SPN: Going to California (Boys Will Be Boys Will Be Girls With No Warning)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Jo
Warnings: AU?, genderswitch, references to sex
Rating: R
Summary: Magical instantaneous gender switching is a new one for Dean.
Notes: For my title I am indebted to Led Zeppelin and the Dresden Dolls. I have seen up to the S4 episode "Death Takes A Holiday": this loosely fits around there in the S4 timeline. No real spoilers, but a few references to S4 events. Also, strangely enough, for once my sister deserves a mention for being a (slightly drunk) wall to bounce ideas off.
"I just have a cold."
"How can I be sure it's really you?"
Dean huffs and there's a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, grudgingly, "I'm scared of your mother. Nobody pretending to be me would say that even if they knew 'cause they think I'm too butch to say it."
Jo stifles a snigger. "That might be reverse psychology."
"Look, just... Where are you? I'm in Santa Fe, New Mexico."
"I'm in Cali -- in San Jose, actually. Dean -- "
"I'm coming," Dean says, or the thing that sounds kind of like Dean but not quite, and the phone goes dead before Jo can point out any of the things that are so stupid about this.
---
It's a wonder he ever finds her, but he does, mostly because he repented of the drama in just hanging up, and called back an hour later. Jo's tempted to leave him sat out in his car to rot for a while, because she was trying to sleep when he pulled up outside and called her again. He has an amazing ability to wake her up just as she's got to sleep. She kind of suspects he'll just pick the lock once he gets too pissed off, though, so she heads out.
She's still wary. She can't imagine any cold that would make Dean's voice sound quite like that. She can't imagine anything that would make Dean's voice sound like that. He's parked in the shadows, too, where she can't quite see his face, just a shape in the front seat of the Impala. Details like the leather jacket resolve themselves slowly, but that still doesn't help that much. She gets out her gun, just in case, because you don't stay alive as a hunter for long without instincts and she's been on the road for a couple of months now. And there is definitely, definitely something off about this situation.
Not least because there's no sign of Sam.
The door of the Impala opens with a creak, but Dean doesn't get out. "Are you gonna put that gun away?" Dean asks, barely more than a whisper.
"Some cold," Jo says, edging closer.
"Yeah," he says, and maybe starts to say something more, but she lunges fast and drags him out of the car. His wrist seems thinner than it should be under her hand, and he barely puts up a fight, and it really isn't as much of an effort as it should be to drag him out of there. Jo shoves him, gets him up against the wall and points the gun at him, already backing up. If it's really Dean, he has the strength to trounce her, easy, if she stays in close. If it's not really Dean, if it's possession or something, then he definitely has the strength. Easiest answer, shoot first.
"What's going on, Dean?"
"It's me," he says, still all soft and quiet. He raises his empty hands to show her he's not carrying anything. "It's really me, Jo, I swear. Just..."
It's a hot night, actually. It's California, after all, California in August. It doesn't make sense, the way he's bundled up in that leather jacket, which looks way too big on him somehow. He's even hunched up, like he's cold.
"What's going on?" she says, squeezing the trigger slowly, getting ready --
He shakes his head and lets the jacket fall open, straightens up so the light catches him, and she gets the problem.
"Yeah," he says. "I've got tits now. Are you happy?"
She looks him over for a second. He looks just like always, at first glance, and then you realise he's a whole different shape, his face softer, and not darkened or roughened by stubble either. His hair is the same as always, but softer, maybe, or maybe he just didn't gel it today.
"Yep," she says, brightly. "Especially since your tits are smaller than mine."
"Shut up," he says, letting the jacket slide off his shoulders. He bundles it up and shoves it into the car.
"Where's Sam?"
Dean shrugs. "Left him behind. He's going to kill me, once he tracks me down. If he's not too busy hanging out with demon chicks to find me, anyway."
Jo doesn't ask. It's probably best. "So why are you here?"
He shrugs again.
"Look, if you... There's no magical survival skills for being a girl, you know? So if that's why you're here, you're kind of an idiot. Not that that would surprise me in any way." He doesn't say anything, and Jo shrugs helplessly. "You've just gotta keep going. Look for a cure, or deal with it if there isn't one. People will treat you different, but there's nothing I can do about that. If you keep hunting, you'll run into a load of misogynist jerks who'll think you can't hunt anymore 'cause you have a cunt instead of a cock, and not all of them will be old and ugly either. Nothing anyone can do about that. What were you expecting, Dean? That I'd -- I don't know! Curl up with you and a tub of ice cream and tell you girl secrets all night?"
"Something like that," he says, after a moment, trying to smirk. It looks uncertain, though, and she doesn't know if that's the light or just his new, softer face, or whether it's really him being really uncertain, but she feels a stab of pity anyway.
"I suppose I can at least help you get some clothes. Maybe teach you what a tampon is." She glances at the time. "But not for another eight hours. I need some sleep."
"I'll sleep in my car," he says, before she can suggest anything else. Which kind of suits her, because she's sure she's heard Sam complain of his snoring. She goes back inside.
She's not an idiot, though. She keeps her gun and her knife close. There's a school of thought that says when someone tells you a crazy story, they're not trying to mislead you because if they were, they'd pick a simple one. It's kinda true, sometimes, but Dean's body is telling a crazy fucking story. In her experience, crazy fucking stories that get someone killed are as common as cheats in a game of poker.
Then again, she knows an exaggerated proportion of people who cheat at poker and just about everything else that might earn them some money.
---
"Look, it's not really that revealing, and it's practical. What else do you want?"
Dean gives her a pained look. "Jo, it's floral print. Floral."
She's trying to be patient with him. It's a mindfuck, she gets it; she'd really hate waking up one day with a cock. She takes a good deep breath and reminds herself for approximately the millionth time that Dean is having a hard time right now, and he's not trying to be a pain in the butt. "Do you prefer the one in hot pink?"
"No."
"It's floral or hot pink."
"Not at all, then."
Jo closes her eyes and does the taking a deep breath thing again. "Okay. You're right. There's got to be something other than floral and hot pink. I don't wear floral or hot pink. We just have to try another store, okay?"
"Is it always this much of a bitch to get you clothes?"
Jo considers it. "Not really. I'm used to it. And I don't start whimpering every time I remember I have tits."
"I'm not whimpering."
There's some truth in that, since he actually has been taking this better than she thought he might, but that's not actually saying much, to be honest. She thought he'd be freaking out all over the place, at some volume, but he's mostly kept his voice down. She's starting to suspect, though, that that's mostly because he doesn't like the sound of it. It is, after all, quite a lot higher than it used to be.
"Right, sure, whatever. Anyway, apparently this store is no good. Probably because it's cheap as hell. We could try somewhere a bit more... well, somewhere with a bit better stock, for a start. There should at least be something in aquamarine blue. Or purple. Or something that isn't pink."
"Yeah."
There's a pause.
"Jo? Do I look butch?"
She blinks a little. "Wha?"
"I mean, do I look like a cliché butch lesbian? Really?"
"Do you care?"
"Not really," he says, with the expression that means that's mostly a lie. Jo rolls her eyes and looks him over quickly. Mostly, he looks awkward, as if he doesn't quite fit in his skin. His hair kinda does make him look butch, but he's not gelling it up or anything, it's just sort of awkwardly flat and maybe curling a little, and he was obviously due for a haircut anyway 'cause it's getting a little long.
"You do, kinda," she says, but shrugs. "You mean you actually want to look like a girl, Dean? This some long-held, deep-seated fantasy of yours?"
"Shut up," he says. "Let's get out of here."
She kind of wants to tease him, tease him about hitting a nerve or whatever, but his expression is tight, strained, and yeah, she reminds herself again: this has gotta be hard for him. She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, but he shakes his head and pulls away with one quick jerk.
"I know we're both chicks, but this isn't a movie. Let's not have a special moment, here. Let's just get on with it and get me something I can actually wear."
---
Sam wakes her up from a good night's sleep, too. Maybe it's some kind of Winchester special ability, but she never really knew John to compare. She grabs her phone and stares at the display blearily before she picks up, unable to resist a glance over to the other bed, the bed Dean claimed instantly the minute they got to the new motel and hasn't left since.
"Hey," she says, lying back again.
"Hey," Sam says, and there's definitely an anxious note in his voice. "Sorry to bother you."
"You know it's five AM where I am?"
"Sorry," he says, but he doesn't sound that sorry. "It's just a quick call. I'm calling round everybody we know. Dean's missing. Have you heard anything from him?"
Jo glances over at the other bed again. Dean is curled up awkwardly, his face flushed with discomfort, the hot water bottle jammed up against his stomach. He actually seems to have it worse than her, her periods have never been that bad -- or maybe it's because it's his first. Maybe he's just being a baby. Either way, she kind of has this urge to protect him all of a sudden, because he looks pretty vulnerable like that. She also has the urge to punch him in the face because Sam's got to be out of his mind with worry.
"Jo?"
"Sorry, bad connection," she says, automatically. She sits up, takes another look at Dean, and makes up her mind. "No, I haven't heard from him. Did something happen?"
"I don't know," Sam says, and he sounds miserable. "I... I think he might be mad at me. For... Never mind, okay? Just tell him to give me a call if you see him."
"Sure, Sam. I'll keep an eye out."
"Thanks," he says, and puts the phone down. She flips hers shut and flops back, wondering why the heck she did that. Dean's not as much of a pain as she thought, but he still looks at her like he thinks she might have the answers, like she can click her fingers and fix him or just make it okay that he's not a him anymore, and she's starting to wish she could.
---
"I didn't want him to look at me different."
Jo could play dumb, but there doesn't seem much point in that. "You were awake when he called, then, I guess?"
"Yeah. Thanks for not telling him I was with you. Appreciate it."
"He wouldn't be an asshole about it, you know. I mean, I'm sure you know, he's your brother, but... Isn't he the kind who'd be really, really supportive? He'd probably know what to do and everything, he had a long-term girlfriend, right? So... Why did you run away?"
"Guys are jerks," Dean says, quietly. He's keeping his eyes on the road, driving just a little faster now. "Sam's probably less of a jerk than a lot of guys, less of a jerk than me, but he's still my brother. He'd. Joke about it. He'd make things different. He'd think things had changed in some fundamental way or he'd insist on having long heart to heart talks about it or he'd hang over me when I get my period, giving me chocolate and hot water bottles and tryin' to tuck me into bed. All of that crap."
"I gave you a hot water bottle."
"But you haven't acted like I suddenly can't handle the world because I no longer have external freaking genitalia."
"Says the guy who didn't want me on a hunt with him because I'm a girl."
Dean shrugs, hunching his shoulders just a bit. "Maybe that was part of it, yeah, but I stick to my story about your mother. I thought she'd have my ears when she caught up to us. Whatever, I was kind of an asshole, it's not like you're eight or something. Your mom shouldn't have been trying to dictate what you do all the time, even though I understand why she did."
Jo tries to speak lightly. "This is kind of turning into a heart to heart."
"Yeah, well, I'm done. Just, thanks for not telling Sam."
"You haven't been looking for a cure or anything, though, not that I've noticed. Are you just going to run from him your whole life?"
"I've got Bobby on it," Dean says, shrugging again. "He'll tell Sam, sooner or later, but hopefully later, once he's found the solution. I think he gets it, a little."
"You could probably find a cure faster if you went looking for it with Sam."
"A cure," he says, and she can't tell if he sounds bitter or amused. He looks at her sidelong. "A cure for having a cunt? Do you really look at it like that?"
She doesn't, not really, and yet -- there have been times where she's hated being a girl, yeah. Times when, growing up, she just wanted to be a boy, because then people wouldn't look right past her, wouldn't assume she was there to be flirted with and swept off to bed. "You're a special case."
"Yeah, I guess," he says, and puts his foot down a little more, reaches out to crank up the music.
---
Dean's actually kind of pretty. He always has been, really, but he's starting to relax, not always trying to act like a big tough guy, and it helps. Girl is kind of a good look on him, actually, despite the short hair. She wonders how she never noticed how pouty and soft his lips looked before. Right now he's staring down at a heap of papers, Latin incantations and figures and god only knows what, and the intensity looks good on him too.
She wonders how awkward he'd make it if she kissed him.
"What're you starin' at?" he asks, and god, he'd kick himself if he knew how pouty he is. She wonders if he's always like this when you get to know him, or whether being a girl has enhanced his pout-factor.
"Nothing," she says, balling up a bit of paper and chucking it at his head. "Come on. We're getting nowhere with this. Let's grab some ice cream and rent a movie. Maybe something else will turn up tomorrow."
"We're not renting a chick flick."
"Do I look like the kind of girl who'd rent a chick flick?"
"I don't know. Maybe you do watch girl movies. You're a girl."
Jo huffs. "So are you."
"That was a cheap shot," he says, and he's pouting again, and it's actually kinda cute.
"So how about something with a lot of blood and guts and gore?"
"I think I love you."
---
In the next town over, there's some kind of convention or something and even the cheapest fleabag motels are packed full. There's one room, with one bed, and Jo is so exhausted that she can hardly see straight, so she agrees to take it.
"You shouldn't bring a lady to a place like this," Dean says, smirking, and she gives him a little shove.
"You'll sleep on the floor if you're not properly grateful."
He shrugs, stripping off his shirt and digging through his bag to find the shirt he sleeps in, taking off his bra as well and leaving his jeans in a heap. He doesn't bother to slink away to the bathroom this time, which is new, but maybe it's the exhaustion. "You'll be sleeping on the floor if you don't claim some space in the bed quickly. And I know I'm pretty, but quit staring at me. Creep."
"You're a creep," she says, punching his shoulder, but he has a point about the first part, anyway -- she's seen the way he sprawls over a bed and lays claim to it in his sleep. She gets ready for bed quickly too, crawls in next to him. He's kinda distracting actually, all warm and close in the admittedly narrow bed, all long bare leg. She kinda wants to jump him.
She kinda just wants to sleep for a year. Or two.
"Sweet dreams," she says, but he's already asleep. Which is a fucking fantastic idea.
---
Jo normally plays it pretty careful on hunts. She's only one person on her own most of the time, so she has to play it careful. She doesn't have any backup -- not even someone like Bobby, not now Ash is... Anyway, it kind of sucks. Sometimes all she wants to do is go crazy and kill things -- best stress relief ever, seriously -- but she can't take on that kind of job. Not unless she wants to die young, which isn't exactly on her to do list. Not for something as stupid as getting reckless anyway.
But with Dean...
Dean's whole MO is crazy and killing things. She thinks he'd rather do that than just about everything else when it comes to hunts, because it's easy and doesn't require a moral grey area, which is something she can totally understand. It's easier, that way. It's not always right, but it's easier.
Which is why she let him talk her into the crazy and killing things approach for this particular problem. She can hear him whooping, somewhere in the distance, maybe a block away -- they got separated, because he's even more crazy than she'd allowed for -- and it kinda makes her grin. He's crazy, but it's a good kind of crazy, if there's really such a thing. Her mom would kill her for letting him drag her into this, but it's fun.
In the totally insane way.
And damn it, she's not going to let him have all the fun.
His grin is manic, his energy infectious. Even on the way back to their crummy motel, he's still on fire with it. Jo doesn't feel entirely responsible for her actions when she shoves him back against the wall and kisses him. The noise he makes, low in his throat, doesn't help either, nor the way he's holding her arms, so hard his nails are digging in. She shoves him back harder, kissing him again, licking her way into his mouth, and he holds her tighter, makes another of those damn noises.
She bites at his lip before pulling away, breathing hard. She kinda expects some kind of evasion, some sidestepping, but instead he hauls her in again, tighter against him, and kisses her. Maybe he's got over himself or maybe it's just the adrenaline, but he doesn't seem to be all that concerned about breaking her or anything either, which is a pretty welcome development. They fit together crazy well, too, which is something she's always sort of considered to be a stupid thing to say, but somehow they do. Breasts and all.
She pulls away again, meaning to say something, but he just rolls his eyes. "Girls. Always talking. Sex first. Talking never."
"Actually, I can kind of get behind that."
"Good," he says, with a grin, giving her a little shove and trapping her against the other wall. He kisses her again, presumably to enforce the whole shutting up part, and she's pretty happy to go with that. The whole not talking thing does have a few perks. And he's kind of good at the kissing part. Actually good enough to maybe be making her feel a bit weak at the knees -- although maybe that's the hard hunt catching up to her, and the adrenaline no longer holding up against it. She kind of doubts that, though.
"Hang on," she says, pushing him back a bit, and hauls both their shirts off quickly before he can protest. He's pushing her back against the wall again before she can do much, pressing up against her. She's never actually been with a girl before, and it's pretty different, soft in different places. Dean kinda makes it hard to think, though, all mouthy, kissing and biting, his mouth on her neck and then moving lower. She tangles her fingers in his hair, and tries pretty valiantly not to act like a total virgin. She gasps aloud when he bites and sucks at one of her nipples. When he reaches to undo her pants, she takes a deep breath and pushes him away a little, tries to undo his pants too. "Dean -- "
"No," he says, quickly, pushing her hands away. "I don't -- " He doesn't finish his sentence, just drops down onto his knees, tugging her jeans down. It should be so weird, this whole situation, but it's not. It's just Dean, even if he is a she right now. And she's wanted this for ages.
"Okay, okay," she says, and somehow it's easy to tease him, getting her fingers in his hair again. "Thought you'd want to try out the new equipment with a partner, though."
He doesn't answer, just pulls her pants and underwear and proceeds to drive her absolutely out of her mind. So much so she almost forgets his whole evasion-and-not-wanting-to-be-touched thing. Almost.
She'll do something about that when she recovers some braincells.
---
"She told me she didn't know where you were," Sam says, loudly, and Jo thought it was him, but she was kind of hoping it wasn't. For Dean's sake, and not because it'll mess up the dynamic she and Dean have built up. Well. Maybe partly that, but not really. Not mostly. She comes out of the motel room almost cautiously, even though she's almost sure Sam isn't going to kill her for it or anything. He's a rational being. Mostly.
"Yeah, I did, because Dean asked me to," she says, because she might as well enter the fray. Sam gives her the kicked puppy look.
"I don't get it! I wouldn't have been an asshole about... you know."
"About me turning into a girl?" Dean asks, almost acidly. "You can hardly say the words."
"Well excuse me if it's a big concept to wrap my head around. I'm used to having a brother, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember, pretty clearly actually."
Now, Jo feels, is one of those times when pretty much any woman has to shake her head and mutter "boys" in an amused-and-also-exasperated tone, because they're arguing and doing the whole testosterone thing when Dean doesn't even have any testosterone handy. "Look, Sam. Your friend Bobby's working on a way to reverse the whole switched gender thing, and in the meantime, I needed Dean's help with a couple of hunts, so he stuck around." She grins, needles, "Are you jealous of other people spending time with him or something?"
Sam huffs softly. "You could still have called. He could still have called. I was worried. I know he had to be messed up about it, so thanks for looking after him..."
Which is kind of a fair point, considering how much trouble Dean gets himself into. Although she's not sure how much Dean really needed looking after, which was probably exactly why he ran a while from Sam. She shrugs, anyway. "Take it up with him. I just did what he asked."
Dean shrugs and instead of saying anything in his own defence, turns to eye the car Sam drove to get to the motel. "Fuck, Sam, have you been driving around in that hunk of junk all this time? Come on, time to get you back in a real car. I found a job we can do, and Jo's got things of her own to be doing, so it's about time we split anyway."
"Dean -- "
Dean huffs softly. "Before you object, I can still hunt. I'm still Dean. I can still do whatever's necessary. Unless, you know, my healing cock of awesomeness figured into heaven's plans, which kind of makes sense but only because I don't think angels have got dicks, they just are dicks. In which case, we're all fucked and I'd like to go down swinging so come on. Let's hit the road. And if the apocalypse isn't affected by the presence or absence of my cock, maybe we can get that back while we're at it. Got to be easier than breaking a deal with a crossroads demon."
"We never managed that."
"Exactly."
Dean's all movement and energy again, and it kind of makes Jo smile. She's actually going to miss that, kind of wishes he'd stick around a little longer. She raises an eyebrow at him. "Leaving without a goodbye?"
"That'd be horribly remiss of me," he says, with a smirk, and steps up to kiss her. He really is pretty good at it.
When he pulls back, Sam doesn't seem to know where to look. Jo grins. "You're welcome to look me up anytime. With or without your dick."
"I'll do that," he says, with a grin. He actually looks beautiful, more comfortable in himself, like he's grown into the body a bit. She likes to think that was her influence. "Thanks, Jo."
"You're welcome. Good luck."
He nods and then turns to Sam, already climbing into the Impala. "Are you coming or what?"
Sam gives her a look. "How did you deal with him?"
Jo shrugs, but he's not really looking for an answer, because he doesn't need anyone telling him how to handle his brother. He's getting into the car, and it kinda hurts, just a little, to see how well he fits there. How right it looks. Sam and Dean, forever and always, brothers and best friends, even if Dean's a chick for now. She waves a hand and heads back into the motel, not wanting to do anything stupid like stand and watch Dean go, like this is some kind of chick flick. She hears the car start, hears it begin to pump out some AC/DC, and she guesses the world is sort of back how it's meant to be.
At least Sam's hunk o' junk will come in handy. She's out one handy ride now Dean's gone.
Pairing: Dean/Jo
Warnings: AU?, genderswitch, references to sex
Rating: R
Summary: Magical instantaneous gender switching is a new one for Dean.
Notes: For my title I am indebted to Led Zeppelin and the Dresden Dolls. I have seen up to the S4 episode "Death Takes A Holiday": this loosely fits around there in the S4 timeline. No real spoilers, but a few references to S4 events. Also, strangely enough, for once my sister deserves a mention for being a (slightly drunk) wall to bounce ideas off.
"I just have a cold."
"How can I be sure it's really you?"
Dean huffs and there's a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, grudgingly, "I'm scared of your mother. Nobody pretending to be me would say that even if they knew 'cause they think I'm too butch to say it."
Jo stifles a snigger. "That might be reverse psychology."
"Look, just... Where are you? I'm in Santa Fe, New Mexico."
"I'm in Cali -- in San Jose, actually. Dean -- "
"I'm coming," Dean says, or the thing that sounds kind of like Dean but not quite, and the phone goes dead before Jo can point out any of the things that are so stupid about this.
---
It's a wonder he ever finds her, but he does, mostly because he repented of the drama in just hanging up, and called back an hour later. Jo's tempted to leave him sat out in his car to rot for a while, because she was trying to sleep when he pulled up outside and called her again. He has an amazing ability to wake her up just as she's got to sleep. She kind of suspects he'll just pick the lock once he gets too pissed off, though, so she heads out.
She's still wary. She can't imagine any cold that would make Dean's voice sound quite like that. She can't imagine anything that would make Dean's voice sound like that. He's parked in the shadows, too, where she can't quite see his face, just a shape in the front seat of the Impala. Details like the leather jacket resolve themselves slowly, but that still doesn't help that much. She gets out her gun, just in case, because you don't stay alive as a hunter for long without instincts and she's been on the road for a couple of months now. And there is definitely, definitely something off about this situation.
Not least because there's no sign of Sam.
The door of the Impala opens with a creak, but Dean doesn't get out. "Are you gonna put that gun away?" Dean asks, barely more than a whisper.
"Some cold," Jo says, edging closer.
"Yeah," he says, and maybe starts to say something more, but she lunges fast and drags him out of the car. His wrist seems thinner than it should be under her hand, and he barely puts up a fight, and it really isn't as much of an effort as it should be to drag him out of there. Jo shoves him, gets him up against the wall and points the gun at him, already backing up. If it's really Dean, he has the strength to trounce her, easy, if she stays in close. If it's not really Dean, if it's possession or something, then he definitely has the strength. Easiest answer, shoot first.
"What's going on, Dean?"
"It's me," he says, still all soft and quiet. He raises his empty hands to show her he's not carrying anything. "It's really me, Jo, I swear. Just..."
It's a hot night, actually. It's California, after all, California in August. It doesn't make sense, the way he's bundled up in that leather jacket, which looks way too big on him somehow. He's even hunched up, like he's cold.
"What's going on?" she says, squeezing the trigger slowly, getting ready --
He shakes his head and lets the jacket fall open, straightens up so the light catches him, and she gets the problem.
"Yeah," he says. "I've got tits now. Are you happy?"
She looks him over for a second. He looks just like always, at first glance, and then you realise he's a whole different shape, his face softer, and not darkened or roughened by stubble either. His hair is the same as always, but softer, maybe, or maybe he just didn't gel it today.
"Yep," she says, brightly. "Especially since your tits are smaller than mine."
"Shut up," he says, letting the jacket slide off his shoulders. He bundles it up and shoves it into the car.
"Where's Sam?"
Dean shrugs. "Left him behind. He's going to kill me, once he tracks me down. If he's not too busy hanging out with demon chicks to find me, anyway."
Jo doesn't ask. It's probably best. "So why are you here?"
He shrugs again.
"Look, if you... There's no magical survival skills for being a girl, you know? So if that's why you're here, you're kind of an idiot. Not that that would surprise me in any way." He doesn't say anything, and Jo shrugs helplessly. "You've just gotta keep going. Look for a cure, or deal with it if there isn't one. People will treat you different, but there's nothing I can do about that. If you keep hunting, you'll run into a load of misogynist jerks who'll think you can't hunt anymore 'cause you have a cunt instead of a cock, and not all of them will be old and ugly either. Nothing anyone can do about that. What were you expecting, Dean? That I'd -- I don't know! Curl up with you and a tub of ice cream and tell you girl secrets all night?"
"Something like that," he says, after a moment, trying to smirk. It looks uncertain, though, and she doesn't know if that's the light or just his new, softer face, or whether it's really him being really uncertain, but she feels a stab of pity anyway.
"I suppose I can at least help you get some clothes. Maybe teach you what a tampon is." She glances at the time. "But not for another eight hours. I need some sleep."
"I'll sleep in my car," he says, before she can suggest anything else. Which kind of suits her, because she's sure she's heard Sam complain of his snoring. She goes back inside.
She's not an idiot, though. She keeps her gun and her knife close. There's a school of thought that says when someone tells you a crazy story, they're not trying to mislead you because if they were, they'd pick a simple one. It's kinda true, sometimes, but Dean's body is telling a crazy fucking story. In her experience, crazy fucking stories that get someone killed are as common as cheats in a game of poker.
Then again, she knows an exaggerated proportion of people who cheat at poker and just about everything else that might earn them some money.
---
"Look, it's not really that revealing, and it's practical. What else do you want?"
Dean gives her a pained look. "Jo, it's floral print. Floral."
She's trying to be patient with him. It's a mindfuck, she gets it; she'd really hate waking up one day with a cock. She takes a good deep breath and reminds herself for approximately the millionth time that Dean is having a hard time right now, and he's not trying to be a pain in the butt. "Do you prefer the one in hot pink?"
"No."
"It's floral or hot pink."
"Not at all, then."
Jo closes her eyes and does the taking a deep breath thing again. "Okay. You're right. There's got to be something other than floral and hot pink. I don't wear floral or hot pink. We just have to try another store, okay?"
"Is it always this much of a bitch to get you clothes?"
Jo considers it. "Not really. I'm used to it. And I don't start whimpering every time I remember I have tits."
"I'm not whimpering."
There's some truth in that, since he actually has been taking this better than she thought he might, but that's not actually saying much, to be honest. She thought he'd be freaking out all over the place, at some volume, but he's mostly kept his voice down. She's starting to suspect, though, that that's mostly because he doesn't like the sound of it. It is, after all, quite a lot higher than it used to be.
"Right, sure, whatever. Anyway, apparently this store is no good. Probably because it's cheap as hell. We could try somewhere a bit more... well, somewhere with a bit better stock, for a start. There should at least be something in aquamarine blue. Or purple. Or something that isn't pink."
"Yeah."
There's a pause.
"Jo? Do I look butch?"
She blinks a little. "Wha?"
"I mean, do I look like a cliché butch lesbian? Really?"
"Do you care?"
"Not really," he says, with the expression that means that's mostly a lie. Jo rolls her eyes and looks him over quickly. Mostly, he looks awkward, as if he doesn't quite fit in his skin. His hair kinda does make him look butch, but he's not gelling it up or anything, it's just sort of awkwardly flat and maybe curling a little, and he was obviously due for a haircut anyway 'cause it's getting a little long.
"You do, kinda," she says, but shrugs. "You mean you actually want to look like a girl, Dean? This some long-held, deep-seated fantasy of yours?"
"Shut up," he says. "Let's get out of here."
She kind of wants to tease him, tease him about hitting a nerve or whatever, but his expression is tight, strained, and yeah, she reminds herself again: this has gotta be hard for him. She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, but he shakes his head and pulls away with one quick jerk.
"I know we're both chicks, but this isn't a movie. Let's not have a special moment, here. Let's just get on with it and get me something I can actually wear."
---
Sam wakes her up from a good night's sleep, too. Maybe it's some kind of Winchester special ability, but she never really knew John to compare. She grabs her phone and stares at the display blearily before she picks up, unable to resist a glance over to the other bed, the bed Dean claimed instantly the minute they got to the new motel and hasn't left since.
"Hey," she says, lying back again.
"Hey," Sam says, and there's definitely an anxious note in his voice. "Sorry to bother you."
"You know it's five AM where I am?"
"Sorry," he says, but he doesn't sound that sorry. "It's just a quick call. I'm calling round everybody we know. Dean's missing. Have you heard anything from him?"
Jo glances over at the other bed again. Dean is curled up awkwardly, his face flushed with discomfort, the hot water bottle jammed up against his stomach. He actually seems to have it worse than her, her periods have never been that bad -- or maybe it's because it's his first. Maybe he's just being a baby. Either way, she kind of has this urge to protect him all of a sudden, because he looks pretty vulnerable like that. She also has the urge to punch him in the face because Sam's got to be out of his mind with worry.
"Jo?"
"Sorry, bad connection," she says, automatically. She sits up, takes another look at Dean, and makes up her mind. "No, I haven't heard from him. Did something happen?"
"I don't know," Sam says, and he sounds miserable. "I... I think he might be mad at me. For... Never mind, okay? Just tell him to give me a call if you see him."
"Sure, Sam. I'll keep an eye out."
"Thanks," he says, and puts the phone down. She flips hers shut and flops back, wondering why the heck she did that. Dean's not as much of a pain as she thought, but he still looks at her like he thinks she might have the answers, like she can click her fingers and fix him or just make it okay that he's not a him anymore, and she's starting to wish she could.
---
"I didn't want him to look at me different."
Jo could play dumb, but there doesn't seem much point in that. "You were awake when he called, then, I guess?"
"Yeah. Thanks for not telling him I was with you. Appreciate it."
"He wouldn't be an asshole about it, you know. I mean, I'm sure you know, he's your brother, but... Isn't he the kind who'd be really, really supportive? He'd probably know what to do and everything, he had a long-term girlfriend, right? So... Why did you run away?"
"Guys are jerks," Dean says, quietly. He's keeping his eyes on the road, driving just a little faster now. "Sam's probably less of a jerk than a lot of guys, less of a jerk than me, but he's still my brother. He'd. Joke about it. He'd make things different. He'd think things had changed in some fundamental way or he'd insist on having long heart to heart talks about it or he'd hang over me when I get my period, giving me chocolate and hot water bottles and tryin' to tuck me into bed. All of that crap."
"I gave you a hot water bottle."
"But you haven't acted like I suddenly can't handle the world because I no longer have external freaking genitalia."
"Says the guy who didn't want me on a hunt with him because I'm a girl."
Dean shrugs, hunching his shoulders just a bit. "Maybe that was part of it, yeah, but I stick to my story about your mother. I thought she'd have my ears when she caught up to us. Whatever, I was kind of an asshole, it's not like you're eight or something. Your mom shouldn't have been trying to dictate what you do all the time, even though I understand why she did."
Jo tries to speak lightly. "This is kind of turning into a heart to heart."
"Yeah, well, I'm done. Just, thanks for not telling Sam."
"You haven't been looking for a cure or anything, though, not that I've noticed. Are you just going to run from him your whole life?"
"I've got Bobby on it," Dean says, shrugging again. "He'll tell Sam, sooner or later, but hopefully later, once he's found the solution. I think he gets it, a little."
"You could probably find a cure faster if you went looking for it with Sam."
"A cure," he says, and she can't tell if he sounds bitter or amused. He looks at her sidelong. "A cure for having a cunt? Do you really look at it like that?"
She doesn't, not really, and yet -- there have been times where she's hated being a girl, yeah. Times when, growing up, she just wanted to be a boy, because then people wouldn't look right past her, wouldn't assume she was there to be flirted with and swept off to bed. "You're a special case."
"Yeah, I guess," he says, and puts his foot down a little more, reaches out to crank up the music.
---
Dean's actually kind of pretty. He always has been, really, but he's starting to relax, not always trying to act like a big tough guy, and it helps. Girl is kind of a good look on him, actually, despite the short hair. She wonders how she never noticed how pouty and soft his lips looked before. Right now he's staring down at a heap of papers, Latin incantations and figures and god only knows what, and the intensity looks good on him too.
She wonders how awkward he'd make it if she kissed him.
"What're you starin' at?" he asks, and god, he'd kick himself if he knew how pouty he is. She wonders if he's always like this when you get to know him, or whether being a girl has enhanced his pout-factor.
"Nothing," she says, balling up a bit of paper and chucking it at his head. "Come on. We're getting nowhere with this. Let's grab some ice cream and rent a movie. Maybe something else will turn up tomorrow."
"We're not renting a chick flick."
"Do I look like the kind of girl who'd rent a chick flick?"
"I don't know. Maybe you do watch girl movies. You're a girl."
Jo huffs. "So are you."
"That was a cheap shot," he says, and he's pouting again, and it's actually kinda cute.
"So how about something with a lot of blood and guts and gore?"
"I think I love you."
---
In the next town over, there's some kind of convention or something and even the cheapest fleabag motels are packed full. There's one room, with one bed, and Jo is so exhausted that she can hardly see straight, so she agrees to take it.
"You shouldn't bring a lady to a place like this," Dean says, smirking, and she gives him a little shove.
"You'll sleep on the floor if you're not properly grateful."
He shrugs, stripping off his shirt and digging through his bag to find the shirt he sleeps in, taking off his bra as well and leaving his jeans in a heap. He doesn't bother to slink away to the bathroom this time, which is new, but maybe it's the exhaustion. "You'll be sleeping on the floor if you don't claim some space in the bed quickly. And I know I'm pretty, but quit staring at me. Creep."
"You're a creep," she says, punching his shoulder, but he has a point about the first part, anyway -- she's seen the way he sprawls over a bed and lays claim to it in his sleep. She gets ready for bed quickly too, crawls in next to him. He's kinda distracting actually, all warm and close in the admittedly narrow bed, all long bare leg. She kinda wants to jump him.
She kinda just wants to sleep for a year. Or two.
"Sweet dreams," she says, but he's already asleep. Which is a fucking fantastic idea.
---
Jo normally plays it pretty careful on hunts. She's only one person on her own most of the time, so she has to play it careful. She doesn't have any backup -- not even someone like Bobby, not now Ash is... Anyway, it kind of sucks. Sometimes all she wants to do is go crazy and kill things -- best stress relief ever, seriously -- but she can't take on that kind of job. Not unless she wants to die young, which isn't exactly on her to do list. Not for something as stupid as getting reckless anyway.
But with Dean...
Dean's whole MO is crazy and killing things. She thinks he'd rather do that than just about everything else when it comes to hunts, because it's easy and doesn't require a moral grey area, which is something she can totally understand. It's easier, that way. It's not always right, but it's easier.
Which is why she let him talk her into the crazy and killing things approach for this particular problem. She can hear him whooping, somewhere in the distance, maybe a block away -- they got separated, because he's even more crazy than she'd allowed for -- and it kinda makes her grin. He's crazy, but it's a good kind of crazy, if there's really such a thing. Her mom would kill her for letting him drag her into this, but it's fun.
In the totally insane way.
And damn it, she's not going to let him have all the fun.
His grin is manic, his energy infectious. Even on the way back to their crummy motel, he's still on fire with it. Jo doesn't feel entirely responsible for her actions when she shoves him back against the wall and kisses him. The noise he makes, low in his throat, doesn't help either, nor the way he's holding her arms, so hard his nails are digging in. She shoves him back harder, kissing him again, licking her way into his mouth, and he holds her tighter, makes another of those damn noises.
She bites at his lip before pulling away, breathing hard. She kinda expects some kind of evasion, some sidestepping, but instead he hauls her in again, tighter against him, and kisses her. Maybe he's got over himself or maybe it's just the adrenaline, but he doesn't seem to be all that concerned about breaking her or anything either, which is a pretty welcome development. They fit together crazy well, too, which is something she's always sort of considered to be a stupid thing to say, but somehow they do. Breasts and all.
She pulls away again, meaning to say something, but he just rolls his eyes. "Girls. Always talking. Sex first. Talking never."
"Actually, I can kind of get behind that."
"Good," he says, with a grin, giving her a little shove and trapping her against the other wall. He kisses her again, presumably to enforce the whole shutting up part, and she's pretty happy to go with that. The whole not talking thing does have a few perks. And he's kind of good at the kissing part. Actually good enough to maybe be making her feel a bit weak at the knees -- although maybe that's the hard hunt catching up to her, and the adrenaline no longer holding up against it. She kind of doubts that, though.
"Hang on," she says, pushing him back a bit, and hauls both their shirts off quickly before he can protest. He's pushing her back against the wall again before she can do much, pressing up against her. She's never actually been with a girl before, and it's pretty different, soft in different places. Dean kinda makes it hard to think, though, all mouthy, kissing and biting, his mouth on her neck and then moving lower. She tangles her fingers in his hair, and tries pretty valiantly not to act like a total virgin. She gasps aloud when he bites and sucks at one of her nipples. When he reaches to undo her pants, she takes a deep breath and pushes him away a little, tries to undo his pants too. "Dean -- "
"No," he says, quickly, pushing her hands away. "I don't -- " He doesn't finish his sentence, just drops down onto his knees, tugging her jeans down. It should be so weird, this whole situation, but it's not. It's just Dean, even if he is a she right now. And she's wanted this for ages.
"Okay, okay," she says, and somehow it's easy to tease him, getting her fingers in his hair again. "Thought you'd want to try out the new equipment with a partner, though."
He doesn't answer, just pulls her pants and underwear and proceeds to drive her absolutely out of her mind. So much so she almost forgets his whole evasion-and-not-wanting-to-be-touched thing. Almost.
She'll do something about that when she recovers some braincells.
---
"She told me she didn't know where you were," Sam says, loudly, and Jo thought it was him, but she was kind of hoping it wasn't. For Dean's sake, and not because it'll mess up the dynamic she and Dean have built up. Well. Maybe partly that, but not really. Not mostly. She comes out of the motel room almost cautiously, even though she's almost sure Sam isn't going to kill her for it or anything. He's a rational being. Mostly.
"Yeah, I did, because Dean asked me to," she says, because she might as well enter the fray. Sam gives her the kicked puppy look.
"I don't get it! I wouldn't have been an asshole about... you know."
"About me turning into a girl?" Dean asks, almost acidly. "You can hardly say the words."
"Well excuse me if it's a big concept to wrap my head around. I'm used to having a brother, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember, pretty clearly actually."
Now, Jo feels, is one of those times when pretty much any woman has to shake her head and mutter "boys" in an amused-and-also-exasperated tone, because they're arguing and doing the whole testosterone thing when Dean doesn't even have any testosterone handy. "Look, Sam. Your friend Bobby's working on a way to reverse the whole switched gender thing, and in the meantime, I needed Dean's help with a couple of hunts, so he stuck around." She grins, needles, "Are you jealous of other people spending time with him or something?"
Sam huffs softly. "You could still have called. He could still have called. I was worried. I know he had to be messed up about it, so thanks for looking after him..."
Which is kind of a fair point, considering how much trouble Dean gets himself into. Although she's not sure how much Dean really needed looking after, which was probably exactly why he ran a while from Sam. She shrugs, anyway. "Take it up with him. I just did what he asked."
Dean shrugs and instead of saying anything in his own defence, turns to eye the car Sam drove to get to the motel. "Fuck, Sam, have you been driving around in that hunk of junk all this time? Come on, time to get you back in a real car. I found a job we can do, and Jo's got things of her own to be doing, so it's about time we split anyway."
"Dean -- "
Dean huffs softly. "Before you object, I can still hunt. I'm still Dean. I can still do whatever's necessary. Unless, you know, my healing cock of awesomeness figured into heaven's plans, which kind of makes sense but only because I don't think angels have got dicks, they just are dicks. In which case, we're all fucked and I'd like to go down swinging so come on. Let's hit the road. And if the apocalypse isn't affected by the presence or absence of my cock, maybe we can get that back while we're at it. Got to be easier than breaking a deal with a crossroads demon."
"We never managed that."
"Exactly."
Dean's all movement and energy again, and it kind of makes Jo smile. She's actually going to miss that, kind of wishes he'd stick around a little longer. She raises an eyebrow at him. "Leaving without a goodbye?"
"That'd be horribly remiss of me," he says, with a smirk, and steps up to kiss her. He really is pretty good at it.
When he pulls back, Sam doesn't seem to know where to look. Jo grins. "You're welcome to look me up anytime. With or without your dick."
"I'll do that," he says, with a grin. He actually looks beautiful, more comfortable in himself, like he's grown into the body a bit. She likes to think that was her influence. "Thanks, Jo."
"You're welcome. Good luck."
He nods and then turns to Sam, already climbing into the Impala. "Are you coming or what?"
Sam gives her a look. "How did you deal with him?"
Jo shrugs, but he's not really looking for an answer, because he doesn't need anyone telling him how to handle his brother. He's getting into the car, and it kinda hurts, just a little, to see how well he fits there. How right it looks. Sam and Dean, forever and always, brothers and best friends, even if Dean's a chick for now. She waves a hand and heads back into the motel, not wanting to do anything stupid like stand and watch Dean go, like this is some kind of chick flick. She hears the car start, hears it begin to pump out some AC/DC, and she guesses the world is sort of back how it's meant to be.
At least Sam's hunk o' junk will come in handy. She's out one handy ride now Dean's gone.