A/N: Hey again, you guys! It's been a little while since I uploaded last, I found it a little difficult to get the ol' writing juices flowing for this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it, though, and, as always, thanks for reading!

Chapter 4: Feathers and Sparks

Sam finished his salad and stepped outside the grungy hotel room to get better reception on his cell phone for his call to Bobby. Dean, not yet finished with his cheeseburger, suspiciously eyed his brother's back as he went. He was a little apprehensive about what was taking Bobby so long to give them a hand, and immediately felt like an ungrateful douche. Bobby's always been there for us before, he thought, chewing contemplatively. This time shouldn't be any different.

Finished with his dinner, he cleared off the table and then sat on the small loveseat in front of the TV, lacking anything better to do. Grabbing the remote and plopping his (tiny) sneakered feet up on the coffee table, he halfheartedly began flipping channels for something to watch.

What if I'm stuck like this forever... Dean thought, a frown pulling his eyebrows together. I don't know the first thing about being a chick.

Dean sat in front of the flickering television, unseeing, as scene after worsening scene flashed in his mind.

"Deanna" and Sam sitting together in a diner, ordering dinner.

"Deanna" and Sam doing recon at a bar.

"Deanna" and Sam, fighting side by side, Sam having to compensate for Dean's new lack of muscle mass and weight.

"Deanna", Sam, and Cas tracking down demons….

"Oh shit…." Dean said aloud.

Cas…. Dean thought. What the hell is Cas going to think when he sees me like this? God, that's so embarrassing…..

Dean lowered his head in his hands, trying to come up with a surefire way to make sure that Cas (or anybody else for that matter) absolutely DOES NOT have to come down here and see him in his "new" body.

Sam, Bobby, and that goddamn witch already know about this most recent fuck-up of mine, and that's sure as hell enough.

Dean heard the door to the motel open up behind him, signaling Sam's return.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, his voice oddly high pitched, "Are you crying?"

"No, dumbass, I was ju-"

"And are you watCHING THE NOTEBOOK?" Sam interrupted, his expression of horror giving way to one of thinly concealed amusement.

Dean looked up at the gently flickering television set and sure enough, there was what looked suspiciously like a chick flick on at half-volume.

"NO! God, no, I was just thinking….. I thought this was the history channel… How the fuck do YOU know what The Notebook looks like, anyway? Huh, Samantha?" Dean retorted, throwing a self-satisfied smirk of his own in his brother's direction.

"Not all of us are the stereotypical epitome of hyper-masculine, Dean." Sam said, shoving Dean's shopping bags off his bed and onto the floor so he could lie down.

"What the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?" Dean said, sitting up straight on the couch and turning his furious gaze towards his brother, blonde hair whipping around his pale face.

"I just think it's ironic, that's all. That it's YOU of all people to get gender-swapped or whatever. It's kinda hilarious. Bobby agrees with me." Sam said, calmly, all the better to infuriate Dean.

"Uggggghhshhhhhajfgjakfjgka….." Dean said, smothering his face into the cushion on the sofa to lessen the need to go over and kick the shit out of his irritating little brother, because he was pretty sure Sam's "No Hitting Un-Possessed-Completely-Normal-Human Girls" rule didn't apply to him at the moment. "Whatever, Sammy. Is Bobbly at least on his freaking way down here?"

"Well….. actually," Sam started, sitting up to look at Dean, "Bobby said that he's still working on that haunting, cause the remains were cremated, and it might take him a while longer than he originally thought."

Dean sat up on the couch, and turned a remarkably level gaze on his brother, expressive green eyes belying the anger that was just under the surface.

"So what you're telling me here…" Dean paused and inhaled, feeling as if he were losing control of his emotions, "is that Bobby is off on some goddamn scavenger hunt and he's not even going to tRY AND HELP ME? I'M LITERALLY A FUCKING DAMSEL IN DISTRESS OVER HERE."

Dean stopped and, hunching over, put his head back in his hands. Long blonde waves of hair made a curtain around his face, effectively shielding it from the rest of the world. Which didn't matter, because Dean was definitely NOT wiping tears of frustration out of his eyes, no way in hell.

Dean felt rather than saw Sam come over and perch on the arm of the couch.

"Dean, try not to freak out, okay?" Sam said, trying to be helpful. "We can figure this out."

"We've been working on this case for forever already, and now our friend the Guidance Counselor from Hell has skipped town. We haven't even got any more leads. Not like I could fucking follow them up, anyway, I definitely don't have any IDs for a tiny fucking blonde chick." Dean said, flopping himself back on the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes melodramatically.

"Look, man, just because Bobby can't help doesn't mean it's hopeless. Hell, we could even call Cas. I'm sure he could at least get a reading on that witch's mojo and tell us where she is." Sam suggested, studying his brother.

"Ugh, Jesus….." Dean sighed, mentally weighing the pros and cons of Cas coming to help. On the one hand, Cas could potentially speed things up a bit and get him back to his old self again. On the other hand, though….. Cas would see him… like this. All girly-fied with the hair and the hips and the boobs… Fuck.

"Cas… I- uh, I hope you got your angel ears on, cause…. Well, I need your help. I'm in a bit of a… witchy situation. So if you could get your feathery ass down he-"

Dean's "prayer" was interrupted by the muffled sound of feathers fluttering somewhere behind him.

"Hello… Dean?"

Dean jumped, startled by the angel's blatant disregard of personal space. Again.