dedication: to Torie. who is. like. super-adorable.
notes: sexism abounds, but that's religion for you.
title: disintegrate, you bastard
summary: Dean Winchester was born a girl, and Michael is Not Impressed. — Castiel, Michael, Deanna.
"What do you mean, he's a girl?!"
"You sound alarmed."
Michael puffed up rather like a parrot, and blared "ALARMED DOES NOT COVER IT, CASTIEL."
Castiel stared at his elder rather blandly. "I do not understand."
"Of course you don't."
The two angels stared down through the floor at the room in the Winchester home, painted pink and white and full of… fluffy… things. There was lace and soft sunlight. Mary Winchester hummed a lullaby to the baby girl curled up quietly in her crib, carefully leaving the room—a nap, perhaps.
It was utterly appalling.
"What am I going to do?" lamented Michael. "It's—she's a girl. She is not supposed to be a girl."
Castiel blinked in reply, too busy examining the tiny baby girl in the crib. She burbled happily, like she could actually see them—but that was preposterous. Of course she couldn't.
"Why does it matter that she is female?"
Michael stared disbelievingly. "Females are… small. Delicate."
"Are you stating that females are unable to save worlds?" Castiel asked, very curious. "I think Anna would disagree."
"Yes, well, Anna is a different story—"
Deanna waved a tiny fist and giggled like sunshine, eyes dark green and silly. There was a tiny dusting of freckles across her nose, already. How old was she?
Castiel was entranced.
Michael moaned, something between a sob and a hysteric laugh.
This was not going to end well.