Sam blamed the fact that he didn’t notice immediately on the fact that he hadn’t had his cappuccino yet that morning. And on the fact that Dean acted so…normal. Normal, that is, for being Dean, anyway. He should have been able to see the absolute glee trying to hide in his brother’s face, but he’d been oblivious. He even missed the blatant signs around the room.

“Rise and shine, Sunshine,” Dean called, yanking the sheets off of Sam’s bed.

Sam grunted, but said nothing, opening one eye and scowling immediately as he noticed the pair of decidedly female boots on the floor between the two beds. He couldn’t believe his brother actually had the audacity to have a girl sleep over while they were sharing a room. Especially since Sam was a very light sleeper.  At least he was usually. He must have been completely zonked the night before to have slept through whatever had gone on over on Dean’s side of the room. He tried to remember exactly how much he’d had to drink, but honestly remembered only drinking soda. Though he really only remembered drinking the first one. After that his night was pretty much a complete blur. He sighed and wondered what concoction Dean had convinced him to drink and just how much fun had been made at his expense. Whatever it was, it left his mouth feeling as though he’d slept with a mouth full of cotton balls. He’d probably be nursing a hell of a hangover all morning, but at least he didn’t seem to have the accompanying headache.

“Come on, Samantha,” Dean teased him, yanking on his ankle. “Get a move on.”

Sam grunted again, his scowl deepening as he directed it at his way-too-chipper-in-the-morning brother. Dean was always really obnoxious the morning after he got laid.

Sam groaned slightly as he oozed out of bed, almost tripping over the boots. Damn, she was a big gal, he surmised, noticing their size. Had to be at least a size 12, probably even bigger. Damn. He thought Dean usually preferred the smaller girls. But then, Dean wasn’t really that picky, he supposed.

He frowned as he spotted the girl’s clothing in a heap on the floor. Realizing that she was still somewhere in the room, he quickly reached for his sheets to cover up. Then he noticed the lump under Dean’s blanket and figured that the girl was still fast asleep. He felt embarrassed for her, and hoped that Dean would at least have the decency wake her and get her dressed before he was out of the bathroom.

Though Sam figured he must have slept pretty hard, he was still completely exhausted. It felt like he hadn’t slept at all. He stumbled awkwardly into the bathroom and turned the shower on cold, needing the refreshing water to help him wake. He stepped into the shower and smiled slightly as the cold water began to work its magic. Tipping his face up to the spray, he smiled as the refreshing liquid cleared away his night sweats and started getting him ready for a new day. His morning shower was almost always the favorite part of his day; it soothed and relaxed him. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh scent as he spilled some of his favorite tea-tree shampoo into his hand. It was quite a bit more expensive than Dean’s bargain-bin brand, but it was one of the few things he still splurged on just a little bit. It was worth it to him to keep at least some of the simple pleasures he’d acquired while at Stanford, even if Dean always gave him crap about his ‘girlie habits’. So he liked a little bit of luxury in their otherwise most decidedly NOT luxurious lifestyle.

Sam frowned slightly as he began his morning cleansing ritual, running his hands through his unruly mop of hair. He really was going to have to go get it cut soon. He knew it was getting too long, but it seemed somehow longer this morning. He hated getting his hair cut, though. He hated explaining that he really only wanted an inch or so taken off--he liked his hair long, even if it wasn’t really the style these days. He also liked that it covered his eyes sometimes. He’d never been very good at keeping his emotions hidden when people could see his eyes, so covering them really was the only way to keep people at a distance. He didn’t like answering the questions when people could see the sad look that he could never seem to keep from his eyes.

He washed his face next, and was glad to note that it didn’t feel like he’d need to shave that morning. It was unusual, but a welcome change to not feel the annoying morning stubble.

That change, however, took on a decidedly different tone as he started to wash his chest. Rather…his breasts?

His first thought, embarrassingly enough, was that his body had been invaded by some sort of demon. Or maybe an alien, like in those Sigourney Weaver flicks where eventually the beast rips out of the victim’s chest. There were bulges where there most certainly should not be bulges. For a few moments, Sam was honestly terrified to look down at his body, and it was on the tip of his tongue to yell for Dean. Still, modesty and embarrassment won out and he held his tongue, opting instead to venture a downward glance.

He was only partially relieved when he saw what looked like a perfectly normal pair of breasts. Actually, he was slightly appalled to admit to himself that they were actually quite a spectacular pair of breasts. At least they would be if they weren’t on him.

He licked his lips nervously as he dared to continue the exploration of his new body. He had always had a quite angular body, and today was no exception, though he was slightly horrified to note that there were a few more angles. A narrower waist. Wider hips. He felt the blood draining from his face as he realized another major change to his anatomy.

He scrambled from the shower as if somehow that would magically transform him back to normal. But he felt no change, and when he stumbled in front of the mirror he shook his head in disbelief. He wiped away the condensation on the mirror in hopes that it would change the image.

He still looked like himself, he supposed. In a warped sort of way. His face had somehow grown thinner, and his features were much softer than what he was used to except for his lips, which appeared almost swollen they were so lush. His hair, he realized, wasn’t longer, it just adjusted itself to the new, decidedly more feminine, shape of his head.

He stared at himself for a few moments more, trying to figure out how the hell this had happened. He couldn’t think of anything in their dad’s journal that would explain it. Not with anything that they’d tangled with recently, anyway. They hadn’t pissed off any magic users that he knew of. Of course with the way Dean interacted with women no matter where they were, it was entirely possible his brother was the one who had pissed someone off and he’d taken the brunt of the punishment.

And then he played back his brief encounter with Dean this morning and realized something.

Dean knew about this. He’d obviously *seen* Sam’s…new look. He had, after all, only been wearing a pair of boxers when he woke up. And Dean had called him Samantha. He’d passed it off at the time as just being his brother being terribly annoying, but now he knew beyond any doubt that this was somehow Dean’s fault. His way of one-man-upping in their latest prank war, no doubt.

Son of a bitch.

“Dean, you fucking asshole!” he bellowed in a furious growl, bursting from the bathroom in a rage without even bothering to grab a towel. He almost stopped short at the decidedly higher pitch of his voice. Shit. His hand flew to his throat and he winced as he realized that he no longer felt his adam’s apple. He looked around the room wildly and his anger grew as he realized that Dean was no longer present.

His eyes flew to the lump in Dean’s bed and he hesitated for only a moment before yanking the sheet back only to reveal that the lump wasn’t a girl at all, but another blanket, bundled up to give the appearance of being a human under the covers.

Size thirteen and a half boots, Sam fumed as he stormed across the room to confirm his suspicion, unnerved as he caught sight of his nude body in the mirror above the drawers. Dean was going to pay for this. Oh how Dean was going to pay.

He stopped short as he saw that his bags were no longer there.

He grit his teeth and whirled around, looking for his things. Dean had obviously taken them all out to the car.

For a moment he panicked. There was no way he was going to walk stark naked out there to get his clothes! And the pathetic hotel towels weren’t going to be enough to adequately cover him, either.

He considered for just a moment that maybe he should just walk out there in all his naked glory and embarrass the shit out of his brother. Except that he wasn’t sure that Dean would be right out there, and what if someone else was? He swallowed hard and caught himself looking over at himself in the mirror, appraisingly. He was still the same height as he normally was, he calculated, his head tipping to the side as he looked at himself curiously. That in and of itself would garner a lot of attention, but add to that the fact that his body, though still lean and muscular, was a lot more shapely and downright graceful, and he would definitely be turning heads. Son of a bitch! He didn’t have even a slightly threatening look about him, except, he acknowledged with a small amount of satisfaction, the murderous look in his eyes.

This was so warped. As soon as he figured out how to get out of here, he was going to fucking go get even with Dean for this. He was going to remove Dean’s nuts the much more painful way, he decided as he turned around and started pulling the sheet from his bed. So it wouldn’t be gorgeous, but at least it would cover him. Hell, if that singing nun lady could make dresses out of curtains, he was sure that…

Dresses.

His eyes went to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Son of a fucking bitch.

Dean was such an *asshole*. 

Sam grabbed up the dress and undergarments angrily, realizing they were meant for him. Fine, he would play his brother’s sick game. He fumbled awkwardly as he tried to figure out how to put on the insanely lacy black bra (which was clearly not designed for comfort or practicality), and had to struggle a little to get the dress zipped all the way up in the back. He considered leaving off the stockings, but then decided that the skirt was way too short and his legs way too long and pale. And hairless. Had Dean actually shaved his legs? He didn’t even want to think about it. This whole situation was just too sick to even think about.

He would probably feel a lot less naked if he just wore the damn stockings, he ultimately decided. He grit his teeth in frustration as he somehow managed to snag the stockings on a toenail and put a giant run in them as he pulled them on. Still, it was better than wearing nothing.

His scowl deepened as he laced up what he could only refer to as “fuck me” boots. Size thirteen and a half fuck me boots to be exact. How the hell had Dean even *found* those? And he’d had to have hidden them, there’s no way he bought them in this tiny little town. Just how long had he been planning to do this?

Sam finished dressing and checked himself out in the mirror, totally stunned at his reflection. Oh how Dean was going to pay for this. Their prank wars had gotten out of hand before, but this was…this was completely over the line.

Yes, he was indeed going to remove Dean’s nuts the most painful way possible and fucking shove them down his throat. And wouldn’t that be funny?

Sam seethed as he ran his fingers through his hair, purposely brushing as much as possible into his face to obscure his humiliation. This was so fucked up, he swore, his hands balling into fists. He whirled and was to the motel room door in two giant steps. He threw the door open and stepped out onto the second floor balcony, his eyes sweeping out over the parking lot. The Impala was still there. So Dean couldn’t have gone far. Pretty much he had to be in the hotel lobby or the diner. The diner was a pretty good bet. And when he got there, Dean was a dead man.

Slamming the door shut with far more force than necessary, Sam headed for the stairs. His anger boiled as when he made his way across the lot he caught sight of a couple of guys that were definitely checking out his new angles and curves. He glared at them until they had the grace to look away, though he was pretty certain he heard the word ‘bitch’ being uttered as he passed.

“Yeah, but damn look at those legs…” one of them said, following it with a low whistle.

Ignoring them, Sam threw open the door of the diner, his eyes wild with fury as he sought out his prey.

Dean saw him a split second before he saw Dean. He could tell by the insane grin that spread across his brother’s smug face. His rage only flared up more as he saw Dean’s eyebrows raise, giving him an almost lecherous look.

“You son of a bitch,” Sam growled, practically flying across the diner at his brother. He pounced before Dean even realized what was happening, taking them both to the floor in a tangle of bodies and limbs. “You fucking son of a--"

Dean was momentarily stunned by the extent of his brother’s fury. He wanted to laugh, but the wind was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, instantaneously buried beneath the somehow unfamiliar weight of his brother. No matter how many times they’d wrestled and sparred, it was completely foreign this time. He winced as Sam’s fist flew down, he was certain giving him a black eye. He raised his arms in defense as his brother took another swing, but refrained from striking back.

“Whoa! Check her out!” Dean heard someone whistling in the background, and he heard a few more voices dimly in the background, though he was mostly aware of the pounding his brother was dishing out. Which he probably deserved, he figured. It was all worth it, he smiled even as he felt the next blow.

His smile faded, though, as he heard the strange hitching in his brother’s breath and felt an odd wetness on his face. What the…? His eyes widened slightly as he realized that his brother was so upset he was actually crying. Sam was not a crybaby; he never had been. A whiner and a brat at times, maybe, but definitely not a crybaby. Okay, so he maybe took this prank a bit too far…even if Sam had deserved it for putting glue on the damn toilet seat.

Dean tried to open his mouth to apologize and assure Sam that it would wear off in a day or so, but before he could, he felt Sam being pulled off of him.

“Get off me,” Dean heard Sam growling as two of the diner’s patrons hauled him back. Dean stayed down for a few moments, trying to reorient himself; Sam’s attack had left him slightly dazed. “Let go of me…” Dean groaned, sensing that his brother was in trouble from his rescuers.

“Calm down, Girlie,” the big oaf that had pulled Sam off of Dean ordered, hissing into Sam’s ear as he pressed his body harshly against Sam’s back, his arms wrapped tightly around Sam, pinning his arms.

Sam cringed slightly as the second man moved in much too close for comfort. Sam was more than a little grossed out when the man in front of him ground against him as he was pressed back against the other. His eyes narrowed as he saw how the guy was leering at him. His arms were sufficiently trapped, but his legs weren’t. He braced himself against his captor and kicked out wildly with both feet. He bellowed with frustration as the man foresaw his move and was ready for it, grabbing his legs and quickly stepping between them. Sam let out a furious yelp as he felt his skirt being slid upward, the man’s disgusting hands sliding up his thighs. “You are a big gal, aren’t you?” the man licked his lips.

“Back off,” he demanded, staring the man down. He stiffened as he felt the man’s hands sliding over his hips in a decidedly inappropriate way. He struggled to free his arms, his fury at his brother immediately forgotten as he struggled to free himself from the creepy assholes.

“You need to settle down, Girlie,” the man he faced hissed, leaning his face closer to Sam’s. Sam flinched as he smelled the man’s disgusting breath. A mixture of way too many cigarettes, way too much alcohol, and not nearly enough toothpaste. “You need someone to teach you a lesson.” Sam felt sick as he felt the man grinding hard against him as one hand reached down and smacked him hard on the ass. Still unable to free his arms, and helpless to regain his footing, Sam had little recourse. He refused to stand for this treatment, though. He spat into the face of his assailant.

He cried out involuntarily as his action resulted in a vicious backhand across the face. A moment later he screamed out in absolute fury as he felt the man’s hands on his breasts, squeezing hard enough to elicit a gasp. The man restraining him from behind let out an excited chuckle and he felt the man grinding against his back. No. This was so not happening. Why wasn’t anyone stopping this?

And then Dean was there, hauling the first guy back and throwing punches in a flurry that even Sam had never witnessed before. Freed from one of his attackers, Sam managed to get his footing back. With only one captor, he was given a fighting chance. He stomped down on the man’s foot and slammed his head back against the man’s own head. The man howled and released his arms. Before the man had a chance to recover, Sam whirled on him, grabbed his head and bashed it back against the wall with more fury than he’d ever possessed.

The man went down and Sam stood back, more than a little stunned at the turn of events. He watched, dazed, as Dean took down the other guy with a solid punch to the jaw. And then Dean was right there in front of him. Looking him over with utmost concern. “Damn, Sammy, are you okay?”

Sam’s eyes slowly met Dean’s. He was no longer sure if he should still be beating the shit out of his brother or if he should be thanking him for the rescue. He blinked, considering, then slowly nodded, wiping the remnants of the tears he hated that he had been crying from his face.  

And then his fist reared back and he punched Dean one more time before leaving his stunned brother on the floor and storming out of the diner.