Dean woke up today feeling like a whole new person. That lingering back pain he got from a few hunts ago was gone, his feet felt lighter on the ground with every step to the bunker’s kitchen he made, and that hangover he thought he’d have after last night was nowhere to be found.

Maybe that sip of Sam’s smoothie yesterday cured him.

Ha! Dean thought to himself. Hippie juice ain’t done nothin’. Just good old genetics kickin’ in, he mused internally, opening one of the kitchen cabinets for a mug.

“Dean Winchester!” a voice sounded, yelling at him from the kitchen doorway. It sounded… eerily like his. He grabbed the first weapon he could see — a kitchen knife — and spun around, pointing the knife at.. er, himself?

“I fucking told you that witch did something to us last night,” he — well, other Dean — said with a grumble. “She switched our goddamn bodies!”

Dean blinked at himself, then looked down at his actual body. Except, instead of getting a view of his legs, he was met with two breasts. Very familiar ones. Damn, Dean’s always loved your assets.

“Would you look at that,” he said, smirking to himself. He looked up at you, tilting his head. “How’s that hangover, handsome?”