Author: Spinny Roses
Warnings: Incest (Dean/Sam, John/Dean), genderswitch, femmeslash (Hello!)
Spoilers: Takes place after "Asylum," hints up to "Dead Man's Blood." Part of Family Outside Rhymes series.
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: And she looked so much like Mary, sounded so much like her that it was like her ghost in front of him, taunting him, if he had just been a better father...
Tequila, John decided as he grabbed his coat. Tequila would make her ghost go away.
Couldn't Put Together Again
By Spinny Roses
When John Winchester woke up, he had a beard, short hair, and an uncomfortable erection. Undeniably male, listening to the rustling sound of two other people in the room waking and carefully sliding out of bed, speaking in soft and slightly unfamiliar female tones.
Opening his eyes, John just managed to see Mary walk into the bathroom, her hair an utter mess when another girl, with nigglingly familiar facial features, pull free a hair tie from a falling apart braid. "Hey, Dean, don't spend forever in there today. Some of us actually shower."
John bit back a groan, brain finally kicking in. He sat up in time to see a choice, slender finger come out of the bathroom before retreating and the door slamming on Sam's laughter. The erection faded from arousal to the need to piss as he watched his youngest son... daughter... gather up an old, ratty towel and new clothes that just barely fit her body.
He was about to sit up when Dean finally came out of the bathroom, having just taken a short shower. She was dressed, but her hair still dripped water down her shirt, causing it to cling to her curves. Sam said something, John knew, but he didn't understand it as Dean fought with her hair long enough to get it pulled back into a functional braid. She grabbed her wallet, not giving into being a girl so much that she wanted a purse, and said over her shoulder, "Going to get some food and coffee, okay? And Sammy, be out of the shower by the time I get back."
"Oh fuck you, Dean."
John found himself sucking in frantic breaths when the door closed behind Dean.
Kick. Block. Grab a too slender wrist and wrestle her to the ground. They were all moves that John had taught his sons when they were barely knee-high, and now had to re-teach female bodies.
John wasn't the only one getting annoyed with the lack of progress. Sam could be seen facing off against the punching bag, just having a little more luck with the power of her kicks if she could just keep her balance. Dean, on the other hand, had always been more partial to grapples and punches. Watching her try to rebuild her upper body strength to where it was, and failing, hurt John more than it should have.
"One more time," she panted, strands of hair escaping from her braid only to cling to her face slick with sweat. "I almost got it last time."
No you didn't, was on the tip of John's tongue, but he bit it back, knowing Dean just wanted to have her old body back, to be able to hunt and move like before. Without waiting for her to regain her balance (What monster's going to wait for you to catch your breath? he could hear his younger self shouting down at a child Dean and Sam), he reached out to pull her into a hold.
If Dean had been a little less tired, a little stronger, a little faster, she might have gotten out of range, maybe even been able to pull her father off-balance and score a pin. Instead, John held her tight against his body as she bucked and writhed, trying to get away even though both of them knew that in a real battle, at this moment, she would be dead.
Had it been Sam he had faced off again, the fight would be over and John would be dressing her down, letting her know exactly what had gone wrong. But in his arms, flushed and breathing heavily, was Mary, alive, well...
She went still, deadly still, and turned her head slightly. "Hey. Dad. Yo." When John still held on, the grip more desperate and his face wet with sweat (just sweat, it had to be), she shifted slightly. "Dad. Let me go." Nothing. "DAD."
He pushed her away, swallowing as she stumbled and nearly fell on her face. Sam had stopped her practicing, watching the two of them warily. Dean bent over, panting heavily and showing off a heaving cleaving, breasts just a little too small to be Mary's.
"Lesson's over," John said thickly, unable to look away.
Dean turned her head up, the slightly disbelieving look all Dean but the features Mary. She slowly straightened, nearly saluting. "Yes sir."
And she looked so much like Mary, sounded so much like her that it was like her ghost in front of him, taunting him, if he had just been a better father...
Tequila, John decided as he grabbed his coat. Tequila would make her ghost go away.
Sam, ever the geek, had brought home a book about fighting. More specifically, about girls and fighting. She pointed out that women didn't have as much upper body strength. But lower body strength, which would normally be needed for childbirth, was something they had in spades.
It was a relief and a curse for John. He could teach them kicks, have Dean at a further distance.
But the way John had been taught, by a man, for a man, lacked in the way of lower body attacks. What he had been taught, how to use his distribution of strength to its full advantage, didn't apply here.
He watched Dean and Sam spar, unable to look away as they slowly adapted their fighting style against each other, feeling useless when Dean spilled Sam on her ass and pinned her there.
Feeling out of place as they laughed merrily, standing again.
When he first walked in on Sam with a man, he nearly had a heart attack. Even though she was the height of female sexiness, with the best from Mary and John, he still thought of her as his son. His baby son, that he had pulled from the crib as his wife bled and died in a fiery explosion above them. His baby should not be having sex, especially with men.
When it was with Dean, he was more disappointed than anything. It hadn't been the first time, though it worried John more than now, Dean would have to be the bottom, the "catcher" during sex. It had been marginally tolerable when he had clearly topped in the bedroom, not losing a single bit of manliness in the act, but rather taking care of a need in absence of women.
He had been cleaning the guns when he heard Sam and Dean talking furiously, Sam fighting to keep her voice down.
"... and now you can score with lesbians," she was nearly spitting out, furious. "And you're fucking guys... Dean, why the hell didn't you tell me you were gay?"
"Because I'm not, Sammy," Dean spat back. "Are you? 'Cause I've seen the guys you've done. Yeah, Sam, guys. Does that make you gay, or a perfectly heterosexual woman? Oh, wait, you can't be hetro because-"
"Shht! Dad can hear us. I... He and Jess... it's like I just... it's like I went from a straight guy to a straight girl. What about you, Dean? Always liked taking it up the ass and munching rug?"
There was a terrible silence, then "I never took it up the ass. Maybe you should look into it, if you're really that fixated on the gay." There was the sound of someone getting up to leave.
"And where are you going?" Sam's fury hadn't lessened any by this point.
"I'm going to go munch some pussy and take a prick up my ass. Wanna come?"
John didn't look up from his obsessive shining, despite the fact the metal already gleaned under his touch, as Dean stormed by, not wanting to have Mary's face changed to Dean's in a fantasy with her and an unnamed brunette, looking up at him with a familiar wicked smile that said that John was about to be fucked and in many good ways.
He had been looking a little much into the liquor bottles since he had first run into the female versions of his sons. Not that truth nor solace were found at the bottom of a bottle, but rather that it kept him from seeing Mary's disapproving face bleeding in Dean's pouting lips.
So when Dean finally managed to trip him, pin him down, he could blame it on being drunk off his ass.
Dean knew it too. Her nose, cute little nose more of the Winchester line than of Mary's features, wrinkled as his breath hit her, probably enough to get her drunk off fumes alone. "Look, Dad," she said conversationally, adding pressure to his throat, "we're going to talk whether you like it or not. Okay?"
John grunted, the tone an agreement, and Dean gracefully lifted herself off him. The mix of relief and lust at her movements nearly caused him to back down. Instead, he picked himself off the ground and brushed off his pants. "Talk."
Her arms crossed and she looked at him just as Mary used to, when he fucked up. "Look, you can't hide things very well. Besides, not like that stiffy you're sporting's going to be easily overlooked. I've seen my own damn face; I know I look like Mom. So let's get it over with. You want to pork me, right? Then let's fuck, and you can get over the fact I look like Mom. And if I get pregnant with a weird-ass incest baby, then we can raise it together to be a Winchester just as long as you stop treating me like some sort of freak!"
He opened his mouth as the last bit of her wild shriek faded from the air, then closed it as he noticed the fine tremble in her arms. The raw need, not sexual, not arousing but rather just needy. Wanting so hard for his approval.
And John had no idea how to deal with it.
When his hands went back to his shot glass, trying to find an answer in the liquid, Dean snorted, threw her hands up in the air, and left. Left John behind, still groping for an answer to her words.
"We're going to Manning."
Sam looked up from the laptop, confused. Dean didn't lift her head, still sharpening the knives, though it was obvious she was still listening. "Okay, Dad," Sam started, quickly typing in the words into a search engine. "What's in Manning?"
John set down the newspaper, a little one specific to a town in Colorado. Purposely, he took the marker and circled an obituary. "Daniel Elkins. Was a hunter, knew him pretty well. We should probably go pay our respects."
Sam hesitated, then nodded, the strong sense of honor she had as a man coming to the fore. Dean didn't look up, but just shrugged. "Whatever, Dad. Whatever you want."
It was said so casually, words so familiar, but it still caused John to wince.
She just lifted her eyes, not even challenging him. "When are we leaving?"