“Who are you now? You are obviously not an Angel of the Lord.
And what about all of this waking the Earth like Cain from “Kung
Fu”-crap, cleaning up heaven’s messes, how many more rogue angels are
out there? And what are you going to do once you are done with all that?
Go back to heaven? Please… The angel formerly known as Hannah has
restored order up top. Smoothest it’s run since God cut the ribbon on
that pearly gates. So tell me, Castiel, truly… What is your mission now?“
You groaned as light shone through the curtains of the motel room you were currently in and pulled you out of your peaceful sleep. You rubbed your eyes and slowly opened them to look at the clock on your bedside. The green numbers of it showing that it was 11:45. You groaned more, feeling a headache come up, and buried your head in the pillow more. You wanted more than anything to sleep but you knew you had to get up. You had a long day ahead of you and should start packing your things. You had to get back to the road and head to the bunker. You had stayed long enough here and it was high time you left.
The latest hunt had taken a toll on all of you, mostly physical. It took a lot of time to track the witch and then manage to kill her. She was a tough one and fought till the last minute. But luckily you managed to fight back and then finally kill her, after a couple weeks of searching though. So that meant that you had spent a lot of time on this hunt and you really needed to hurry and get back to search for another one. More important one. Fortunately last night you had managed to finish this damn hunt and of course went out to a bar to celebrate it. You and Dean consumed a good amount of alcohol that you were sure was going to give you a hell of a hangover. Sam hadn’t joined you two so he now, of course, was wide awake way before you, and out somewhere. Doing whatever moose stuff he usually did.
You opened your eyes just a little bit slightly and, after removing Dean’s hand (that felt more soft than ever) from your waist, you got up. Your body felt more heavy than ever but you just attributed everything to the alcohol you had consumed the night before. You decided not to wake Dean up and leave him to sleep a little bit more. He needed it after all. You knew that the ride back to the bunker was going to take a lot of time and by the time you reached there it would be past midnight and you would be exhausted. So he needed the extra sleep before all of you got into the Impala and made your way back home. You were going to gather all your things and place them on your bags and only when you were ready to leave would you wake Dean up. Letting him rest a little bit more would be good for him and more probably for you and Sam. You would definitely avoid some of his nagging. When Dean had had his good amount of sleep, he was always cheerful and in a good mood. When you woke him up, though, and he hadn’t had much of sleep then, well, that was another story better left unsaid.
You groaned softly and dragged your feet to the bathroom. You had never felt your body so heavy but brushed the thought off. Slowly opening the bathroom’s door you entered it. You had your eyes closed, finding yourself unable to open them. You slowly turned the tab and once water started running you splashed your face with it. The coldness of the water quickly managing to wake you up. You repeated the process a few times and once your were sure you were wide awake, you turned the tab off and took the towel that was next to the sink and rubbed your face dry.
You smiled, satisfied that you had gotten yourself awake, but when you looked up at the mirror the smiled immediately vanished from your face.
You expected to see just yourself, maybe some bed hair, but not this.
Instead of yourself you could now see in the mirror what seemed like… a guy. A guy that seemed probably your age. He had short (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes. Firm jaw and a slight scruff. He was handsome, you were not going to deny it, and if you weren’t dating Dean (and loved him to death) then you sure as hell were not going to let him just pass by. It was not that thing that you wanted to think right now, though. You had more important things to think of, right now. More important questions that needed to be answered. Questions like…
… Why the hell were you seeing his reflection instead of yours in the mirror?!
You immediately looked down at yourself and your eyes widened upon realizing that it actually was you. It actually was you and your face that was reflected in the mirror. And, not only had your face changed, but your whole body. Instead of your usual height you now were taller and your shirt, more like Dean’s shirt, now fitted perfectly. It was no longer baggy and the boxers you had borrowed from Dean fitted just as well. Something sticking out under the boxers. Something that you knew all-too-well what it was but were sure as hell not used to seeing on yourself. Being part of you. More like it being part of Dean that you got to have inside of you and not like this, but that was a whole different story…
What was important now was that all the traits that you loved in Dean, as far as appearance was concerned, were not just traits that he had. But you, too. And that seriously worried you. Cause all of this were certainly not good.
Your breathing became heavier and your mouth hung agape once you completely realized what was going on.
You… you were gender-bend!
“Are you kidding me?!” you shouted and surprised even yourself at hearing the heavy and rough voice come from you. A mix of that of Castiel’s and Dean’s.
“DEAN!” you shouted again and quickly ran out of the bathroom towards yours and Dean’s bed.
Instead of seeing Dean, though, you just saw a messed up mass of shuffling sheets. Dean had fallen off the bed.
You rolled your eyes at him but just waited till he got up. The sight, though, made your eyes widen even more than before.
“What?!” Dean asked looking up from where he lay down at the foot of the bed, his voice laced with sleep though it was nothing compared to the way it was before. Dean was nothing compared to the way he was before.
His eyes widened as he looked at you, or more like the male version of you, and immediately got up. Quickly managing to draw the gun from under your pillow.
“Who the hell are you?! What are you doing here?! Where is (Y/n)? What did you do to her?!” he asked angrily, his or more like her voice filled with rage and at the same time worry for you “What the hell is wrong with my voice?” he mumbled more to himself, forgetting that you were there for even a split second.
“Dean” you said and took a step forward, and then he came back to reality and regained his posture, gun firmly held in his hands.
You raised your hands in defeat “Whoah whoah first of; relax ok? Don’t do something irrational, alright?” you said carefully and he just pursed his lips more.
“Don’t tell me what to do, ok? You just answer my question. Who the hell are you and where is (Y/n)? What did you do to her?!” he asked fiercely and you took a breath in.
“I did nothing to her because I am her, you jerkass! It’s me damn it!” you shouted out exasperated by Dean’s behavior. He was getting on your nerves.
“(Y/n)?” he asked narrowing his eyes and you rolled your eyes.
“Yes!” you shouted again “Will you lower that damn gun now or do I have to make you?!”
He lowered his gun for a split second but then raised higher, regaining his previous posture “Yeah, and you think I’m just going to believe you? Just like that?!” he asked and then ran a hand over his face “Damn, what the hell is wrong with my voice?” he mumbled to himself angrily.
“Well first of; yes it is me! Cause, seriously, I cannot believe how you cannot even recognize your own girlfriend of 7 years just because of some damn spell turning me into a dude. And secondly; lower that damn gun and listen to me for a split second. Will ya?!” you said exasperated but he didn’t seem to believe you.
You let out a sigh and spoke in a calmer tone “Dean, please. It is me, baby. It really is me. Here, see?” you lifted your shirt and showed him your anti-possession tattoo on your hip “Do you remember when I got this? I certainly do. I was a hell of a lot scared but managed to go through it because you were there, holding my hand. Come on, Dean, you have to believe me. It is me. It is (Y/n)” you ended up mumbling, puppy eyes at their maximum mode.
You bit your lips, waiting in an expecting way for some damn response but let out a sigh of relief once you saw him lower the gun. This time he seemed to believe you completely.
“(Y/n)?” he mumbled and you nodded frantically, a hopeful smile appearing on your lips.
His eyes widened in disbelief. It would be impossible for anyone to comprehend the fact that their girlfriend was no longer the way they know her. How would it be possible for anyone to just accept that just the night before they fell asleep with their girlfriend in their arms and woke up to find her taller and with more muscles than themselves. More manlier than their own selves!
“What the hell happened to you?!” he motioned to you with wide eyes and you rolled yours.
“Well, I think you should ask that to yourself too” you said and quickly motioned to the mirror on the corner behind Dean.
He raised an eyebrow but turned nonetheless. His eyes widened upon seeing his own reflection. Short hair replaced by long blonde, green eyes still there but more… female like. His entire body and face was more… female like. No it was female.
“What the hell?! (Y/n) what the hell happened to me?!” he shouted, his face showing worry and fear. He took deep breaths, and tried to calm down his racing heart. It would be impossible at the sight in front of him. He got closer to the mirror to look at himself more closely.
“I…I… I…” he started stuttering, taking small breaths in between. It seemed as if he was having a panic attack but you knew he was just exaggerating. You let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over your face.
“Yes, Dean, you are-” he cut you off.
“I have boobs!” he exclaimed and cupped his own breasts.
You had a really hard time in keeping yourself from face-palming and just shook your head “Dean, I think there are more important things than that, baby” you hissed the last part.
He turned to look at you and let out a sigh “Yeah, sorry sorry. How the hell did this happen, though?” he asked and you shrugged.
“Dunno, but I suspect that it is that damn witch’s doing. She threw us some sort of powder before Sam killed her. She mumbled some strange things before she was dead, if I remember correctly” you mumbled more to yourself, putting a finger on your chin.
“Yes, yes she did” Dean ran a hand through his hair but his fingers just got entangled at some point and he just pulled it away. Blowing some few stray long strands out of his face.
He opted for running a hand down his face, his eyebrows were knitted in a deep frown.
“So, what exactly? What does all of this mean?! My girlfriend gets a dick of her own. I get turned into a chick with hair longer than Rapunzel herself. And if I want to kiss you I will actually be kissing a dude, not to mention about doing other things. And all of this because of some freaking witch that… now is dead. And we…” he took in a deep breath just like you did, staring at each other with almost wide eyes. Realization downing on both of you.
“… We get stuck like this… forever?” he mumbled the last part and you let out a breath.
You looked down and nodded at him with pursed lips.
A/N: Came home and cranked this out for you. I thought you guys had a long enough wait :) wish me luck on my english test tomorrow ;) hehe. Worth it. I hope you all like it, please let me know what you thought :) enjoy!
It’s quiet in the dark room. So quiet you can hear your
heart beating and the crickets chirping outside the window.
And cold. You had
sweatpants and a sweatshirt on and yet still freezing, partly due to the fact
that the heater of the hotel room was broken. Goosebumps cover every inch of
skin and shivers dance along your spine every few seconds. From the way Dean’s
teeth are chattering just slightly, he’s cold, too.
“Why did we have to get the one hotel room in this entire
damn building that had the broken heater?” he whispers to you, hugging his arms
to his chest. His breath is warm and leaves your shoulder even colder than it
was before he spoke.
“Because it’s us,” you whisper back, and he grunts in
More silence. The single bed next to the two of you is
empty, as Sam had gone to sleep next to John, leaving you and Dean alone in the
queen sized bed. After a few more painful minutes, you hear Dean mutter, “Screw
The bed shifts as he rolls over, and then his breath is on
your shoulder again. “Y/n?” he whispers.
“Yeah?” you whisper back hopefully.
“You’re cold, right?”
“Same.” Pause. “Uh…”
You let him torture himself for a few seconds before
laughing and rolling over. “Are you always this smooth around girls?”
“Shut up,” he says gruffly, but there’s a soft smile playing
at his lips. “C’mere—ouch, watch your
fucking knee, Jesus–”
“Hey, you wanted to cuddle,” you reply, stifling a giggle.
“Whatever,” he huffs. “I didn’t expect your knee to make a
home in my ballsac–”
“You’re an idiot, shut up–”
“I bet I won’t be able to have kids now, all ‘cause–”
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll make sure of it,” you threaten,
and you swear you feel his hips edge backward nervously.
Satisfied, you snuggle closer into his warm embrace, sighing
into the fabric of his t-shirt. “Comfortable?” he whispers, sounding amused.
“Very,” you say, content. Already, you could feel your
temperature rising. You press your fingers against his neck and he jerks
“Jesus Christ, Y/n, your fingers are like ice–”
outside, Dean, it’s not my fault–”
“Stick them somewhere else then–”
“I volunteered for cuddling,
not being your personal heater–”
“You’re such a wimp–”
“Fine, let me get a couple ice cubes and stick ‘em down your shirt and see how you like it–”
“Y/n and Dean,” comes your father’s tired voice sharply from
the other room. “Please be quiet.”
“Sorry, dad,” you call back in a hushed voice.
“Sorry,” Dean says at the same time.
You press your fingers back against his neck, and after he
gives you the dirtiest look he can muster, you swear you see him smile.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes glint when they make contact with yours. “Wrong
Your eyes narrow. He was referencing the basic rules of
hunting interrogation. Technically, he was right—that was the wrong question to
Ask first how you were found. When they speak, it may give
you a clue to as where they’re from based on dialects and accents and speech
patterns. It also allows you a moment to take note of their physique, possible
attack techniques, and potential escape routes should the need for one arise.
If they choose to divulge any information on how they found you, it highlights
weak spots and faults in your strategies that you need to fix or avoid.
Hunter Training 101. Back when Dean hadn’t started shaving
and you were still a 32A in bra size. Back when your nights were filled with
scraped knees and lessons on credit card scamming and lore research. Back
during the midnight tramps through the forest with Dean at your side, guns
drawn and eyes sharp in the darkness, on guard for whatever nightmare was
lurking among the trees. Him carrying you all the way back to the hotel when
you twisted your knee running. The time you held his hand, crying and stroking
his hair while you waited for John and your dad to show up after a vicious wolf
attack tore apart Dean’s abdomen. His teeth gritted, face shining with sweat
and contorted in pain, it’d been one of the worst nights of your life.
That was generally the only time Dean’s eyes were so
predatory: during hunts. But in the liquid moonlight that illuminated his eyes
into something unearthly and inhuman, you could see that same look. And you
couldn’t help but feel like prey.
Your eyes dart to the door and to the window to your left on
reflex. He notices; you can tell bt the way his eyebrows raise. “How did you
find me?” you ask.
Dean’s broad shoulders rotate to face you and his hands
slide into his pockets in one fluid motion. Feet spread, weight evenly
distributed—to a stranger’s eye, it would be nearly impossible to tell which
side was his dominant or what his first step in confrontation might be. But you
knew Dean. Try as he might to hide the signs, the stuck out to you like flashing
Chin up: this meant he wasn’t planning on an attack, or else
it would be pointed down, eyes more alert. His shoulders would be tensed, jaw
locked. But even around you, it seemed, he wasn’t entirely relaxed. His right
arm was drawn just the slightest bit back, as if out of habit, towards the gun
holster you knew to be hanging at his waist.
You can’t help but smirk a little. Dean’s eyes follow yours
and he glances briefly down before forcing his arms to relax completely into
the leather jacket you recognized as his father’s. His eyes dip over you and
you realize he’s probably analyzing you the same way.
“Looks like you ain’t as good as you thought you were,” he
says simply. It’s hard to get used to the new deepness of his voice. But you
don’t let it catch you off guard—instead, you focus on his response. Vague,
indirect, in an attempt to distract you without revealing any valuable
information. You meet his gaze. It’s challenging, testing.
So you repeat yourself. “How did you find me?” you ask calmly.
Dean merely looks at you for a moment. Then he nods very
slowly. “You should be careful who you talk to in these towns.”
Now he was trying to get to you, make you second guess
yourself and be distracted by trying to figure out where you went wrong and slipped
up. Casually, you lift a hand and rake it through your hair, letting him know
that he was unsuccessful. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” you say. “How
did you find me?”
“That a threat?” he asks just as casually. The smirk hasn’t
yet touched his lips, but it’s in his eyes.
“Does it need to be?” you ask sweetly. His eyebrows rise.
Dean definitely had the weight and height advantage, but in a way, so did you;
you were faster.
Dean chuckles. It’s a pleasant, deep noise. Gravelly, too,
as though his body weren’t used to making it. Finally, you can see the corners
of his lips tip upwards. “No,” he says after a moment. “But I figure I’m gonna
get some answers before you do.”
Stilling, you look him directly in the eyes. He’s not angry,
and he’s still smiling slightly, but there’s a serious undertone to his
features. A brief flash of shame warms your face but you shove it away and out
You take a breath. “You want an explanation,” you state. Of
course he did. And he deserved one.
Dean shrugs. “More or less.”
You stifle a yawn and rub your forehead. You were exhausted:
the hunt had been long and arduous. The kill itself hadn’t exactly been hard,
but after hours of running and dodging and adrenaline pumping through you like
a drug, you were exhausted both mentally and physically. Dean’s figure actually
starts to blur around the edges and you blink sluggishly.
Dean, observant as ever, notices instantly and frowns. “You…
“Yes,” you lie. Physically, you were unharmed, so you guess
it isn’t a complete lie. Swaying unsteadily, you reach out and grasp the
cabinet on your left.
“Son of a bitch, Y/n,” Dean mutters worriedly. “How long you
been on your feet? The fucking Ice Age?”
You smile weakly. “Have I aged that much?”
The question catches him by surprise and he smiles softly.
“No. No, actually you look pretty much the same.”
“You don’t,” you tell him, and he shrugs.
“I’ve filled out.” Catching the look you send his way, he
laughs quietly before straightening. “Alright, sweetheart. Time for bed.”
Your jaw drops instantly. He walked back into your life ten
minutes ago and he was already trying to boss you around? “Excuse you,” you say
indignantly. “I’m 24 years old. I decide my own bed time. I am going to shower,
and then eat, and then–”
Dean’s rolling his eyes before you even finish. “C’mon, Y/n,
don’t be an idiot. You’ll kill yourself in the shower and you know it. I’ll
make you somethin’ to eat real quick and then you can hit the sack.”
Frustrated by his all-knowing expression and the truth to
his words, you plant your hands on your hips, trying to keep your balance. “No.
You can take your greasy diner burgers and shove them up your ass. I will
shower, and then I will make my own dinner, and then I will go to bed.”
Dean’s eyebrows rise as he takes a threatening step towards
you. Oh shit. You recognized that look. No, no, no. You were not 12 anymore.
“Dean Winchester, you keep your hands to yourself or so help
“You’ll what? Pass out on me?”
“No, I’ll break your fucking nose.”
Dean laughs. “You already crossed that one off the bucket
“Doesn’t mean I can’t do it again. Hands to yourself,” you emphasize, keeping a wary
eye on him as you shuffle back towards the table to grab your duffel bag. He
watches, a doubtful look on his face. As soon as you’re turned around, he
You hear the footsteps first, and halfway through whirling
around, you start to threaten, “Dean–” before strong arms wrap around your
waist and toss you over broad shoulders.
“Goddammit,” you mumble, too tired to do anything but drape
yourself over him like some kind of angry, life-sized doll.
Dean dumps you rather unceremoniously onto the bed. You
glare up at him.
“Still hungry?” he asks.
“No,” you mutter, rolling over onto your stomach and
“Don’t be a child. I’m looking out for you.”
“Yeah, that’s always been a rough habit of yours to shake,”
you reply sleepily, yawning. This top layer of the bed was probably completely
disgusting but your body didn’t want to move and your muscle cells seemed to stop
receiving any signals from your brain. So you lay there, thinking maybe that a
shower wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“You asked, I delivered.”
“I was ten years old.”
“Yeah, you were terrified. It was cute, actually.”
“Shut up. I’ll kick your ass.”
Dean snorts. “Yeah, alright, Brother Bear. Maybe once you
wake from hibernation.”
“I’ve been awake for 3 days, asshole,” you mumble
“I’m not complaining. Go to sleep.”
“Turn out the light.”
“You sure you don’t want something to eat?”
“Your funeral,” he mutters. You hear his footsteps cross the
room towards the light switch when you frown.
“Hmm?” he grunts.
“Where are you gonna sleep?”
There’s a brief pause. “Oh. Right,” he says, as if just
remembering. “I guess I could go see if I could get a room. Don’t sneak out in
“That’s your move,
dickwad. You can sleep here.”
Another pause. “Okay. Toss me some pillows.”
You sigh heavily. “I know it’s been six years, but we used
to share a bed all the time, Dean. You don’t need to sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t wanna crowd you anyway. It’s cool, Y/n. Toss me a
“Dean,” you say seriously, cracking open an eyelid. “Sleep
on the goddamn bed.”
“Pushy,” he mutters. The bed creaks when he sits down and
shrugs out of his jacket. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
You snort loudly, and he chuckles, stretching out and
sliding beneath the covers. “Y/n, you can’t sleep on that. Who knows how many
pervs have shot their loads all over it.”
You groan. “Why
did you have to give me that mental image.”
“’Cause I told you, I’m looking after you. This goes under
safety and health concerns. Get off of that thing.”
You grumble and slide upward an inch before giving up.
“Jesus, you’re lazy.”
You don’t bother responding, so he sighs and lifts your body
up with one arm, tosses the covers back with another, then drops you back down.
The sheets are cool and it feels nice against your overheated skin.
“I’m all dirty,” you mumble. “There’s dirt on my jeans.”
“I’m sure this hotel has room service,” he says, his voice
muffled by his pillow.
“They’re uncomfortable,” you complain. “I’m taking them
“6 years of silence and now you’re making a move on me,” he
mutters under his breath. “Friggin’ unbelievable.”
“Shut up,” you sigh, undoing the button and tugging them painstakingly
down your legs.
“Y/n—don’t just leave them
there, at least toss them on the floor or something, Christ–”
There’s a soft thud beside you. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, yeah. If you get to take off your jeans, can I take
off my shirt?”
You smile into your pillow. “I’ll allow it.”
He snorts. “You’re a saint, Y/n. Really.”
There’s some rustling while he sits up and tosses his shirt
to the side. Sneakily, you turn your head in that direction. Apparently not as
sneakily as you thought, though, because Dean catches you peeking through one
eyelid at his bare torso and frowns at you. You snap your eyes shut.
“Don’t objectify me,” he mutters, and you stifle a laugh.
There’s a few moments of silence. “We used to cuddle,” you
remember sleepily, so tired that your filter was all but nonexistent.
You can hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “Yeah,” he says.
“And then we’d be too embarrassed to talk about it in the morning.”
“But we still did it the next night, and the one after
that,” you laugh, opening your eyelids to find him watching you. He blushes
instantly and makes you roll away with a gruff cough, but you catch his arm.
“Wait,” you protest. Rolling over once, you snuggle into his
warm body and relax immediately. He’s stiff at first, but after a moment or two,
he relaxes as well, allowing an arm to sling around your waist.
“Throwback Thursday,” you mumble, and then snort.
Dean’s lack of modern technological culture was really quite
embarrassing. “Never mind.”
He groans. “Christ, what now? Do you need your diaper
changed or something? I forgot how damn talkative you were.”
“Hey, you’re the one who stalked me.”
“I didn’t—it wasn’t—stalking…”
he mutters, embarrassed. “It wasn’t stalking! Whatever. What were you gonna
Smirking into the sheets, you ask, “Where’s Sam?”
He tenses instantly, and you fear immediately floods your
body. Something couldn’t have happened to Sam, could it? After a few
suspenseful moments, Dean mutters, “A couple doors down.”
It takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in, and when
they do, your head drops back to the pillow. “Unbelievable,” you huff. “You’re
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to cuddle.”
“Whatever,” you reply, but you’re smiling.
It’s only a few minutes before the silence is broken yet
“Need me to change your diaper?”
He jabs your side lightly, and you squeal. “Don’t,” you
“Then don’t sass me.”
“Don’t try to change who I am.”
He groans. “Jesus, you’re annoying.”
“Not my problem.”
He’s quiet for a moment. You remember that he said your
name. “What were you gonna say?”
“You mean before you sassed me?”
“I was…” he hesitates, clamping his mouth shut. “Never mind.”
“Don’t do that. You know I hate that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Tell me,” you say, pressing your cold fingers against his
neck. He breathes in sharply.
He rolls his eyes. You don’t see it, you can just tell. “I
was just… I don’t know. You’re gonna be here in the morning, right?”
“I told you, that’s your move.”
He really is. He was honestly worrying that you were going
to walk out. And you knew the worry wasn’t without reason.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’ll be here.”
“Cross your heart?”
You smile. “Cross my heart.”
He hesitates. “Hope to die?”
You laugh lightly in surprise. “That’s new.”
“I know. It’s just… you crossed your heart that you’d never
leave, too,” he says quietly.
A cold hand wraps around your heart and gives it a harsh
squeeze, and the shame flickers back to life. Swallowing hard, you rest your
hand over his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. “Hope to die,” you whisper.
His lips gently touch your forehead, and you drift off to