Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise
Because the post is technically too large, I'll just post the first half. The last half will remain on tumblr :)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Destiel
Multi-chapter, WIP
Eventual NC-17 rating, R for now
Summary: When a witches’ spell goes awry, Dean transforms into something new. However, even after the dust settles, we can’t change the things we’ve done or revealed about ourselves. It’s time to look inside and figure out who we really are, and who we really love. (GenderBend (for a small portion), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Destiel.) AU: Sometime in a theorectical world after 5 and bits of 6.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four:
Burning Sky; Morning Sun
For the second day in a row, Dean woke up in immense pain. He didn’t realize it at first, as Sam shook him awake by the shoulder, but the moment he shifted his head split in two. Sam’s “Hey, get up,” was ringing around his head like it had been spoken through a loud-speaker. When he started to sit up, his stomach churned unpleasantly.
“…Uhghgod.”
Sam’s boots clanked absurdly against the floor. “How you feelin’, Dean?”
Dean knew that question. It was the kind of question one was usually asked after a night of heavy drinking. In fact, it was usually asked from the moment one started drinking. It was an obnoxious status check-in that was seemingly designed by sober people to belittle you for your choices-at least, that’s the way it seemed in the morning.
So Dean chose not to answer. He gamely pulled himself upright, trying in vain to ignore the swimming sensation now drowning in his head. He turned to walk to the bathroom and tripped over his shoes. Sam must have taken them off last night.
“Dean, we need to get going.”
“Wuttimizzit?”
Sam blinked at him as he mentally translated. “It’s five o’clock.”
“Ugh!” Dean tripped over to the sink and filled a glass with water. “Whydyouwakeme up so early, Sam?” He tilted his head back and sipped, segmented parts of last night flashing through his mind in a nightmarish barrage.
“Vampires? Killing them? You, as a man, suddenly no longer a man anymore? Remember any of that?”
“Shaddup.” Dean stared down at the ground, feeling suddenly like water wasn’t such a good idea. In fact…
It had been years since he’d been so drunk he threw up. Years longer since he’d been so hungover he’d thrown up.
Records, however, are made to be broken.
“Well,” he heard Sam say over the flushing of the toilet. “Feeling better?”
Dean groaned ungainly. “Why did you let me drink so-so…” he seized, then gripped the porcelain tight, heaving himself repeatedly over the edge of the bowl.
“I know I’ll never forget where I was the night Dean Winchester was a light-weight. I remember it as though it were only yesterday… Oh, wait!-”
Dean made to say “Shut up” again but vomited instead.
It was some time later, when he emerged hunched over and shaking from the bathroom, that he comprehended the low buzzing he’d thought was in his head was actually Sam talking to a recently arrived Castiel. Dean stared at them as they turned and took stock. Sam shrugged.
“Well?”
Dean sniffed gamely. “Let’s do this.”
Except that he took one step forward and had to turn right back around again. As he coughed, he heard Sam say, “Cas, please help him. We’ve got to get moving.”
The Angel sighed heavily as Sam continued under his breath, as though Dean couldn’t hear him, “He can learn his lesson another time.”
But Dean was too sick to be indignant or pretend that what they’d said mattered. He leaned over the bowl, tiny head hanging desperately onto his arms. He wanted to explain, to tell Cas it was all an accident and that he’s normally much more responsible than this, but all he could do was breathe deeply and shudder.
It came again as he knew it would, the warmth that radiated from Cas as he stepped up and placed a hand against him. Dean sighed, shoulders shaking, leaning back into him-only to lose his balance and fall.
“Ow!” He stared up at Cas, who had, contrary to normal, merely touched Dean’s shoulder once and then immediately moved away. In fact, he had moved so quickly, Dean wouldn’t have been surprised if he had Angel-mojoed himself back to Sam’s side. He caught Cas’s eyes for a split second before the Angel looked away; Castiel positively glared at him. Dean blinked, then smiled.
“You’re sexy when you’re pissed, Cas.”
And instead of the eye-roll he had expected, instead of the gruff shove-off and holier-than-thou demeanor, Cas’s eyes bulged and his nostrils flared, and he whipped his head around to Sam. “I’ll meet you outside.”
He vanished.
Dean stared at his brother, who apparently found the floor very interesting. “What the hell is his problem?”
“No idea,” Sam lied. “Shall we go?”
Dean’s head tilted. “Sammy…”
“Dean, just-” Sam finally looked at him and looked at him hard. “Can we go and do this already?”
Well, fuck if everyone wasn’t pissed at him today. Dean had a great suspicion that his antics last night had something to do with this. Naturally he only remembered little bits of it. But it would come it him. And when it did he could get everyone’s panties out of a twist and fix it. Only this time he’d be a dude, which would be so fucking nice, because his boobs hurt today from sleeping on them wrongly, again. He had a feeling that Cas had noticed and left them that way.
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They appeared in the brushes a few hundred feet from the house, fluttering into the leaves and immediately crouching into action. Dean had his machete swung across his back, a loaded syringe of dead man’s blood and the special blood-casings in a stock holder around his middle.
They were looking for a blonde. Not just any blonde, but a rather plump one with dark brown eyes. Her true name was Phillip, but as Cas had discovered last night, she would probably respond to Phyllis. Dean joked that he’d just try “Phil.” Neither Sam nor Cas had laughed.
Now it was a small waiting game. Dean could see the purple fingers of dawn stretching themselves across the sky, catching on clouds and rustling the birds from their slumber. He flicked his eyes down to his watch. Six o’clock. Six hours until he turned into a pumpkin; thirty minutes until they changed that fate.
When the sun rose up orange over the trees and melted the frost into fog, the brothers and the angel moved in.
To be honest, they had fought in worse dens with higher numbers, but they also never had to be so careful before. So when Dean discovered that the first vampire he came across, snuggled into her bed, was a blonde, he knew it wasn’t possible to be that lucky. He wouldn’t know until she opened her eyes.
Which unfortunately happened while he was peering down at her.
She was exceptionally tall, and as she leaped out of her hammock, Dean was once again reminded of how small he now was. Not that it mattered much. He was trained and knew what to do, and he absolutely had the advantage. He kicked her feet out from under her, landing her flat on her back with his hand at her throat. He stared down at her-blue eyes. Still, though…
“What’s up, Phil?”
She blinked up at him, “Huh? What the fu-”
“Awesome, not Phil.” And her head clipped clean off her shoulders as he swung the machete down.
Within minutes he got to discover just how well their experiment worked. Grabbed from behind, he lost balance and toppled over, feeling a sick weight and heat pressing over him. “Aren’t you a pretty little hunter?”
“Nope!” Dean pulled the trigger of the gun pointed straight at the vampire’s head. The Vamp hissed and rolled away, scrambling at the fraying chips of his skull and heaving. Dean cracked a grin. “I’m a fuckinggorgeous little hunter.”
The machete whirled and did it’s work as Dean looked up and took stock of Sam and Cas’s progress. They were mid fray as well, with several vampire bodies scattered about them. The room lit up as Castiel slew them in the most righteous way possible, grabbing their faces and shoving them down like the little bitches they were.
As Dean scanned the room he re-loaded his rifle, glancing at the door as something caught his eye. A shock of blonde hair was running fast.
Now, more than ever, was Dean happy he’d invented a Vampire-gun.
BLAM-!
The bullet caught her in the back and she fell, twitching as the poison filled her body. In ten steps Dean was at her, flipping her over and staring. Brown eyes. “Hello, Phillip.”
The room lit up with light again as Castiel killed the last vampire. In all of ten minutes, it was over.
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