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They had been driving down North Cascades Highway for hours; it was the shortest route from where they had been to get to the next job, but it was seriously lacking in amenities.
“I’m never gonna make it, man,” Dean said, slowly easing the Impala onto the shoulder, “I gotta piss.”
They were in the middle of nowhere, and no one else was on the road, but when Dean started to unzip his pants beside the car, Sam shouted, “Dude! No one wants to see that! If you’re gonna go in public, at least get in the bushes.”
“What public?” Dean muttered, but he headed for the woods on the side of the road anyway.
Once he judged he was far enough in to protect Sammy’s delicate sensibilities, he let loose, sighing in relief as he emptied his bladder into the undergrowth.
Or what he had thought was undergrowth.
“Oh, nice. Right in my herb garden.”
Startled, Dean pissed on his own shoe before he managed to tuck himself back in. “Ah, jeez! Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
Looking up, he saw that the owner of said garden was… hot. Very, very hot. And curvy. And yes.
Not missing a beat, he grinned charmingly at her. “Let me take you into town, buy you a drink to make up for it.”
A sly smile tilted her lips, and she sauntered over, tucking a strand of long black hair behind her ear. “Yeah?” She put her arms up on Dean’s shoulders and crossed her hands behind his neck. She smelled spicy and good.
“Yeah,” Dean replied, settling his hands on her waist. He liked where this was going. Out here in the boonies, she probably didn’t get a lot of gentleman callers.
She ran the fingers of one hand up his neck and though his hair. “You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you?” she asked coyly, pressing her hips against his.
“I’ve been told I am, a time or two,” he smiled winningly.
“Good,” she said, and suddenly pressed her hand hard on his forehead and pushed him away. “You’d better be. ‘Cause you have one hour to find someone who’ll fuck you like that, or else it’s permanent.”
Realizing the situation had gone horribly wrong horribly fast, Dean sputtered, “…What? What’s permanent? What did you do?”
She smirked. “And I do mean ‘like that.’ Maybe next time you’ll be more careful about where you pee.” Then before Dean could say another word, she disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“Oh, you supernatural bitch!” Dean shouted after her into the empty air. “What did you do?!” He frantically patted himself down, and then unzipped his pants and shoved down his boxers to inspect himself. His junk looked normal. Same size, color, feel. What had she done?
And I do mean ‘like that.’
He paused.
Grimacing, he gingerly reached a finger around his backside to feel at his asshole. No, that seemed normal, too. After a moment’s hesitation, he even pushed the finger inside just a little to make sure the crazy whore hadn’t put teeth or something up there. No.
What had she done?
He ran his other hand over his face and through his hair. The same.
What had she done?
Maybe Sam would be able to tell. He ducked under a fallen tree to get back to the car.
There, crouched with one leg a few feet apart from the other, he felt it.
“Oh, no way.”
***********************************************************
Sam was starting to wonder if Dean was actually taking a dump in there when his brother came crashing out of the woods. Immediately on the alert, he unbuckled himself and grabbed a gun out of the glove compartment.
“Sam! Sam, how far is it to the next town?” Dean shouted as he ran down the slope to the road.
Sam tried to remember what the last road sign had said. “I dunno… like, forty, forty-five minutes? Why? What’s happening?”
“Fuck! That would only give me, like, five minutes to find someone to have sex with me.”
“What?”
“Sammy, you gotta help me,” Dean panted, grabbing desperately at Sam’s arm through the window.
“How? Why? What’s going on?” Sam disentangled himself from Dean’s grabby hands and opened the door.
“Bitch cursed me! And the kind of person who would be willing to fuck me in the mangina within five minutes of setting eyes on me is exactly the kind of person I never want to meet.”
Sam took a second to let that sink in.
It didn’t.
“…What?”
The amount of precious time it was taking Sam to understand this situation made Dean grab at his own hair in frustration. “Look. Sam. In the woods— which, by the way, was your idea, so really, you owe me— fuckin’ magic bitch got pissed about me pissing on her plants. Cursed me with vagina. I’ve got to get someone to fuck me in it within an hour or it’s permanent. You’ve gotta help me.”
Sam decided to just ignore how crazy it sounded. “Help you how?”
Dean stared pointedly at him for a second, and then gestured violently at his own crotch.
“Oh… oh, no way, man!” Sam pulled back as far as he could, sitting in the passenger seat still.
“Sam, come on!”
“No!”
“Dude, I need you to help me out here.”
“Oh, this goes so far beyond ‘helping you out’!”
“Look, I’ll trade you!”
“‘Trade me’?”
“I’ll buy you all the shitty green health shakes you want!”
“Dean—!”
“And I’ll never go on your laptop again!”
“Dean! This isn’t— this isn’t like asking me to do the laundry. This is you asking me to fuck my brother. In his vagina!” Sam shook his head. “This can’t be my life!”
Dean gestured towards his crotch again, “This can’t be my life!”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head harder, “I can’t!”
Dean leaned into the Impala, resting one knee on the edge of Sam’s seat. He reached forward and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, holding on until Sam opened his eyes.
“Sam,” Dean’s voice was low and desperate, “please.”
Dean held Sam’s gaze until his brother finally threw his head back and sighed in frustration. “Look, Dean, assuming for a minute I was willing to jump on the crazy train for your sake: I don’t even think I could… you know… do what I would have to do,” Sam tried explaining.
Dean’s brow furrowed. “What, get it up?”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“Dude, what are you, seventy? How can you possibly have trouble getting it up?”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, where he could feel a headache forming. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Dean,” he bit out, “but the thought of having sex with you? Kind of a turn-off.”
“Well, I didn’t fuckin’ expect you to be fruity for my booty.” Sam snorted. “I figure I’ll make myself scarce for a little while, give you some alone time to get things started, you give a holler when you’re ready to get this freak show on the road, and then you can close your eyes and think of England.”
“I dunno, Dean…”
“Just keep your eyes shut and pretend I’m someone else. Like Jillian Murphy. Remember her?”
Sam’s eyebrow quirked up. “The girlfriend you stole from me in twelfth grade?”
“Okay, maybe not Jillian,” Dean said, waving his hand dismissively. “But you get my point. I won’t say a goddamn word, and you can just imagine whatever you want. We’ll do what we have to do, and then it’s over, and we never talk about it again.”
Sam’s face clearly showed how bad an idea he thought this was.
Dean pushed away from him, abruptly standing, and pounded his fist on the roof of the car. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and forced himself to breathe. “I—”
“Okay.”
“…What?” Dean looked down at the roof, as if he could see Sam through it.
“It’s a really, really bad idea, and I’m sure that we’re going to regret this on a number of levels, but I can’t think of any other options.”
Dean didn’t know if he should feel as if though he won or lost. “You sure, Sam?” he asked, leaning back enough to look his brother in the eye.
Sam met his gaze with wide eyes. “Oh, don’t ask me to think about it,” he warned quickly, shaking his head. “I’ll change my mind.”
“Right, then!” Dean said, immediately turning back towards the grassy area in front of the trees. “I’ll just be sitting over there, minding my own business. Just give a shout out when you… uh… you know… when you’re—”
“Oh, my God, Dean,” Sam interrupted him, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “The part where you stop talking begins right now.”
Dean sniffed and nodded, then marched off towards the slope.
He sat there, staring down the long stretch of empty road, his back dutifully towards the Impala, trying very hard not to think of why he was doing exactly that. It wasn’t easy. Especially when his first instinct was to sit cross-legged.
He kept glancing nervously at his watch. It had to have been at least ten minutes since he was cursed. He fiddled with a long weed stem. Fifteen minutes. He hummed a little AC/DC quietly to himself. Twenty.
Come on, Sam…
Twenty-five.
He was in the middle of tearing the stem into little pieces when he finally heard Sam call.
“All— All right.”
Dean turned as he stood, and rushed back to the car to find the back door open and Sam lying down in the back seat, an arm thrown over his eyes. He was still mostly clothed, but his boxers and jeans were pushed down around his knees, which hung over the edge of the seat. And there in the middle of everything, saluting Dean in all its glory, was his little brother’s cock.
His giant little brother’s giant cock.
Fuck.
Dean took a deep breath to settle himself… it didn’t really work, but he gave himself credit for trying. He took a moment to think about the best way go about this insanity, and decided it would be easier if he just took his pants off completely. He tossed them into the passenger seat along with his underwear. As he slowly maneuvered his way into the car on top of Sam, he could hear how carefully measured each of Sam’s breaths were. His own were shaky and uneven.
This is so fucked up.
He paused, leveraged over Sam with one hand on the back rest and one hand on the passenger’s seat’s head rest.
And began to giggle.
He felt Sam tense underneath him, and he giggled louder.
“Are… are you laughing?” Sam asked incredulously.
“I can’t help it,” Dean tittered — God, he tittered — “I’m nervous, okay?”
Sam peeked out from under his arm, “Are you kidding me?”
Dean shoved at him, “Put your damn arm back down; you’re not helping.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth tilted up.
“I thought you weren’t going to talk,” he reminded Dean.
“You started it!”
Then Sam started to chuckle. “Dammit, Dean! Just sit on my dick and shut the hell up!”
“Never thought you’d say those words, huh, Sammy?” Dean sniggered.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, but he was laughing.
“Okay! Okay.” Dean took a few deep breaths. He let go of the passenger’s head rest and grabbed the edge of the back seat with his right hand. With a shimmying little motion he was not entirely comfortable with, he pulled himself further up Sam’s body, while trying to keep as far away from him as possible in the cramped space. Once he was… in position… above Sam, he paused to take another deep breath. And waited.
“You gotta start soon, man,” Sam muttered from under his arm, “or I’m gonna lose it… and not in the way that— God help us— we are hoping for in this situation.”
Dean nodded, even though Sam couldn’t see, and braced himself. His first instinct was to just slam down and impale himself to keep contact to a minimum, but he knew that if he did, he’d have no way to be sure that he was getting it in the right hole.
There is no right hole.
But there was a more wrong one.
Squeezing his own eyes shut, Dean reached down and lightly grasped Sam’s dick between the index finger and thumb of his right hand.
Sam’s whole body twitched.
Slowly, very slowly, Dean eased himself down until he felt the head of his brother’s penis touch his newly-sprouted labia. Dean had to stop and take a few more deep breaths to keep from completely freaking out. Then he lowered himself a bit further, and was rewarded with a moist little sound that would haunt his nightmares forever. Now that he was relatively certain that everything was… lined up… he let go of Sam, and gripped the edge of the seat again. He breathed out sharply through his nose.
Let’s get this over with.
He pressed himself down, but stopped almost immediately.
“Oh, goddammit.”
“What now?” He hadn’t really been paying attention to Sam, but he could hear the tremor in voice when he spoke.
“I don’t believe this.”
“What?”
“I’m too tight for your fuckin’ monster dick!”
Sam burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s not the kind of funny you tell people about, no,” Sam chuckled into the crook of his arm.
“It’s not any kind of funny!” Dean was starting to truly panic.
Sam lifted his arm and looked at him. “Hey, just calm down, okay? I know this is, like, the weirdest thing we’ve ever had to do— and for us, that’s saying a lot— but you freaking out up there isn’t…” he trailed off.
And Dean realized Sam was going soft beneath him.
“No!” Dean barked. “Don’t you fucking dare!” Taking only a half a moment to weigh his options, he reached out and snatched the hand Sam had left dangling off the edge of the seat. He took the other half of the moment to prepare himself for what he was about to do, and then he drew Sam’s first two fingers into his mouth and sucked.
A soft “Hn!” came from below him, and when Dean looked down, he saw that Sam’s eyes were screwed shut again.
He wasn’t sure if it had been a good “Hn!” or a bad “Hn!” (although, in this case, the definitions were a little vague), but he soon felt the evidence of it having been the right move (again, vague definition). Satisfied, he ran his tongue along the underside of Sam’s index finger.
And that’s when Sam’s other hand landed on his hip.
Dean jerked so hard, he practically bit Sam’s fingers off and hit his head on the roof of the Impala.
To Sam’s eternal credit, he didn’t rip his fingers from Dean’s mouth, and he kept his eyes shut. “If we’re going to make this work,” he said, his voice low and gentle, “you’re going to have to relax.” His right thumb began to trace soothing circles on Dean’s skin.
Dean’s heart, while still beating far faster than normal, slowed back down to something below the “PANIC PANIC DANGER RUNRUNRUN” rate it had just been at, and soon he was able to go back to sucking on Sam’s fingers.
“Good,” Sam murmured. “You’re doing good. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
It was… It was fucked up, but he felt safe, with Sam’s hand on him; with his voice rumbling low and soft below him.
He was actually calming down. Calming down enough to realize that if this was going to happen, he was going to need to be more— God!— more…into it than he was.
But how the fuck was he supposed to do that?
The more familiar route, of course, was to start stroking himself, but he thought about that for roughly two seconds before the idea of jacking himself off on top of his little brother became too awful to continue considering.
The mangina.
That was the X factor in this whole fucked up scenario.
And really, it’s not like it was actually his… there was a level of removal to it. It was impersonal, in a way. It was going to be having sex with Sam, not him.
Yes. No. Yes, thinking about it that way made everything a lot simpler.
Okay. He could do this.
He transferred Sam’s wrist to his left hand, and reached down beneath himself with his right.
Damn, this was awkward.
He’d never come at one at this angle before, and his balls were in the way, making things difficult (more difficult). Dean shifted, trying to get find a better way to get in there. If he had both hands, or maybe if he had been lying down… Would Sam keep his fingers in Dean’s mouth on his own, or—?
“Dean.”
He realized he had gotten a little lost in his thoughts, and that everything— Sam’s arm, his arm, his knee…— was at an awkward angle now.
Dean looked up at Sam, wide-eyed, to find his brother looking back, trying to hold in a laugh.
He let Sam’s fingers drop out of his mouth. “I, uh... I was trying…” he started.
“I know what you were trying to do,” Sam half-laughed. He closed his eyes again. “Just… just go back to the way you were before.”
“Kinda the point of this whole trainwreck…” he muttered, shifting back into his previous position.
“Dude,” Sam chided, cracking one eye.
“Yeah, okay.” He lifted Sam’s hand to his mouth once more with his right hand. “This, too, yeah?”
Sam shuddered slightly as Dean’s breath ghosted over his moistened fingers. “Yeah.”
I know too much about my brother.
Not the time to dwell, though. He took Sam’s index finger back into his mouth.
“Now, um…” Sam looked a little pained as he continued, “lift your junk out of the way.”
Dean’s eyebrows drew together, but he did as he was told, lifting himself with his left hand.
Sam moved the hand that had been resting on Dean’s hip, slowly— reluctantly, let’s be honest— towards the juncture of Dean’s legs.
Dean’s heart rate picked back up. Was he really going to…?
Yup.
Yup, that was Sam’s finger gently gliding over his vaginal opening.
That was Sam’s finger gently pressing into his vaginal opening.
That was Sam’s finger inside him.
That was Sam’s finger slowly rubbing in and out of his vagina.
And— fuck!— it felt good.
It felt so much better than it had any right to.
Gross.
But again, not the time to dwell. Dwelling could come later. And beer. Lots and lots of beer. Right now, they had other things they had to do.
Like each other.
Dammit.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, and decided to ignore literally everything except physical sensation. Ignore that this was his brother touching him. Ignore that he shouldn’t have a vagina. Ignore even the fact that they were technically in a public area and that anyone could come along at any moment and see this shitshow unfolding live.
Ignore it.
Dean was good at repressing things. He’d had plenty of practice. This was just another skeleton to put in the closet. He could do this.
Ignore it.
And he did.
He was being slowly opened up, and he was slowly beginning to enjoy it.
He experimentally rocked back onto the finger sliding in and out of him, and was rewarded with a puffed out exhale from below.
It may have been surprise. Dean couldn’t tell; it didn’t matter.
Ignore it.
He sucked harder on the finger in his mouth, pulling it deeper. Scraped it lightly with his teeth as he pulled it back out.
A second finger joined the first beneath him.
He took a deep breath in and let it go slowly. He pushed down against the fingers inside him. He could feel how easily they were moving now, slicked with whatever lubrication his body was suddenly able to produce. A third digit found its way in.
A small sound escaped his throat and vibrated around the finger in his mouth.
The body beneath him twitched. The fingers in him began to push more insistently, and he began to push back against them harder.
His dick was getting hard. He couldn’t stroke himself the way he wanted to, holding his balls out of the way of the hand below, but he was able to rub his thumb along his length a little, which helped to relieve some of the pressure he felt building.
And it felt amazing.
Another sound snuck out of him.
Abruptly, the fingers below were gone, and he cried out in protest against the finger in his mouth. But the fingers below were shortly replaced by something else, larger and more solid. He mewled and pressed against it, seeking to replace the emptiness the fingers below had left behind.
Beneath pushed up and he pressed down, gripping tightly to the wrist he held in his right hand.
“Ah!” he gasped around the finger in his mouth, and the sound was mirrored in a grunt from below.
There was a pause as everyone breathed and adjusted to the moment, then the hips beneath him pitched up, settling the cock below further inside. Dean groaned at the sensation, and began to rock his own hips, desperate to generate more friction. The hips beneath complied, and they set a rhythm.
He ripped the finger from his mouth, and used the hand that had been holding the wrist to brace himself against the edge of the seat. He was breathing too harshly now to keep sucking anyway.
The cock below didn’t seem to mind.
Dean was so hard himself, it almost hurt. His thumb wasn’t enough anymore, and he couldn’t remember why he was holding his balls up anyway, so he let go and gripped the back of the seat with his left hand, and moved swiftly to start rubbing himself with his right. His smeared the pre-come that was leaking out down his shaft, and began to piston between pressing himself down on the cock below and up into his hand.
He wasn’t going to last much longer.
But judging by the erratic nature that their rhythm had developed, the cock below wasn’t going to, either.
A hand gripped his left hip, as the hips beneath bucked up, and its thumb pressed into his skin.
He was safe.
Dean came spectacularly, and everywhere.
It hit the muscles of his vagina first, and while they were convulsing, he splattered semen against what sounded like a window.
The hips beneath snapped up once, twice, three times more, and with gasp and a shudder, the cock below came, too.
They sat in silence, breathing heavily for a minute, and then suddenly the hands below shoved Dean backwards.
“Oh, my God, Dean! Get off!” Sam shouted at him.
Dazed, and not quite coherent yet, Dean fell backwards out of the Impala, landing on his back.
He stared blankly up at the sky, his legs tangled up in Sam’s, trying to piece himself together after what had just happened.
Sam’s head came into view over the edge of the seat. “I’m sorry,” he scrubbed at his hair sheepishly, “I panicked. I wasn’t sure how magic, temporary vaginas disappearing worked, and I freaked out when I realized my dick was still in there.” His face was scrunched up, apologetic puppy dog style. “Are you okay?”
Dean sat up, letting Sam’s words replay in his head. When the message sank in, he snapped to attention. “Right!” He clambered to his knees and reached down to check himself out.
There was nothing but the flat stretch of his perineum. He let out a relieved bark of laughter. Dean looked at his watch, and laughed again. “Two minutes to spare, Sammy! In just under the wire!” He dropped back onto his heels, hands resting on his thighs, head bowed, and just let the laughter ring out of him.
A short while later, though, he was hit in the face with his own pants. When he looked up, Sam was buttoning his jeans and getting to his feet. He circled around to the trunk of the car as Dean struggled into his clothing.
Just as Dean was doing up his own fly, Sam pressed a roll of paper towels and a bottle of water into his chest.
“You have to clean the window,” was all he said before plunking himself down in the passenger seat, turning the key in the ignition, and blasting the radio.
And they never talked about it.
THE END