They were gone.
Dean sat on his bed, curled up, clinging to a pillow like a lost baby Coala to a branch, slowly working his way through a legitimate panic attack. Deep breathing technique didn't seem to be working because every time he inhaled, the violent movements of his muscles, ribs and skin reminded him how odd and unnatural everything felt. Still, he tried. He tried his best in spite of his breath turning into an unmanly whimper.
Which was kinda justified, because apparently he was a woman.
Sam was nowhere in sight, though Dean recognized some of his stuff scattered over the other bed. It was a blessing, because it gave Dean some time to overcome the panic and check what exactly he was dealing with before facing anyone. Finally he found the strength to waddle towards the bathroom, feeling with every step that something very important was missing from this body. He reached the sink, but he needed a while to get the nerve up to look into the mirror. Once he did, he immediately regretted even trying.
The worst part was that in a zane, crooked way he was still himself. Everything was there: the same green eyes, fair skin, freckles, cowlicks, even the same big lips and long eyelashes he always hated about himself. His hair was just a tad longer than the last time he really was himself, which gave him an air of a rebellious, yet seductive tomboy. It seemed that once he was just a little less boxy, he made a quite attractive woman. He had an unnerving, vague impression that he could name a porn star who looked pretty similar.
This thought triggered an utterly different set of instincts.
Dean's hand automatically wandered to his breasts. He was a simple man after all. The hunter felt them hesitantly through a skimpy cotton camisole, then slipped his hands under the fabric. They were small - just enough to fill his palms - pert and nicely rounded. And bouncy. At first he tried jouncing them simultaneously, then alternating sides, then squashing them together and observing the cleavage from the best possible perspective. Emboldened by this discovery he pulled his camisole up to see how they looked. This way Dean found out that his antiposession tattoo was placed on his hip - how very original - but whatever, who would even care when there were boobs. He tried to shake them using his shoulders; it didn't work well, so he resorted to bobbing on his feet and observing them bounce. The light tug on his skin wasn't the best sensation in the world, but gosh, how they jiggled. He could finally stare and squeeze and play and do all he had ever wanted to do.
He was about to start exploring other parts of his body when he heard the main door slammed shut; standing in the bathroom door he observed a tall, dark-haired girl in worn out jeans and a plaid shirt bustling about the room. She seemed relaxed and confident, which ruled out her being a burglar. Perhaps one of Sam's hookups? That little bastard seldom picked up random girls, but when he did, Dean had to admit that his little brother's taste was quite refined.
She threw a tray with takeout coffee cups and bagels onto a table, then started to undress herself in haste. The girl, who was probably in her early twenties, looked lean and fit; perhaps her shoulders could have been a tad narrower, but a perfect bubble butt made up for any imperfections. Dean tilted his head, quite pleased with the sight, feeling a slight warm stirring in his newly acquired female parts until the girl turned around to face him, wearing only tan underwear.
Sometimes Dean had wondered what Luke and Leia could have felt when they found out they were siblings, but this was a whole new level of awkwardness. He recognized Sam at a first glance.
"Deana, why aren't you ready yet? Come on, we don't have all day..." Sammy nagged, sending Dean her signature sour scowl that was now enhanced by the fact that it was... well, a real bitchface, "Put it on and we gotta get going," she threw Dean a handful of clothes and a small bag - it looked like a mini-version of a duffel but it lacked handles and was made of a vividly patterned material - which she had grabbed from Dean's bed. Winchester found out that they were apparently impersonating FBI agents that day, because the bunch of clothing included a knee-long skirt, white dress shirt, jacket and a gauzy, totally pointless piece of fabric that was probably a scarf. The mini-duffel in turn contained some underwear. The hunter had no problems with the lower part (in fact it wasn't the first time when he wore satin panties), but the bra left him up a stump. He'd taken them off many women many times, but putting the thing on was a different kettle of fish.
"It takes a friggin Houdini, for God's sake," he drawled out under his breath, struggling to make four tiny hooks and eyes meet behind his back where he couldn't see them and had only moderate control over his weirdly contorted hands while two bouncy domes of tissue on his chest (apparently each of them had a mind of its own) wrestled against the padded, boned confinement which was being forced onto them. After four failed attempts and almost spraining his wrist he tossed the bra across the bathroom with a barely restrained growl.
Luckily, a brief examination of the mini-duffel proved that the padded and strapped lace monstrosity wasn't the only option. Dean uttered a short whoop upon finding an one-piece, stretchy thingy that resembled the upper half of an A-shirt and looked comfortable enough. He was ready to go in less than five minutes.
"Girl, seriously?" Sam, who was now clad in a similar outfit, eyed him with dissaprobation, "A sport bra? For interviewing policemen? You lost your push-up or what?" having noticed Dean's flummoxed stare, she tilted her head with a small, commiserative smile, "Deana, I know your nipples get tender when you're ovulating, but we have to do out best today. It's just for a couple of hours."
After ten minutes of wrestling, swearing and groaning Dean found out that if he exhaled really, really hard and twisted his shoulders a little, almost like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, he was able to put the push-up bra on after fastening it. Besides, he almost became a feminist.
-xXx-xXx-xXx-
Driving Baby was the only thing that had always, absolutely always soothed Dean, no matter how lost or upset or desperate he was. This time, though, this wasn't the case. Whoever came up with this universe respected no sanctity. Impala wasn't an Impala anymore. It was a '69 Ford Mustang, because - guess what - Baby had to be male.
That was why Dean kept gritting his teeth in frustration as he was driving to a pub from which four people had been kidnapped by what the Winchesters had believed to be a vetala or a siren before interviewing the coroner. Now that they knew what had really happened to the victims, the whole case seemed much more complex and dangerous that they'd expected.
The only plus was that Dean could finally change into more comfortable clothes. He had to admit that his female counterpart had a decent taste - Deana's wardrobe included a pair of stonewashed bootcut jeans, a simple black A-shirt, hunter green denim jacket and comfortable leather boots. If it wasn't for the fact that the rough fabric felt really odd against his shaved legs and the zipper wasn't anywhere near where it should be, the hunter would consider the outfit quite comfortable.
"What do you think, girl?" Sam - Samantha interrupted his ruminations about the possible reasons for why his nipples hurt that bad, "The case seems nasty. Perhaps you should call Cassie?"
Dean was opening his mouth to protest when he remembered. That Cassie. The hunter was slowly running out of damns to give about the whole situation, so he had no reservations against summoning the female version of his friend. In fact he was rather curious.
"All right, no probs", he shrugged, then went on in a mocking tone he'd usually used when he was praying to Castiel in somebody's presence, "Cassie, girl, to Thee I pray, guide and guard me through this day, get your ass into the car, or wait for us at the bar," Dean smirked at his sister, pluming himself on this impromptu rhyme, ignoring Samantha's eyerolls and sighs. Before the younger Winchester managed to verbalize her disapproval, they had reached the pub's driveway. Two people started walking towards them as soon as they exited the car.
A teenage punk-gothic lolita and... Velma from Scoby Doo?
"Deana. Samantha. Hello."
"Whazzup, girls?"
I owe you a big apology. I know I haven't updated or answered your PMs for ages. It was a real hellatus for me - I'm still having one of the worst months of my life. I barely got through a big crisis that almost led to a divorce and my job is hanging by a thread and everything is just awful. Dean, Sam, Cas and Gabe are helping me wade through this pit of sh*t :) I hope I can make your day a bit better with my writing. If any of you is having a rough time - hang on! It's always darkest before the dawn!
I'm adding the "winning essay" written by a "Blade Michael's fan". I just found a couple of songs that just illustrate the story of Dean's life and Team Free Will so good that I couldn't help myself. Here you go:
The most interesting feature of Blade's albums is their unique construction. Each of them is in fact a story of a lesson learned, or a step made on the quest to find oneself. The opening and the end song always revolve around the same subject. The opening song defines a problem or asks a question, while the end song provides answers.
The same tendency is visible throughout Blade's whole musical career. I have chosen three consecutive albums to show an interesting approach of a musician who matures together with his audience; who provides his fans with a fascinating and comforting story that teaches us how to overcome obstacles and define oneself.
The first album - "Oh, Boy!" - quite straightforwardly deals with the problem of growing up and becoming a man. A young boy struggles with the burden of masculinity, of a role ascribed to him and of expectations he does not want to meet. Through twelve rebellious, heavy and dark songs we follow a young man seeking his purpose and struggling to find his own way. The opening song narrates the embitterment, helplessness and self-loathing he experiences after realizing that he failed at being who he was expected to be:
I feel like no one ever told the truth to me
About growing up and what a struggle it would be
In my tangled state of mind
I've been looking back to find
Where I went wrong
(...)
No, there's no making sense of it
Every way I go I'm bound to lose*
The ending song complements this dark, depressing picture. There is however a faint glimmer of hope. The boy realizes that it is not him who turned his life into a lie or pointless vegetation. He hasn't failed. He was wronged. He discovers that he has the right to feel violated rather than guilty and ashamed. The problem appears in proper proportions; causes and effects are clear. He expresses his rage by blaming others - the addressees of the final songs - rather than himself and by declaring that their wrongdoings won't be forgiven.
New blood joins this earth,
And quickly he's subdued.
Through constant pained disgrace
The young boy learns their rules.
(...)
They dedicate their lives
To running all of his.
He tries to please them all –
This bitter man he is.
What I've felt,
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown.
Never free.
Never me.
So I dub thee unforgiven**
In the second album - "Different" - is a story of accepting his own uniqueness. The opening songs includes an epiphany. The Boy realizes that even though he is not the person that others - his parents, friends, society - want him to be or believe him to be, he is not worthless. At first he retreats to a safe place where he is surrounded by outcasts similar to him. It is comforting, but disappointing, because it foreshadows a capitulation.
We were the kings and queens of promise
We were the victims of ourselves
Maybe the children of a lesser God
Between Heaven and Hell,***
Making a stand and confronting his oppressors is the next step. One has to stop hiding and take the fight head-on. The boy throws down a challenge. The composition of the ending song is open. We don't know if the boy will win his fight and neither does he. All he claims is that he will never give up fighting for his right to chose his own way.
What if I say I'm not like the others?
What if I say I'm not just another
one of your plays? You're the pretender
What if I say I will never surrender?****
The third and last album - "The Voice" - is dedicated to spreading the gospel of free choice and changing destiny. At first the boy who had turned into a man admits that he is afraid to speak out about his fate and his struggle to break free from whatever was confining him.
You've got the words to change a nation
But you're biting your tongue
You've spent a life time stuck in silence
Afraid you'll say something wrong
If no one ever hears it how we gonna learn your song?
You've got a heart as loud as lions
So why let your voice be tamed?
You've got the light to fight the shadows
So stop hiding it away
I wanna sing, I wanna shout
I wanna scream 'til the words dry out*****
The ending song conveys a powerful message. In order to complete his journey to maturity the man found courage and strength to help others. He is not afraid anymore, though the threat of being attacked and oppressed has not been removed. He admits that telling people the truth requires courage, but he has what it takes.
You held me down, but I got up
Already brushing off the dust
You hear my voice, you hear that sound
Like thunder gonna shake the ground
You held me down, but I got up
Get ready 'cause I've had enough
I see it all, I see it now
and you're gonna hear me roar*****
Some glimpses of Blade's private life let us speculate about the reasons why he had to fight to protect his identity, but I believe that it's not the point here. The message is universal and the persona could be easily interpreted as an Everyman from a modern morality play that preaches a modern gospel of freedom which is a right we sometimes have to claim. Many of us have their own little wars to fight. Sometimes it's about choosing a different occupation or education than your parents chose for you. Sometimes it's about knowing that you were brought to this world to serve a purpose and those who gave you life can't see the real you past the role they want you to play. Sometimes it's about feeling that your gender is different from the one doctors ascribed to you. Sometimes it's about loving the wrong person. Sometimes it's about loving the wrong gender.
Even when others claim that some of these wars are petty and insignificant, I think that every human has something equally valuable to win: his or her own freedom. Blade teaches us that nothing is more important than this.
* Queen - Too much love will kill you
** Metallica - Unforgiven
*** 30 seconds to mars - Kings and queens
**** Foo Fighters - Pretender
***** Emeli Sande - Read all about it
****** Katy Perry - Roar