Warnings: Some adult language and adult sexual material while suffering from a supernatural male-to-female bodyswap. It's odd, even if it is het sex, but not very detailed. Seriously though, if you are not of a proper age, don't read this because I won't be responsible for your mental scarring.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Written for fun, not profit.

Author's notes: Setting is around, uh, let's say somewhere after "Folsom Prison Blues"—basically before the Roadhouse burns (don't think too hard on why the guys traveled across all those states for my lil' hunt).

There's just not enough humor for this pairing, probably because of the whole 'doomed or dead' thing. Anyhow, I know I've already written two crossover one-shots of the male-to-female body-swap variety, but...

Please heed the warning. Please.


Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero

"Seize the Day, putting as little trust as possible in the future"

Odes, Horace


Sam had said not to touch the witch's altar, and Dean was planning to swear on his life that Jo had been the one to ignore the warning. No one would be able to prove otherwise. Well, accept for maybe Jo. Okay, so maybe Sam would find out after all.

Damn it.

It had taken Dean about ten seconds after the potion's explosion to put together what had happened, cough up the cloud of dust that had settled over him, and push himself to an upright position. He blinked, taking in his surroundings—a woman's bedroom littered with the shards of a shattered vanity mirror, the ceramic remains of a bowl, crumbled dried flowers (because with all the funk a witch's toys produced, apparently potpourri was a necessity), and the fluttering pages of a charred book—but mostly he focused on the image of his body, sprawled out on the rug across from him, also covered in about a decade's worth of grit, funky herbs, and ground bone—at which point he allowed himself a moment to grimace at the taste of the inhaled mixture still in his mouth. Friggin' witches.

But back to point:

His body. His. Across from him. Which meant he wasn't currently inside it.

Only in his life did that make sense.

His own eyes, in his own body, blinked open, the brow above wrinkling in confusion. That gaze was lit with fresh panic, and Dean hoped to nip in the bud.

"Always knew I was a sexy beast," Dean said, giving himself a crooked grin.

Lightening the mood would have been more comforting if the voice he'd spoken with hadn't come out high-pitched and decidedly feminine. He raised his hands—rather small hands—to his face, frowning at the smooth point of his chin. His palms slid down to his chest, where he grasped two handfuls of breasts. Nice, weighty, but natural, he determined. Despite the circumstances, he let out a broken chuckle. "Well. Crap. But I guess it could be worse."

He watched his body scrambled up in a sudden fit of movement. "Hey, hands off my—" Green eyes widened in sudden realization. "Oh, my God, you're me…And I'm… Dean? What the hell are you doing in my body, Dean?"

Dean raised a brow, biting off a rather crude reply to her wording choice, but let her take her own ten seconds to process. In which time she groped the chest she was wearing, likely realizing that, no, she wasn't staring at a duplicate of her body, but the original.

"I'm inside you…And you're inside me…" she whispered, still working around the idea. A frustrated groan followed. "The witch?"

Dean decided it was officially creepy to hear his own voice when he wasn't the one using it. "Now you're gettin' there. Bitch must have left her potion brewing."

"And when we moved to push over the altar…?"

"Pretty much."

He shrugged, pushing himself up onto his feet, and then stumbling into the bed, landing butt-first onto the mattress as he adjusted to the short heels at the bottom of Jo's boots.

"Christ—what the hell are you wearing these on a hunt for?"

"I don't have a problem moving in them," she snapped back. Then she shook her head, or his head, as it were, hands planted on hips. "You touched it, didn't you? You told me to kick it over, then you went and touched it."

Dean pursed his lips. "Well if I touched it, you must have touched it too, Jo, because, hello, I wasn't the only one hit with the witch's mojo. You're wearing my meat, sweetheart, and I'm wearing yours. Now, quit laying blame—Sam's gonna do that just fine for us."

She grimaced—an expression Dean decided right then and there that he didn't need to ever make again once he got his own body back. It looked way too much like Sammy's bitch face.

"Maybe we can tell Sam that neither of us touched it," she said.

"Touched what, Dean?"

Of friggin' course…Dean sighed when he saw Sam's looming form in the doorway, a frown at his lips, the shotgun still in his hands. He looked breathless. And frustrated. Which meant he probably hadn't managed to shoot the bitch who'd done this to them. More's the pity.

"Uh, actually, I'm Dean." He waved a hand in greeting, pulling Sam's attention to the edge of the bed. "That's Jo. But I can see how you'd make that mistake."

Sam let out a long breath, shaking his head. He didn't even look surprised. "You touched it, didn't you?"


Dean decided his first bathroom break while in a woman's body was going on his list of things he was never going to talk about. Ever.

He washed his hands, almost too ashamed of what he'd just done to dare look up into the mirror and meet a gaze that wasn't his. But, he did anyhow. Jo's brown eyes glared back at him accusingly, and he reached up, running his damp finger over gloss-softened lips. He experimentally smiled, watching her cheeks go round, her eyes crinkle. Then he frowned dramatically, followed quickly by sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes.

It had been about an hour since the switch, and it was weird as Hell. There was no other way of putting it.

The booming knock at the door nearly scared him out of his skin—which, hey, wouldn't have been a bad thing. And a voice, his voice, shouted from outside.

"What's taking you so long?"

Dean snorted. "Just getting a feel for the lay of the land," he answered, just to piss her off.

Not that he hadn't thought about letting his gutter-mind wander, but…Hell, it was Jo. He couldn't just get all…touchy without permission. It was just so many types of wrong. And not that he was planning to ask for permission because, crap, that would be one creepy question, "Mind if I fondle your bits for shits and giggle? I mean, they're already here"…and, Christ, her mom would kill him just for thinking it…Would Ellen know he'd been thinking it? She would, wouldn't she? That woman had psychic material instincts or something. One look at him and she's see it.

Shit.

"Dean, so help me, you better not—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah—don't get your panties in a bunch." Dean opened the door before she could finish, and pushed past her. Jo groaned in frustration and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Be gentle with the merchandise in there!" Dean called. "And watch the zipper!"

Sam was at the end of the hallway, sitting at the breakfast table, his new laptop out in front of him, but his eyes watching the display as if it were the strangest thing he'd ever seen. Dean grinned back at him.

"Dude, stop ogling me—I'm still you're brother, you pervert."

Sam cocked his head, not taking the bait. "Technically, you're my sister."

That was going to get old in a hurry. Dean stepped up behind him, smacking him across the head, and then jumped out of the way when he turned to retaliate.

"No, no—now, this is Jo's body, Sam. Hurt it, and she'll hurt you." Dean smirked, proud of the extreme annoyance Sam was practically vibrating with, and then slouched down onto one of the other kitchen chairs. "So, any luck with witch-bitch?"

Sam huffed, rubbing his hands across his eyes. "Uh, not so much. The witch was long gone when we got here, Dean…I mean, we saved the kid she was going to—"

"Switch bodies with," Dean provided, gesturing down at his feminine form. "I think we can pretty much agree that's what she was doing with her victims."

Sam nodded. "But, she's going to want to trade up again soon. She might have already stolen someone else's body by now. I don't know how we're gonna track her if we don't even know what direction she took off in…"

Dean leaned forward, his voice hushed. "Man, we need to find this bitch and get her to turn us back. You'd think having boobs would be fun, but I already smacked one into a cabinet door, and, Jesus, it stung like a—"

"Dean. Brother. I sympathize, I really do, but I don't want to know any details about what you're going through. So, for once, I'm not going to ask if you're okay. You can be your usual locked up, no talking about it, self. I'm honestly not going to push you on this one."

"But, Sam," Dean pouted, "if ever there was a time for a chick-flick moment…"

"Just…shut up."

Dean chuckled, which came out as a giggle and put a damper on his mood, so he cleared his throat. "But, seriously, we've got to find this witch."

"Don't you think I'm doing everything I can?" Sam asked.

"Wow, somebody's pissy."

Sam went back to staring at his screen. "Yeah, yeah. Are you going to crack a PMS joke now? Oh, wait, does that hit too close to home? Which reminds me, you should probably ask Jo if you need to swing by the drug shop and buy—"

The mere mention left Dean pale. He lunged forward, putting a solid punch into his brother's bicep.

"Ouch! You're a jerk," Sam whined, rubbing his arm. "And you have boney knuckles now…I guess I deserved that one, didn't I?"

"Hell yes you did."

"We'll fix this, Dean. We'll find a way." Sam closed the laptop. "In the meantime, I'm checking out all the books in her house. I mean, I'm pretty sure the one that's mostly ashes in the bedroom upstairs is the one we needed, but still, it can't hurt. And I need to catalog everything that's left of the magically-exploding-altar up there, too, in case we have to recreate it...Plus, I called Bobby. He's working on a solution."

Dean nodded, still none too pleased. He just knew Bobby wasn't going to miraculously forget this ever happened. He would be ribbed for the next decade for being the only guy around who'd once had different plumbing. Great. "Yeah, well, when he calls back, fuss at his ass for sending Jo on this job. Ellen finds out and he's dead, and we're dead by association."

Jo stepped out of the bathroom, cheeks red, just in time to hear that last part. "It's not Bobby's fault. I was in the area on another job and called him up to see if there was anything close by—Ash ratted me out last time, so I thought I'd try for sources a bit further from the Roadhouse." She rolled her eyes. "And, FYI, it's not his fault that you two didn't bother telling him where you were running to after your little prison break—oh, yeah, I totally heard about that, by the way."

Dean smirked. "Did you also hear about how awesome it was?"

"So awesome we ended up driving all the way from California to Alabama to get the awesome FBI off our backs," Sam muttered, laying out a stack of the witch's mail to sift through.

Dean glared at him, then turned back to Jo, who pushed herself up onto the table, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning back onto her arms.

"Should we really stick around in the witch's house if we're not sure where she is?" Jo asked. "What if she comes back?"

Sam and Dean both huffed at the suggestion.

"With three hunters after her? She can't be that stupid. Okay, well maybe she could be that stupid, but still…It's unlikely." Dean made a face. "And so long as you're in my body, you will not cross your legs like that."

She leaned her head onto her shoulder in a too-feminine display, but her legs didn't so much as twitch. "Whatcha gonna do about it, sugar?"

"Oh, you're hilarious," Dean grumbled, brushing his frustratingly long hair out of his face. "I think you're enjoying my body just a little too much. How was your trip to the bathroom? Learn to aim?"

Jo raised her brow appreciatively. "Well the weapon was new to me. Don't really have a feel for it yet."

"Understandable. I'm sure you're used to something a bit smaller in your hands—"

Sam raised a finger to cut his brother off. "Enough!" he snapped. "Jo—I mean, Dean—" He waved his arms, dismissing what he'd just said. "Both of you. Shut up. I can't work while the two of you sit here and…and…"

"I think his brain is going to explode," Jo stage-whispered.

"You mean his head," Dean corrected. "His brain melted out his ears the moment he realized his brother was a chick."

"Quiet!" Sam took a calming breath, closed his eyes a second, and then pointed a finger at each of them. "Out. Now. Unless you're going to actually help, then get out of my hair before you drive me crazy. I'll call when I find something."

Jo smiled. "Fine. I saw a sign for a lake about two miles off. We can walk it." She reached out, grabbing Dean's hand and tugging him up. "We'll be back in a few hours."

Dean wasn't exactly comfortable with how easily he could be drug around at his current weight, but he didn't argue, smirking as he was pulled away. "So basically, Sam just volunteered to look through about a half dozen dusty magic books by himself? You are one sly dog, Jo Harvelle."

She grinned. "You can thank me later."


"It's disgusting is what it is," Jo said, working her way through the tall grass.

"Hey, you said 'find something to wear to the beach', so I found a bathing suit. Isn't that what chicks wear to the beach?" Dean shrugged. "And, if I might be blunt—you look damn fine in it. Good thing you shaved, huh?"

Jo's jaw tightened, and she shot him a pointed glance. "I meant find a pair of shorts in my bag, not a bikini last worn by an evil hag who's been killing people for decades by stealing their bodies. Understand the distinction?"

"I smelled it. It's clean. Plus, your size. So, no. I don't."

Dean bit down his grin when she groaned.

He didn't even want to ask how she'd found the thin green cargo pants he could have swore he threw out ages ago. She had them rolled down at the waist to hang low and rolled up at the cuffs, all the way to his knees. The fact that she seemed so comfortable without a shirt on made it really difficult for him to avoid cracking a joke. He figured he should be given a trophy for managing it.

Jo shook her head. "You're impossible. And you're lucky that I do look hot in it, or I'd have your ass. Figuratively. As I already have it literally and all."

Dean caught up with her, working his way carefully down the slanted dirt path. It was a steep hill with a strip of blacktop for parking at the top, not that they'd needed it, that sloped down quite a ways to reach a covered pavilion for picnickers and the imported sand that made up the small, man-built beach.

The town of Phil Campbell was a tiny pit-stop, a perfect place for a witch, or felons, on the run to hide out, but it did have its perks (or, well, perk if he wasn't counting the Piggly Wiggly, which he was because who didn't like saying that name?) and it appeared that one of them was Mon Dye Bottoms, a tranquil lake that curved around the high, surrounding woodland. Dean didn't want to admit it, but the lonely spot was nice, and he hadn't been to a beach, occupied or not, in a damn long time.

"The weather's warm for April, isn't it? Feels like summer." Jo stared off at the water, a serene grin on her face as she trudged through the sand. "Why do I get the feeling my summers won't quite be like this anymore, if I keep up the hunting?"

Because they won't, he wanted to answer. Dean felt the weight of the words, but when he stared up at Jo, up at the face he usually laid claim to, he recognized the same sort of peace he felt after a good hunt, a meaningful hunt. She wasn't regretting her choices. Not fully. Not yet. But she wasn't blinded by them either. She knew that following her father's path would have a price.

Dean didn't want that on his mind right now. He passed by her, his feet hitting the water. He managed to hold his wince at the shock of cold as it hit his calves.

"Chilly?" she laughed. "Maybe you forgot the part where it's April, genius. The water hasn't had time to warm yet."

"No shit, Sherlock."

He kicked out, splashing her. The screech that came out wasn't entirely manly, despite the packaging. "You've done it now," she warned, her eyes sparkling. "Hope you know how to swim."


Dean squeezed the water out of the tips of the long blond hair, hoping this spell was broken before he had to brush through its knots, and then fell back onto the towel separating him from the sand. He was still shivering from the dunk in the water, but it wasn't enough to leave his teeth rattling. The spring sun overhead was bright white and warming. If he was lucky, it would dry out his suit soon enough.

"You're going to burn."

Dean snorted at the comment. "Worried about your hide?"

"Your—my face is getting pink." Jo huffed, crawling over the sand toward him. "I had the decency to put some protection on you before we got here. The least you can do is return the favor." She held up a bottle. "Come here."

Dean grimaced. "Oh, so you get pissed if I put on the witch's bathing suit, but you're cool with using her sunscreen? Nasty."

"This is my supply, dumbass. Now hold still," Jo said.

Dean froze, surprised when he felt her hands running over his cheeks, smoothing on a thin layers. She puckered her lips, concentrating on the task of applying more over his shoulders. Without hesitation she ran a hand covered in lotion down his stomach. Dean felt a flutter there, right below the skin, when her fingers, rough—he'd never realized how rough his fingers were—passed close to his bellybutton.

He sucked in a breath and leaned back, out of her grasp. "I think you got it."

She stared at him, confused. Then something must have clicked for her, because there was a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Oh—I'm…uh…ticklish there. Oops. Forgot."

Forgot. Sure. Dean so didn't think ticklish was the word. Everyone had their hot spots; Dean wouldn't have guessed hers was right there, though. Learned something new every day. "Huh. Jo?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

Jo snorted, nearly choking on her own laugh. "Oh, yeah, Dean. That's the goal."

"Well, it could work—I mean, that meat you're wearing? It's pretty smokin', if I do say so myself."

She broke off mid-chuckle, growing quiet, her gaze narrowed in thought. "You know… this is kind of a once in a lifetime sort of situation. I somehow doubt either of us will ever get a chance to be on the other side of the fence, so to speak. If we, you know, tried anything, I'm not a idiot—I wouldn't take it to mean anything it's not."

Dean blinked, confused. "Wait—you were being serious?"

She chewed her bottom lip. Dean knew the expression well. It was one he wore when he was putting his imagination to good use. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "No way—I don't want a dude in me!"

"It wouldn't be the same as you being with another guy." Jo rolled her eyes. "And come on, aren't you curious as to how feels? An orgasm, it hits a girl differently than it hits a guy—you know that. Wouldn't you like to experience it first-hand?"

"Orgasm?" Dean squeaked. He crossed his arms over his chest, grimacing even as he had to acknowledge to himself that he had a pair. "Friggin' no. I'm still a guy, even if I don't look like one at the moment. I'm not going to lay back and get…you know."

"So, you're afraid of being on bottom?"

"Afraid?" Dean sputtered, blinking as his vision grayed just around the corners a moment. Was this a stroke? Was he honestly having a stroke? "Jesus, Jo—you really want to try this…"

"And you really are as bashful as schoolgirl when it comes to trying something less vanilla." Jo shook her head, backtracking. "Dean, I don't mean…I mean, we don't have to…You don't need to think of it like that."

"Think of it like what? Like I'm going to get my ass pounded?"

"Not your ass. Your—you know what? That's beside the point, actually." Jo cheek twitched, like she was biting down a grin. "It doesn't have to be any different than you simply taking matters into your own hands. You know what you like, and I know what I like. It'll be a one time thing, Dean. I used to not understand what the point of those where, but…We're hunters. We're the people who have to make a summer day in spring, just to get the chance to enjoy one. We have to take opportunity when it's there, because we might not get another chance. Might's not even part of the equation this time."

"That was the best 'get in your pants' speech I've ever heard."

"Maybe one day you'll come up with a better one."

"Challenge accepted…" He broke off, shaking his head. "You're really—you really want to know what it's like that badly? What it's like to be on that end?"

Jo bit her lip. "You think I'm a freak."

"Na, Jo. I don't think that," he breathed, feeling the fight go out of him. "But this…I don't even know how we go about it…This is different."

She leaned forward on her knees, one of her hands gripping his slender waist to pull him closer. "I'll show you how," she promised.

Dean figured it would be easy to pull away, but he froze, his mouth going dry. "I don't know if…"

"Shh," Jo hissed. "Close your eyes, alright? Just go with me on this."

Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. Maybe this was just some Korean-food-induced dream. Yeah, that would make since. This was no different than the one he had about the midgets and the—his abruptly thoughts cut off when rough fingers lightly circled his bellybutton again. After a moment's play, they slowly slid down, past the bikini bottom.

He opened his mouth to speak, not even sure what he should say, and lips caught his, keeping his jaw dropped, pressing a tongue inside to sweep over his teeth then flick up, grazing the top of his mouth. He shivered with that familiar tingle—she wasn't wrong; she absolutely knew every one of her 'spots'.

Dean moaned, letting himself get caught up in the rhythm of it, the taste and texture of his own lips, the vibrations of her humming moans against his tongue—a surreal sensation, quickly demoted to secondary by the sudden prod of a finger. His hips hitched in surprised, but he forced them down again, wiggling against her hand to find what she had to offer.

Dean's brain caught up after a moment. He remembered what he should be doing and, his eyes still closed, he reached out, finding the button on the green pants, then the zipper. He tugged it down and then chuckled against her mouth when he felt how excited Jo already was. He gripped himself, allowing for some friction. Jo groaned into him, pushing against his palm. She wouldn't last long at all like this, not all wrapped up in the moment.

Dean tried not to think about that, tried not to think about it too hard—this was part of him, a part he knew rather well. Those memories of what it felt like to get himself off seemed to make the heat in his belly intensify. He felt his whole being tighten in anticipation.

Jo must have sensed it, because she increased her efforts beneath the bikini bottom.

"God," he gasped, shuddering and then relaxing against Jo.

He let go, grabbing both of her shoulders to keep himself from toppling backward. His eyes rolled back in his head, his teeth clenched hard as she hastened the rhythm.

When she had untied the side of the bikini, he couldn't be sure, but one minute, he had air between his legs, and the next, he was being lifted up like he was a feather-weight and eased back down. He cried out and wrapped his arms around her neck to hold himself up. Rough hands grabbed on to his bottom, pushing him down, then lifting him up a bit until he caught on to the idea and started to move on his own,.

"Dean...please…"

It was when the starbursts were building behind his lids the third time that he felt something inside him shift. Pleasure, heat, movement: it all became one sensation, and he felt lost in it. But only for a second.

When his eyes blinked open, he realized that he was the one holding her onto his lap, his hands resting on Jo's smooth hips as she continued to gasp against his shoulder, lips nibbling at the flesh over his collar bone to stifle her moans.

"Jo," he gasped. "For me, sugar."

When he felt her body tense, then her arms slacken from around his neck, he pulled away from her, allowing himself the same satisfaction.

Falling sideways onto the towel, breathless and content, they turned their heads, staring at one another, still dazed by the switch. Dean was still trying to take in the fact that he could see her face again, instead of his own. He decided it was a significant comfort to be able to hear his own voice when he wanted to use it.

"I think you got a raw deal," he announced, his voice tired and slow. "That was… different."

She smiled back, an almost drunken expression on her ruddy face. "Yeah. It was."


"Dean!"

Dean was barely at the witch's driveway, sand still dropping from his legs and the towel over his shoulder, when he heard his brother's voice and glanced up at the house.

Sam all but ran down the porch steps, arms held wide as if he were gesturing for a reaction. "Well?" he prompted.

Dean raised a brow. "Dude, how much coffee did you have while we were out?"

Sam's face broke in a relieved smile. "It worked—it did work, right? You're you?"

Jo slapped him on the shoulder as she passed by. "Well he's not me anymore—too bad for him, as the shower is still lady's choice. Thanks for setting that straight, Sam."

"Wait—" Sam's call stopped her before she slipped into the house. "Guys, I got the spell to work using the pieces of the bowl used to brew the potion that switched you. It was made from a special kind of clay."

Dean blinked. "Wow. That's, uh, fascinating, Sammy. Not that I'm not grateful that you fixed us but, clay?"

"Bobby said the closest guy who has one like it is in Montgomery—he owns an occult shop—and that if the witch has been in the area for long, she'll know about it. Bobby called the guy—he's going to give Jo a ring as soon as he gets a customer asking about the bowl." Sam paused to catch his breath. "If the witch isn't already there, she'll be there soon, so shower time's going to have to wait."

Dean frowned. "You said 'give Jo a ring'. We off this case or something?"

Sam nodded. "New case—we'll need to head back west pronto. There's something abducting people, leaving them drained of blood, but not like a vampire. Bobby said he thinks he knows what it is, but we need to go check it out to confirm."

"Can it wait?" Dean asked.

"If it could, Bobby wouldn't have brought it up. This thing moves often. It's hard to track," Sam answered.

Jo stepped back off the porch. "Looks like I'm headed out, then." She grinned ruefully. "Don't worry, guys—I'll make sure this bitch gets caught with her hand in the cookie jar and goes down. Painfully."

Dean gave her a once over. "Wish we could have worked the case with you, Jo, despite the circumstances."

Jo laughed. "We'll probably get another chance to finish a job," she assured. "Who knows? We don't get to plan the future—gotta seize the days, one at a time. Right?"

Dean sucked in his bottom lip, tasting her there, and grinned back. "Like we did today?"

"Exactly," Jo winked and took a step back, toward the doorframe. "I gotta grab my clothes. See you around, Winchesters."

"See ya, Harvelle."

Sam shook his head, glancing from the front door to his brother and back again. "Did I miss something?"

Dean rubbed a kink out of the back of his neck. "Just a day at the beach."


End Notes: I hope you enjoyed this, and if you did, let me know by clicking that review button :D