Title: Dirty Blonde, Ch. 1

Rating: R for cursing and nudity

Pairing: Eventual Dean/Castiel, slight Sam/Dean

Spoilers: None really. If you're up to Season 5, you're fine.

Warnings: Language, mysterious/magical sex-change

Summary: Dean wakes up on the female side of the bed.

A/N: I usually have zero interest in sex-change/gender-swap fics, but I got an idea that I had to write down. I have no idea how long it will be. I hope you like it. :D


Sam was torn from his peaceful sleep by the sound of a woman screaming. Her screams pierced through his senses like fiery bits of shrapnel. He reacted with the instinct of a man used to hunting and being hunted. Noting that Dean was nowhere to be seen, the youngest Winchester proceeded with extreme caution. Carrying the gun he kept at his bedside at the ready, he inched towards the bathroom where he heard a faint sobbing.

He thought about calling out to whoever was in their bathroom, but made a rush for it instead. Within seconds, he was pointing his gun in the vicinity of a beautiful woman kneeling on the tiled floor. Disregarding her as a threat, he inspected the rest of the bathroom and found nothing. The woman was trembling and openly weeping in the most disconcerting manner.

"Miss, it's alright. Tell me what happened. I can help," Sam addressed her in a controlled and even tone. Through the darkness, Sam was able to tell that she was wearing Dean's clothes now that he was by her side. This wasn't the first time—and he doubted it would be the last—that he saw a young woman in his brother's clothing. Sam feared the worst. "Where's Dean?"

Sam's statements only seemed to distress the woman more. She wiped her face repeatedly and leveled her uncertain green eyes at him. "Is this a dream?" She cried, "Sammy, tell me this isn't real."

Before him, Sam saw a freckled face, plump pink lips, and dirty blonde hair that fell in subtle waves over narrow shoulders. He had never seen this particular woman before and yet even her dusty, long eyelashes were somehow familiar. The way she called him by his nickname suggested that she, at least, knew him.

"No. No, no, no…" Sam muttered. "Dean?"

The woman in Dean's clothing wailed and Sam quickly covered her mouth to keep the neighbors from calling the cops. If this was what he thought it was, they were in deep. Her breathing was rapid and anguished.

"Sammy, you called me 'Miss.' What the fuck. What the – the fuck!" The woman spat after Sam let go of her. "Sammy, do I, am I… Do I look like a woman to you? Because I feel like a woman. I looked in the mirror because I had to pee and then I couldn't find my cock."

Under less stressful circumstances, Sam would have died of laughter, but at the moment, he was too shocked to do anything other than listen to the female in the bathroom with him.

"I'm a chick, aren't I?" Dean pouted and buried herself in Sam's chest. "I have to be dreaming. I'm dreaming, right? This is just a really bad dream."

"You're Dean?" Sam replied, in denial. "Are you sure?"

"Who else would I be?" The blonde raged.

Sam was about to say something about how this wouldn't be the first time Dean had slept with a mentally unstable woman, but he had no idea how to phrase that without insulting even the molecules in the air around them. Sam had never before seen a person who was changed from one sex to another, although he did not at all doubt the possibility. He cleared his throat, "Well…"

The female Dean moved back and took off her shirt and undershirt, giving her brother a perfect view of her narrow waist, ample breasts, and, most importantly, the tattoo on her chest. Sam absorbed these details in that order. Dean didn't put her shirt back on before continuing her case, "You're my brother. My only family. You should know me when you see me because we've been through Hell and back together."

"Holy…" Sam responded. "Dean, what did you do?"


Dean spent the rest of the night stumbling around, repeatedly surprising herself with her newfound anatomy. Judging from Dean's frequent shedding of tears and agitated rants, transitioning from a "he" to a "she" seemed like the worst thing to happen to her. Dean couldn't remember any of the events from last night when she tried to figure out what could have possibly gone wrong and, at last, she fell into a dejected stupor. Sam had no way of knowing the severity of the situation, but he knew that he would have to calm his brother – no, sister – if they were going to make any progress on resolving this dilemma.

She was on the floor again, this time in the middle of the bedroom. Sam approached Dean and carefully wrapped an arm around her. "Hey, it's gonna be alright. This is just another case. We've dealt with so much supernatural shit, and there's no reason why we can't deal with this."

"It's terrible," Dean answered in a croak of a voice, with a silent tear falling down her cheek. Sam frowned, unsure if Dean's reaction to becoming a woman was healthy.

"It could be worse," Sam cooed, "Remember that time you turned into an old man?"

Dean nodded and gave a wry chuckle. Dean had been a grouchy old man.

"You didn't like that, now did you?" Sam went on, "At least this time you're just a hot girl. There's at least a million things worse than being a hot girl."

"I am hot, aren't I?" Dean replied, smiling weakly. "I always was the hot one."

"Yes you were," Sam answered. He didn't mind babying Dean as long as it got her to feel better.

"I bet I'm as hot of a chick as I was a dude," Dean added proudly.

"You're really, really sexy," Sam nodded. The woman in his arms looked up at Sam and beamed through her tears. She wiped her face clean, enjoying the feel of her soft skin almost too much. He had only been humoring her, but she truly was a devastating beauty even with all her tears. The similarity between this female version of his brother and Mary Winchester touched a sensitive nerve within Sam that made his heart ache.

The thoughts that flitted through Sam's mind were a confusing mixture of love, surprise, and guilt. "Maybe we should get you some clothes."

Now that Dean was about five inches shorter and several pounds lighter than her male-self, her clothing was hanging by a thread off her toned, slim body. "Right now? I don't know, Sam. I'm not feeling too hot."

"What, is something wrong?"

"I don't know how to explain this. I've got this killer headache and I feel like my stomach hurts. Ugh. It's a fucking nightmare. Is this the norm for a woman?" Dean growled, feeling her midsection. She felt over an especially tender area and winced. "Is that a uterus? Sammy, I think my uterus hurts."

Sam's hand flew to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

"It's not funny!"

"No, no. It's not," Sam agreed unconvincingly. It's hilarious. "Okay, listen. I'm sure it's nothing. You're probably just adjusting to your new body. You have a lot of… extra parts."

"Not the one that counts."

"Dean!" Sam chided. "We'll get you some clothes and some Tylenol and then we can start doing some research."


"Being a woman sucks," Dean said for the tenth time since they had meandered through the Wal-Mart. She didn't know what bra-size she wore and her headache had yet to subside. To make matters worse, Sam was terrible at picking out clothing. They had decided that Dean was better off hiding out in a dressing room because she had been unable to stop complaining as they shopped and she looked particularly unkempt in her men's clothing.

"Dean," Sam began, sighing heftily. "I'm sorry I don't know how to pick out bras, but you're not helping."

"They're all uncomfortable."

"That's not possible. You've tried on at least 15 by now. You have to have liked at least one."

"No! They're itchy. It doesn't feel right."

"You need a bra," Sam said as he fumbled with the small mountain of clothing they had accumulated on the benches just outside the room Dean was in. Sam really didn't want to get into the fact that his brother was well-endowed, but he might have to if Dean insisted on strutting around indecently. With a chest like that, going bra-less was not an option.

"You know what? I'm starting to seriously doubt that! I'll just go without one," Dean protested.

"God help me," Sam moaned. As if on cue, Castiel appeared right beside Sam, making him jump.

"Sam, is there a problem?" Castiel asked the tallest Winchester. Sam looked around to make sure nobody had seen an angel appear from thin air, before dragging Cas as far from Dean's locked dressing room as he could. The angel always had the boys somewhere on his radar. He had been sensing intense anxiety from Dean for hours and had finally decided to check it out when Sam had cried for help.

"We're having a situation. Dean turned into a woman and he's bitching more than usual," Sam whispered. "Can you help?"

"Sam! Hey! You there? Just throw me something and let's get out of here! And don't you dare toss me another dress, you son of a bitch! And no more bras!"

"You see what I mean?" Sam gestured helplessly towards Dean's fitting room.

"I'll see what I can do," Castiel said and disappeared. Sam's frightful protests were not made quickly enough to stop the angel from reappearing inside of Dean's dressing room just as she was unhooking her bra in contempt. As soon as she saw Cas, she let out a shriek that called the attention of at least one stranger in the store.

Cas stared at the female-version of his friend like he had never stared at anything in his life. She was wearing nothing but loose boxers and a bra now hanging from her arm. In order to cover her chest, she neglected the boxers, which began to slip slowly from her hips.

"Just what is going on over here?"

Sam turned to face a concerned and angry Wal-Mart employee that had heard Dean's scream. "No, ma'am! Nothing! I mean. My sister is in there trying on clothes because she doesn't have any clothes."

"Your sister? Is there somebody in there with her? Ma'am?" The employee knocked on the door. "Are you okay?"

Castiel and Dean froze. Their silence wasn't enough to save them because the woman crouched and saw a pair of men's shoes along with some feminine bare feet. Some people were so sick, she thought to herself as she called security.

"No! Please don't!" Sam pleaded. "It's not what you think!"

"Oh? Then what is it?" She answered with hostility.

"This is a very delicate situation. You see – "

"Oh, I bet it's 'delicate.'"

"No! The thing is, my sister just… just… got out of a mental institution," Sam improvised. "I'm taking care of her and she doesn't have any clothes. She thinks she's a man so she's causing some trouble, but it's all okay. Right, Dean?"

"Dean?"

"Dea – na!" Sam corrected. "Deana, because that is her name. Deana. Dean's a nickname. You know, because she doesn't always remember she's a woman," Sam ended with a conspiring whisper.

"Yup! Deana's the name! Don't wear it out!" Dean laughed from behind the closed door.

"Ma'am, there's no men allowed in the women's dressing rooms."

"He's my doctor!" Dean answered, trying to play along and failing. "My head doctor."

"Ahem. Yeah, she calls her husband her 'doctor,'" Sam clarified. "He went in there because we thought he could reason with her, but it's not working."

Castiel took this moment to slip out of the room nervously. He didn't really feel comfortable at all with a female Dean that was also practically naked. "I'm sorry," he said with such sincerity that it touched the woman's heart.

"My wife is not well," Castiel explained, hanging his head and hoping that he was playing the part correctly. Maybe it was his handsomeness, or maybe it was the aura of innocence that enveloped him, but seeing that he was fully clothed and honestly worried, the employee couldn't resist trusting Cas. Not a soul could look the part of a worn-out husband more convincingly. Understanding flickered across the dressing room attendant's face.

"Aw, it's okay. I've got a bipolar aunt," She whispered. "But I can't let you go in there with her. If you need something, I can help."

"Yes! Please!" Sam pressed his hands together in gratitude. Mutely and stiffly, Sam and Cas shared a bench as Dean got her measurements and chatted to the employee that was called Tina.

"Looks like you're a 34-C."

"Yes! That's good, right?" Dean grinned a shit-eating grin. I knew I had a good rack. The woman didn't respond in any way but with a smile. Dean continued, "Can you find out what pant size I wear? Like, in women's sizes?"

At this, Tina laughed. Finally, Team Free Will left the Wal-Mart, led by a strutting female Dean. Her long legs were accentuated with distressed skinny jeans. A black, clingy Batman t-shirt covered her well-supported chest. Her black bra matched her panties and a pair of sunglasses perched on her head. She gained about an inch with some dark boots and pulled it all together with a black jacket. Dean would be lying if she said she didn't feel good.