A/N: For Phoebe. You know why. Hope this makes you feel better. A bokor is a Haitian witch doctor.

Summary: Next time, Dean decided as he licked his paws, I really gotta stop with the smart ass remarks. One shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dean or Sam. This is for entertainment purposes only, not profit. I may be twisted but I'm not stupid.

Next time, Dean decided as he licked his paws, I really gotta stop with the smart ass remarks.

Forty eight hours, boychick. Forty eight hours, and then you can go back to your body and your brother. Next time don't mouth off to a bokor, hunter monkey boy. The rest of my people aren't as nice as I am.

Dude might have had a point. Then too, this particular bokor was a former acquaintance of John Winchester, had even helped Dad out on a couple of jobs. So maybe Dean saying that the dude bore an uncanny resemblance to actor Chris Tucker in drag (The Fifth Element, nappy pompadour and skin tight leopard skin dress) might not have been the smartest thing to say.

Dean could imagine John Winchester up in Heaven, laughing his ass off.

It could have been worse. Dean had to keep telling himself that.

The lady of the house called him Tucker. Funny name, but what the hell. Dean figured that instead of changing his human body into a Siamese cat, the witch doctor had simply pulled Dean's mind out of his body and dropped him into the nearest feline. This…Tucker.

Turns out his hostess for the next forty eight hours was named Paige. She was really nice, but Dean had to admit that that for the first six hours he acted like a total ass. Kept rubbing up against her, demanding to know who she was and where he was, and why she didn't have to go to work, and ooh, was that a catnip mouse over there?

Dean got easily distracted.

Plenty of things to be distracted about. Yarn and string toys, and oh, shiny!stuff that was just begging to be batted around and nipped at. Scratching posts, and man, that stretch in his lower back felt damned good when he sunk his claws in up high, dipped his back down low and just stretched. There were plenty of windows to sit in, and even if he couldn't pry her away from that damn computer it was worth it just to slink in, meddle with her, and then slink back out, grinning.

He checked out his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Okay, so his eyes weren't green anymore. They were blue now. Still and all he was a pretty handsome fella. Sleek, athletic. Ears like Batman. Dean had to admit that the feline face was well suited to smirking. So he did. A lot.

Another thing was, the food wasn't half bad. He chowed down on dry food, which was okay, but he really liked the canned food better. It was juicier, and he loved the salmon.

That was a surprise, 'cause when he was human Dean hated salmon with a passion. It was the most hated of fishes, and human Dean wouldn't have touched the damn stuff on a bet. Catfish he actually liked, either fried, baked, or in nugget form, but he never let Sam know that. Dean Winchester had a rep to uphold, and that rep involved red meat, not fish.

He thought he'd died and gone to heaven when he slunk into the kitchen and Paige gave him several pieces of rotisserie chicken, BBQ, to be precise.

Dean blinked at her, long and slow, as he rubbed up against her ankles. I think I'm in love.

There was another cat there, another Siamese named Rollie and the old boy wasn't feeling too well. Dean might have been an insensitive jerk a lot of the time (he reveled in his jerkiness sometimes, actually) but he got it. He was gonna give Rollie a break.

Rollie busted him right from the start.

"Mouthed off to the wrong person, huh, kid?" Rollie drawled lazily. Dean flinched and immediately started furiously licking his left paw, then he scowled. Well, scowled as much as that sweet little Siamese face would let him.

"How the hell did you ---"

Rollie laughed. "Cats got mojo, monkey boy. You oughta know that." He shrugged. "We're the Guardians of the afterlife, got one paw in heaven and hell. You're not the first one to get dropped into ol' Tucker's body like that."

Dean had a sudden vision of his human body on all fours back at the motel room. Hissing. Sam was backed into a corner, staring wide-eyed. "Wh-where does Tucker go when this happens?" Dean stammered, slightly google-eyed himself.

Rollie shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me, sonny. That's one of life's unsolved mysteries."

Dean smirked. "I don't suppose you'd know if there are any, ah, lovely young lady cats next door I could meet?"

Rollie burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he started choking. Dean came over and patted him on the back with his right paw.

"Forget it, kid," Rollie finally managed to say. "Number one, you're an indoor cat. Second thing is, you're fixed."

Dean deflated.

Rollie smirked. "But being able to lick your own balls is still pretty damned sweet."

Dean snorted.

Rollie seemed like an okay guy, even though he was a cat, so Dean sat down and they talked a little. Rollie talked about his life and how good it had been, told Dean where the best toys were that he'd hidden from Tucker (behind the couch and the stove) and yeah, those squirrels next door needed to be taught a lesson. Dean told Rollie about some of the best hunts he'd ever been on, and the old boy listened all wide-eyed, until he yawned and stretched, rolled over, closed his eyes and started snoring.

Dean took the hint. He retired to the kitchen window, where he spent the next few hours talking smack and making very loud death threats to the pigeons next door.

On the evening of the second day Dean sat in the window watching that damn squirrel on the next door neighbor's back porch. He felt a tingle all over his body.

Time's up, smartass. Hope you learned your lesson this time. The bokor sounded amused. Your brother's about to have kittens. Excitable boy.

Dean started talking then, only it came out as meows and chirps and growly sounds. He wanted to say goodbye to Paige, wanted to tell her not to beat herself up for Rollie being sick, wanted to say goodbye to Rollie.

Too late. The next thing Dean knew he was back in that godawful motel room, the one with the friggin' pink and yellow teddy bear wallpaper. It immediately reminded him of that fabric softener bear, and as he laid there blinking up at Sam Dean wondered why he hadn't hunted that little bitch down by now.

He was on his back (bed, Dean thought hazily) and there was Sam (Sasquatch needs a haircut). When Sam saw Dean's eyes blink open there was a moment of relief on the kid's face.

That all changed in a hurry.

"Dean—" Sam said sternly. The corners of his mouth turned downward. Dean knew the drill. Dean didn't want to hear it. He was happy to be back, but Sam was gonna spoil the whole damn thing with that bitchface of his. There was only one thing to do.

Dean purred, reached up and licked Sam on the face.