linda92595 (linda92595) wrote,

The Grass Isn't Always Green on the Other Side Pt 1 FRAO John/Bobby

The Grass Isn't Always Greener on the Other Side of the Fence

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: John/Bobby, Sam, Dean and various OCs

Rating: FRT-16

Warnings: Gender bender (John, Dean & Sam) not too explicit het sex, language, No Wincest, some violence, AU version of the end of Devil's Trap and In My Time of Dying


Summary: John, Sam and Dean run afoul of a vengeful spirit who uses its connection to the yellow eyed demon to put a curse on them to try and get rid of them. John takes the boys to Bobby for help.


Many thanks to Sioux_Sioux for the lovely beta on the story.


The house was quiet except for the soft footfalls on the carpeted stairs. Pale moonlight filtered into the room from behind lacy lavender curtains. A thin sliver of light fell across dark, amorphous forms of the bulky furniture casting deep shadows into the room and blanketing the man huddled in the corner, gun clutched in his hand.


The light patter of footsteps clattered down the stairs approaching the room where the man sat. He smiled, hauling himself up into a squat, one elbow propped on his knee. His joints popped and he blew out a breath, not moving.


John Winchester cocked his head, leveling the shot-gun on the arm of the chair, pointing it at the open doorway just beyond the entryway into the house. Just as he shifted, the sound of a little girl's giggles whispered through the room and a book bounced off the fireplace mantle slamming into the back of John's head. He winced, gun swaying wildly.


"Goddamn, you little bitch," John hissed.


The little girl's voice echoed in the still air.


"Naughty, naughty…"


Frowning John hunched over trying to pin-point the location of the spirit.


"I'll show you naughty."


Standing up John held his hand aloft.


"Hey little girl want some candy," he said with a sly grin.


A muffled voice came from behind the chair, and John cast a sideways glance at his oldest son.


"Dude, that is seriously sick."


Grinning John shrugged then jumped back as another book launched itself off the mantle.

Instead of hitting the older man the book dropped, slamming into Dean's shoulder.


"Ouch, all right, I'm gonna scatter your little ectoplasmic ass all over the place," he snarled.


The girl's voice chimed in laughter again.


Suddenly heavier footsteps sounded on the stairs and a tall form crowded the doorway. Sam shifted the cell phone in his hand stopping when the pearlescent form of the child's ghost flickered on the screen.


"Over there, Dad."


John whirled jerking the shot gun in the direction the younger man pointed, letting go with a single blast. The rock salt struck the ghost just as she materialized shattering her image into shreds. She rematerialized not two feet from John raising a hand. Her face darkened in a sneer, and John found himself flung head first into the wall. His back slammed against the drywall and he slid to the floor with a grunt.  Dean popped up from behind the chair and fired his gun, rock salt hit the ghost and she wavered then disappeared. Sam ran to his father's side helping the older man to his feet.


"Was it the Kingman's little girl?"


Sam nodded. "Yeah, it was Laura. She's buried in the family crypt in Springhill Cemetery. A quick salt and burn and we're out of here."


John grinned. "At least we don't have to open a grave."


The three of them left the house. Dean and Sam headed for the Impala while John slid into the driver's seat of his truck. The two vehicles pulled out of the driveway, headed up the street toward the interstate and the cemetery.



Sam leaned against the wall of the small mausoleum watching as Dean lit the little girl's remains. She appeared briefly frowning at them wagging a finger at John.


"You're a bad man."


"Yeah, it’s not like I haven’t heard that before," he sneered watching as she dissipated, her small pale face twisted in rage.


 "I hope my friend makes you suffer…." Her voice faltered as she erupted into flames then faded from view.


Dean rolled his shoulders as he dumped the salt canister and matches back into his bag, John picked up the gas can handing it to Sam. Dumping the bag at his father's feet Dean helped John wrestle the heavy marble slab back over the remains of the little girl's white casket. Then Dean picked up the bag waving his father out the door. Carrying the gas can and the crow-bar John waited while Sam secured the door to the building and followed the two other men out to the vehicles.


Frowning Sam said. "What do you suppose she meant by she hoped that her friend made us suffer?"


Dean shrugged.


"Dude, she was a ghost. What kind of friends could she have? It was probably just her imaginary friend or something."


John scrambled into the bed of the truck, stowing the gas can in the tool box along the back of the cab. He slid down and pulled the weapons box from under the false bottom of the truck bed, laying his shot gun neatly into the gun rack. Dean was storing his equipment in the trunk of the car while Sam leaned against the Impala.


"So we meet with the Mr. and Mrs. Kingman in the morning, let 'em know that the problem is taken care of and move on," Sam said quietly.


John shrugged.


"I thought that we might hang around town for a few days. I'm going to call a few people see what I can turn up as far as another hunt. We might split up for a little while if something turns up."


Sam shook his head.


"Dad, after the vampires you promised that we'd work together. I don't want to take a chance on losing you or Dean now."


"We're getting close. Sammy. I can feel it. We are so close to catching up with that bastard. Look we'll all stay here, take a break and just let me look through the papers see if anything turns up, okay?"


Dean cast a glance at his younger brother shrugging. Sam bit his lower lip between his teeth then nodded. John clapped his younger son on the shoulder.


"You boys follow me into town. I got us a room at the Best Western."


Opening the cab door, he was turning again to smile at the boys when his body was lifted into the air and flung into a tree. He hit the trunk with an audible grunt, sliding down to the ground. Rolling onto his elbows John tried to lever himself to his hands and knees, but his head swam and his vision grayed out a little as he saw Sammy slammed into the side of the truck and thrown into the bed. His body clattered against the cold metal.


Dean managed to pull the .45 he had tucked in the waistband of his jeans stepping toward the rear of his father's truck.


"Sammy you okay?"


Sam's voice echoed hollowly in the bed as the sound of him dragging his body upright reached Dean's ears.


"Yeah, I think so."


Suddenly a tree branch swept down striking Dean's arm and the gun discharged, the shot digging a trench in the grass at his feet. The .45 was slapped out of his palm and Dean found himself flung onto the hood of the car. He rolled wincing as his shoulder gave.


John staggered to his feet, trying to make it to the truck, hoping to get the shot gun before whatever it was hit them again. Sam rolled over reaching out for his father's hand as the older man made it to his side. But John's body was jerked back again rising into the air. He hung suspended rotating slowly as Sam was forcibly hauled from the back of the truck.


Dean rolled down the hood of the car and hit the ground wrapping his hand around his dislocated shoulder. He slid along the length of the car toward his father when his brother's body was thrown from the truck bed into him. Both young men slammed against the car and fell heavily to the ground.


Dean raised his head, watching as Sam rolled onto his back laying on the cool, damp grass. He heaved in a breath then pushed himself up onto his elbows. Both men watched as their father was thrown onto the ground behind them; John lay still not moving.


A figure drew itself up coalescing in the darkness. Vaguely man-shaped, the thing stood bent and twisted, back turned to Dean but he could almost see it cocking its head. A quavering voice wrapped itself around him and he knew that the thing was weaving some kind of a spell. He winced unable to move.


"Too long have you all been a thorn in my side," the demon said smoothly, yellow eyes flashing. "My sweet daughter is dead, so you will take her place. If I cannot kill you outright and it seems that the forces of the light will not allow that. Then I will take away your ability to fight my brethren. You have lived all of your lives secure in your strength as men; now let us see how you fight without that strength."



A hot white light enveloped the three men and Dean collapsed onto the ground, writhing in pain. When he swam to consciousness again Dean rolled over. His shoulder felt much better, almost as if it had been healed. Rolling onto his back he reached up kneading the muscle with his left hand. Suddenly he paused, his arm bumped into his chest not sliding over hard muscle but resting on the soft, rounded mound of his breast. Struggling upright Dean tried to rise but his jeans slid down his legs pooling over his boots.


A moan from his side caught his attention and Dean looked over at his younger brother. Sam pulled himself up onto his hands and knees rocking back until he was sitting on his feet. Dean gasped. Even under the baggy t-shirt Dean could see the high, firm points of Sam's breasts. He ripped his eyes away looking into his brother's wide brown eyes.


The face was still Sam, still recognizable to anyone who had known him before. The features were smaller, cheeks a little rounder and chin narrower, but the face was still his. Sam's bangs hung down over his eyes and he impatiently brushed them aside and found himself transfixed by the sight of his small, delicate hands.


"What the hell," Sam gasped and his voice startled both young men to stillness.


Sam tried to stand but found his body swaddled in the too large jeans. He unlaced his sneakers, although truthfully his smaller, more slender feet would have pulled free easily without it. Then he pushed his jeans off standing in nothing but his briefs and t-shirt. The underwear started to slide and he grasped it in one hand.  Dean toed the steeled-toed boots off and dropped his jeans as well. He rose on unsteady feet, limping to his brother's side. Dean surveyed himself, his t-shirt hung to mid-thigh and his boxers slid down his legs. With a grunt Dean grabbed the waistband of his underpants knotting them but the material was still loose.  He turned quickly looking at himself in the side mirror of the truck.


The girl staring back at him was slender and blond. Like Sam his features were a more feminine version of him, but still recognizable. His hair was still short and spiky but somehow the cut was flattering. Glancing back at Sam, Dean sighed. His brother was still taller than he, but if Sam was pretty in an athletic sort of way, Dean was beautiful.  In his mind he looked like a Barbie doll.


Sam was tall for a girl maybe five feet ten, with a firm muscular build, nice tits and legs that went all the way up. Dean was a couple of inches shorter than Sam and more slender with a nice rack and great ass. He sighed. Somewhere the souls of all the girls that he had hit on in bars were laughing at him in unison.


Sam looked at him. "Dean you're…"


"Don't even say it, Sammy," Dean hissed then glanced around. "Oh shit, what do you think Dad'll do when he see us? He's gonna freak out."


Nodding Sam scouted the ground looking for their father. He would know what to do, how to fix this.


"Dad," Sam muttered.


There was a moan from the end of the truck then the sound of movement. John pushed himself up leaning against the rear tire of the truck waiting for the world to stop spinning. He heard Sam's panicked voice and scrambled to his feet. The move proved to be a bit too ambitious and John crashed down to the ground again, his jeans and boots crippling him.


Rolling into his back John kicked out of the boots and managed to push the jeans away. He looked down at his legs, at the slender tiny feet and gaped. Then he slowly surveyed the rest of his body, His underwear was sticking out of the top of his jeans and he was wearing nothing but a t-shirt, swimming in it actually. And he gasped, the soft washed out fabric stretch over his considerable breasts.


John staggered around the end of the truck and froze, staring at the two girls who stood staring at him. Dean's eyes widened.


"Holy shit, Dad?" he asked.  But there was no need, like them John's face was still his own. Wide hazel eyes framed by the incredibly long, thick lashes that had annoyed his father as a man, but were stunning on the woman John had become. Sam had to admit that if he was pretty and Dean was beautiful their father was gorgeous.


"Oh crap," John said staring at his sons. "Look, let’s get back to the hotel. We'll figure this out there."


They gathered their clothes up and the boys got into the Impala. Dean cringed when he had to pull the seat forward so that his feet would touch the pedals. John hauled the door to the truck open then paused, blinking when he realized that he would have to climb up into the cab. Grasping the steering wheel in both hands John pulled himself up then laid his head on the wheel when he realized that he could not reach the gas pedal. It took all the strength he had to pull the seat forward.



They sat around the table in the hotel room staring at each other. In the soft half-light of the moon it had been easy to try and pass off the change as not significant. Here, in the hard incandescent light of the overhead fixtures it was impossible to pretend. John knew that he and the boys were seriously crippled by these new bodies.


The demon had effectively signed their death warrants. They were all used to working as men, having muscle to back up their actions. And while John knew that there were women hunters, some he wouldn't want to take on in a fair fight. They had been born women and learned to fight that way. He knew that in hunting, when push came to shove, it might not always take muscle in a fight, but sometimes it did. Or a willingness to admit that the muscle wasn't there and learn how to use techniques to fight that didn’t rely on it.  There was no way he, Dean and Sam could fight like this; hell John had trouble even driving his truck.


Shaking his head John sighed.


"Well, we have money, so we don't need a job right now. And I'm not up for hustling pool right now."


Dean grinned at him.


"You could do it easy, just unbutton the top few buttons on your shirt. I mean Dad; damn…you got a set of tits on you."


"Shut up, Dean," John said, but somehow it just wasn't as menacing in his lyrical little voice. He flushed.


"Well, we need names and ID to go with it. So we might as well get the camera out of the truck and make some new pictures for driver's licenses. We all have some gender neutral names on credit cards, too," Dean added.


He hustled out into the parking lot returning a few moments later with a metal lock-box in his hands. John tossed Dean his keys. He rummaged through the box that John kept locked in the glove compartment of the truck. Dean sighed and picked up the new credit card papers, clipped to the three by five inch index cards that John had penned in the name, address and phone numbers they used on the credit applications.


Sam sat up the portable printer and pulled out his digital camera. They shuffled the lamps out of the way and pulled the beds apart making a blank space on the wall that looked remarkably like the white screen in most DMV offices. One by one, Sam or Dean, took the pictures and they looked them over on Sam's laptop settling on the best shots. It took most of the night but they ended up with driver's licenses and credit cards for all of them.


Dean was a little concerned by the fact that Jesse was spelled incorrectly for a woman, but he snickered and told his Dad just to flash his boobs and no one would pay attention.

Showering was a nightmare, everything felt wrong. And Sam had convinced them that if they were going to pass as women, at least in the United States, they would have to shave their legs and underarms.


Dean whined.


"Can't we just tell people we're French?"


John smacked him on the back of the head.


"It can't be that much different, same theory anyway," he said offering Sam a glare, "But I'm not shaving anything else."


"Oh gross, Dad," Sam said and Dean snickered.


By the time that Dean and John were finished showering Sam, had sacrificed three pairs of drawstring cotton pajama bottoms by hemming them into shorts. Paired with sleeveless undershirts and t-shirts knotted on top they were passable enough to be worn in public. They stopped at a 99 cent store and picked up three pairs of rubber soled flip-flops.


The next stop was a big-box discount store where the saleslady happily accepted their story that their luggage had been lost at the airport and even obligingly measured John when he complained that none of the bras he had bought recently seemed to fit well.



By noon the adrenaline that they had been running on was pretty much gone, and they were huddled in the Impala staring at the doors of the Denny's like they were the gates of Hell. Finally, Dean pushed the driver's door open and stepped out. He winced when two teenaged boys in the car next to them gaped at him as he walked past. Sam took up a flanking position ready to offer back-up and they waited in the lobby for their father to work up the nerve to get out of the car.


John slid out, marching across the parking lot like it was a battlefield. He pulled to a halt just outside the door when a big, bluff-faced trucker in a green ball cap shoved out of the door. John wobbled back and the guy gently took his arm.


"I'm real sorry about that, ma'am. Are you okay?"


John was pissed off and glared until he realized that he had to look up at the guy, and then keep on looking up. His anger faded to a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and John nodded.


The trucker smiled.


"Hey can I buy you lunch?"


John was horrified. "Uh no thanks. I'm here with my uh…daughters."



Dean and Sam were already seated at a table when he made it into the restaurant. He glared at his sons.


"You could have waited for me."


Dean grinned.


"Well if you hadn't been trying to pick up a man…"


"I was not trying to pick up a man," John shouted and the room quieted. His face went crimson and Dean chuckled. John's look promised swift and painful retribution.


They ate in silence trying to ignore the casual and not so casual glances cast in their direction. Dean was particularly popular with the male patrons; he felt like sinking into the upholstery and hiding. When they got up to leave an older man at the end of the bar leered in their direction and made a dirty remark as they passed. John had finally had enough, he whirled.


"You dirty bastard, you're old enough to be her father…hell grandfather. Leave my…daughter alone."


They guy slid back in his seat embarrassed and looked at Dean then back to John.


"I wasn't talking about her. I was talking about you."


Uttering a half-strangled shout John's hand curled into a fist but before he could come out swinging Sam grabbed him from behind and hustled his father to the register. John shoved the bill and a twenty and a ten at the older woman. She smiled at him.


"I'm sorry about that. But you and your daughters are beautiful. Men get stupid over pretty girls."


John flushed taking the change and looking at Dean. He could tell they were both thinking the same thing. Silently John uttered an apology to every pretty girl he had ever ogled over the years. Dean followed his father to the car, and John slid into the rear seat.


"Dude," Dean said ruefully, "I never really understood that saying about walking a mile in somebody else's shoes until now."


Sam sighed. "Yeah but now we have to walk a mile in somebody else's fashionable heels."


"Screw that," John and Dean said in unison. For the first time since they had awakened in the cemetery they all smiled.


Tags: fiction het, fiction other, fiction slash

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