It’s Not Like That at All
Takes place post S8, in a time of blissful peace. Because I couldn’t not. Girl!Dean/Charlie Bradbury. PG-13. Title from Star Wars, of course.
Thanks to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
giandujakiss for beta.
“Hello?”
Charlie’s voice was excited, but also wary, which in Dean’s opinion was just the way a Winchester phone call ought to be answered, given their history and all. “Hey, Charlie.”
“Who is this?” Now she’d added ‘suspicious.’
“Dean Winchester,” he articulated carefully.
“You … don’t sound like Dean,” she noted.
“Yeah, so about that. Long story short, I’m a girl—woman—for the next six days, and I was wondering—”
But he was already talking to a dead phone. He raised his eyebrows at it and went to go bother Sam.
****
They’d set up a surveillance camera to alert them when anybody nosed around the Batcave. Dean made sure that Sam was the one who got notified when Charlie arrived ten hours later, so Sam let her in and took her to Dean to watch their reunion.
Sure enough: “Happy birthday to me!” she squealed, actually wringing her hands with joy.
“I know, right?” Dean looked down at his awesome rack, which looked even better since he’d had time to run out and get some fitted tops.
Then Charlie jumped on him, wrapping her legs and arms around him all at once, which since he was a bit smaller now nearly knocked him on his extremely shapely ass. Fortunately he was near enough to a table that he could turn the movement into a swivel that let him get her settled on the table, and then her hands were on his ears, tugging him into place so that she could shove her tongue down his throat.
Sam was making pathetic mortified noises that only made the whole experience better.
“We’ll be in Dean’s bunk,” Charlie said when she released him, and pushed him away just far enough to get back on her feet and grab his hand.
****
“You bake, too?” Charlie enthused, grabbing the plate of cookies out of Sam’s hand. “Oh, this is so unfair. You’re, like, the perfect woman, but only for the next three days.”
Sam, hampered by his unwillingness to use his bulk against a normal-sized human, grappled with her and managed to get a few cookies back while Dean watched and snickered, his arms crossed over his chest (not-so-accidentally copping a feel of himself as he stood). “Dean made those for me,” Sam mourned.
Charlie waved a cookie dismissively, then had to grab at a chocolate chip that detached from the main body before it could fall to the floor. “See, when you say it like that, it’s sexist.”
Dean grinned, because tormenting Sam never got old. “Yeah, Sammy, what am I, some kinda housewife catering to your every whim?”
“Well, my mind just went to a weird place,” Charlie said. Dean looked away, Sam swallowed, and in the silence Charlie went and got herself a big glass of milk. (Okay, so maybe Dean did like to keep the kitchen well supplied. They were grown men, but they had nutritional needs, all right?)
****
Charlie sighed, pillowing her head on Dean’s stomach. “Are you sure you’ve only got a day left?”
“Pretty sure,” Dean said, twisting a strand of her hair idly around his finger and admiring the color. He liked how it was so clearly something she’d chosen for herself. As an American, she had a right to the hair color that was hers by nature, even if it wasn’t natural.
“Gonna miss this,” she said with a sigh, curling her hand around his thigh. He was so glad she didn’t mind his not shaving. He would’ve done it if she’d asked (not that he necessarily wanted her to know that) but it was much easier—and less stubbly—that she didn’t.
“Charlie, as awesome as you are and as amazing as these past few days have been, I’m not gonna lie: I miss my dick.”
She grimaced. “Really? You had to go there?”
“I can’t go there for another day,” Dean pointed out.
She slapped him, right on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and he hissed. “I think you should stop talking now.”
“Well, okay,” he said, and rolled her over so that he could get a better angle. (Yes, he missed his dick in a serious way. But the replacement parts had their own advantages.)
****
Charlie insisted on getting fully showered and dressed several hours before the change was due to reverse itself. “Margin of error!” she kept saying. Dean figured she’d probably seen naked dudes before—for one thing, she knew way too much about the Carver Edlund books to have missed that side of the fandom—but he was in a mood to indulge her.
Also, she wanted to spend some time talking with Sam about Men—Person—of Letters business, and eating to make up for all the calories they’d worked off.
That left Dean by himself to wait for the return of little Dean. Which was okay, because that also let him stare at his own breasts for a while, which he’d been informed was creepy when he was in company. And anyway, it was a good idea to have her carbing up with Sam while Dean’s body rewrote itself, because that shit was ugly and painful and she didn’t need to see that part.
He took a shower of his own to get the last of the change-goo off of him (did he mention both painful and ugly?) and went out to say goodbye. Charlie looked happy to see him, real-him. He’d take that over lust any day of the week.
“So where are you headed?” he asked when she’d gotten her backpack over her shoulder, ready to leave.
She shrugged. “I was thinking I’d try California for a while. I hear they have a couple of Internet companies there that might need a coder or two.”
He nodded. “You call if you find a hunt, all right? You have learned much, young Skywalker, but—”
Charlie whacked his bicep, hard enough to sting. “You know that’s not an actual quote, right? It’s the ‘play it again, Sam’ of Star Wars quotes.”
He wrapped her in his arms, hugging her tight and closing his eyes. He didn’t have anyone left to pray for her safety to, so he just wished. “I love you, Charlie.”
Her kiss on his cheek was feather-light. “I know.”
Takes place post S8, in a time of blissful peace. Because I couldn’t not. Girl!Dean/Charlie Bradbury. PG-13. Title from Star Wars, of course.
Thanks to
giandujakiss for beta.“Hello?”
Charlie’s voice was excited, but also wary, which in Dean’s opinion was just the way a Winchester phone call ought to be answered, given their history and all. “Hey, Charlie.”
“Who is this?” Now she’d added ‘suspicious.’
“Dean Winchester,” he articulated carefully.
“You … don’t sound like Dean,” she noted.
“Yeah, so about that. Long story short, I’m a girl—woman—for the next six days, and I was wondering—”
But he was already talking to a dead phone. He raised his eyebrows at it and went to go bother Sam.
****
They’d set up a surveillance camera to alert them when anybody nosed around the Batcave. Dean made sure that Sam was the one who got notified when Charlie arrived ten hours later, so Sam let her in and took her to Dean to watch their reunion.
Sure enough: “Happy birthday to me!” she squealed, actually wringing her hands with joy.
“I know, right?” Dean looked down at his awesome rack, which looked even better since he’d had time to run out and get some fitted tops.
Then Charlie jumped on him, wrapping her legs and arms around him all at once, which since he was a bit smaller now nearly knocked him on his extremely shapely ass. Fortunately he was near enough to a table that he could turn the movement into a swivel that let him get her settled on the table, and then her hands were on his ears, tugging him into place so that she could shove her tongue down his throat.
Sam was making pathetic mortified noises that only made the whole experience better.
“We’ll be in Dean’s bunk,” Charlie said when she released him, and pushed him away just far enough to get back on her feet and grab his hand.
****
“You bake, too?” Charlie enthused, grabbing the plate of cookies out of Sam’s hand. “Oh, this is so unfair. You’re, like, the perfect woman, but only for the next three days.”
Sam, hampered by his unwillingness to use his bulk against a normal-sized human, grappled with her and managed to get a few cookies back while Dean watched and snickered, his arms crossed over his chest (not-so-accidentally copping a feel of himself as he stood). “Dean made those for me,” Sam mourned.
Charlie waved a cookie dismissively, then had to grab at a chocolate chip that detached from the main body before it could fall to the floor. “See, when you say it like that, it’s sexist.”
Dean grinned, because tormenting Sam never got old. “Yeah, Sammy, what am I, some kinda housewife catering to your every whim?”
“Well, my mind just went to a weird place,” Charlie said. Dean looked away, Sam swallowed, and in the silence Charlie went and got herself a big glass of milk. (Okay, so maybe Dean did like to keep the kitchen well supplied. They were grown men, but they had nutritional needs, all right?)
****
Charlie sighed, pillowing her head on Dean’s stomach. “Are you sure you’ve only got a day left?”
“Pretty sure,” Dean said, twisting a strand of her hair idly around his finger and admiring the color. He liked how it was so clearly something she’d chosen for herself. As an American, she had a right to the hair color that was hers by nature, even if it wasn’t natural.
“Gonna miss this,” she said with a sigh, curling her hand around his thigh. He was so glad she didn’t mind his not shaving. He would’ve done it if she’d asked (not that he necessarily wanted her to know that) but it was much easier—and less stubbly—that she didn’t.
“Charlie, as awesome as you are and as amazing as these past few days have been, I’m not gonna lie: I miss my dick.”
She grimaced. “Really? You had to go there?”
“I can’t go there for another day,” Dean pointed out.
She slapped him, right on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and he hissed. “I think you should stop talking now.”
“Well, okay,” he said, and rolled her over so that he could get a better angle. (Yes, he missed his dick in a serious way. But the replacement parts had their own advantages.)
****
Charlie insisted on getting fully showered and dressed several hours before the change was due to reverse itself. “Margin of error!” she kept saying. Dean figured she’d probably seen naked dudes before—for one thing, she knew way too much about the Carver Edlund books to have missed that side of the fandom—but he was in a mood to indulge her.
Also, she wanted to spend some time talking with Sam about Men—Person—of Letters business, and eating to make up for all the calories they’d worked off.
That left Dean by himself to wait for the return of little Dean. Which was okay, because that also let him stare at his own breasts for a while, which he’d been informed was creepy when he was in company. And anyway, it was a good idea to have her carbing up with Sam while Dean’s body rewrote itself, because that shit was ugly and painful and she didn’t need to see that part.
He took a shower of his own to get the last of the change-goo off of him (did he mention both painful and ugly?) and went out to say goodbye. Charlie looked happy to see him, real-him. He’d take that over lust any day of the week.
“So where are you headed?” he asked when she’d gotten her backpack over her shoulder, ready to leave.
She shrugged. “I was thinking I’d try California for a while. I hear they have a couple of Internet companies there that might need a coder or two.”
He nodded. “You call if you find a hunt, all right? You have learned much, young Skywalker, but—”
Charlie whacked his bicep, hard enough to sting. “You know that’s not an actual quote, right? It’s the ‘play it again, Sam’ of Star Wars quotes.”
He wrapped her in his arms, hugging her tight and closing his eyes. He didn’t have anyone left to pray for her safety to, so he just wished. “I love you, Charlie.”
Her kiss on his cheek was feather-light. “I know.”
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Dean and Charlie following the rules
But if I were Sam I'd be getting very frustrated around now. If not sooner.
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I just snorted so loudly that I startled the dogs. *blames you*
He wrapped her in his arms, hugging her tight and closing his eyes. He didn’t have anyone left to pray for her safety to, so he just wished.
Awww, poor Dean.
“I love you, Charlie.”
Her kiss on his cheek was feather-light. “I know.”
Lovely. Just lovely. Thank you!
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