Author's Note: I can't tell you all how much your wonderful feedback means to me. It's really brightened up a few of my darker days and helped keep me focused on writing. The next chapter is on its way and will be up as soon as I can find the time to polish it up. Okay, just a heads-up for people like me who generally shy away from crack!fic--I am totally going against my own Supernatural Code of Honor and this next chapter is way more crack!fic-ish than the last one. I was actually really surprised and pleased to hear people who generally don't like sister fics enjoyed the last chapter, so I can only hope that will apply for this one. This chapter is a lot shorter than the other ones and I'm not entirely pleased with it--there wasn't as much conflict or emotional depth to it, but I'm working on making up for it in chapter three. Anyways, this author's note is getting long-winded, so I'll sign off now. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading, guys!

ooo

Day Two:

It Doesn't Get Any Weirder Than This

The first thing Dean does when he sees Selena is grab her shoulders and slam her against the side of the well.

"You sick, twisted—"

"You cannot harm me," she says softly, "so let me go."

"I don't care if I can hurt you or not! What the hell was that supposed to be?!"

"That was what you've always wanted, Dean." The witch smiles at him, then lifts a hand and waves it airily. Startled, Dean falls backwards, shoved by some invisible force. "So I showed you how it might have been. Was it as perfect as you imagined?"

"No," Dean says quietly, turning to pace to the other side of the wishing well. "It was better."

"Then why do you wish to hurt me?"

"Because I'd be better off not knowing about it!" Dean roars. "Don't you understand? Grace is real somewhere, Simon is real, Mom and Dad are real, Sammy being happy is real. And I can't have that."

"But the Dean in that world was not happy," Selena says softly. "Did you miss that part?'

Dean's head jerks up.

"What does that—"

"That Dean was not happy," Selena repeats. "Why else would he have left home as he did?"

"He's an ass, obviously," Dean says, raising a brow. "Doesn't know how good he fucking has it."

"Maybe." Selena smiles cryptically.

"Is…is there any way…" Dean lowers his head, trying to swallow properly. "That I could…"

"No." Her voice is firm, but gentle. "No, Dean, that is not how this works."

"But it's what I want," Dean manages. "It's…can't I see them again? Just one more time?"

"No, Dean."

"So what am I supposed to do now?" Dean demands, trying to suppress the shaking in his hands.

"Listen to me." The witch takes a few steps closer, sympathy in her eyes. "I did not show you that life to break you. It was to give you hope."


"How is that supposed to give me hope?"

"The world is not all evil, Dean. Think on it." Selena pauses, tilting her head again to listen. "We have just a few more minutes before I go."

"So where am I waking up this time?" Dean asks sourly.

"Somewhere familiar," Selena says, a hint of a grin flickering across her features.

"And what am I gonna find there?"

"Somebody familiar."

"I thought the point of this was to show me what my life could have been like, not to show me familiar stuff."

"It will be familiar," Selena murmurs, "but not the same."

"Could you give me a little more to go on?"

"Your wish was not particularly specific," she tells him. "You gave me plenty to work with. You will see now a familiar life, but with a twist."

"Meaning?"

"Do not expect to find happiness everywhere you go, Dean Winchester." Selena turns. "She is coming."

"Oh, great. Is there another little sister I don't know about?"

The last thing Dean hears before Selena disappears is her laughing in delighted amusement, a sound that will echo through his head even when he leaves the dream behind.

--

The first thing Dean feels when he wakes up is the cold steel of a gun pressed against his temple.

Well. This should be interesting.

"Who are you?" a voice demands.

Nervously, Dean cracks an eye open. Standing beside him is a fairly tall, pretty girl with dark, wavy hair and strangely familiar eyes. Oh yeah, and she also looks severely pissed-off, which comes as no surprise.

"Whoa there, Annie Oakley," he says, not too tired to lay on the snark. "Let me sit up and maybe then I can explain."

"Yeah, sure, when hell freezes over," the girl snaps. "I'm not an idiot. What have you done with Dee?"

"Who?"

"Delia."

Dean blinks at the girl.

"Uh, I have no idea. Just…look, what's your name? I don't know where I am. If I know who you are, that may help." Someone familiar, Dean thinks at once. Selena said someone familiar would be here; maybe this chick knows Sam. "Is Sam here?" he tries, hoping it'll help her relax a little.

"You're talking to her," the girl responds, look no less pissed than before.

"You're Sam?" She nods. "Let me try this again: Sam Winchester?"

"What are you, deaf? Yes!"

"But…you can't—" Dean's eyes widen. No. No, she wouldn't have. That little… "Put down the gun, Sammy," Dean sighs, sitting up and waving it away. Ha ha, Selena, this is soooo fucking hilarious.

"Nobody but Delia gets to call me Sammy," the girl snaps. "And why the hell should I do that?"

"Well, you wouldn't wanna hurt your sister, now would you?" Dean asks, grinning charmingly. Instead of having the desired effect, Sam's eyes widen, and she holds up the gun again, looking slightly panicked.

"What have you done to her, you—"

"Oh, come on," Dean cries. "You're supposed to be the smart one here, College Boy—uh…Girl."

This throws Sam for a loop, and she squints at Dean disbelievingly.

"It can't be," she says slowly, a grin spreading across her face. "Dee?"

"Dean," Dean corrects grumpily. "It's Dean."

--

"So let me get this straight." Sam leans forward, brow furrowed in a way that is all too familiar. "You made a wish to have a different life…and now the curse has landed you here?"

"Yep. This is day two," Dean says, then groans. "God, Sam is gonna have a field day with this one. That witch sure has a crappy sense of humor."

"Oh, please," Sam sighs. "I'll—he'll—be fine. We deal with weirder stuff than this all the time, don't we?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Dean looks around the motel room, grinning a little. "So you're a hunter, huh, princess?"

"Easy with the pet names, there," Sam says in a bored voice. "You really are her, aren't you?"

"The male version at any rate."

"And yes, Mr. Sexist Pig, I am a hunter. What, you think just 'cause Daddy had two little girls instead of two little boys he'd let the Demon get away?"

"I'm not sexist," Dean says. "Just kinda funny to picture Sammy in a dress wielding a gun."

"I don't wear dresses," Sam snaps. "And cut it out with the Sammy crap already."

"Would you prefer Samantha?"


"Quit it, will you Dee?" Sam sighs. "As long as you're here, we may as well try to figure out how to break the curse. Sitting here whining about it won't solve anything."

"It's Dean."

A slow grin spreads across Sam's face.

"Payback's a bitch, Delia. Payback's a bitch."

--

"So," Dean says, taking a bite out of the lukewarm Egg McMuffin he's dining on, courtesy of McDonald's.

"So," Sam repeats, taking a sip of disgusting orange juice.

They stare at each other.

"This," Dean announces at long last, "is just never going to stop being weird."

"Tell me about it," Sam mutters, raising a dark brow. "You try waking up and having a brother instead of a sister!"

"Try waking up and having a sister instead of a brother," Dean grumbles.

"So what do we do?" Sam wants to know. "I feel like we should be doing something."

"What, like breaking the curse? The witch keeps telling me I have to wait it out."

"That sounds like a load of bull shit to me," Sammy announces. "There must be some way."

"I think so too," Dean agrees, and tries to shake off the freaked-out feeling. This is Sam, just Sam in chick-form…which is not all that different, he reasons, from Sam in guy-form. This Sam is just shorter and prettier and girlier and spends a little more time on hair care.

"Well, before we get into this," Sam says, and she grins a little, "tell me what I'm like where you're from."

"You're…uh…a guy," Dean says, shrugging. "I got a picture," he adds as an afterthought, and digs in the pocket of his jeans for his wallet. "I always keep one in case we get separated." Sam laughs.

"I do that too," she admits. "Here. Swap." She yanks out her own wallet, pulls out a photo, and shoves it at him just as he hands her the photo of guy-Sam.

Dean peers at the photo of his female counterpart.

He is pleased to note that hell yeah, girl or guy, he is smokin'.

Well. Kind of.

The girl in the photo is half-smiling at the camera, she has his green eyes and freckles, but her hair is blonder (bleached, he suspects), and she looks way skinner than he's ever been. It's still him though, weird as it is.

Creepy.

"How tall am I?" Sam demands skeptically, eyeing her photo. "I look kind of…gangly."

"You're like 6'5, dude," Dean snorts. "And you're way taller than me."

"Hah!" She looks pleased. "I'm taller than Dee here, too."

"I'll just bet," Dean mutters. He hands her back her photo, and then adds, "Okay, so let's talk about breaking the curse."

"Are you sure you want to?"

"What? Of course I am."

"You're not curious?" Sam takes another sip of her orange juice, looking thoughtful. "I mean, you already saw one really great alternative to what our lives could have been like."

"And this is another alternative," Dean snaps. "It's exactly the same."

"Not the same," Sam corrects, looking mildly annoyed. "We're girls over here."

"So, what's the big difference? You do the same shit us guys do."

"Yeah, but I don't think you get it. We're not, like, exactly the same. I mean, I can tell you right now Dee may act a lot like you, but she's got a woman's take on everything. She's…less intense, you know?" Dean winces.

"I'll pretend like that doesn't embarrass me."

"Yeah, well." Sam shrugs. "Besides, we haven't done a wishing well gig, so maybe we don't do the same things." Dean's head snaps up.

"Hey, I hadn't thought of that. What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Tuesday," Dean repeats, eyes wide. "Dude. Okay, so this is the day we found the gig—dammit, I knew this place looked familiar!"

"What?"

"Talk about déjà vu—we ate breakfast at this McDonald's, you and me! Only…we didn't have this conversation, obviously. You had a newspaper and were reading the national news section…"

"Do you mean," Sam asks, grinning, "this newspaper?" She whips it out of her bag, and Dean nods his affirmation.

"Yup. The article should be somewhere in the middle."

She flips through, scans a couple headlines, and grins triumphantly.

"Bingo," she announces. "Okay, so we know Dee and I would have been on the same track as you and your Sam. So, now what?"

"I…" Dean pauses. "…have no idea. Why don't we just go to the library and look stuff up about curses? That's what I bet Sam is doing back where I'm from."

"Good idea," Sam laughs, and then stands. "C'mon. Let's see what we can figure out."

--

Four hours of research yields absolutely nothing, and eventually, even Dean is ready to call it quits.

"Okay," he manages with a sigh, throwing down the last, heaviest book, "so maybe I really do need to wait it out."

"It's not that bad," Sam says helpfully. "I mean, it's not like she's killing you."

"Well, not literally. Tell you what, you make a wish at the wishing well when you and Dee take this gig, and then we'll talk."

"Who says we're doing this stupid gig?"

"Because something tells me you won't remember this tomorrow. Just a hunch."

"What, I won't remember my older sister being body snatched?" Sam snorts.

"Hate to break it to you, princess, but this is a curse. Sometimes curses work like that," Dean says. "I don't actually know for sure what happens to you tomorrow." He pauses. "Hey…Sammy, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Is Delia happy?"

"Happy." Sam studies Dean carefully, her eyes sad. "No," she says after a moment. "She's really not."

"Why not?"

"What do you think? You're not happy, are you?" She sighs. "Dee is just—she's pretty complicated."

"Yeah," Dean says softly. "I know how that goes."

There is a moment of comfortable silence where they stare at each other from across the table, Sammy smiling lopsidedly. Then, all at once, her brows furrow, eyebrows drawing together, and she brings a pale hand up to her head.

"Sam?" Dean asks worriedly. "You okay?"

"Vision," she manages, gasping in pain. "I—Dee—" Sam slumps onto the table, and Dean hurries to her side to watch helplessly as the familiar onset of a vision overtakes his sister.

"Hey, Sammy, it's gonna be okay," Dean attempts to soothe, just like always. Sam begins to slide off the chair, writhing in pain, and Dean hurries to catch her before she hits the ground.

"Hey, man." A young librarian, apparently alerted by Sam's cries of pain, is now standing beside Dean, looking concerned. "Do I need to call 911? Your girlfriend looks like she's in rough shape."

"She's my sister," Dean snaps, before it occurs to him that some stranger mistaking Sam for his girlfriend is not really the biggest issue right now. "Uh, thanks and everything, but it's okay, I can handle it. She's—um—epileptic. I'll just get her out of here and give her the meds." Dean lifts Sam easily, a feat he never could have accomplished were he back in his world, and the librarian helpfully grabs Sam's bag.

"There's a backroom you can use if you want," he says. "We just use it for storage and stuff. You're welcome to stay back there with her until she's…uh, better and stuff."

"Thanks," Dean says gratefully, glad he doesn't have to take Sam outside. "That'll be great."

The librarian has just ushered them into the room and left when the vision seems to break and Sam sits up, forehead sticky with sweat and eyes wild.

"Dee!" she hollers, looking close to tears.

"Hey, Sammy, I'm here." Dean pats her shoulder. "You're safe, all right? We're just in the backroom of the library, we can stay as long as you need to."

"What—I—" Sam pauses to draw a great, rattling breath. "I'm in danger," she says finally, her voice very low and scared.

"What?" Dean frowns, worried. "Is it the Demon, Sammy?" Sam inhales sharply.

"Look, Dean," she says in a low, worried voice, "I can't tell you what I saw."

"What?"

"I can't," she repeats. "But listen, I think I can get away with telling you this much: it's your Sam who's in danger. You have to protect him, Dean."

"I always—"

"No, I mean, when you go back to where you're from. This curse is more dangerous than we thought."

"Sam, come on, you have to give me more to go on than that." Dean looks at her desperately, nearly bursting with frustration. "That stupid witch has already kept me in the dark enough—!"

"You have to break the curse, Dean," Sam begs. "When you get back. You have to break it fast, and then you have to burn the wishing well."

"You can't fucking burn a well, Samantha!" Dean roars. "It's impossible!"

"Well, find a way," Sam hisses, eyes blazing. "And break the curse."

"How?!"

"I can't tell you," Sam says miserably. "She—she's sealed it."

"Selena?" Dean barks. Sam doesn't respond, merely stares down at her feet. "Sam, what happens if I don't figure out a way to break the curse? Do I die or something?"

"No," Sam whispers, her eyes meeting Dean's meaningfully. "You don't."

That answer would be reassuring in any other context, but the ominous weight of Sam's words make goose bumps crawl along Dean's skin.

--

The rest of the day goes by in a flash, and Sam will barely look at him.

"I hope you're right," she says before they go to bed. "I hope I forget."

"Tell me," Dean demands for the millionth time.

Sam doesn't bother to answer him any more.

They lie in their beds, but neither sleep—it's only eight o'clock, and neither are used to early bedtimes.

"So what was your Dad like?" Sam finally whispers through the darkness.

"Stubborn," Dean sighs after a moment. "A stubborn, relentless, bitter old bastard who worked himself to death."

"Did he make you go to church, too?"

"What?" Dean props himself up on his elbow, genuinely surprised. "No, of course not. That was Mom's thing." Sam shoots him a funny look.

"Dad was the weirdest hunter in the frigging world," she says after a time. "He was religious, never drank, he was gentle…I mean, hell, he'd never even held a gun before Mom's death. And even then, he hated what we did. If he didn't want revenge so bad, didn't want to make sure Delia and I were safe, he probably never would have trained us. He actually sent me to college, said that's what Mom would have liked…"

Dean stares at Sam blankly.

"Dad?" he says, confused. Everything else in this world has been the same except genders; he doesn't get why Dad would have been so incredibly different. "Our dad? John Winchester?"

"John?" Now Sam sounds even more puzzled. "His name was Michael."

"Michael?" Dean is now incredulous. "No it wasn't, it was—" He breaks off, slowly putting two and two together. "Wait a minute…what was Mom's name?"

"Jane," Sam says, sounding puzzled.

"Fuck." Dean has to laugh, because seriously, this is just getting a little too messed up. "You do realize that my Mom was your Dad and your Dad was my Mom?"

"What?"

"It doesn't get any weirder than this, Samantha," he sighs. "It can't."

There is a pause.

"Hey, you know, it was good to see another side of Delia," Sam says at last, now sounding a little sleepy. "Just—just remember what I said. Watch out for me—for…for him, okay, Dean?"

Dean sighs, rolls over so he's on his side.

"I always do, Sammy," he murmurs into his pillow as the first wave of drowsiness descends on him. "Always."

ooo

Author's Note Again:

On a totally random side note, I picture Girl!Sam like a taller, slightly younger of Evangeline Lilly from Lost and I once heard Girl!Dean described to look like Maggie Grace (also from Lost) and I haven't been able to think of "her" any other way since reading that particular description. Oh, and on another totally random side note, Grace looks a lot like Hayden Panettiere from Heroes in my mind. Heh heh, I always have to have visuals when I'm writing weird stuff like this.