kellifer | "and all things nice"

Writing exercise, cliche!fic I haven't written before.

Title: and all things nice
Rating: Adult (for themes and language)
Fandom: SPN
Category: Gen, Preseries.
Wordcount: 2,959
Summary: It's that old genderswap curse... or it isn't.

Dean didn't think he would ever have been in a position where Sam having boobs wasn't the worst thing about a curse. The fact that Sam seems oblivious that boobs are not status quo is probably the most worrisome part. Basically, Dean clues into the fact that Sam has no idea about the boobs when Sam comes stalking out of the field behind their motel without a stitch of clothing on and one very important appendage missing and the sum total he can say about it is, "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Dean demands, gesticulating wildly in Sam's general direction, mortified when his hands point first to boobs, then no dick, then back again before finally flicking away to the parking lot.

Basically, he doesn't want to be alone in his mortification.

"God Dean, you've seen it all before. Get a grip," Sam gripes. "I told you the spell wouldn't work with artificial fibres present."

"Like Terminator time travel, yeah I know," Dean says.

Sam crosses arms over his chest which, thankfully hide at least half of Dean's problem but there's still the south. "It's your fault I have a wardrobe entirely made up of polyester."

Dean is trying to find a safe place on Sam for his eyes to land. He ends up staring at Sam's feet, which while still kind of on the large side, have a delicacy about them now and so Dean decides to look at his own boots instead. "Didja maybe get something wrong?"

Sam's face pulls down into confusion which Dean catches only because he looked up to a worrying silence. His hair's still pretty much the same so there's that at least. "No, I don't think so," Sam says slowly and he starts chewing on the left side of his bottom lip which Dean recognises as his mental-revision expression.

It's disconcerting as hell on Sam's current face.

"You don't... feel any different?" Dean prods.

"What? Oh Christ, what?" Sam almost-shrieks and starts patting himself down, turning around like a dog chasing it's own butt. He looks up after a minute of almost-panic and his eyes narrow. "Oh, har har. You're such a jerk," Sam snaps, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead. He leaves a smudge of dirt behind. "I thought I was going to have a tail or something."

"Sam... you're a chick," Dean states, knowing that skirting the issue, Christ, isn't going to get the job done.

"So?"

Dean stares, because it's at this point that he realises that the universe has really screwed them over. Sam is not only no longer a dude but...

He doesn't know he was one in the first place.

o0o

They sit in the diner attached to their motel and glare at each other.

At least, Sam is glaring. Dean is just kind of looking in Sam's general direction with his mouth open. When they got back to their room, Sam immediately went for his duffle and Dean waited for the moment where he would pull out the boy clothes and have a full-on meltdown.

When Sam snagged a pair of jeans and wiggled into them, having to do a weird hop to make them snug over his hips because they were that tight, Dean felt like the one on the verge of the meltdown.

Dean's concentration is only broken by snickering that is coming from the counter. He looks up and around and sees a gaggle of young guys all staring in their direction, more pointedly at Sam. His brother is oblivious, having given up on the glaring and instead sucking contemplatively on his coffee spoon.

Sam has no idea what he's doing but Dean does, after glancing back at the group who all looked much too interested in Sam's oral fixation.

"You mind not checking out my brother?" Dean snaps over his shoulder and the coffee spoon thwacks him in the back of the head. "Ow, what the hell?" he grunts, turning his attention back to Sam.

"I'm pretty fuckin' sick of the tomboy jokes," Sam says and Dean has to actually put a hand up to his mouth to hold in the hysterical giggles. For once he isn't calling Sam a girl and Sam is pissed at him about it.

All the rotten luck.

"I tried Bobby a bunch of times but he wasn't answering. If we really book it we can make it back to his in a day," Dean says.

"Why are we going to Bobby's?"

"Because..." Dean flails his hands over the table for a moment helplessly.

"Sometimes I really worry about you," Sam says levelly, returning to his deep contemplation of his coffee.

o0o

Sam unearths shorts from god knows where and sits in the passenger seat with his bare legs kicked up, feet on the dash. He's kind of got a Linda Hamilton Terminator Two era thing going on with his body but less scary, although it seems to be getting increasingly disturbing how often Dean can relate things in his life to the Terminator movies.

Dean keeps sneaking glances sideways but all Sam is doing is plaiting the wispy bits of hair framing his face, looking out the window with his gaze unfocused. The male version of Sam could've been doing the exact same thing, the giant girl, and Dean has to pull over fast and lurch out of the car, breathing hard to stop the nausea.

For a second it felt almost weirdly normal.

"Christ, you okay?" Sam's asking and his smaller hands land on Dean's back and then flutter away like nervous birds. Dean has his fists on his knees and a stitch in his side and he doesn't want to turn his face and see a sister for chrissakes.

If wishes were horses and all that crap.

"Bad burger?" Sam presses and he's kind of dancing from foot to foot, hands caught up under his armpits. He's wearing the stupid shorts and even though Dean could've sworn he was in an overlarge sweater in the car, he's now just wearing a black undershirt that's grey around the neck and armholes.

He looks tiny and worse still fragile and if Dean really has fallen through into bizarro land where there is a Sam who's a girl then he doesn't know what possessed either him or his dad to ever let Sam anywhere near a hunt.

Dean can see a thick scar running the length of the underside of Sam's arm that's still fairly pink and new so apparently, they did.

"M'okay, just dizzy for a sec," Dean says. "You want me to barf of my shoes you just keep on jigging around like that."

Sam stills immediately and leans down so his face is close to Dean's. He still smells the same when Dean takes a large lungful to try and clear the queasiness and Dean's stomach clamps at that.

"Go back to the car, I'm alright!" Dean barks and for once in his life Sam does what he's told, darting away. A moment later the passenger door squeaks closed and there's silence.

Dean unkinks after a few minutes more and presses knuckles into his lower back, eyes on the sky. "This isn't happening," he says to no one in particular.

Mostly because there's never been anyone there to listen to him.

o0o

Bobby's phone continues to ring out. Dean only resists devolving into black panic thinking he really is in some alternate universe where Sam is a chick and Bobby's not around because Sam didn't look surprised when he'd mentioned Bobby.

They have to pull over when they're about four hours out from Bobby's place because Dean nearly runs them off the road twice and he's refusing to let Sam drive. Sam's shorter than him for the first time in two years and he'd have to adjust the seat to reach the peddles and that...?

Might make Dean lose it completely.

Dean chooses their motel based on proximity and lets Sam check them in. He pulls their bags out of the trunk and Sam rolls his eyes when Dean tries to carry them all, wrestling Dean for the smaller weapons bag and his own duffel. They end up dropping everything on the ground as a result.

"Why are you being so weird?" Sam asks archly, crouching down to shove a couple of pairs of shoes that had escaped one of the bags. There's some strappy black heels in amongst the mess and Dean really wants to jump up and down on them until they're flat and useless.

"Did I ever need an excuse?" Dean rejoinders and earns another monumental eye roll for his trouble. He kind of hesitates when he realises that they're in the same room but thankfully Sam disappears into the bathroom to change. His brother was pretty uninhibited when it came to changing, dropping trough as soon as he was through the door without a care that Dean might not like to end his day with visions of bare Sammy ass crack but the girl version is at least more prim about it, or at least is when they haven't just finished a spell that has required nudity.

Dean speeds through a change from jeans to sweats and then flops face first on the bed closest to the door, wanting to wake up when everything is back to normal.

o0o

Dean cracks open his eyes to a Styrofoam cup hovering in his face.

"Did you sleep all the crazy out of your system?" Sam asks warily as the cup does a slow rock from side to side, waiting for Dean to unearth an arm and retrieve it. Dean pulls himself upright with a groan and curls the cup into himself, taking a moment to smell the coffee before he risks taking a sip.

Sam plops down on the bed opposite and draws his legs up, resting his chin on one of his knees.

"Stop staring at my bedhead," Dean grouches half-heartedly, although he knows that's not what Sam's calculating look is all about. Sam's face is thinner, the cheekbones higher and more prominent, but the expressions have mostly remained the same which in the strangest way is a comfort.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothin'" Dean hedges, lips wrapped around the rim of his cup. Sam's eyes narrow and track Dean as he lays back, propping his cup carefully on his chest.

"You've been acting like a freak ever since I did that ritual. There's something you're not telling me."

"We just need to get to Bobby's, okay?" Dean says, one arm flung over his eyes.

There's the soft noise of Sam getting up and then a tock. Dean jerks when coffee spreads all over his chest.

It's lukewarm but that's not the point.

o0o

Bobby looks from Dean, back to Sam and then to Dean again and raises his eyebrows. "And what am I supposed to be seeing?"

Dean groans and rubs a hand down his face. Bobby hadn't looked at all surprised to see a leggy, decidedly female Sam and had actually laughed and hoisted him aloft when he'd bounded over to him like an excited puppy.

"He's... she's... there's a curse, okay?"

Now both Bobby and Sam are staring at Dean with identical perplexed expressions and Dean wants to scream. "Isn't there some way you can check, if there's a curse I mean?" Dean tries, knowing he's grasping at straws but extremely relieved when Bobby nods and leads them into the house.

He sits them down in his living room, smacking Dean over the back of the head when he goes to just shove the piles of books teetering on the couch off onto the floor. Dean changes tack and scoops them up carefully, placing them on the rug in exactly the same seemingly haphazard piles. "I got a system," Bobby grumbles as he disappears upstairs when Dean gives him a look of exasperation.

Dean and Sam sit together in the middle of the sagging couch, Sam digging the bony point of his knee into Dean's thigh every now and again, casting him sidelong disgruntled glances. Dean stolidly refuses to elaborate because he's starting to get the feeling that maybe there's nothing wrong with Sam.

He's still thinking the same thing when Bobby lights a Mitsu root and he watches with little surprise as the smoke curls up towards the ceiling, hovers for a few seconds and then swirls down, circling Dean's body like the rings of Saturn.

Bobby and Sam stare at Dean with wide eyes as he sighs and shrugs, waving the smoke away from himself with quick, jerky movements. "It's me, right?" Dean doesn't really ask.

"Transformation curse by the look of that smoke," Bobby agrees, looking a little green.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean groans.

o0o

Most people keep odds and ends, bits of papers and old photographs in old shoeboxes.

"I ain't most people," Bobby gruffs as he hands over the curse box that was the final resting place of a bunch of water and electric bills and more importantly, some photos John had left behind of Sam and Dean when they were kids.

Dean grips the box in both hands, baring down so hard his knuckles turn white as Sam hovers in the doorway, looking tense. Bobby leans forward and taps the box with a finger. "Just pull 'em out quick. If this is a reality fold then they'll be affected in a few seconds. What you see when you first yank 'em should be the real deal."

Dean nods, a quick up-down that feels wooden even to himself. He takes a deep breath and flicks the catch on the curse box, wedging his hand inside and grabbing a fistful of papers out in one movement. He flicks the papers on the table and a couple of photos land right side up. One of the them is two skinny girls with thin arms hooked around each other's necks. They're both in the flat kind of bikini tops little girls wear when they don't have anything to put in them and denim shorts. As Dean stares at the photo it kind of blurs and he has to blink water out of his eyes.

When he looks back at it, it's a boy and a girl, both grinning at the camera.

"Huh," Dean says because he can't really think of anything else.

o0o

"It's just... weird, right?" Sam says, coming to sit on the porch step next to Dean. "I remember you being my pain-in-the-ass big brother."

"Yeah, well, apparently I'm your pain-in-the-ass big sister," Dean grumbles, rubbing a hand over the short scrub of his hair. He runs fingers over the back of his skull and then forward until they rasp on three-day stubble and sighs. "I'm probably a pretty smokin' chick."

"I'm sure you are," Sam says charitably. "It's funny, now that I know I can almost remember it, like a name on the tip of your tongue."

Dean wishes he could tell Sam that he knew what he... she meant but he can't. He's a guy, through and through from his ragged cuticles to his buzz-cut hair. He has a dick and very vivid memories of using it.

"So, what was I like as a guy, to you?" Sam asks, breaking through Dean's morose, circular train of thought.

"Sixteen and you shot up, all legs and arms. You were taller than me and you hadn't even finished growing." Dean cuts a glance at Sam and sees that he's... she's goddamit, got eyebrows raised.

"I would have thought your ego wouldn't have let even a curse make me taller than you," Sam says, tapping fingers on her chin and Dean smacks a flat palm to her forehead, almost sending her off the step. He reaches out and snags her automatically and Sam is laughing as he sets her upright. "Hey, watch it. You're supposed to be gentle with girls."

"I don't think we've been very gentle with you," Dean says, tapping fingers to Sam's rather impressive scar and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not sure you'll survive the next two days being a guy if you're going to be that guy," Sam warns.

Bobby had explained that most curses righted themselves, unless they were the kind that killed you. It took a lot of unholy mojo to warp reality out of true and the natural order fought against it, trying to snap everything back to rights again. "Two days, maybe three tops," Bobby had said with a dismissive wave of the hand and Dean decided then and there to be drunk off his ass at the forty-eight hour mark just in case.

He didn't want to remember the whole dick dropping off, boobs growing back festivities because that couldn't be pleasant.

"Do you remember anything?" Dean asks.

"It's fuzzy and kind of mixed up but yeah," Sam says, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "I remember you were the one that told me about the birds and the bees because dad was too chicken."

"Who told me?"

"I think you figured it out for yourself."

"Sounds about right."

"You were also the one who showed me how to mhfmhuhmf-"

Dean grins, hand clamped firmly over Sam's mouth. "I have a feeling I know where that sentence was going," he says. "How about we try not talking about this until it won't scar me for life."

"Okay," Sam says when Dean releases her mouth. "Deal."

o0o

"I think my name was Candy."

"That's a stripper's name."

"Still."

"Can you see John Winchester naming a daughter Candy? I think you were more likely called Chastity."

"That'd just be wishful thinking."

"Dad always was a little deluded."

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Date: 2009-05-12 04:14 am (UTC)

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Love all, trust a few, harm none.

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