Title: Sam Winchester is a Red-Headed Woman
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural. All rights remain. Written for fun, not profit.
Author's notes: SPN, set after 2.07 ("The Usual Suspects"), in which Dean calls Sam a red-headed woman. Post series for BtVS. This isn't full-on crack but it's close. I wrote another such Dean and Sam gender-based misadventure with Willow's magic last year called Gender Bender, if almost-crack is your cuppa.
Despite the fact that he was the kind of guy who liked to sleep with a weapon in arms' distance, there were some things that simply didn't startle a barely awake Dean Winchester. Example? Seeing a hot red-headed chick across from him.
Dean gave her a dopey smile when her lashes fluttered, a sign of waking. As giddy as morning-after sex usually made him, he winced, because his head was pounding. How much had he had to drink last night? He closed his eyes, did some math, ended with "1", as in a beer. Okay, so not a hangover…Then he remembered getting cold-cocked by that asshat dirty-cop in Baltimore not twenty-four hours ago. Yeah, that woulda done it.
"Morning," he called out, trying to put on some charm, despite his headache.
Then some things started falling into place. And Dean wasn't exactly sure about how he felt about these new details.
On the plus side, the girl was still hot, hair grown out a little wild and Ariel-like, one pale leg out from in under the covers, teasing him. She had an adorable face, a little too innocent—Dean knew from experience those girls were always full of surprises of the bed-time-fun variety.
The part that was throwing Dean off was the fact that, now that he was awake enough to notice, he realized she wasn't in bed with him. She was in the motel room's other full-sized bed, not three feet away. Sam's bed. And she was wearing one of Sam's ugly-ass graphic print t-shirts. Which meant, in all likelihood, she was here with Sam.
With Sam. While that would usually fill him with pride, Dean was painfully aware that, with him knocked out, possibly with a slight concussion, his baby brother had brought a girl into the room...
"Dude, that's just not right," Dean muttered into his pillow. When he noticed her attention was on him, he attempted another smile, this one less I-got-laid and more please-politely-ignore-me-while-I-freak-out. "Sorry, cupcake…Just a little foggy about what happened last night. Sam in the shower?"
The girl's brow wrinkled, and she lifted her head up, giving him a sleepy glare. "Cupcake? Yeah, that's hilarious, Dean—you should be a comedian." Then she paused, her eyes widening to saucer-status. Dean would have laughed if the next words out of her mouth weren't, "What the hell is wrong with my voice, man?"
Dean found himself sitting up in bed at lightning speed. "Uh…Sam?"
The girl scrambled out from under the blanket, a worried, high-pitch sound building at the back of her throat. Girly panic, if one wanted to label it—which Dean did. She reached up, cupping her breasts and sucking in a gasp of surprise.
"Shit…Dean, I have breasts!"
And, at that precise moment, Dean realized his brother was a red-headed woman. Christ, the universe had it out for them.
This wasn't a slayer dream; it was a happy dream, Buffy determined. In happy dreams, the happy dream boys always felt extra real. She gave a soft sound of delight and felt flesh beneath her fingertips. Without opening her eyes—because opening one's eyes tended to ruin dreams—she followed the hard skin to the fold of an elbow, painting an image of the large, muscular arm disappearing beneath her pillow, hand trapped under her head.
Someone muttered a sleep-broken word. A male someone.
Buffy smile lazily and rolled over, closer to him, snuggling her back against a warm chest. Something decidedly manly rubbed against her hip and she giggled.
"Isa' good dream," she said, smacking her lips.
"Uh-huh," dream-boy responded.
Frustrated with the heat beneath the blankets, she kicked them off, and then consciousness, the envious bitch that she was, started to take over. Buffy opened her eyes, somewhat confused because she still felt a male pressed against her. And, for the life of her, she couldn't remember bringing anyone back to…Willow's room? She stared at the female deity statue on the nightstand, blinking a few times before it sunk in; yes, she had in fact opted to spend the night with her best friend after their rather long and frustrating attempts to crack the spellbook Willow had recently obtained.
As far as Buffy remembered, Xander hadn't decided to join the party.
Buffy had too much confidence in her own abilities to fully let her panic take over, but she could definitely feel it building.
"Uh, Buffy—" The sleepy male voice was back and sounding kinda nervous. "I know you've been somewhat experimental of late, but I really don't think we should do whatever you're trying to do right now."
Oh, like sticking her butt against her best friend's groin. Buffy's eyes widened. "Willow. You feeling happy right now?"
"Oh…Oh my goddess, I have a…"
Buffy rolled over onto her back to get a look at her friend, and she only barely stopped herself from flying out of the bed. Big puppy dog eyes stared at her in worry. Those weren't Will's eyes, but that was definitely Will's stare.
Buffy shook her head, taking in the long body—wow, guy-Willow was tall—of the man beside her. Her friend's buttoned PJ top, covered in moon phases, was straining against his wide, muscular, manly chest. If he took a deep breath, she was pretty sure it would rip free, Hulk style.
Willow squeaked. "I'm a man." She glanced down at her legs, where her pants ended at her calves. "I'm a giant man."
"Willow, that magic thing you were working on last night? You know how you were worried about it having consequences? Yeah, it had consequences."
Guns and knives put away, after Sam had been subjected to every supernatural test Dean could think of, the two brothers sat in silence for all of ten minutes.
Dean ran a hand down his face. "This is all my fault."
Sam frowned. "How exactly? Did you slip me some kind of shifter cocktail while I as sleep?" At Dean's incredulous stare, Sam shook his head…her head—she ran her fingers through her hair, still not quite used it length. Or her other new parts. "Dude, how could this possibly be your fault? Obviously something's done this to me. Any chance those hounds we came into town to hunt belong to a witch?"
"Shit, I don't know, Sam—I guess, maybe? But until last night, we thought we were doing a quick Black Dog clean up. The fact that they were white—we were supposed to research that today." Dean shook his head. "But the hunt might not even be related to this...I mean, dude, I called you a red-headed woman, and then you turned into a red-headed woman."
Sam raised a brow as the memory came back to him…her. "Do I look like Scully?"
Dean snorted. "Hell no. But, that's not to say you don't look hot. You just have that more innocent school-girl kinda thing going on instead of the sexy FBI agen—" He broke off at Sam's glare, clearing his throat. "But, I still think it's my fault. Something must have heard what I said and—"
"Dean. Seriously? Why would anything that hates us go through the trouble of a gender bend instead of just killing us bloody?"
Dean chewed his lip. Nope, he didn't have an answer for that. "Evil doesn't have to make sense, Sammy." He let out a slow breath, already reaching over to the nightstand for his cell phone. Sam didn't say a word, sitting cross-legged in his over-sized shirt and boxers as he waited. Two rings in, Bobby picked up.
"Huh," the old hunter answered, "you're actually calling at a decent hour."
Dean rolled his eyes but decided to save the smartass reply. After all, this story alone was going to be enough to get him stirred up. "We've got ourselves into a…weird situation. Well, actually, Sammy's the one with the problem, but I think it might be my fault. Of course it might just be Sammy finally reaching puberty but—"
Dean dodged a pillow.
"Knock it off, you idgits." Bobby sighed. "Lay it out for me, already. I'm not getting any younger."
So Dean did. Bobby's end went quiet.
"Dean, I want you to think carefully for me." Bobby sounded as if he was still trying to wrap his head around the situation. "Did you say the words 'I wish' when you were calling your brother a woman?"
Dean frowned. "No, why?"
Bobby let out a breath of relief. "Nevermind… Listen, as far as we know, nothing actually possessed Sam's body, right? Something transformed it. Sounds like magic or a supernatural infection of some sort."
Dean snorted, holding his hand over the phone to whisper, "Bobby says you have a monster STD."
"Dean!" Bobby snapped. Then he let out an annoyed growl. "Like I was saying, it's transformation, not possession. So as far as we know, nothing bad is actually happening to Sam's body. There's no immediate danger to worry about. So, we'll work this like any other case. Tell 'em to email me the reports you two were looking into so we can tell if it's related to Sam's lady-parts problem. And you two chuckleheads keep your noses clean until I call back."
Bobby hung up on the pair. Dean let out a breath when Sam frowned.
"Bobby said he'll call back when he's got something…It might take a while, though. You need to email him the case details." Dean stood up, moving to his jeans.
"Where are you going?"
Dean shrugged. "I'm hungry, dude. And you're going to need something that fits in case you actually have to leave the room."
Sam shot up off the bed, panic in her eyes. "Clothes? You think I'm going to be like this long enough to need clothes?" Her voice reached a particularly high pitch, and she started to pace, holding up her boxers with one hand. "Dean, I can't do this man. This is just too weird, and now I've gotta…" She grimaced, saying the last part softly. "Pee."
Dean snorted. "You do know how a girl's downstairs works, right, Samantha? I mean, I know you haven't had much experience with the area—"
He slipped out the door just as a second pillow hit.
Buffy took a step back, admiring the view. "I could see its appeal."
Willow was nodding in agreement as she…he stepped back, staring at his new body. He'd switched, with difficulty, considering his attempts to keep his eyes shut, into a pair of sweatpants—still too snug—and into one of Xander's old t-shirts—still too short. "Yeah, I mean, being a giant man would be useful. I could get things off of tall shelves without using magic. Oh, and scare people."
Just to prove his point, he made a scary, growly face. Willow stopped, mid-theatrics, straightening. "But who is this guy, anyhow?"
"No clue." Buffy shrugged. "But he's a hottie. Maybe he's your inner guy. Oh—does this mean you're still a lesbian or just a heterosexual man?"
"We'll figure that out later—and, hey, quit staring at my butt! Don't objectify me!" Willow huffed, turning slightly as he studied the mirror. "Though, even as a lesbian in a man's body, I can appreciate a healthy form…" Willow shook his head, pushing floppy bangs away. "Okay, so I'm thinking this had to do with that spell invoking the powers of the rulers of Annwn…"
"Is this that Mists of Avalon thing?" Buffy asked, back to staring at Willow's butt. "Hey—I just realized, we call you Will already. So you won't have to change your name or anything…Not that you're going to be like this forever," she backtracked, catching Willow's glare—yup, giant men were scarier.
Willow shook her head. "Kinda. Anyhow, part of the invocation involved taking on the responsibilities of the hounds of Annwn—in modern legend, people usually translate that to mean hellhounds, but if you look back further, Annwn isn't hell, and the hounds aren't necessarily evil…So I thought maybe that wouldn't be an issue."
"And I'm assuming from the whole penis-having thing that these dogs are involved?"
Willow nodded glumly. "See, there's this legend about the old king of Annwn, Arawn, and this hunter, Pwyll, who interfered in his hounds' playtime…As part of Pwyll's punishment, there's some body switch-age in the story. But not quite like this. So, I think my spell must not have fully worked. Which is a good thing, because, if it had, I might've beeen stuck like this for a year, or until the hunter faced my adversary in combat..."
Buffy pouted. "But I was just getting used to the new look."
Willow rolled her eyes. "You only want me for my body…"
"True. So, spell reversal?"
"This is stupid."
"Oh, come on, Sammy—you look great."
"I hate you."
Dean snorted. "Jeeze, baby sister, you're moody. Is it that time of month?"
"I'm going to dislocate your thumbs," Sam promised, stepping out of the motel room with a deep frown planted across her face. "Both of them. Consider yourself warned."
Dean shook his head. "Come on—you look good. And we can't stay cooped up in that room all day. We're just going to the diner down the block for a bite to eat—no one knows it's your first time sportin' a dress."
Which was entirely the problem. Sam crossed her arms over her chest, feeling overly exposed. Dean's excuse for the outfit was that he didn't know what size Sam wore—so he'd went the easy route, picking up a short, stretchy yellow sundress from the thrift store, despite the weather, and a pair a of flats—because even Dean didn't have the death wish necessary to present his brother with a pair of heels.
"I look stupid."
"You look hot," Dean disagreed. Then he paused, grimacing. "Jesus, this is weird. I keep forgetting you're my sister—I mean brother." His eyes widened slightly, as if he expected a knife to be thrown his way. "I seriously meant 'brother'."
Sam only huffed, obviously too tired of the "slips" to acknowledge them. Dean bit down his smirk.
"Whatever, man. Let's get a bite to eat, and then I can go buy me something decent to wear."
Dean looked down at the Impala and back up again to comment on Sam's wardrobe choices. And found himself with a brother again.
A brother in a dress.
Sam paused, obviously feeling the change, and stared down at his body, a mixture of relief and mortification crossing his features. It probably didn't help that a couple crossing the parking lot stopped to stare at him.
Dean rolled his eyes at the washed-up looking pair. "What, you never seen a guy in a dress before?"
The pair sped off, and Dean tossed the motel keys to Sam with a practiced move. His brother kicked off his tiny shoes and made a run for it. Dean smiled, not wanting to be the one to tell him his ass was hanging out of the skirt…
"Dude, I still think you're rockin' that outfit."