life out of him. Not remembering my size, I smacked my head on the roof. The boys whirled, trying to react, but Dean's long hair obscured his vision. Instead, he slapped Sam across the face, who shouted and shoved both of us back into our seats.

"Don't punch the driver!" Dean shouted when he could see again. Thankfully we'd arrived back at the motel without crashing. He'd purposefully tripped me, the reason not mattering. I couldn't believe the audacity, sabotaging me while we were searching for leads. "Where are you going?" he demanded when Sam and I started off in different directions. Sam angrily retorted he needed something from the vending machine.

I considered joining him but didn't. Dean stormed into the room behind me, grabbing my arm. "Don't touch me," I threatened, wheeling on him. The brewing storm shadowed across my face, making him release me. If we had a rematch of yesterday's fight, he wouldn't stand a chance against the behemoth I'd become. The satisfying thought shaped my hand into a fist.

"Fine," he said dismissively, releasing his grip. "Just get dressed then."

I stormed back to the car, throwing open the trunk where I knew the suits were kept. Leaning over the opening, I let loose the scream I'd been holding inside. It echoed around me, surely drawing people's attention but I didn't care. I'd never forgive myself if I actually hurt Dean and I was being pushed dangerously close. I screamed until my throat hurt and my lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Heaving, I snatched the garment bags before slamming the trunk closed.

Sam hovered near the engine, a concerned and questioning look on his face. "You good?"

"Just peachy," I poorly lied, giving him a smile which barely passed for a grimace. Waving him off, I shoved his suit at him.

Inside I found the older Winchester staring intently at my navy pencil skirt. "I'm not wearing that," he said matter-of-factly.

Scoffing, I said, "Are you really in a position to argue?" He drilled daggers over his shoulder between locks of hair. "What's wrong with it?" I asked, attempting to be genuine.

"What if I gotta chase someone?" he countered, waving a hand at it. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to remember all the times I'd done exactly that. "Well, I'm not used to it," he complained instead. "Why is women's clothing so impractical? Boxers don't ride up and nothing fits in these pockets. Seriously what am I going to put in here, a quarter? And don't even get me started on this boob trap."

"Welcome to my life." I rolled my eyes, showing him my extra dress slacks and flats.