Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor am I affiliated with it or the CW network in any way, shape or form. I'm just a fangirl with a big imagination.

A/N: I wrote this as a possible episode that wasn't included into, oh, lets say season 6, or as an "in between episodes" style story. A shorter tale I wrote just for fun, not meant to be long or involved. This is as close to slash as I get. I guess that's all for now (sorry, my brain is fried; I sustained an injury a month ago that's taking it's sweet time to heal & I'm on some good drugs so... I'm blaming any and all typo's, misspellings and grammatical errors on that while I can). Enjoy and don't forget to review! They kind of make my day :)

Let's get one thing clear. There was nothing ordinary about this case from the get-go. The thing that drew us to this Washington town in the first place was an actual Big Foot sighting. It was less the sighting that intrigued Dean and me, but rather the part where Big Foot picked up a guy and hurled him through the forest where he died from a broken neck.

Some one actually saw this. Or at least, when we talked to the kid, he genuinely believed he saw it.

The man who died in the "incident" was a local by the name Bradley Greenwood, age 37. He ran a tourist shop dedicated to Big Foot. From what we gathered, Bradley was your general, all around jerk who didn't even believe in Big Foot. And a bit of an alcoholic. But that was it.

So Dean and I spent a night out in the woods and didn't even see a bear.

When we emerged into civilization the next day, the papers had an interesting story printed on the front page. A man, Gerry Epson, age 26, was found dead in his apartment. Licked to death. By cats.

Yes, licked to death. By cats. Which was weird, because this guy didn't even own a cat let alone the number of cats it would take to be licked to death by them.

Turns out, Gerry used to be a troubled little boy. Troubled, as in disturbed. He was that weirdo who went around killing the neighbors pets and other small animals. According to his loved ones, Gerry was better now. He hadn't been like that in years. But he was still a flaming asshole and a bit off. Which made me wonder if maybe Gerry was still in the habit of killing things.

So we had Big Foot and a mysterious vengeful spirit on the loose.

While Dean and I were trying to figure out how the hell a hundred cats got into Gerry's apartment in the first place, a completely new one popped up. A man, Noris Renfield, age 54, had his face ripped off by, get this, Velma. As in, Scooby-Doo Velma. While the entire Mystery gang watched.

Noris didn't die, but he won't be talking for a while. The dirt on Noris wasn't completely unlike the first two in the sense that he seemed to be an all around dick. Apparently he was a bit of a swindler. He'd make up elaborate stories if he knew he would gain something from it. Supposedly he recently dressed up like a ghost to scare some people away from buying the house he was supposed to inherit, which kind of explains the Scooby-Doo gang. Kind of.

When Noris's curious case arose, both Dean and I began to grow suspicious. What are the chances we're hunting three separate things in one little town? So we dug around for something that connected the victims, and what we found was this: the dim, rustic tavern Dean and I are currently stationed where we ponder these strange events over a cold beer. This bar is the single thing these guys had in common. Something is almost always better than nothing.

"Maybe we should call Bobby on this one," Dean suggests as he loosens his red tie from around his neck. "I'm freakin' stumped."

"Yeah," I somewhat agree, my eyes glancing around the establishment before they settle on the petite brunette behind the bar. "Maybe we're dealing with a witch?"

"I don't know," Dean doesn't share my theory. "Witches are usually more, I don't know, brutal. Bloody. This stuff's just flat out weird. Almost laughable."

I silently nod. It is kind of laughable, once you look past the fact that people got hurt or died.

"I don't know, man," Dean continues between sips from his brown bottle. "I'm having a hard time putting a rush on this one. I mean, I feel bad these poor bastards went out the way they did. But it kind of sounds like they had it coming."

From what those who knew them closest told us, it's kind of true.

"Fair enough," I nod again. "It's almost like they got their..."

It hits me like a punch to the gut by Mike Tyson. Oh crap. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

"Got their what?" Dean cocks a brow at me as my face falls and my heart rate spikes.

"Dean, we need to get out of here," I pull my black jacket from the back of the chair and tug at my older brother's sleeves.

"Why?" he hasn't caught on yet. "I'm not done with my beer."

"Dean," I growl, my tone low as I stare him down. "These guys got their just desert."

It doesn't take him even a full second to realize what that always means. Trickster. A.k.a. Gabriel. A.k.a. Loki, depending on who you ask.

"On second thought, I think I'm done with my beer," he reassesses his plans and swiftly follows me towards the exit.

I swing the green, metal door open and, as we pass the threshold, a brilliant, blinding white light consumes us. It lasts a second, maybe two, and once it's gone I find we've made it into the parking lot. At a quick glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary. The Impala is still there, the evening air is still crisp and we're still breathing.

I blink over at Dean to see if he can tell what's going on, but Dean's not there. Instead I'm standing beside a slender brunette woman with long, full bodied dark hair and hazel green eyes. She wears slim fitted dark denim jeans tucked into a pair of thick black boots, along with a dark blue hoodie beneath a chic black leather jacket. I have no friggin' clue who this woman is, and by the way she looks at me, I'm just as much of a strange surprise as she is to me.

"Who are you?" we question each other in unison.

That was weird. My voice sounded... higher pitched. I study the woman who studies me back.

"I'm, uh," I fumble, my thoughts becoming distracted by how strange my voice sounds right now. "I'm Sam."

"Sam?" the woman cocks her head as she echoes my name. "It's me, it's Dean."

That is so not a good sign.

"Dude," the woman, 'Dean', giggles. "You're a chick." She pauses when she pieces the last five minuets together. "Wait... what's wrong with my voice? If you didn't recognize me... oh my god..."

He, she, whatever this person is, looks down at her chest and sees the pair of perky breasts.

"Oh... my... god..." my brother/sister moans before turning to me, her face stricken with utter horror. "Dude, kick me."

"What?" I wrinkle my brow.

"Kick me," this female Dean begs.

"Uh... where?" I ask, my eyes distracted by my French manicured fingernails on my dainty fingers. "Also, why?"

"Between the legs," she states. "I need to see if the guys are still down there."

"I'm not going to kick you, Dean," I break it to her/him. "Not only am I pretty positive at this point that the guys are no longer there, I can think of a far less painful way to check yourself."

"Oh, god," Dean moans again. "What happened to us? What did Gabriel do to us!?"

"I wish I knew," I say with a long, heavy sigh.

It might not show on the outside, but I assure you, I am completely freaking out on the inside. One minuet I was regular old Sam, same as I'd been my whole life. And now, suddenly and quite unexpectedly, I'm a girl.

If this is one of Gabriel's jokes, I don't get it. And it's far from funny.

"Let's just try to calm down," I attempt to soothe Dean's anxieties with a smooth tone.

"Calm down!?" girl Dean fumes, kicking gravel as she yells. "Calm down!? How the hell do you expect me to calm down!? I'm in a completely different gender right now than I was when I woke up this morning and you're telling me to calm down!?"

We receive awkward stares from a passing young couple who casually stroll to the tavern's entrance.

"What are you looking at?" Dean barks at them before turning her gaze back on me. "What are we going to do, Sam?"

"I... I don't know," I admit, rubbing my temples with my fingers.

That's when I notice the long, light brown hair that falls around my shoulders. My fingers graze my ears and find them to be pierced with some sort of stud earrings. This just keeps getting worse and worse.

"I'm going back in there," Dean tells me, her fingers balling into hard, angry fists. "I'm gonna find that son of a bitch and I'm going to make him fix us."

"Do you even think he's still in there?" I question, but Dean doesn't listen. She desperately wants to be a he again. So I follow her because, really, I don't want to be a girl either.

Of course, Gabriel is no where to be found. Surprise is lost on me by this. No way he would make it that easy for us.

Something strange I do notice is the bartender. I could have sworn there was a petite brunette woman working the taps. Now it's a short, muscular brunette man.

Could have been a shift change, I tell myself, but I can't dismiss the oddity of this. Not entirely. Partially because of what's just happened to Dean and myself, but also because this new bartender looks like he could be the girl's brother.

"Let's go back to the motel," I suggest, tugging at Dean's jacket sleeve as I speak. "Regroup. Figure out what to do next."

"Yeah, fine," Dean grumbles, but instead of turning towards the exit, she turns to the bar. "I'm gonna need a drink first."

(AN: "How could it be Gabriel?" you might be asking. "Lucifer killed him in Season 5." I assure you, I remember that. All will be explained in due time.)