The motel smelt foul and the wind rattled the old windows in their frames but the Winchester boys had little choice. The town was small and they needed their sleep.

Dean sighed as he lugged his dark duffle bag across the room and onto the bed, which he had just mentally claimed as his, in the far corner. His brother's shoulders sank as he followed the elder inside. It was a depressing sight. The fading, sunflower yellow wallpaper was beginning to peel along the edges of the walls. Damp had spread across the white paint of the ceiling, staining it an off-cream. Mysterious marks and stains on the armchair made Sam screw up his nose.

Dean glanced at Sam over his shoulder while pulling items from the bag, "What'd you think, Sammy? Top 5?"

A grin split on Sam's face despite the location but he kept his voice level, "I don't know. What about that one in Mississippi?"

"What the one with the used condom between the bed sheets?"

Sam laughed, "Yeah. That one."

"True. We have slept in worse." Dean sniffed the air and scowled, "Although, there has also been much, much better."

Sam dumped his bag at the foot of his double bed and collapsed down onto the sheets. At least they're clean, his mind mused. Kicking off his shoes, Sam rested down on the bed with his fingers linked behind his head. A sigh escaped from his lips and Dean's eyes scanned over his brother's face.

"You okay?"

"What? Yeah. Just tired, you know?"

Dean nodded silently and began to change for bed. After a moment, Sam followed his lead, slipping into a plain t-shirt and boxers. The boys both climbed into their beds without another word, content with the rare peace and quiet. They clicked their lights off, plunging the room into darkness. Only a faint line of early-morning light breached through the small gap in the cheap curtains.

Everything was silent aside from Dean's soft snores and the occasional car passing out front.

Sam blinked his tired eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. He stretched his arms up above his head and yawned. The flip-dial alarm clock indicated that it was now mid-morning. He rubbed his eyes and groaned slightly as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed.

Immediately, Sam knew something was wrong. He blinked in confusion as he perched the the edge of the mattress with his legs reaching down to the floor. He lent his head to the side and pondered the puzzle in front of him. Sam would have sworn to God that his legs were shorter and also less hairy. A frown etched it's place upon Sam's lips. He stood and paced over to the mirror that was securely bolted to the wall.

He peered into the mirror. A woman gazed back.

He swallowed. The woman swallowed.

He rapidly blinked, attempting to make sense of the situation. The woman fluttered her long eyelashes back with a small crease in her brow.

Sam turned this way and that way. The woman in the mirror reflected his moves perfectly.

She had Sam's muddy brown hair and matching eyes. Her hair was a few inches longer than Sam's but it still fell into that natural style than he always wore. She had his thin lips but with more of a feminine redness to them. Sam glanced down at the body in the mirror briefly but felt as if he were intruding. She had a thin waist and a petit frame. Sam's large t-shirt hung loosely from her small shoulders and ended about mid-thigh. She stood a few feet shorter than Sam. Despite Sam's mental protests, he couldn't deny that there was a slight resemblance between himself and the woman.

He took a deep steadying breath before glancing down at himself. He took in a quiet gulp of air. The body wasn't only in the mirror.

"Ah, crap." The man muttered to the person in the mirror. He rubbed his hands over his face before recoiling as if they had burnt him. Smaller hands than he was used to remained aloft, held in front of his face. Woman hands were positioned at the end of his new feminine arms.

Confused, a slight frown formed on his face. Sam gently pulled the material of the t-shirt away from his neckline. His anti-possession tattoo was placed on his chest, just below his collarbone. The younger Winchester traced his unfamiliar fingertips gently across the tattoo.

Sam released a shakey breath and stepped back, lowering himself onto his bed. His brain was pounding in overdrive, "I'm a woman. How am I a woman? I'm dreaming, right?"

Sam pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. He rocked gently backwards and forwards for an hour or so before Dean woke up.

The faint squeaking of bed springs pulled Dean from unconsciousness. He begrudgingly prized open his eyes and groaned as he was assaulted by the pale light. He let his arm fall out of the blanket towards the side table. Once his fingers had made contact with the cold metal of his watch, Dean lifted it close to his face. It was nearly 12:00. This made the man hoist himself up from where he lay to peer around. "Why hasn't Sam woken me up yet?" He pondered.

His eyes naturally fell towards the bathroom and he called out, "Sammy?"

Dean sighed when there was a lack of response. The rhythmic squeaking of bed springs regained his attention. He gazed across lazily, "Sam? What are you-" His words died on his tongue as a woman sat curled in upon herself in the dead centre of his brother's bed, rocking backwards and forwards.

The woman glanced over at Dean before resuming her previous motion. The stranger said nothing.

"Do I know you?" Dean raised an eyebrow. The woman's nervous rocking stopped him from being a bit more demanding.

The woman stared over at the elder Winchester, "Dean, it's me."