Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: Dean's Turn Again

I haven’t had tons of time to write lately, so I was being lazy and looking through my old files and found an Outside POV I did during my genderswap phase. A kinda random side story during that story arc I guess you could call it. I know we’ve been in middle of a medical emergency with the Winchesters & Outside POV before (in this journal anyway) but this is kind of a different spin. You don’t have to remember these stories to get this fic but it would be beneficial to know what genderswap is. Here’s my quick-in-a-nutshell definition… (in case you aren’t already in the know)

genderswap: one or both of the boys (in this case the Winchesters) switch their sex to female due to outside forces such as: a curse, a curse, a curse or sometimes a recurring curse. In minkmix-land, this wacky dilemma also includes experiencing a menstrual cycle.

Forgive the lame title, but I've been living in a literal kinda mood lately. ♥


Title: Dean's Turn Again
This fic exists within but is not dependent on the following swap-verse:
Isochronism & Sam's Turn
Author: Mink
Rating: R - Gender Swap - Outside POV
Warnings: Monthly women's issues
Spoilers: General (for aired episodes only)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Outside POV - genderswap - A paramedic finds a young woman (and her tall friend) injured on the roadside.

Eight years of riding shot gun in an ambulance had provided a colorful picture of the random nature of fate.

Tipping back his coffee thermos, he searched the dark roadside for any signs of human presence as they drove. The tell tale glimmer of broken glass. The zigzag of skid marks that veered off into the grass. Their call from dispatch hadn’t been specifically for a wreck but the vigilance for tragedy’s aftermath was automatic. The usual beacon of the county police lights weren’t on the scene and there was a lot of asphalt to cover. According to the calendar there was a full moon that could have leant some assistance but the churning storm clouds were keeping the night pitch black.

Something caught his eye.

“There we go,” he told his partner. “Over there.”

The man behind the wheel nodded when the headlights picked up the movement ahead. There had been a lot of concern over how exactly they were going to find an indeterminate spot in the wilderness specified by cell phone. However, the 911 caller had eliminated the chance of being missed by standing directly on the center lines.

The back doors swung open as soon as they rolled to a stop. The tall man who had hailed them down seemed unscathed for the most part. Although it was autumn and a freezing drizzle of rain was misting down through the pines, the guy was only wearing a thin soaked T-shirt. The absence of a jacket was explained as soon as the flashlight swung to the fringe of the forest. There was someone lying very still in the mud among the shining black bark of the trees. The coat had been draped over the upper body like a post mortem but he understood it was a gesture to ward off the cold.

Lifting it away, he quickly took in what he was dealing with.

The comatose young woman underneath it was breathing and a swift check showed that her vitals were strong. The gash over her right ear felt like more than a scalp laceration but had no obvious signs of contusion besides unconsciousness. His driver helped ease her onto the gurney although she was light enough to transfer himself. The man that climbed in the back after him was a bit younger than he’d previously thought. In the bright interior of the ambulance he could see that the kid was borderline hypothermic himself.

Handing over a heated blanket, he listened as the shivering guy seemed to have all the details needed for the procedure of triage. The exact time the injury occurred. The absence of any vomiting. Allergies to medications. History of illness. Any prior operations. The ride didn’t require the sirens but the engine revved right over the speed limit through every traffic light that hung in the empty meander of the mountain pass road.

The brief explanation for the current circumstances was a little strange.

He heard of fights breaking out in crowded bars and on street corners but not out in the middle of nowhere. Before he could ask which direction the alleged assailants had fled, his patient started to squirm under the probing stethoscope.

As he predicted, the woman roused with the steady onslaught of noise, lights and warmth.

“What’s her name?”

There was a strange ensuing silence that he’d experienced many times before. The truth was an unusual commodity in this business. He either had grown men confessing to acts they wouldn’t even whisper to their own wives or he got the pained silence. A punishable felony was nothing anyone wanted to volunteer even if it meant it would hurry the process towards aid. There wasn’t much standing between him and the large guy’s fist, but city code required that he always keep a canister of pepper mace on him. In close quarters the stuff would painfully blind him and the patient included, but some occupations came with only so many options.

“Her name is Dean.” The young man finally supplied.

He looked down at the dazed woman doubtfully.

“Okay Dean, can you hear me?” he firmly patted her cheek. “Do you know where you are?”

She stopped touching the IV taped to the inside of her arm and tried to focus her attention on his voice. The vehicle shuddered with the imperfections of the road, the bag of intravenous fluid swaying over her bloodied face.

“Do you know where you are, Dean?”

“R-Ridgefield?” she guessed.

That was a town about twenty miles south. Nothing out there but farms and an annual summer festival for tourists.

“Dean, can you tell me today’s date?”

She stared at him, her pale brow furrowing with the questions. She winced when it caused awareness of the head wound. He took her exploring hand away from the gauze and put it back at her side. He didn’t have to mark the chart with a suggestion for a drug screen on the blood samples. Street and illegally wrought prescription drugs were the most often reason a young adult got taken to a hospital emergency room, and it was the frequently the reason they died there.

“What month is it, Dean?”

“My-My stomach is killin’ me.”

“How about the year?”

Instead of answering, her hands wandered cautiously to her chest and up her throat.

He took the moment to shine his penlight into his palm again. Adjusting the light to the perfect point, he carefully held one eye open with his fingertips. When they had arrived on the scene he had radioed ahead for the ER to prepare for a trauma but when he got a better look, he had found her to be nicely awake and reactive. Blood pressure and pulse elevated but within range. No bleeding in the nose or mouth. Good response on reflexes.

Observing the green pupils constrict tightly under the light, he let his thumb linger under her eyelid as she watched him groggily. Her hand fell on his, her fingers numbly moving on his sleeve in confusion.

He went back to his medical checklist.

The only issue left for now was the one he didn’t think he’d get an answer for. No matter how well informed this man was on the personal details of the patient, the likelihood of his knowledge on this detail was slim to none. He gave it a shot anyway.

“The date of her last period?”

“Exactly four months ago.”

The response came with no thought to the inquiry at all. In fact, the guy blurted it out as if he’d had the data sitting right there on the forefront of his mind.

“To the day.” the guy added.

Most women themselves didn’t even have that kind of information handy for immediate recall. He uncertainly reconsidered the tall kid crammed into the jump seat opposite him. Four months was a long time.

“Is there any possibility she’s pregnant?”

That was a question that could always bring alarm to any face, but this brand of worry seemed to be mixed with weary bewilderment.


“Taking birth control?”

“No.” he replied more firmly.

Although the subject of relation hadn’t been offered, the knowledge of this patient’s non-use of contraception and emphatic negative on any babies on the way led him to believe they were sexually involved. He’d made the mistake before of thinking that meant that made any such person a ‘boyfriend’ or husband’. Many times the most intimately connected people knew nothing but each other’s first names. However, this kid looked upset enough that this occasion might not prove to be that kind of case.

He studied the purple bruises forming down the young woman’s jaw. Short cropped brown hair was matted wet with blood, the white cast of her skin neatly imprinted with a large red hand print from a grip that had held her chin before the ambulance had arrived. When he had been given her birthdate he was disinclined to believe it. There were plenty of girls that took a ride in the back of the wagon that defied their physical ages but most of them typically appeared older than their reality. If he’d had to guess he would have said this woman was closer to a girl. He’d say somewhere barely out of the teens. The disorientated gaze and slack mouth didn’t seem like they’d done twenty-eight years of anything.

She jerked violently when hands met the bare skin of her stomach. Everyone that ended up on his gurney was different. Some balked at the needles, some panicked at the sight of a thermometer, and quite a few others decided their limit of tolerance ended with being undressed by a stranger.

“D-Don’t,” she stammered. “Don’t touch me—”

The warning and weak push of her trembling hands wasn’t going to stop him from lifting the rest of the black T-shirt but the abrupt iron hold on his arm did. He looked up into the startled eyes of the young man across from him. The guy seemed a little surprised by the sight of his own fist gripped around a paramedic’s forearm.

There were a few seconds to think about exactly how long it would take to get out that mace he’d never had the opportunity to try. Taking in a deep breath, he decided to attempt a wholly different approach. After all, the doctrine of this trade was centered upon the goal of not creating any more harm than what the world already provided.

“Take it easy, kid,” he suggested. “Unless you’d like to take over?”

The young man immediately let go and mumbled an apology before averting his eyes.

Flexing his arm, he licked his lips and let out the breath he’d been holding onto. So much for the tricks he kept in his professional repertoire of methods to spread composure. It appeared that a good old fashioned direct request worked just as well as a soothing litany of pop psychology. With that worrisome interruption over with, he gladly pulled his concentration back together for the task at hand.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of her upper body.

The damage wasn’t new but there were plenty of it. He peeled up a wet pant leg to get a look at her legs. From what he could see her shins were banged up into shades of green and brown. Scars dotted the arms and torso, some superficial, others that had received amateur suturing. Trying not redirect his attention to a recently healed wound at the shoulder, he pressed his hands down over the abdomen to check for any possible internal injury. His hand brushed against a warm metal piece of jewelry that fell between her breasts. Briefly examining the sharp shape of metal, he pulled the T-shirt back down over her heaving chest.

The girl named Dean wasn’t pleased with having been exposed. The forced physical contact had drawn her more firmly into lucidity than the lights shined in her eyes, or the IV needle in her arm.

“Why don’t ya take a picture?” she asked through clenched teeth. “It’ll last longer.”

He didn’t have to bother moving the already loose jeans that sagged past her hips. He noted that everything she was wearing didn’t belong to her. The boots were only staying on her feet because of the tight laces. Although her drenched clothing all appeared much too large, the underwear was still a little odd. The undergarments consisted solely of an old pair of boxer shorts that were probably more than three times her size.

“S-Sam?” she slurred furiously. “This might be the concussion talkin’ but didn’t I do this curse already?”

“It’s going to be okay,” the kid said. “Just shut up.”

Sam. He wrote it down quickly. “You have a last name?”

“Winchester.” The girl dazedly provided.

The guy named Sam shifted uneasily.

He tried and failed not to let his gaze stray down to the kid’s skinned knuckles.

“You been doing some drinking tonight, Sam?”

The anxious look on his tired face rapidly shifted and solidified into anger at the implied accusation of any responsibility for the woman’s battered state. The inside of the ambulance had carried its share of outraged drunks over the years but he had to admit, this guy didn’t show the typical signs of intoxication. The notion of domestic violence wasn’t sticking either. Studying the genuine distress in the big guy’s eyes, he sat back with a sigh and tried the direct approach again.

“Look,” he used his best reasonable voice. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I told you. We got into it with a couple of guys and then they took off,” Sam said. “And then s-she wouldn’t wake up so I called 911.”

“A fight?” he repeated. “In the middle of the woods?”

“Almost had that bastard too,” she mumbled from between them. “Then bam, here comes the boobs.”

He had no idea what that meant but he’d heard peculiar things come of out the mouths of those suffering from head trauma. With a soft groan she clutched at her lower stomach and tried to curl tightly into a ball on her side. As she rolled away, he got a look at the backs of the muddy jeans. Besides dirt and rain water, there were dark crimson stains soaked onto the white sheet on the gurney. Professional candor faded into grim apprehension as the details of the road side call became even further unclear.

“Was she assaulted in any other way—“

“No.” One broad hand encompassed her thin shoulder and another held her hip like sheer will would keep her agony at bay. “It-It’s just what you asked about. Four months to the day.”

His pen tapped the given date of the last menstrual cycle.

“Can’t you give him anything?” Sam asked.

He was just getting around to that.

As the ambulance bumped and turned, he carefully loaded a needle with a potent amount of acetaminophen. Pushing the dose through the intravenous line, he kept a finger on the patient’s pulse as the medication took affect. Her tensed muscles slowly began to relax. The young man gently thumbed open her fists as they twitched and released to the red half moons fingernails had dug into her palms.

“You can give the police a full description.”


“A description of the men that attacked your uh,” he realized he had never been told what their connection was. “That attacked Dean.”

“Right.” Sam struggled to get into his jacket in the small confines of the compartment. “Will do.”

The vehicle lurched to a stop under the familiar stark lights of the emergency room entrance. The overhang sheltered the sidewalk from the frigid drizzle and had a small party of staff awaiting their timed arrival. He slid out of his seat and helped rattle the gurney out onto the pavement.

“I guess this is the place,” Sam nodded in distraction as the ER doors banged open. “I really appreciate your help.”

“No problem.”

“If my brother was in his right mind he’d thank you too.”

Blinking in confusion, he couldn’t figure out an appropriate response before the doors slid shut. Watching them through the glass, he waited until the rolling stretcher and the group surrounding it promptly disappeared around a corner. The radio on his belt buzzed and sizzled with the wagon’s call sign and a code 11-83. A curt voice from dispatch directed that he stand by for location to be confirmed.

It looked like it was starting out to be one of those nights.

Finding his thermos, he was happy to discover it was still half full. Pouring a lukewarm cup of the coffee into the plastic lid, he took a seat on the wagon’s back fender.

From listening to the raving hypochondriacal shut-ins, to pulling extractions from a smoldering pile up on the freeway, he’d learned just how much could be plausibly done while his patients were in his fleeting care. However, some things remained constant no matter what providence brought into the back of his ambulance. He shook his head to himself and chanced a look up into the weather. Every now and then the clouds parted long enough to reveal the patches of sky beyond. The white round glow above flashed through the gentle storm and glared bright enough to dim the scatter of attending stars into a meager anemic gleam.

With a finger he touched the monstrous bloat of the full moon before it vanished again.

That extraordinary phase always did seem to bring out the weird.

Tags: genderswap, hurt!dean, outside pov, spn one shot
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