Written for my friend and fellow SPN fan—and fanfic writer—Dizzo, for her birthday today, April 1.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. I'm just having a little fun.

GOTCHA!

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Sam turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open in one smooth motion, expertly balancing the bags of food and cups of soda he held. He stepped into the room and gently kicked the door closed behind him.

"Dean, against my better judgment, I got you your cheeseburger with extra…" His announcement trailed off as he spied his brother across the room. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Sam cleared his throat. "Uhh…Dean, why are you wearing a pink tutu?"

"I dunno," Dean muttered glumly while shifting foot-to-foot. "It was just suddenly…there."

"Uhh, o-okay." Sam's forehead curled with confusion. "So why don't you just take it off?"

"It won't come off."

"It won't c…seriously?"

Dean huffed out an irritated breath. "You really think I'd joke about this?"

After a second, Sam shook his head. "How long since it happened?"

"How long were you gone?"

"Mm, maybe 45 minutes?"

"Then I'd say maybe a half hour or so."

Just as Dean finished speaking, a soft boing sounded and Dean's pink tutu turned into a full-on Musketeer outfit. While Sam gaped, Dean looked down at his new attire. "What the holy hell is this?"

"It's…um…it looks like something from the Three Musketeers, I think."

"You mean, like that douchey TV show on BBC America?"

"Errr…yeah…or the movies or…you know…the book. How do you know about that TV show?"

Dean scowled and muttered, "Never mind." He tried pulling off the feathered hat and gave a frustrated growl when nothing happened. His slightly panicked gaze locked onto his younger brother. "Sam, what the hell's goin' on here?"

"I don't…" Sam paused and shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. Maybe I…" He stopped suddenly, thought quietly for a minute then snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute! Remember that old lady…"

"Old lady?"

"Yeah, you remember…the one from the day before yesterday. By the diner?"

"Oh! You mean the one I tried to help across the street, right? The one who got mad at me and hit me with her purse." Dean absently rubbed his upper arm where the woman's purse had made brutal contact more than once.

Sam nodded vigorously. "Yeah, her! She mumbled something when she was clocking you with her purse. Something like 'make a fool outta me, a make-a fool outta you'. She repeated it, like, three times. I didn't think anything of it. Until now."

Dean stalked toward Sam, leather coat crinkling and his sword and main gauche clinking as he walked. "So, what, you think she's a witch or something? And this is some kind of curse?"

"Yeah, it makes sense. And think about what day it is…"

Dean tilted his head slightly. "It's April…ah, damn. It's April 1st—April Fool's Day." Dean shook his head. "Great—this is just great. So every—what—thirty minutes I get something like a costume change?"

Sam glanced at his watch. "Looks like it. I mean, we'll know in about 20 minutes, I guess."

"How the hell does this shit always happen to me?" Dean muttered, running a hand down his face and feeling the neatly trimmed mustache and beard temporarily adorning his face. He pulled his hand away and with a dismissive snort. He paced the length of the room, spun on a boot heel, and paced back the opposite direction.

Twenty minutes later the soft boing sounded again.

Dean looked down, saw the long, full, floor-length white brocade and moaned. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me. A dress? A DRESS?"

Sam bit back a laugh and said, "Well, judging by the crown on your head, I guess you're now a…queen."

Dean pointed a finger at Sam. "Shut it. Not another word…"

The younger Winchester nearly swallowed his tongue biting back a joke. "Got it. Not another word."

"This is so freakin' humiliating."

"Hey, look at the bright side. We don't have to be anywhere, so you can just ride this out right here in the motel."

"Yeah, at least there's that." Dean sighed again and eased down on the edge of the bed. "How many hours are left till midnight?"

"Uhh…ten."

"So twenty more costume changes then?"

"I think so, yeah."

"All right. Then I'm just gonna lay here and, I dunno, watch TV or something." He settled back on the bed as best he could.

A half hour passed.

Boing.

"Really, a scarecrow? Damn, this straw itches."

Boing.

"Freakin' ELVIS! What the hell?"

Boing.

"Superman? Could've at least been Batman," he grumbled.

Boing.

"Batgirl?! Sonuvabitch! That's not even funny!"

Eventually, Dean quit looking as the changes continued to happen, telling Sam to let him know what the changes were if he wanted to. The hours wore on.

Boing.

"Hmm. Elsa from Frozen."

"Swell. Wait—how do you know Frozen?"

"How do you?"

"Let it go, Sam."

Boing.

Sam glanced over and said, "Robin Hood."

"Better than Maid Marian, I guess."

Boing.

Sam turned his head to look and quickly threw up a hand. "OH—damn, Dean, you might wanna grab a blanket or something."

"Why?"

"Err…Lady Godiva…God, I think I need brain bleach."

Blushing, Dean pulled a blanket over his naked body and shoved blonde strand of hair out of his face. "Sorry."

"Not your fault, bro." Sam stood up from his own bed and stretched before crossing the room and refilling his coffee mug. He motioned to Dean who shook his head. "Hey, it's almost 10:00 o'clock. Only four more changes to go!"

Dean nodded, clutching the blanket to his chin. "Thank God. And tomorrow…tomorrow we're going to find this bitch witch and we're going to gank her."

"If we can even find her, you mean." Sam returned to his laptop at the small table. "We don't know anything about her."

"Oh, we'll find her. You can bet on that."

Boing.

Sam glanced up and grimaced. "A devil costume?" He shifted in his seat. "Now that's just all kinds of wrong." He turned back to his computer. "Yeah, we're finding her tomorrow."

FIN