Help! I'm Trapped in a Girl's Body (PG)
Title: Help! I'm Trapped in a Girl's Body (PG)
Author: justthismorning
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Summary: Spencer is turned into a girl. Brendon does not handle this well. Dean thinks he knows what's going on and Sam thinks Spencer is too young for Dean (he's right). Supernatural/Panic at the Disco cross-over.
Beta: willow_fae_20. All remaining mistakes are mine
A/N: OMG apparently I can't write Panic without making it utterly and horribly cracky. This takes place before Spencer's beard and Dean's emo-angst attack. I have pictures!
Brendon | Spencer | Dean | Sam
Dean hates when Sam goes into geek mode. Except that he doesn’t hate it all the time, just when Sam gets scary intense about it and drags him into tiny, dusty bookstores with guys wearing thick glasses and sweater vests staring earnestly at them from behind a cluttered desk. Sam’s been lurking in the rows of this bookstore for almost an hour. Dean is bored man, friggin’ bored.
That’s probably why, when the tiny kid with stupid hair and girl jeans and a pink hoodie pushes on the door and trips on the air around his feet, Dean jumps on the distraction. The kid is nervous and twitchy and his eyes are entirely too wide behind his glasses. He goes straight to the witchcraft section. Dean laughs at him, because this kid is dorky enough to be laughed at, true, but also because Dean is feeling mean and spiteful and he thinks it’s funny that this kid thinks any of these books are going to be any help. From the section about Irish fae (and yes, they are hunting a banshee, what of it?), Sam shoots Dean a questioning look and then flips open another book with an illustration of a bloody and wailing woman on the cover.
The kid doesn’t seem to have any pattern or method. He just pulls book after book off the shelf, glancing through the pages and then stuffing them back in somewhere different from where he got them. He drops at least three. He’s just dropped his fourth when a girl stomps into the store. She has short hair - another ridiculous haircut, but at least she pulls it off - and a bitchface to rival Sam’s best efforts.
“Brendon,” she shrieks and cocks a hip at the boy, who is now standing in the aisle, a book about love potions dangling limply from his fingers. “For crying out loud, Brendon. These books are a load of crap. Let’s go.”
The boy looks like he’s going to cry. The girl also looks like she might cry, but for a different reason. Probably because Brendon raided her wardrobe and stole her favorite unicorn t-shirt (which Dean can see in the V formed by the slightly open zipper of his hoodie). She doesn’t look like the unicorn type of girl though. She looks like the kick-you-face-in kind of girl, or maybe the beat-you-over-the-head-with-her-drumsticks kind of girl. She is brandishing a pair menacingly at Brendon.
“Spencer,” Brendon whimpers, but shoves the book back on the shelf and lets Spencer drag him from the store. He may or may not be crying. Dean tries very hard not to laugh but doesn’t entirely succeed.
♥♥♥
They run into Spencer and Brendon again two hours later, at the dive diner that Sam picked out because it apparently had a vegetarian menu. Brendon is bouncing in his seat behind a plate still bearing the evidence of the same salad Sam’s ordering, and a coffee the size of his head. Spencer is still glaring. Her white t-shirt with the stripes of color across the chest clings against her breasts. Dean is not staring. Brendon is, though.
“Brendon,” Spencer snaps. “Stop fidgeting.”
Brendon’s mouth quivers, like he’s going to cry. Again. Sam kicks Dean under the table and raises his eyebrows at him. He mouths something like “too young” or maybe “ hoo dung”. Dean can never tell. Sam’s mouthing abilities fail miserably.
The sound of the vinyl seat squeaking from Brendon’s twitching swirls in the thick air of the diner and the waitress smirks down at Dean and tries to lean over and give him a good view of her cleavage. It's not that great. Spencer’s is better, not that Dean got a good look.
“Dude, chill,” he hears Spencer say. Then: “It’ll wear off, man.” She still sounds extremely pissed off. Maybe it’s because Brendon is still fidgeting.
Brendon’s response is a half wail, which Spencer silences with a kick of her shiny white and pink high top sneakers. “But dude, dude,” Brendon gasps, after his protests of pain die down. “Dude. What if you’re stuck like this forever and ever?”
Spencer throws down a pile of bills on the table and bodily forces Brendon from the booth.
“I refuse to have this rack for the rest of my life. I don’t care how awesome it is,” she says as she shunts him out the door.
♥♥♥
Sam and Dean are camped out at the hospital, waiting for the banshee, or whatever it was. Sam had explained that it wasn’t actually a banshee, but Dean had, at the same time, been checking out the hot, fine asses of a couple of college girls in mini-skirts and was a little distracted. What? It wasn’t his fault. Sam can be a boring kind of guy when he gets all long winded and theoretical. It was the only good part about him going away to college: someone else could bear Sam’s enthusiastic Einstein mode for a while.
Anyway, Sam and Dean are loitering in the hospital lobby, trying to not look creepy and succeeding only marginally, when Spencer comes bursting out of some back corridor with Brendon hot on her heels. She’s wearing a white hoodie, zipped all the way to her throat. It’s kind of cute, really, with some sort of ruffled bunching at the shoulders and a gold crest emblazoned across the left side.
“Still too young, Dean,” Sam says into the Cosmo he has open to the page about “How to Please Your Man.” Sam makes an amused snort at something, probably some bizarre sex move that can’t possibly be pleasurable for either partner that Cosmo includes just to see how many of their readers end up in the hospital because of it. Dean ignores both Sam’s comment and his laugh.
Brendon is struggling along behind Spencer, clutching his pink hoodie in one hand and a pile of pamphlets in his other hand. He makes it probably three steps across the lobby (calling “Spence, Spencer, dude, wait!” and that’s the second time Brendon has called her dude, and Brendon is just asking for beat downs if he doesn’t stop. If not from Spencer, then from Dean, because Brendon is giving all guys a bad name in girl-speak) when his right foot catches on the untied shoelace of his left foot and he goes down. Hard.
Sam is there a split second before Dean, who arrives at the same time as Spencer.
“Hey man, you okay?” Sam asks, but Spencer is already pushing him away and checking Brendon over for lumps and bruises and broken bones. Dean might hear soft admonishments for clumsiness and to slow down next time before she’s giving Brendon her hand and hoisting him to his feet.
Dean leans down to pick up the pamphlets that went flying everywhere during Brendon’s (admittedly spectacular) fall. “Gender Reassignment Surgery F.A.Q” and “What You Should Know About Gender Reassignment Surgery” and “Female to Male - the Facts” stare up at Dean in big bold letters. Spencer glares at him and snatches them back. She doesn’t thank him. She does, however, grab Brendon by the front of his shirt and tug him out the door. Dean politely ignores the blush burning up the back of her neck and across the tips of her ears.
♥♥♥
The maybe-banshee, that Dean really needs ask Sam what it is again, didn’t make an appearance so Sam sulked back to their motel room to sulk some more, and to maybe style his hair. Dean doesn’t want to know, actually. Dean, on the other hand, takes the few hours of free time for what they are and wanders down the street to some hole in the wall he’d seen earlier. It looks to be a pretty regular crowd and Dean makes a few hundred hustling pool before he gets bored and tries to convince some hot little number to take it out back with him. She claims she’s a lesbian. Dean tends to accept her word on it because, really, what straight girl would turn him down? Exactly.
He leaves alone shortly before midnight and is passing the little alley when two familiar voices drift out to him. He can’t help but grin as he creeps up to the edge and listens (but not like a stalker or spy or anything, because Dean is in no way creepy). He also has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at them.
“Okay, Brendon, just. Ow. Stop.” That’s Spencer’s voice. She sounds pissed.
Brendon just sounds awkward and a little sad when he says “Dude, look, I can’t help it. You’re squishy. In like, places.”
There’s a beat of silence, then what sounds like Spencer punching Brendon in the arm or possibly the chest. Brendon whimpers. Spencer says, “I can’t believe you just said that to me.” There’s that noise again, and another whimper from Brendon. “You don’t think the squishy annoys me more than it annoys you?”
“It doesn’t so much annoy,” Brendon says thoughtfully, and Dean doesn’t know how Brendon has any teeth left at all, seriously, until Brendon continues and says, “It’s more that it’s creepy and weird.”
Spencer sighs. “Okay, well how about I just go down on you, and maybe I can be teenager enough to just, you know, in my pants?”
There’s a moment of silence, like they’re considering the offer, then Brendon asks, “Can girls do that?” followed by another moment of silence, even longer than before. When Dean chances a peek at them, Spencer is pressed up fully against Brendon’s front, draping her arms around his neck and holding on for dear life. Brendon is running a soothing hand up and down her back as she trembles in his arms. “Hey, hey, Spence,” he says and kisses her hair. “It’s okay. We’ll fix you, okay?”
Her voice is broken when she lifts her face enough to free her mouth from where it was previously smooshed against Brendon’s shoulder. “I just want to be me again,” she says, and suddenly Dean feels bad about eavesdropping. Not bad enough to actually stop, but bad never-the-less.
♥♥♥
It’s a bean nighe, actually, that they’re hunting. She’s not so much an omen of death, as the legends purport, but more of a causer of death. She doesn’t die prettily either. Sam has huge claw marks raking down his shoulder and Dean had been covered in the black goopy blood from when he thought attacking her with an itty bitty knife would be a good idea. She’s dead though, and Sam is insisting they stop at that other diner, across town from the one they went to yesterday, to try out their low-cal menu. (Dean asks Sam how he was able to hide his boobs so well. Sam is not amused.)
Brendon is, somehow not surprisingly, perched on the bench outside the little diner, slurping away at what might be a radioactive milk shake. He looks at Dean like he might recognize him, then shrugs and jiggles his leg. He’s still wearing ridiculously tiny pants, but his t-shirt is this vibrant blue and his hoodie is lavender instead of pink.
Another boy comes out of the diner, holding two cups of coffee. He’s wearing a brown t-shirt underneath Spencer’s unzipped hoodie, and possibly Spencer’s sparkly shoes on his feet. Dean gives him a quick once over and decides he hopes Spencer never catches him in her clothes, ever, because Spencer looked like she could kick some serious ass.
Brendon makes grabby hands at the cups of coffee. “Spencer, my love, my darling, my favorite. Have I told you how much I love you?”
Dean freezes with one foot inside the door and one foot still firmly planted on the wooden wraparound porch which Brendon is currently sitting on. Sam plows into his back. He makes a discontented noise in the back of his throat but Dean just extracts himself from the door and turns to stare at the two boys who are sitting side-by-side, and pressed close enough to touch all the way from shoulder to hip to ankle.
“Brendon,” Spencer (?!) says, and Dean recognizes that tone of voice, holy crap.
“Spencer,” Brendon says happily and rests his head on Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t ever turn into a girl again. I missed your dick.”
Spencer looks at Dean then, and blushes all the way to his eyebrows. Dean just smiles and goes to get pie. And maybe the juiciest, greasiest, most disgusting burger ever, just to annoy Sam. Just before the door swings shut, Dean hears Spencer say, “Yeah, I love you too man.”
He may also hear Brendon snuffle against Spencer’s shoulder and say, “I might love you more.” Dean doesn’t smirk though. Sometimes things just deserve a little bit more class than that.
Author: justthismorning
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Summary: Spencer is turned into a girl. Brendon does not handle this well. Dean thinks he knows what's going on and Sam thinks Spencer is too young for Dean (he's right). Supernatural/Panic at the Disco cross-over.
Beta: willow_fae_20. All remaining mistakes are mine
A/N: OMG apparently I can't write Panic without making it utterly and horribly cracky. This takes place before Spencer's beard and Dean's emo-angst attack. I have pictures!
Brendon | Spencer | Dean | Sam
Dean hates when Sam goes into geek mode. Except that he doesn’t hate it all the time, just when Sam gets scary intense about it and drags him into tiny, dusty bookstores with guys wearing thick glasses and sweater vests staring earnestly at them from behind a cluttered desk. Sam’s been lurking in the rows of this bookstore for almost an hour. Dean is bored man, friggin’ bored.
That’s probably why, when the tiny kid with stupid hair and girl jeans and a pink hoodie pushes on the door and trips on the air around his feet, Dean jumps on the distraction. The kid is nervous and twitchy and his eyes are entirely too wide behind his glasses. He goes straight to the witchcraft section. Dean laughs at him, because this kid is dorky enough to be laughed at, true, but also because Dean is feeling mean and spiteful and he thinks it’s funny that this kid thinks any of these books are going to be any help. From the section about Irish fae (and yes, they are hunting a banshee, what of it?), Sam shoots Dean a questioning look and then flips open another book with an illustration of a bloody and wailing woman on the cover.
The kid doesn’t seem to have any pattern or method. He just pulls book after book off the shelf, glancing through the pages and then stuffing them back in somewhere different from where he got them. He drops at least three. He’s just dropped his fourth when a girl stomps into the store. She has short hair - another ridiculous haircut, but at least she pulls it off - and a bitchface to rival Sam’s best efforts.
“Brendon,” she shrieks and cocks a hip at the boy, who is now standing in the aisle, a book about love potions dangling limply from his fingers. “For crying out loud, Brendon. These books are a load of crap. Let’s go.”
The boy looks like he’s going to cry. The girl also looks like she might cry, but for a different reason. Probably because Brendon raided her wardrobe and stole her favorite unicorn t-shirt (which Dean can see in the V formed by the slightly open zipper of his hoodie). She doesn’t look like the unicorn type of girl though. She looks like the kick-you-face-in kind of girl, or maybe the beat-you-over-the-head-with-her-drumsticks kind of girl. She is brandishing a pair menacingly at Brendon.
“Spencer,” Brendon whimpers, but shoves the book back on the shelf and lets Spencer drag him from the store. He may or may not be crying. Dean tries very hard not to laugh but doesn’t entirely succeed.
♥♥♥
They run into Spencer and Brendon again two hours later, at the dive diner that Sam picked out because it apparently had a vegetarian menu. Brendon is bouncing in his seat behind a plate still bearing the evidence of the same salad Sam’s ordering, and a coffee the size of his head. Spencer is still glaring. Her white t-shirt with the stripes of color across the chest clings against her breasts. Dean is not staring. Brendon is, though.
“Brendon,” Spencer snaps. “Stop fidgeting.”
Brendon’s mouth quivers, like he’s going to cry. Again. Sam kicks Dean under the table and raises his eyebrows at him. He mouths something like “too young” or maybe “ hoo dung”. Dean can never tell. Sam’s mouthing abilities fail miserably.
The sound of the vinyl seat squeaking from Brendon’s twitching swirls in the thick air of the diner and the waitress smirks down at Dean and tries to lean over and give him a good view of her cleavage. It's not that great. Spencer’s is better, not that Dean got a good look.
“Dude, chill,” he hears Spencer say. Then: “It’ll wear off, man.” She still sounds extremely pissed off. Maybe it’s because Brendon is still fidgeting.
Brendon’s response is a half wail, which Spencer silences with a kick of her shiny white and pink high top sneakers. “But dude, dude,” Brendon gasps, after his protests of pain die down. “Dude. What if you’re stuck like this forever and ever?”
Spencer throws down a pile of bills on the table and bodily forces Brendon from the booth.
“I refuse to have this rack for the rest of my life. I don’t care how awesome it is,” she says as she shunts him out the door.
♥♥♥
Sam and Dean are camped out at the hospital, waiting for the banshee, or whatever it was. Sam had explained that it wasn’t actually a banshee, but Dean had, at the same time, been checking out the hot, fine asses of a couple of college girls in mini-skirts and was a little distracted. What? It wasn’t his fault. Sam can be a boring kind of guy when he gets all long winded and theoretical. It was the only good part about him going away to college: someone else could bear Sam’s enthusiastic Einstein mode for a while.
Anyway, Sam and Dean are loitering in the hospital lobby, trying to not look creepy and succeeding only marginally, when Spencer comes bursting out of some back corridor with Brendon hot on her heels. She’s wearing a white hoodie, zipped all the way to her throat. It’s kind of cute, really, with some sort of ruffled bunching at the shoulders and a gold crest emblazoned across the left side.
“Still too young, Dean,” Sam says into the Cosmo he has open to the page about “How to Please Your Man.” Sam makes an amused snort at something, probably some bizarre sex move that can’t possibly be pleasurable for either partner that Cosmo includes just to see how many of their readers end up in the hospital because of it. Dean ignores both Sam’s comment and his laugh.
Brendon is struggling along behind Spencer, clutching his pink hoodie in one hand and a pile of pamphlets in his other hand. He makes it probably three steps across the lobby (calling “Spence, Spencer, dude, wait!” and that’s the second time Brendon has called her dude, and Brendon is just asking for beat downs if he doesn’t stop. If not from Spencer, then from Dean, because Brendon is giving all guys a bad name in girl-speak) when his right foot catches on the untied shoelace of his left foot and he goes down. Hard.
Sam is there a split second before Dean, who arrives at the same time as Spencer.
“Hey man, you okay?” Sam asks, but Spencer is already pushing him away and checking Brendon over for lumps and bruises and broken bones. Dean might hear soft admonishments for clumsiness and to slow down next time before she’s giving Brendon her hand and hoisting him to his feet.
Dean leans down to pick up the pamphlets that went flying everywhere during Brendon’s (admittedly spectacular) fall. “Gender Reassignment Surgery F.A.Q” and “What You Should Know About Gender Reassignment Surgery” and “Female to Male - the Facts” stare up at Dean in big bold letters. Spencer glares at him and snatches them back. She doesn’t thank him. She does, however, grab Brendon by the front of his shirt and tug him out the door. Dean politely ignores the blush burning up the back of her neck and across the tips of her ears.
♥♥♥
The maybe-banshee, that Dean really needs ask Sam what it is again, didn’t make an appearance so Sam sulked back to their motel room to sulk some more, and to maybe style his hair. Dean doesn’t want to know, actually. Dean, on the other hand, takes the few hours of free time for what they are and wanders down the street to some hole in the wall he’d seen earlier. It looks to be a pretty regular crowd and Dean makes a few hundred hustling pool before he gets bored and tries to convince some hot little number to take it out back with him. She claims she’s a lesbian. Dean tends to accept her word on it because, really, what straight girl would turn him down? Exactly.
He leaves alone shortly before midnight and is passing the little alley when two familiar voices drift out to him. He can’t help but grin as he creeps up to the edge and listens (but not like a stalker or spy or anything, because Dean is in no way creepy). He also has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at them.
“Okay, Brendon, just. Ow. Stop.” That’s Spencer’s voice. She sounds pissed.
Brendon just sounds awkward and a little sad when he says “Dude, look, I can’t help it. You’re squishy. In like, places.”
There’s a beat of silence, then what sounds like Spencer punching Brendon in the arm or possibly the chest. Brendon whimpers. Spencer says, “I can’t believe you just said that to me.” There’s that noise again, and another whimper from Brendon. “You don’t think the squishy annoys me more than it annoys you?”
“It doesn’t so much annoy,” Brendon says thoughtfully, and Dean doesn’t know how Brendon has any teeth left at all, seriously, until Brendon continues and says, “It’s more that it’s creepy and weird.”
Spencer sighs. “Okay, well how about I just go down on you, and maybe I can be teenager enough to just, you know, in my pants?”
There’s a moment of silence, like they’re considering the offer, then Brendon asks, “Can girls do that?” followed by another moment of silence, even longer than before. When Dean chances a peek at them, Spencer is pressed up fully against Brendon’s front, draping her arms around his neck and holding on for dear life. Brendon is running a soothing hand up and down her back as she trembles in his arms. “Hey, hey, Spence,” he says and kisses her hair. “It’s okay. We’ll fix you, okay?”
Her voice is broken when she lifts her face enough to free her mouth from where it was previously smooshed against Brendon’s shoulder. “I just want to be me again,” she says, and suddenly Dean feels bad about eavesdropping. Not bad enough to actually stop, but bad never-the-less.
♥♥♥
It’s a bean nighe, actually, that they’re hunting. She’s not so much an omen of death, as the legends purport, but more of a causer of death. She doesn’t die prettily either. Sam has huge claw marks raking down his shoulder and Dean had been covered in the black goopy blood from when he thought attacking her with an itty bitty knife would be a good idea. She’s dead though, and Sam is insisting they stop at that other diner, across town from the one they went to yesterday, to try out their low-cal menu. (Dean asks Sam how he was able to hide his boobs so well. Sam is not amused.)
Brendon is, somehow not surprisingly, perched on the bench outside the little diner, slurping away at what might be a radioactive milk shake. He looks at Dean like he might recognize him, then shrugs and jiggles his leg. He’s still wearing ridiculously tiny pants, but his t-shirt is this vibrant blue and his hoodie is lavender instead of pink.
Another boy comes out of the diner, holding two cups of coffee. He’s wearing a brown t-shirt underneath Spencer’s unzipped hoodie, and possibly Spencer’s sparkly shoes on his feet. Dean gives him a quick once over and decides he hopes Spencer never catches him in her clothes, ever, because Spencer looked like she could kick some serious ass.
Brendon makes grabby hands at the cups of coffee. “Spencer, my love, my darling, my favorite. Have I told you how much I love you?”
Dean freezes with one foot inside the door and one foot still firmly planted on the wooden wraparound porch which Brendon is currently sitting on. Sam plows into his back. He makes a discontented noise in the back of his throat but Dean just extracts himself from the door and turns to stare at the two boys who are sitting side-by-side, and pressed close enough to touch all the way from shoulder to hip to ankle.
“Brendon,” Spencer (?!) says, and Dean recognizes that tone of voice, holy crap.
“Spencer,” Brendon says happily and rests his head on Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t ever turn into a girl again. I missed your dick.”
Spencer looks at Dean then, and blushes all the way to his eyebrows. Dean just smiles and goes to get pie. And maybe the juiciest, greasiest, most disgusting burger ever, just to annoy Sam. Just before the door swings shut, Dean hears Spencer say, “Yeah, I love you too man.”
He may also hear Brendon snuffle against Spencer’s shoulder and say, “I might love you more.” Dean doesn’t smirk though. Sometimes things just deserve a little bit more class than that.