Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
Damn, these Hilton beds are comfy.
I roll over, half-asleep, to readjust within the mound of glorious cotton, and instantly I know something is wrong. Really, really wrong.
Most alarmingly, there's a weight at my groin that never existed before. My arms and legs feel heavier, sinking deeper into the bed. I'm tired as hell, and I can't figure out what's going—
It hits me like a brick. Or rather, balls.
"Ahhh!!!!" I scream my ass off. And it sounds wrong; all deep and rough.
"What the fuck?!" a sleepy, deep voice grumbles from my right.
Turning quickly, heart-pounding, I come to face to face with the downright impossible. What the Holy hell? The degree to which my eyes have widened actually hurts them.
"Fuck. I've got to be dreaming," I mutter in stunned disbelief to the man with the blue eyes and disheveled brown locks. And yes, I am staring with disturbing intensity. This man, who I've instantly recognized, is none other than Misha Collins… Who's one of the main reasons I'd come to this con in the first place. This friggin' guy is like Jesus, with his good deeds and disarming smile.
Jesus, reincarnated, leans in close, "I'm gonna take that as a compliment."
I hear what he says, but his familiar voice is fuzzy and distant, getting lost in the turmoil of my startled brain. I'm overwhelmed by unnatural sensations. Overpoweringly, I'm aware that I am not me. There is a foreign lump of body parts hanging between my thighs, annoyingly heavy and sweaty and sticky.
This has to be a dream, I tell myself as my heart rate leaps into the hundreds as each dawning realization compounds towards incredulity and panic.
I scream while flinging myself out of the bed. "Gaaah!!!" I'm fucking naked. If I wasn't sure before, I now know exactly who I've become. And that someone is naaaayked. And yup, there it is.
THERE. IT. IS.
"Oh my god, oh my god. What the fuck?! WHAT THE Fuuucckkk?!?!?!" I'm being screechy, and still, my voice feels thicker, deeper, as if it's rising up from the bottom of my damn stomach.
Misha, the apparent dream figure of my intense imagination isn't fading the way a dream construct should and is, instead, staring at me like I should be checked into a mental hospital. And shit, I probably should be. Because, I mean seriously, this can't actually be happening. This is not an episode of Supernatural.
"Who am I?" I ask shakily, despite having a pretty good idea. One thing's for certain, I sure as hell am not the five foot, one inch woman I went to bed as. I mean, sure, I'd been drunk… but COME ON! No one drinks enough to rye to wake up as a six-foot, sculpted, freckled, green-eyed man.
"Jensen, what's going on with you? You're freaking me out here."
My mouth is dragging on the floor. I'm sorry, did he actually say Jensen? I keep repeating this to myself. I'm at the damn con, I know the fuck who Jensen is. Fuck, that had been my suspicion in the first place, but hearing it, having the name directed at me is one hell of a tilt-a-whirl ride.
I can't help but glance down. Is that THE Jensen "it" between my ridiculously muscular thighs, that for someone previously familiar with a one-hundred-and-fifteen pound body can't seem to grasp the possibility that muscles can get this big. As I gape at my man-thighs and bizarre non-female junk, I fall into a daze of disbelief. Throughout my startled frozen state, Misha continues to stare, eyes drawing in closer as confusion reaches a high point. Before he can dredge up words of his own, I realize that I've got to say something.
"Uhm, what now?" I blurt out.
"Maybe we need to go to the hospital."
Unnerved even more than ten seconds ago, I shake my head violently. They'll say I'm crazy. I don't want to be crazy. Maybe I am crazy though… Maybe it's all a dream. This is a total legit dream for a fangirl to be having, right? Granted, most girls probably dream of having sex with Jensen, not becoming him! The depths of my relatability to Dean Winchester have certainly reached epic proportions. In that second, I realize... if I'm him, then—
Mother of Cats and Jesus.
"I need to make a phone call!" my words are shot out with sudden clarity, and persistent haste the way the recently imprisoned would make such a demand. I need my fucking phone call.
A little rattled, Misha hands me what I assume is "my" phone. I swipe the bar and there's a lock screen. Roadblock number one.
"By any chance, do you know the number to this?" When I look up, his eyes are on my new man package. Without thinking, I shield myself with my big ass hand. "Uh, could ya not?" I say snarkily, cause it's weird, and I have a fucking dick now? What the h-e-double hockey sticks.
Hesitantly, Misha unlocks the phone, looking more and more worried by the second. I might as well calm the guy's eyebrows down a notch. Besides, this could still very well be a dream. Sure… of course it is.
"Relax, relax. I'm good. I know who I am. Everything's fine." I snort offhand, like I'm super chill and punch in MY own number.
"Hello," a hesitant female voice answers.
"Hol-y. Shit." That is my voice. Not the one I'd normally hear in my head, but the one that sounds like my sister; the outward voice. But now I sound like a man— A MAN!
"Holy shit!" I, or him, or her says back. It's all very confusing.
Avoiding the curious assessment of the blue-eyed babe in the bed, mouthing at me: 'Who's on the phone?' I walk towards the bathroom, waving him off like it’s still all super cool and nothing to worry about. In the bathroom, things get crazy.
"What the goddamn hell is going on?" I whisper urgently into the phone, clutching the device against my ear.
"You fucking tell me!!! I woke up with boobs and some chick with a german accent is calling me Jodie!"
"I'm Jodie!" I say stupidly.
"Yeah I kinda figured," he snaps. "And I've got boobs. What the fuck?"
"Boobs?! Boobs are your biggest concern? I have junk that I don't know what to do with. You guys need fucking pockets for this shit. How do you walk properly?! By the way, your boyfriend’s freaking the fuck out."
"Oh god. What did you do? What did you say?"
"What should I say? 'Uh, guess what secret lover, I've been body swapped. I'm really a chick who came to this damn con to fangirl and now I've got a dick and balls and I feel like a giant.'"
"Would ya stop hatin' on the dick and balls? And my god are you short?!"
"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?"
At this point, we both fall silent. It's unbelievable. It is NOT believable. And yet, here we are; me with junk, and him with—oh my god, he's gonna have to like pee and shit in my body. And then I'm sweating cause it's all super freaky and weirdly embarrassing.
It's him, with my voice that breaks the silence. "Look, take the room key, go down to the café and meet me there. Ten minutes alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, okay. Umm, quick question for ya. Actually, two questions…"
"Shoot," he says.
"First, what do I say to Misha? And second, how do I pee? Just like point and shoot—I really gotta go." The urgency of the need has me bouncing on my feet a little, and lemme say, that is hella weird. All I can think is 'Boing-Boing.'
Jensen laughs, it's weird. Because it's not my laugh. Jensen is laughing his laugh with my voice, and my head spins.
"Tell Mish you're going to get coffee and you better kiss him or he gets real grouchy. Umm, if he tries anything beyond that just make something up. Tell him you've got a headache or something that'll fend him off. Second, yeah, point and shoot. Damn, this is messed up."
"You're tellin' me…"
At that, we hang up and I look in the mirror finally. "Good god, I am a giant." Not to mention still naked. I avert my eyes cause I'm hoping desperately if I don't look, neither will he. Okay, so I might’ve caught a glimpse or two.
The adventure in man-peeing is weird and kind of funny. I have the ridiculous notion that it would be fun to pee my name in the snow if I could. Unfortunately there's no snow in Rome in May. Shrugging, I head out back into the bedroom.
"Are you feeling better?" Misha asks. It's apparent the guy is still on red alert, watching me like a hawk. I've no doubt he's another bout of freaking out away from calling an ambulance.
As I'm a dude now, I try to move around the room dude-like. Nonchalant, if you will. It's wicked strange walking with nuts FYI. I'm hyper-aware of their presence, fearing if I walk the wrong way I'll crush them. Thank god for bowlegs, am I right?
"Yeah, all good," I answer confidently. "Have a headache though. We, uh, had some night last night, huh?" And man I hope they did, 'cause otherwise this could set the radar spiking again.
"I guess. Didn't think you'd gotten that wasted."
"Must've hit me hard." I shrug and start trying to find some clothes.
The first pair of jeans I go after, I hear, "Those are mine. Yours are over there," he points to the table by the window.
My jeans are thrown on it. Gee, I wonder why jeans got thrown halfway across the room from the bed. Smiling awkwardly I walk over and throw them on. Then I realize I'd forgotten underwear, but I don't want Jensen to appear like more of a spaz so I just keep going, grabbing a shirt that I'm dead certain is Jensen's.
"Where are you going?" he asks, watching me carefully.
Crappity crap. Time to bust out the acting skills… of which, I have zero. "Oh, just going to get some coffee." I saunter over, feeling wired and freaked ‘cause I have to casually kiss Misha.
Casual, my ass.
Licking my lips, I lean over the bed and dive in, pretending it's my boyfriend. And then remembering that Jensen as me is going to have to call my boyfriend soon and let him know I got here safely. That'll be fun.
Misha's lips are dry but warm, the kiss is quick and I'm already backing away when I'm grabbed by the shirt and yanked down onto him in a weird tumble.
"Hey now, whatchya doin there?" I stammer tensely.
"Just want to make sure you're really okay. You kinda freaked me out."
I smile as best I can, as smoothly as I can. "Everything's fine. I had a really fucked up dream. No worr—IES!" I yelp a little when his hand slides over my thigh, a mischievous grin plastered to his face like he thinks he's gettin' some morning action.
Fuck, it's Misha and I can't help but giggle a little.
"That's more like it," he says.
Oh crap. "Sorry, babe, not really in the mood. Need some coffee—I'll get ya some, k?"
The blue eyes I've seen in a million gifs and more squint and look me over. "Babe?" he repeats.
Shit. It's what I call my boyfriend.
"Uh." I shrug.
"I like it." Then he kisses me. I'm tempted to fangirl out right there and blow my cover. Instead, I keep hold of the calm awesomeness and smile wide.
Grabbing the cardkey by the door, I wave and throw myself out the door.
In the wide hallway, I'm hyperventilating.
"Okay, okay. Keep it together. This is fine. This is happening. So what if it's not a dream. Totally not super weird." I smooth my hands down my clothes and it's all wrong. I'm flat chested, but broad-chested.
"Juuuuust keep walking. You got this."
-TWO DAYS EARLIER-
“Would you quit teasing me?” Jensen tells his wife, head shaking irritably.
“What?” She’s mildly amused. “You guys haven’t had time together in a while, I’m just wondering if you have any romantic plans? Dinner, and ya know…” She winks suggestively at him.
Great, now she’s just saying it to bug him. She knows he gets excited to see Mish, but he doesn’t like it being made into an explicit point of humour.
“My god, some days you’re as bad as the fans.” Rubbing at his face, he tries to remember what he hasn’t packed yet.
“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m allowed to tease you about Misha. Actually, I think I’m the only person allowed to tease you, considering, I, as your wife, give you permission to be with him.” Danneel’s brows are raised, waiting for him to make an argument against anything she’s just said.
And no way is he touching that landmine. Truth is, he knows how good he’s got it. But sometimes, the way he’d been brought up makes him touchy about the whole craziness that is his life. I mean, shit, if good ol’ Dad knew he was banging a male co-worker, not to mention madly in love with the guy… Oh and that his wife, and mother of his child was one-hundred percent on board, the man would probably have an aneurysm.
“I give up.” Jensen says, arms raised with a smile on his face. “You can tease me all you want. It’s just, I don't know. Lately, with the fans geared up about the what-if’s in the show, and the speculations about Mish and I, I’ve been edgy.”
“No shit. You’ve been snapping at me every time we talk about you guys.”
Crap, he has been, hasn’t he? Moving quickly, he walks over to where she’s standing by the tall dresser and pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry, hun. Didn't mean to be a jerk.” Rubbing her back and arms, he leans back so that he can give himself room to sneak in a kiss.
Due to the height of promotion that the show’s been getting lately, he worries what questions will get brought up this weekend. That damn sunset picture really set the fandom in a frenzy. And that was before Jared went and dropped the bomb about Cas being a mirror for Colette. Misha reaps great joy in sending him endless screenshots of fan commentary on the whole thing.
To distance himself from it all, Jensen’s been spending extra time in Austin on days off with Jared, Gen and the boys, because the fans take an inch and stretch it into a mile. How close some of them get to the truth has him more than a little creeped out, and the more time he spends with Mish really doesn’t help that. There’s a reason he used to avoid social media.
People are fucking nuts, is all he can think as he zips his luggage closed and mentally prepares himself for the weekend.
At least Danneel had been right; there is one aspect of the weekend he’s nearly giddy over. It’s been weeks since he and Mish spent quality time together. And Rome… Rome is theirs. Rome is the place where things happen.
Rome is the place where they feel free.
/\/\/\
The degree of fullness is enough to hurt. Izzy and I have just gorged ourselves on pasta, bread, appetizers, and wine. And now, we are groaning on the apartment bed with the unwatched episodes of Supernatural playing in the background.
“I think I’m gonna barf up my dinner.” I say roughly, rolling onto my side but having to angle my neck to still see the TV up on the wall across from the bed.
“Same.” Izzy sounds about as rough as I do.
We’d purposely stopped watching the show months ago so that we could bingewatch together in Rome--a great lead-up and anticipation to the con. The four or five episodes we’ve already watched have given us endless material for questions.
I met Izzy over a year ago after my expedited downward spiral into fandom. It started off with my being a total nerd and weirdo in the first place, and then this damn show came along. Interestingly, Supernatural is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a great show--not in the way The Walking Dead or Shameless are great shows. The acting is at times incredible, but can be pretty crap, too. The storyline often leaves something to be desired. But there is this indefinable quality that has captured the hearts of millions. There’s no point in lying, the three hot leads of the show don’t hurt their cause.
The concept of shipping had always been a presence in my mind watching TV, not having an actual name for it until two years ago. The notion of gay ships had even less presence in my mind, and then certain characters came along, and I kinda just went, Hmmm… followed by big fat question marks.
This led to a singular google inquiry. Precisely the following: “Do Dean and Cas ever end up together?” Keep in mind I’d begun from season one only after the show had seven years under its belt. The hits that came screaming back onto my open browser was the opening of a fandom portal. Needless to say, I was sucked down as hard as Dean’s sucked Castiel's cock in the numerous fics I’ve read since.
The culmination of my experience led to the inevitable conclusion that I must, without question, attend the famous JIBCON; A Supernatural Convention in Rome.
Since there was no way I was going alone, I put out a query on Tumblr, and it was Izzy who responded. Immediately she and I became incredible friends, separated by an ocean, connected by TV.
Jumping back to the present, on this Wednesday night in Italy, we two friends and certifiable fangirls are gearing up for our first convention.
We’ve filled the extended trip with touring the City, headcanon debates, fic rec comparisons, and our intricate detailing of a future fanfiction starring the ship that began our friendship.
Leading up to the con, as expected has been some fandom drama. In the last year, the gorge of hate between ships, fans, and the show itself has widened to epic proportions. Mob mentality is a close depiction of how things have escalated.
We’ve asked ourselves where it’s all going and if, at the show’s inevitable conclusion, what will be left of a once energetic loving group of fans all brought together by this one unlikely show.
The episode currently playing ends, the screen going black and we’re both too goddamn lazy to pick up the remote and click the next button.
“You do it,” she mutters grouchily. I laugh at her, since we’re both useless human beings right now.
“If I man the remote, you have to play with my hair.” I should mention that I will accept hair playing from any living thing that offers. On many occasions I’ve even taken on cat-like mannerisms and just rubbed my head against people’s arms and stuff. It’s a tragedy that this type of behaviour is not readily accepted in society. Gratefully, Izzy knows and is amused by the hair-playing whore that I am. Without debate, it was a condition of our trip together. She probably thought I was joking, haha. I’m such a butthead.
Chuckling tiredly, she says, “Deal.” Ahh, what a great friend, I smile dumbly.
Heaving myself halfway off the bed, groaning like I’m eighty instead of, well, let’s call it twenty-five, alright? I grab the remote from the nightstand and squash the rubber button.
The new episode splashes on the screen and we both sigh that the momentous task is done and over with. Twisting and flopping over, I plant my head by her thigh like the cat that I am and as she starts playing with my hair, I know that I’m probably just gonna fall asleep during it anyway.