Chapter Six

"Well, at least they fit," muttered Sam, peering down at the pair of sneakers that he hadn't worn for more than twenty years, "There might be some stuff here that'll fit you a bit better…" He looked up; Dean was still in the bathroom. "Dean?"

There was a muffled 'Ow!' from behind the door.

"Dean?" he said again, "What the hell are you doing in there?" He stood, and pushed open the door. "Look, I know that women are supposed to take longer in here, but…"

He stopped, and gawped.

Dean was peering at his chin in the mirror, and… "Ow! Fuck, she did this on purpose."

"What the… Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

Dean turned around, and gave his brother a bitchy look. "What does it look like I'm doin', Sam? I'm gettin' rid of my chin hairs!"

"What?" Sam peered at his brother's (or should he say sister's? It was seriously weird, and seriously confusing) face in the mirror. "What chin hairs?"

"These chin hairs!" Dean thrust a pair of tweezers under Sam's nose, and he went cross-eyed trying to focus on the tips, where a small short hair protruded. "That old bitch gave me chin hairs!"

"Well, I can't see any," Sam said, peering at Dean's face again.

"Oh, believe me, they're there," Dean said glumly, "I can feel 'em, I know they're there."

"Well, it's perfectly normal for a woman your age to have a bit of, you know," Sam waved a hand vaguely. "Facial hair."

"Whaddya mean, a woman of my age?" demanded Dean.

"Exactly that," Sam stated, "As a woman in your forties, it's normal that your oestrogen levels will start to decline, and relatively speaking, your androgens are comparatively higher than they were when you were, say, in your twenties. It's normal, bro. Should I be calling you bro? Or should I get into the habit of calling you sis? Crap, this is weird…"

"Well, normal aint good enough," humphed Dean, turning back to the mirror. "Shit, I should do something with my eyebrows while I'm here…"

"Dean, nobody can see 'em," humphed Sam, "And your eyebrows are fine!"

"Hmmmmm," Dean peered critically at himself again. "I guess I can leave 'um until after I get my legs sorted out."

"Your legs?" Sam blinked. "What's wrong with your legs?"

"This!" Dean reached down, grabbed for the bottom of his rolled-up sweats, then thrust a toned and shapely lower leg out at Sam for examination.

Sam dutifully examined the proffered extremity. "Er, it's a very nice leg," he offered eventually, "You have nice legs, Dean, oh, God, I don't believe I just said that…"

"Of course I do!" Dean snapped, "You just can't see 'em for the hair!"

"Huh?"

"I told you, Yiayia Tootsie did it on purpose!" Dean gazed forlornly at his shin. "It's payback for the Gimli crack." He turned back to the mirror, tilting his head up. "Oh, God, look, you can see my moustache, and I can tell you that it don't have titties…"

"Titi!" yelled RJ happily from his place on the floor, where he was occupying himself attempting to get Stanley the knit toy honey badger to perform an act that, were it done by a human in public, would result in a charge of public indecency. "Titi! Titi! Tiiiiiiiitiiiiiii!"

"Oh, no, don't set him off – look, Dean, you do know that body hair is normal on everybody, right?"

"Body hair, maybe," Dean sniffed, "But not this! Not these, these, mohair stockings!"

Sam let out a groan of disbelief. "Look, Dean, we're only going to be female for a week or so, there's really no need for you to spend time worrying about a bit of upper lip fluff, or shaving your damned legs!"

Dean hummed thoughtfully. "You're right," he agreed. "It'll take up time I probably won't have once we're on the job."

"Well, good," Sam nodded. "Great."

"It'd make more sense to go and get waxed before we leave," Dean decided. "I'll do that while we're out lookin' for clothes and stuff." He grinned up at Sam. "Good plan, Gigantor."

"What? It's not a plan!" yelped Sam, "I didn't mean… oh, fuck, yeah, right, whatever, bro."

"Sis," Dean corrected him cheerfully, "We aint brothers, we're best friends, Dee and Samantha, on a girls-only road trip." He paused. "If anybody asks, we're Deangirls."

"What?" Sam whatted again, "Why?"

"Well, because he's so hot, duh," 'Dee' rolled her eyes. "He is the Living Sex God, after all. Hey, you don't have to be Samantha, you can be Frances if you'd prefer." He peered critically at the mirror once more. "I'll be out in a minute, I just wanna get this bastard under my jaw here, it feels like I got a hawser hangin' out of my face…"

With a small bewildered noise, Sam shut the bathroom door, leaving 'her' 'bestie' to get on with the ritual of beautification.

"You know, I've always thought your father was kind of nuts," Sam confided to RJ, "But right now, I think his hormones might be affecting him."

"I heard that!" came the snippy comment from the bathroom.

"Meh," said RJ, proffering Stanley by way of consolation.

"I guess it's just what he might've been like, if he'd been born female," Sam sighed, sitting down with his (her? It really was going to do his/her head in). "I mean, there's always been an element of vanity there; Dean's known since he was a kid that he looks good. But seriously, chin hairs? Eyebrows? Leg waxing? And, and, and…"

"Titi?" suggested RJ helpfully.

"Yeah, there's that," Sam grinned, "He's not gonna be able to throw off the patriarchal shackles of corsetry this time. Otherwise, if he has to run somewhere, he'll give himself a black eye."

...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...

When Dean deemed that he had made his female body presentable enough to go out in public, he made his way down the stairs, carrying RJ.

"OW! Seriously, little dude, you try that once too often, you'll get your face slapped. Trust me on that one, learn from your old man's mistakes."

"Well, you can't blame him for bein' fascinated," Bobby opined, "He don't usually have a female parental chest to grab." He paused. "And let's face it, that's kind of a, uh, grabbable chest you got there."

"Don't objectify me," Dean sniffed disdainfully, handing RJ over as the boy made one final grab at Dean's rack. "So, we gotta haul ass and tool up with female stuff. First item on the agenda," he glared down critically at himself, "Some armour. At the very least, something that'll thwart any guy who tries to get fresh. Yeah," he exchanged a look with his son, "I'm lookin' at you."

RJ blew and extravagant raspberry, but then started to bounce up and down in Bobby's arms when he heard the rattle of the car keys.

"Crap, you're worse than the dogs," Dean muttered, looking around, "You can distract each other while we're gone. Where are they?" he opened the door, and looked around the yard. "Lemmy! Lars! If those two asshats have found a dead skunk to roll in again…"

"Ah, yeah, your dogs," began Bobby in a neutral tone, "I need to have a word with you about your dogs…"

"Don't worry, we'll take 'em with us, as usual," Dean said dismissively, "Lem! Lem! What's that little smartass of yours dragged my dog into now, Sam?"

"Uh, it's not about takin' 'em with us," Sam told him, "It's about the job, and preparations for it…"

"Lem! LEM!" Dean swore under his breath. "Damn, I bet they've headed for the swimming hole, I'm not headin' out until they're washed and dried, I will not have my Baby stink of wet dog…"

There was a sudden burst of high-pitched barking, and a couple of copper-coloured streaks shot across the yard towards the house. Dean watched bemused as they made for the porch, headed up the stairs, then sat, tongues lolling and eyes dancing, gazing up at him adoringly.

"Er, Bobby," he began, "You, uh, you got a couple of stray… what the fuck are they?"

Sam sighed deeply. "They're Spoodles, Dean."

"Spoodles?" Dean considered that. "Sounds like a breakfast cereal you dish up to overweight kids who won't eat anythin' that don't have at least a cup of sugar and flavours and colours per bowl." He cocked his head, and considered the two small fleecy faces watching him lovingly. "And they look like somethin' I could use to buff the wax off my Baby."

"A Spoodle is a cross between a Cocker Spaniel, and a Poodle," explained Bobby.

"Yeah?" Dean looked down at the two dogs. "Well, they aint the usual sort o' dog you keep, Bobby, are you babysittin' for somebody? Because…"

As a Hunter, Dean's brain was wired to look for small details, small tells that could provide vital intel about a situation, a place, or a person. Or even a dog. And as he looked, he noticed that one was bigger than the other. The bigger one had large, floppy ears, and wore an expression of good-natured adoration. The smaller wore a doggy smile that had a distinct undertone of calculation to it.

Pattern recognition was a talent Dean possessed in spades, and as the pieces fell into place, his jaw fell open.

"Wha…" he turned made an incredulous noise, "Wha… Lem?"

The larger dog let out a happy whuff, and spun around on the spot in excitement.

"We were gonna tell you, Dean," Sam began tentatively, "We were gonna tell you, but you were so busy with your personal grooming this morning…"

"You two assholes turned the boys into these… dishmops?" Dean stared at them. "You did this? On purpose? You took our two awesome boys, and turned 'em into dusters?"

"Er, not exactly," said Sam sheepishly.

Lemmy turned another circle, then flopped down and began to wash himself in the unconcerned and exhibitionist fashion of dogs, slouched on his haunches, one hind leg extended, and licking contentedly at his…"

Dean let out a little shriek. "You turned our boys into girls?" he squeaked.

"We had to!" Sam replied in a placatory tone, "It's like we discussed, we have to make ourselves as unlike us as possible! Turning up with two male Rottweiler-shaped Hellhounds would've been inviting unwanted attention!"

"Oh my God, what have they done to you, Lem?" Dean moaned, hunkering down to pet the dog's head. Lemmy rolled over, large soulful eyes soliciting belly rubs. "They've disfigured you, they've mutilated you."

"It's only temporary, idjit," Bobby humphed with a roll of his eyes. "Just like for you and your brother. They spend a short time undercover, as Lennie and Lara, then they'll be back to their old selves before you can say 'Some Like It Hot'."

"The key word here is temporary," Sam said firmly, "Temporary, and totally reversible. Completely non-permanent, and absolutely reversible. Just a temporary disguise, for a short time, then back to normal. Keep that in mind, Dean. Temporary. It's temporary. All the camouflage we're doing for this job, it's all just temporary."

"Great," humphed Dean, scratching 'Lennie' on the curly-haired little belly, "Just great. You're a great big girl, and I'm a great big girl, and now my dog's a little tiny girl, and your dog is an even tinier little girl. What the fuck are they supposed to do if we run up against something nasty?"

"They're still themselves inside, idjit," Bobby grinned, "Usually they get around disguised as Rotties, but for a little while, they're gonna be Spoodles. Whatever they look like, they are three-quarters Hellhound, and the window dressin' don't affect that."

"Like you," Sam suggested encouragingly, "You might be, uh, Dee-shaped on the outside, but on the inside, you're still you, right?" He paused. "Slightly more hormonal and vain than usual, but still you," he added under his breath.

"Well I've had about all the 'window dressing' I can handle in one hit," Dean muttered, standing up. "The window dressing for this job has now officially ended. You will not cast any more spells, glamours, charms or workings for this job without discussing it with me, and getting my agreement, okay?"

"Absolutely," Bobby declared, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I promise, I will not do any more workings from now on, not without comin' to you first with the details before proceedin'."

"Well, okay," Dean sounded partly mollified. He jingled his car keys. "Come on, Sammy, daylight's burnin', and somewhere out there is a foundation garment with my name on it, damn it."

Sam shot Bobby one anguished glance, but the old man just cocked an eloquent eyebrow at him. You're on your own.

As they rounded the house, there was a pause.

Then came the screaming.

Then came the threats of horrible death, as Sam's pleas for understanding fell on deaf ears.

Dean was still screaming five minutes later as they left for Sioux Falls.

"Your Daddy is a complete idjit, you know that?" said Bobby to the boy in his arms.

"Ijit!" agreed RJ, waving goodbye as the familiar rumble of the engine died away.

They stayed there, RJ waving goodbye and sucking on Stanley, until the powder blue Volvo was gone from sight.

Oh dear, looks like Alfie-Con has well and truly discovered the fun of pushing Dean's buttons.

For the young leddies amongst The Denizens, I'm afraid it's true: as you get older, you get the chin hairs. And they're not just hairs, they become BRISTLES. And you KNOW THEY'RE THERE. Even when they turn grey, and nobody can really see them unless they are less than six inches away from you, YOU WILL KNOW THEY ARE THERE. And you will not be able to rest until they are PULLED OUT AND GONE. Nobody ever tells young women this, perhaps out of a desire to protect them from the hideous truth, but knowledge is power, and if you have knowledge, you will have power, or at least prior warning to go and buy yourself a magnifying mirror and a really good quality pair of tweezers.

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