Happy Mama's Day to all... (Yeah, I'm lookin' at YOU Dean! XD)
Title: Sam's Turn part 1 - part 2 - part 3 *Completed*
Sequel to: Isochronism part 1 & 2
Rating: R - Gender Swap
Warnings: Violence & monthly women's issues
Spoilers: General (for aired episodes only)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
It didn‘t take much discussion or planning to make an exit.
Dean went ahead and shouldered into some enormous guy with a hang over waiting up ahead in line. All it took was that and a few well placed words about the question of sexuality and all hell broke loose. With the pandemonium that ensued, Sam would have thought someone suddenly announced there would be no more watery cheap beer for anyone ever ever again. Ducking out before it got really out of hand, he blinked in the morning light and groaned at the headache that started burning behind his eyes. He hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. Since then the only thing in his stomach had been that girl’s lighter fluid and even more of the most inexpensive alcohol money could buy.
Not sure where to wait, he found a bench behind a large clump of bushes and watched the door. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled when Dean finally emerged with the retreating crowd. His brother’s jacket was pulled out of place and he was a little breathless but otherwise he remarkably didn’t have a scratch on him.
“Thought you were gonna take at least one in the mouth for sure.” Sam said wryly as Dean rounded the corner.
His brother didn’t respond, he just looked back down at him with an expression like he’d just found something unpleasant in his cereal.
“We-we’d better go.” Sam stood up and tugged his jacket around himself with his crossed arms. He hadn’t needed to look up at Dean in a real long time. It made him feel even more childish than his body already did.
“Are you… okay?” Dean asked, glancing up and down Sam’s new frame with seemingly no ability to gauge its well being.
“I’m starvin'.” Sam muttered, walking past him stiffly, and headed for where he assumed the car might be.
Some chow, some real sleep and a couple more showers were all he needed. First some food, he could really use some food.
“Hey.” Dean mumbled from behind him. “Don’t walk so fast.”
Even though Sam was now at his brother’s chin he was still ahead of him on the pavement. He slowed his pace a little and realized it was a demand he heard fairly often. Or he did after Sam had long ago met his older sibling’s height and had the nerve to keep going.
With a small appreciative sound he wondered at how some things stayed the same no matter how hard the universe pulled at your corners.
Everything seemed a lot bigger but he wasn’t quite prepared for what it felt like to sit in a seat he thought couldn’t change no matter what else did.
He kept back the words he wanted to say at what the broad wide vinyl felt like now. The seat was as always adjusted just far enough that his knees would always meet the dash no matter how he rearranged himself, but not any more. The seatbelt kept digging up under his neck no matter what direction he yanked it in. Briefly, his thoughts turned back a decade or so ago, when he’d been about the same size and a different man was behind the wheel.
They were on the highway, headed back to the motel they’d made home out on the fringe. The cheapest, the easiest and sometimes also the farthest away. Sam didn’t mind. It was good to have the small parcel of time to really get a chance to just think. Leaning his head against the window, Sam was working hard at trying to settle into the acceptance stage. The gradual recognition of his new anatomy and its accompanying limitations was starting to take hold.
Unfortunately, Dean tended to be a joy to have around.
Sam figured the decency to keep all comments to himself would end as soon as they were in the enclosed domain of the car. A month ago, out of respect for the sheer horror of it all, he seemed to recall being nothing but helpful despite being equally as alarmed.
Dean had been through it, done it, survived it. But if Sam was expecting anything from his brother, the good or the bad, he was out of luck. The drive was as quiet as it could get. Not even a tape playing. Just the drone of the engine and her shifting gears as they changed lanes.
His hand wandered to his lower belly and he shifted uncomfortably on the damp horrible feel of wadded up gauze between his legs.
“We gotta stop.” Sam grumbled.
“I need a bathroom.”
Dean thankfully didn’t argue the point.
More than silently grateful when he saw the next exit almost immediately come into view, Sam found himself watching the approach of the small empty rest stop closely. It was a whole new game so to speak. The men’s room’s were usually left unlocked and open to just anyone to walk in and out of at any time of day or night.
In these tiny two pump stations sometimes there was no rest room at all.
Sam started becoming nervous that he was going to end up having to ask for some kind of key. Gripping the door, he swung it open when they rolled to a stop, willing away the baffling anxiety that was flooding him over a stupid freaking bathroom. All he knew was that he had to get into one right now or he was going to mess up some jeans all over again. He had stashed an extra pad in his jacket about one lifetime ago when he’d raided that closet.
Stepping out uncertainly onto the gravel of the rest stop, he felt for it in his inner pocket and patted himself on the back for having the presence of mind to think of taking one of the things along with him at all. The small building that housed the register was dark inside. The adjoining addition had some kind of garage with a pick up sitting in it with the hood propped up. When he let the door shut behind him he saw that the mechanic on the premises and the probable owner were both sitting idly by the counter.
Their conversation halted at the sight of him.
“Uh, just looking for the head.” Sam mumbled at them.
It didn’t take him long to figure out why he was being scrutinized when usually all he’d usually get from these men would be a nod and dismissal. Regardless of how ungainly and awkward he felt, all eyes seemed to now be covertly and not-so much on him. Watching and waiting for what, he had no idea. The tide always shifted for better or for worse when a female entered the sanctum of a male gathering. He'd never had to admit to himself just how dangerous beneath the surface some men could be.
The sound of the door opening behind him surprised him back into motion, spotting the dark narrow hallway that had a cardboard sign duct taped over it that lead the way.
“Ten bucks.” Dean said as he flipped open his wallet with a nod out to the nearest pump just outside the door.
Sam walked down the cracked dirty linoleum towards the deep scent of antiseptic and mildew. He was going have to get almost half naked in this place just to get what he needed to do done. For some reason he thought about the men at the counter and how maybe they were thinking the same thing. The thought made him move a little faster. Pushing the bathroom door open, he knew this would be over before he knew it.
He also knew that the car was about half full and his brother never put anything in her unless it dipped under a quarter tank.
Sam knew somewhere that he should be annoyed by Dean's presence but all he could feel was relieved.
Dean was quiet in the diner too.
Having wanted breakfast so badly before, Sam found it was quite another thing when the steaming eggs actually arrived at the table and he could smell them. He picked up his toast instead and chewed it dry. The orange juice helped, the first few sips rejuvenating and refreshing. For some reason he couldn't place, the sharp citrus smell alone was nothing short of wonderful.
“I was thinking…” Sam attempted over the silent table. “That this will last a few days, so-so we’ll need to hit a Wal-mart or something because I can’t wear this forever—“
“Sure.” Dean answered shortly, his mouth full of hash browns.
Sam watched him for a moment as Dean shoveled down his breakfast, wanting no distraction at all but the food in front of him.
“It is really me Dean.”
Dean paused, his fork in mid air, mouth in mid chew. His gaze flickered up right to him, right into his eyes. Sam knew his brother did know. Dean could see it, like Sam had when Dean had made the switch. For some reason even when everything else smoothed, curved and shifted, the eyes stayed exactly the same.
“You know who you look like?” Dean broke out into a grin.
Sam was strangely reminded of the same exact question just the evening before. Only that time it had been some sorority girl with bad fake contacts. Sam thought of the glitzy colored lights and the strange blue of that evening sky. He thought of the pain that had flashed over him in the bathroom stall and the feeling of dread he gotten when he woken up under the stare of the owner of the truck he borrowed. Sam decided to stop thinking about that kid and what could have happened in that room. The toast suddenly seemed heavy and like lead in his stomach.
That party seemed like it had happened about a year ago anyway.
“You look like you.” Dean said, pointing at him with a fork. “But you when you were about 10, and taller and uh—“
“Yeah.” Dean finished his food and tossed his utensil loudly down onto his plate.
Sam took another bite of his toast and wondered if the waitress would give him coffee if he asked. She had wordlessly poured some for Dean but skipped his mug entirely.
“Am I pretty?”
Sam watched Dean, knowing that the question would freak him out as much as it would amuse him on some level. Strangely enough, Dean’s chest hitched in something that sounded like an apologetic laugh.
“Uh... well, define pretty...”
Sam smiled and shoved the rest of his bread into his mouth.
“Bet you’ll be wantin’ that herbal tea right about now?”
Sam wasn’t looking at Dean but he knew his brother was all smiles. He had been really hoping that Dean wouldn’t remember that profoundly stupid statement he had made over a month ago.
He knew what a cycle was. Sam knew about eggs, fallopian tubes and even more than a little about ovulation. Sleeping with a woman for almost two years as she went through hers on a regular basis might as well have put him on the calendar at the same time. But the reality of what it all really felt like well… He had to admit, just watching Dean last month had been an exercise in extreme self censorship. He had just thought that his brother had been on the most part exaggerating.
He’d wadded up all the blankets on the bed and was pressing them up against his belly like it would work some mojo on his insides. The television sounded too loud and battered the bad traffic and the local highlights right into his brain.
“This is... this is... horrible.” Sam concluded with a clenched jaw.
“Here.” Dean was moving behind him.
Sam heard a beer bottle hiss open and the rattle of pills in a plastic bottle.
“It’ll take the edge off.” His brother nudged him in the shoulder.
Sam rolled over, holding out a shaking hand for the tablets and helping himself to a good few gulps of cold beer to wash it down. Hair of the dog and all that crap. It was tough to get down but he knew it would do the trick.
“Ya know Sammy,” Dean sighed. “I never thought we could you know, sit around one day and be able to talk like this.”
“We’re not talking.” Sam observed. God, he felt like he could take another shower. Maybe he could just live in the bathtub until this ran its course.
“You know, talk about what sanitary napkin is truly the most absorbent and how miraculous it is to bleed without dying—“
“Just sayin.” Dean reaffirmed as he fell back onto his own bed. “This new connection we share? It’s fucking magical is what it is.”
Sam felt horrifying magical tears threaten to start running down his face if Dean didn’t shut the hell up soon. He felt inexplicably tenuous for no reason at all. His mind wandered to near hysterics and back down to a sobering wash of gray that didn’t make any logical sense. He rubbed hard at his eyes and groped for the beer bottle again.
“Well, I’ve got even more good news.”
Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything at the moment. Good news or no.
“Guess what turned up on campus this morning? I mean, besides your boobs.”
With a sigh, Sam rolled over to look at his brother. Work never left a guy any time to spend in the fetal position with his curse.
“Yup. A local this time. ” Dean folded his hands behind his head and yawned. “Doesn’t look like this one has any connection to the school whatsoever. Hasn’t hit the news yet, looks like the campus wants to keep its applications flowing.”
Sam dragged himself up and groaned as his insides shifted in all the wrong ways. “Let’s go.”
“Back to the library.”
“Tell me you got an idea.”
“I think I do.” Sam tested his limbs by stretching out as far as he could. With a vague flutter of surprise, he found he didn’t even make it off the edge of the bed. “Just need to take a shower first.”
“I bet you Batman never said that.”
“While I’m in there, do me a favor—?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean was already up and checking for his car keys. “But no bras. You don't need one anyway.”
Sam shut the bathroom door and thankfully began shedding the clothes he had had on since the night before. He was going to throw them away. Maybe even burn them. Running the sink, he splashed water on his face a few times before he realized he didn’t have to shave. Waiting for the shower to warm up a little he took a look at his bare chest in the stark light under the mirror.
With a frown, he turned sideways.
When Dean was right, he sure was right.
Sam wished he hadn’t told Dean to just grab whatever kind of clothes in the ‘sweat pants’ and ‘other’ section that was just labeled ‘small’.
Although the selection was surprisingly not the most horrible thing Sam had ever witnessed, he still regretted that he hadn’t been a little bit more involved. There were some draw stringed track pants. Some T-shirts that didn’t say anything retarded like ‘SPOILED ROTTEN’ in glitter across the chest. A few hoodie jackets in colors that didn’t remind him of Easter eggs. There was a separate and unspecified bag filled with more pads that Sam knew better than to thank for let alone mention ever again. Upon closer inspection Sam found they were even built for teens! and quickly experienced a newfound deep appreciation for attention to detail that he thought he could ever have.
The new underwear was annoying but he predicted his brother would crumble at some point and be unable to resist the treasure trove of opportunity which was this situation.
When he put on the pink panties dotted with hearts he silently wondered what exactly was reining in what could be a never ending stream of pointless jokes and some boob grabbing. If some stupid underwear was all he was going to have to hear about it he would consider himself lucky and wear them without a freaking word. He figured Dean hadn’t quite forgotten what his time was like just that month ago anyway. It was probably still a little fresh in his memory. Maybe too fresh to find what happened to Sam all that completely hilarious.
But all that aside, he wished he had gone himself to get what he had to wear. They fit a little too well. The accurately sized clothing accentuated his shorter but somehow long skinny legs. The narrow impossible waist. Thin shoulders and bony wrists. He wished he had clothes he could disappear into a little bit. Hide away in a few layers of oversized clothes to cloak what he had become.
Sam refocused on the text under his hands.
The place wasn’t very crowded.
Every now and then someone would pause and look in his direction but otherwise every student there that late on a Sunday had nothing but studying on their mind. Not the questionable age of someone else buried under their own stack of books. It was a quiet intense stream of focus. Heads down. Nerves frayed.
It was then somewhat of a shock when he was recognized.
The sight of the guy made Sam stiffen, all his muscles tensing in what he swiftly realized was some brand of fear he had never experienced before. He was keenly aware of the distance of where the kid stood. The presence of others nearby. His own ability to back away. The solid table that stood between them both.
“Yer—yer the chick that wrecked my truck.”
It would figure this jerk off would be pissed off about his truck and not the fact that Sam had left him tied to his own floor for who knew how long. Sam remembered the pony tailed girl say that truck’s owner’s name was Josh.
“You got the wrong chick.” Sam told him with a shrug.
He involuntarily looked over his shoulder to find Dean across a sea of tables, flipping through over a year’s worth of tides and moon phases like Sam had asked him to do.
“I could sue your ass.” The guy named Josh said in a low voice.
“I told you, you got me confused with someone else—“
The book Sam had open in front of him was slammed closed, the hand over it too close to him than he liked.
Sam hands closed into fists. He could just get up and leave. Or he could try another angle. Tell this guy that he just got in today and never set eyes on him or his truck in his entire life. Sometimes when you just kept to your story and your cool the person confronting you had no choice but choke on their rationale no matter how sure they thought they were.
“What’s your name?”
He thought of some name to give this guy but all he could think of was how it had felt when that body had crushed him into that unmade bed. How this person just attempted to do what he wanted just because he had the power to do so. Just because he felt like it. That hand hadn’t moved, and Sam was staring down at it thinking how he could break at least two fingers before this guy could shove him off with brute strength alone.
Sam looked him evenly in the eye.
A stack of folded newspapers suddenly landed in front of Sam’s face. Dean’s abrupt arrival startled them both.
“I dunno, Sam.” Dean sighed in that way he did after being forced to read for more than one hour. “I got a look at them all but it doesn’t seem to add up the way you were sayin’ it might— Oh. Sorry.”
Sam watched the guy named Josh take in the sight of his brother carefully. Dean, even on his best of days, always looked a little rough. After an all nighter and no change of clothes he looked a little rougher than usual. Sam never noticed quite how other people reacted to him unless he was paying extra special attention. He sure as hell was doing that now. Dean was about as tall as the kid, but he had everything that no gym or a weekend soccer game gave you, and the guy named Josh saw it right away. Sam figured that was one trait that most men had. They could gauge fairly quickly just exactly what and who could kick their ass.
Dean’s eyes narrowed at the kid.
His brother also had the uncanny knack of being able to spot a prick from about a mile away.
“If yer in need of a book there’s plenty around.”
“Nope. Just leavin’.”
Sam watched him walk away and let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Who the hell was that?” Dean asked through a yawn as he pulled up a chair and straddled it.
“Nobody.” Sam mumbled.
It turned out that Sam’s guess at what had been showing up once a month to pick off the unwary in the night of the college campus grounds hadn’t been correct at all.
He’d been close though.
Oddly enough, it was his own transformation that made him think of lunar activity at all. Even stranger, it had been his body’s own new shape that made him even consider what might hunt but not eat. Kill but not maul. Destroy but not gloat. Something drawn out by the phases of pale light that cycled above and made even more confusing by the lack of any pattern in its victims because the pattern was there was no pattern at all.
Sam sometimes thought their job was a lot like bird watching in way. No matter how hard the evidence, you never really were quite sure exactly what you were dealing with until you had the thing right in your sight. Lucky for them, they always knew how to come prepared for just about anything. Carefully loading two shotguns, Sam checked them twice before laying them aside on the bedspread. Pulling out the motel bible so he wouldn’t have to ruin their own, he tore out the pages they’d need and started folding them into halves.
Dean was already zipping up a duffel of what he’d need if they were actually lucky enough to find any remains. It would be okay if they didn’t, because Sam was sure he knew how to put the thing to sleep forever without blistering apart whatever was left of it rotting in the ground.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Sam looked up from the torn pages of the Apocrypha.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Dean repeated, checking his pistol before shoving into the backs of his jeans. “Get a pizza and keep the door locked.”
“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.”
His brother paused, looking sharply back at him.
Sam felt like he maybe had never been this furious in his entire life. He realized it was fueled by frustration and fear, but his brother was supposed to understand, he was supposed to know that he wasn’t any different.
“Talk to you like what?” Dean held out his hands. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you almost had me locked in a closet about a month back, and that was just for being alive and breathin’!”
“I—I just didn’t want— you don’t understand—“
“Yeah, well if I didn’t then?” Dean cut him off grimly, his eyes briefly going up and down Sam’s body. “I’m getting a real good idea now.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“What are you gonna do Sam?” Dean demanded. “Hold up the back of my shotgun?“
Sam’s face burned.
“Notta chance.” Dean was shaking his head. ”I know how this little song and dance is gonna go. You’re gonna promise up and down that you’ll sit tight in the car and then guess what? You won’t and I’ll be in the middle of it and there you’ll be, all... all 90 pounds of you.”
Sam watched Dean turn and check the closed curtains for some reason.
“Ain’t gonna happen Sammy.”
Sam wasn’t prepared when his brother just suddenly came at him. He scrambled to stay on his feet, but Dean had grasped him down around his waist and actually picked him up right off the floor.
He wasn’t sure what made him angrier. The fact that there was nothing he could fucking do about it or the fact that Dean had thought about it all well in advance. Dean pushed him down onto the carpet between the beds and snapped the steel cuff down neatly, holding Sam writhing viciously in place between his knees while he adjusted it carefully to fit a small wrist.
“Oh and here ya go...”
Sam watched in disbelief as Dean leisurely channel surfed until he hit the number he wanted.
“Lifetime network.” Dean nodded down to him. “And look, yer in luck. There’s an Alley Mcbeal marathon on too.”
“D-Dean!” Sam yanked hard on the metal attached to the bedpost, hissing when the movement hurt more than it should. “W-Wait!”
“Be back in a few hours.”
Dean held up the remote and put it on the window sill by the door. About one hundred miles out of Sam’s reach.
“This’ll be right here if you wanna watch anything else.”
With a small wink, he was gone with the sound solid clank of the motel door lock slamming shut.
“Dean! You-You didn’t even take the— the...”
Sam slumped down against the small set of drawers that sat wedged between beds and sighed. Screaming would bring attention. Attention would find a young girl attached to a motel bed and soon thereafter, a rabid hunt for his older brother. He was half tempted to start yelling his head off anyway just for the satisfying ten o’clock news results.
He rolled his head to look at the carefully folded triangles of the deuterocanonical papers of the Old Testament.
“You didn’t even take the scriptures you fucking jerk.”