Sam held up a finger as he took a minute to catch his breath, hair spilling forward and catching on his mouth. He tossed it out of his face irritably and rolled back the baggy sleeves of his shirt before speaking up. "Just what was that, back there? I don't need you to defend my honor, Dean, I'm not some helpless fawn who needs a big, beefy he-man to swoop in and stake his claim on me."

Dean gave him a withering look and retorted, "Uh, last I checked, you are a helpless fawn. And you should probably be more aware of it, considering you've got every lech in town checking you out and you're about as physically capable as a flaccid dick." Sam threw up his hands, grinding his teeth in annoyance when the motion made his sleeves come flapping back over his fists. "Classy, Dean. You know what? You're being an overprotective ass. It's nice of you, in theory, to get angry on my behalf, but in practice it just kinda pisses me off." Dean looked like he wanted to punch something, which propelled Sam's mood from vaguely irked to full-blown resentful.

"Whatever. Let's get to the goddamn library, okay? The sooner we get you unwhammied, the better." And as Sam flipped his hair and tightened his belt for the fiftieth time that morning, he felt inclined to agree.

They decided to start with the easiest approach: Pagan and Wiccan curse-breaking rituals. After spending an hour and a half on a quick refresher course of the stuff at the library, during which Dean yawned and fidgeted and stewed in residual moodiness, they drove around town picking up spell-casting supplies from every kooky one-stop occult shop they could find. To Sam's immense relief, he didn't get hit on once during their supply run.

He did notice, however, that people automatically assumed that he and Dean were a couple, which, gross. It's not like he wasn't used to it happening, back when he still looked like a dude, but weirdly enough, it bugged him more in this new body. Maybe it was because now, when some heavily-tattooed clerk said something like, "You sure you don't wanna buy one of these for your girlfriend? They're on sale", instead of curling his lip and asserting, "We're brothers," Dean would play it up by smiling languidly and winking and drawling, "Nah, my sweet bod's the only gift she needs". Sam glared daggers at him every time, calling him a sexist pig and an immature jackass as soon as they'd left the store, but the insults didn't do much to kill Dean's buzz. As usual.

"This experience is giving me a whole new appreciation for the female gender that I really think would do you some good. Why was it me who got hexed? I'm not the one who tries to put my dick in anything with a nice rack." Dean brained him with an empty apothecary vial, grinning when he yelped and rubbed furiously at his head. "M'just finding the silver lining here, Sammy. Years of jokes about you misplacing your balls have finally become literal."

Sam pitched the vial at Dean's chin in retaliation and silently prayed for women everywhere.

Back at the motel, they worked their way through the short list of curse-breakers that didn't involve invoking the caster's name or face, considering they hadn't the slightest idea who was behind Sam's sudden gender-swap. They burned salt, sage, rue, frankincense, and hyssop. They consecrated Dean's necklace in an attempt to turn it into a protective talisman. They had Sam bathe in wormwood and vetiver root. They placed mirror shards and goofer dust into a bowl and willed the anonymous caster's negative energy back at him.

By the time the evening sun was peeking through their curtains and painting the inside of their room orange, the only thing they'd managed to do was make themselves smell like a New Age herb stockpile.

"What if we're doing it wrong? Haven't had to mess around with this crap since we were still working cases with dad."

Sam heaved a monumental sigh and shrugged out of his flannel, which had gotten spattered with mystical oils and telestic powders. "I don't know, man, but I'm done for the day. We can try to revert me to a paragon of masculine virtue tomorrow; right now, I just want to shower this stink out of my skin." When Sam started to shuck his clothes, crumpling his gigantic jeans into a wad and flinging them enthusiastically at the wall, Dean averted his eyes.

Sam stopped in the middle of stripping off his undershirt, having forgotten that, oh yeah, he wasn't wearing a bra. He coughed to mask his chagrin and said, "Ah, you don't have to be all...you know." He gestured stupidly before continuing, "It's, um. It's still your gawky brother in here, remember? It shouldn't have to be awkward to undress in front of each other." Even as he said it, though, he longed for the refuge of the bathroom.

"Sure, sure...it's just weird, is all."

"Weird, yeah. Definitely."

Half a minute of cringe-worthy silence ticked past before Sam quipped, "Okay then," and escaped to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. He dragged his hands over his face and groaned, hoping against hope that when he next woke up he'd be six foot four and in possession of his penis. But considering the low likelihood of that happening out of nowhere, he had to take preparatory measures. "Hey, Dean," he yelled through the door.

"What now?"

"Tomorrow, we're going fucking clothes shopping."