Chapter 1: Sam
Chapter Text
Sam
Sam buys a stick of eyeliner, it's black and 'buys' is a strong word for it, he really slipped it up his hoodie sleeve while at the store with Dean to stock their first aid kit again; how he acquired the makeup doesn't seem very relevant to Sam. It's not like he hasn't done far worse or that anyone noticed.
He can't put it on right away. He has to wait for dad to leave (which is only a few days after Sam takes the eyeliner) and for Dean to be out of the apartment. The last thing Sam needs is for either of them to see him in makeup, he'd be scrutinized, probably roughed up a little by John, maybe Dean too.
Dean does always call Sam a girl and make fun of how sensitive he is— what if Dean gets really mad seeing Sam in makeup? What if he calls dad immediately to come home? What if Sam gets kicked out because he looks like some— he's getting ahead of himself. He hasn't even opened it yet. He can't spiral yet, there's no real reason for it, he'll wash the makeup off before Dean or dad come home, simple as that.
And yeah so maybe there is a reason (other than how annoying it is) that Sam hates it when Dean calls him 'Samatha' or says something mildly offensive towards the rare lgbtq person they run into within the states they move throughout, but it's not Sam's fault. He'd be normal if he could.
He used to pray about it. Beg God to make him not feel like this. To not like girls and boys, to not feel so out of place in his body, to not cry at night when the feeling of wrong just gets too overwhelming. God doesn't seem to want to help him with this though. Sam has to tough it out on his own, Winchester style or whatever.
That doesn't mean listening to Dean call trans people 'weird' any easier. What if Sam's trans? He doesn't feel like a girl, but he doesn't really feel like a boy either, he's just— Sam . Or Sammy. None of the other labels fit or feel comfortable like he thinks they should, Dean wouldn't understand it but Sam wishes he would, his older brothers all he has and if Dean doesn't get it, well, Sam's practically screwed.
It's kinda hard to make friends when they're moving around all the time and the kids at new schools never have enough of a relationship built with Sam for him to feel comfortable telling them about his conflicted feelings. That's why he bought (stole) the eyeliner.
It's for him. Just him, not Dean, not John, not other kids, just for Sam to use because he wants to and thinks it'll ease the twist of anxiety sitting in his gut, the one telling him that his body isn't quite his.
So he snaps the plastic wrapping off the cap and stares down to the pencil. It's black and looks a little sharp, it's supposed to be, that's what the makeup book he read said (it was a magazine from the same cvs but whatever) and he knows he should just use light pressure to apply it.
It's scarier than he thought. Actually applying it. He knows Dean is at work for the next few hours, Johns been on a hunt for two days now, says he won't be back for a week, and Sam's tripled checked the front door lock to make sure nobody could get in, even glancing at the salt lines on the window sills for good measure.
Though the assurance of it all isn't helping how Sam's hands shake, he pulls on his cheek a bit, so his waterline is viable enough for him to run the tip of the eyeliner across it lightly. And holy shit, it worked! There's makeup on his waterline, it's easy to mirror on the other side, smudging it just enough with his fingers so it gives the effect he was hoping for.
Pretty. That's the first word that pops into the seventeen year olds head when he looks at himself in the mirror. He looks pretty. His bangs are wispy across his forehead, a little grown out for Deans liking, just right for Sam's; the rest of his hair curls to the nape of his neck, a few pieces stick out from behind his ears. It's long enough that Sam loves it and short enough that John won't shave his head in the middle of the night (despite what he threatens when drunk).
He reaches to dissect a few pieces of his bangs that stick together, just to make it look more dainty, more feminine he supposes. He smiles at himself and clicks the eyeliner close, sliding the stick back into his hoodie pocket before heading to his and Deans room, he'll do some homework then wipe the makeup off before Dean gets home.
-
It goes on like that for a few weeks, Dean goes to work and Sam puts on eyeliner, John came back at one point but left for another hunt within the three hours he was in the house so it didn't affect Sam. He likes it better when dad’s gone anyways. It's more calm when it's just him and Dean, less arguing goes on, Dean seems less tense and Sam definitely feels less stressed with dad gone.
He's also free to blare his music while doing his makeup when nobody's home. A few new items have made their way into the small collection Sam's started, a pink lip gloss that's not too sticky, a small blush compact that came with a brush, and Sam's favorite thing- a pack of eyeliner stamps - there's a heart, moon, and a star (which is the one Sam uses the most), he likes to stamp them by his nose and cheeks.
It looks quite cute in Sam's humble opinion. The hearts come out pink, moons purple and stars a light blue. Sometimes he'll try to outline them with his pencil black eyeliner but it never turns out good, the tip is too dulled down after the constant usage and he's too nervous to sharpen it with a knife in worry he'll snap the end off.
Sam doesn't worry about it too much though, he can't when having the makeup makes him so happy. He swears he's never felt so good about himself than when he can admire the almost freckle-like pattern of stamped stars with pink blush coated across them and black smudged eyeliner on his lids to tie it all together.
A part of him wishes he could show someone, anyone , what he looks like in makeup. Would they think he was pretty? Maybe give him tips? A small thought always seems to make its way into Sam's mind that he could, hypothetically , tell Dean. He doesn't know a hundred percent sure what type of reaction Dean would have but maybe, just maybe, he'd ruffle Sam's hair and tell him that he looks good with the products on his face.
It's doubtful. Sam for one, can't ever tell Dean as he is too dedicated to dad and would probably tell John immediately, and for two, Dean would never accept Sam wearing makeup even if he didn't tell John about it. Dean’s always been a manly man. A drink a beer after shift man. A hit on girls in a bar and hustle pool type of man; definitely not a read a book and do his makeup type of man (even if that label makes Sam's skin itch).
And while Sam so desperately wants to share his new found passion of makeup with someone, he knows his safety is more important, his brother's opinion is more important, he will have to live hiding for the rest of his life. It's better off that way.
-
All good things must come to an end though. Especially with Winchester luck.
Sam hadn't even thought about how he was in makeup as he made dinner, bustling around the kitchen happily, a low movie going on the Tv that adds nice background noise as Sammy waits for Dean to get home from work. He's been gone longer than normal, he stayed at a girls house and went straight to the body shop he's working under the table at, and it's the weekend so Sam's had basically two whole days of freedom.
He finished up all his homework early in the day so he could do whatever he wanted. Which was just reading, doing his makeup, drawing a bit, walking to the store, and now cooking dinner. It's only a salad with chicken on the side for Dean but it's what the small grocery store had for cheap (and it looked decently healthy) so Sam figured it was better than nothing.
The chicken cooks easily in a thin layer of oil, even if Sam hates touching raw meat and/or really eating meat in general. Dean loves it so he sucks it up. His brother will want pizza anyways so might as well make the salad as appealing as he can.
"Sammy! I'm home!" Dean calls from the doorway, kicking his boots off and throwing his keys to the couch from behind. So messy all the time , Sam makes a mental note to pick up Deans shoes before he trips over them.
"Whatcha making?" He slides himself onto one of the bar stools at the island, tapping his fingers on the counter top as Sam dishes out the salad and checks on the chicken.
"Salad and chicken, we need some type of vegetable in our diet." It earns him a groan and huff, as expected, but he knows Dean doesn't really care all that much, he's just happy Sam's learning how to cook.
"Here, with chicken so you can stop complaining." The ceramic bowl of food gets slid over to Dean, he eyes it a moment but looks up to take a fork from Sam.
That's when his face falls. A wide eyed look and ajar mouth making Sam's brows furrow thickly. He hesitates a moment on asking what's wrong, it could be a monster behind him, but Dean wouldn't pause like this, he'd just grab his gun and shoot or a knife to lung at whatever the thing was. He'd never stop like this.
"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam feels anxiety build in his chest when his brother simply blinks big, like he can't believe what he's seeing.
"S- Sammy what's on your face?" Shit!
Sam turns around as fast as he can, already feeling tears burning in his eyes, wiping helplessly at his face to try and get the makeup off, it's not working. It's not fucking working! Deans gonna kill him and he's gonna have stupid makeup all over his face!
"De-Dean its- it's not what it looks like, I swear! I just- it's nothing!" His voice shakes and cracks so bad it hurts his throat, he grabs mindlessly til he can pull a dish towel from the counter, rubbing vigorously at his face to try and make himself look normal. The scratchy material of the towel hurts Sam's skin and he can't stop his chest from heaving in broken breaths of air.
"Sam..." And Deans in front of him, cautiously watching how Sam makes his face red with the assault of the dry towel to his soft skin.
"Please! Dean- Dean I- I'm sorry, please I'm so sorry!" The sobs bubbling in Sam's throat crack out no matter how hard he tries to keep them in. His legs give out from under him, sliding down to the kitchen floor clutching the towel to his face, crying into it with choked sobs and shaking shoulders.
He hates himself. He's so stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he let himself put on makeup?! Of all things! He's such a freak! A stupid freak, good for nothing, never going to amount to anything, stupid, stupid, stupid—!
"Sam! Sammy, you can't do that, stop it, stop Sam, you can't hurt yourself." Deans voice is gentle, his hands carefully pulling Sam's wrists away from where he was hitting against his head. And oh, he didn't realize he was doing that.
"I'm- I'm sorry!" His brothers face crumbles at Sam's expression of agony, his thumbs brushing soothingly at Sam's wrists, shaking his head lightly and tugging Sam til he falls forward into Deans chest.
"Shh, Shh, you're okay Sammy, it's all okay." He talks into the fluff of Sam's hair, rocking them both in place, something that always soothed Sam as a child and seems to be working now too.
The emotions swirling around in Sam's head and chest are too much for him to care about being babied, Dean won't comment about his mini freak out, he never does, only a concerned question of if Sam's okay or not, that'll be it. It always is.
No matter how many times his brothers had to hold Sammy like he's five again or remind him that banging his raw wrists on his head or knees isn't okay, Dean seems to understand that it's out of Sam's control. He wouldn't do that all if he could. John always complains that Sam's a teenager now, he can't be throwing tantrums, but Dean just— knows .
Knows it's not Sam's fault. And Sam clings onto that right now, curling helplessly into his brothers chest, letting himself let go of all that pent up energy, knowing Dean will be there no matter what.
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Chapter 2: Dean
Summary:
Deans doing what he can to help his baby brother
Chapter Text
Dean
Dean chews at his bottom lip as he looks over to where Sam's tucked into the couch corner, a fleece blanket wrapped around him tightly, cocooning him into a ball, Sam rocks slightly in place and twirls his hair around his fingers, focus on the tv that's playing some old kids movie. He looks okay. Breathing and healthy, Dean reminds himself.
He always gets nervous after the— attacks? Meltdowns? Tantrums feels like the wrong word. Dean doesn't know what to call it, he just knows he always keeps an extra eye on Sam after one, and that Sam gets a little quieter afterwards.
The older Winchester is okay with the silence, the calm after the storm he supposes, but he should probably get that smudged makeup off Sammy's face. It looks a mess. There's black streaked eyeliner dried on Sam's cheeks, some colorful blobs of whatever, pink gloss smeared across Sam's chin. It's probably uncomfortable.
He decides that getting it off might help Sam and his overwhelmed (?) state. Dean wishes there was a term book for this all, just to give a little more guidance. But there isn't and Dean just walks into the bathroom hoping he's doing the right thing by wetting a paper towel. Does Sam have markup wipes? He's not gonna go search now, he'll make do with what he has on hand, like he always does.
"Hey Sammy, ya think I can get the makeup off your face?" His baby brother stills a moment, fear crossing quickly in his eyes, it makes Deans chest tight, he doesn't want Sam to be scared of him, especially about something so minuscule like wearing some makeup.
It's not like Dean hadn't suspected that Sam was doing something of the sort. He'd catch an odd black line around Sam's eyes, obviously already attempted to have been washed off but not quite all of it was, or the pink hue of lip gloss shining on Sam's lips in a similar almost-washed-off-but-not-really way. Dean doesn't care, he'd do anything for Sam and that includes ignoring their fathers teachings about " boys in makeup " even if Dean has a sneaking suspicion that 'boy' isn't really Sam.
"Yeah? Kay' but I've never done this so bear with me." Dean carefully cups Sam's jaw once he nods confirming he's okay with his face being cleaned off, it feels out of Deans depth when the black makeup doesn't come off in one swoop.
Sam doesn't seem to mind how long it's taking Dean. He simply hums lowly to himself, like he has since he was a child, Dean finds comfort in the familiar sounds, and Sam smiles when Dean mirrors the humming. He can't tell what song it is and he's the tiniest bit disappointed it's not a Metallica song like Sam would at age seven, but he'll just focus on how much happier Sam seems compared to the mini breakdown (?) of earlier.
"I think I got it all." Or as much as he can. Sam will need to shower to really get the remnants off fully.
"Thanks." It's oh so quiet, a whisper nobody but Dean would hear, years of learning how little Sam can make his voice sound; Dean brushes his hand over Sam's hair and hums a little louder in acknowledgment.
Before Dean can pull away far, Sam is reaching to wrap his arms over his brothers neck. Dean knows this would happen at some point tonight, it almost always does after one of Sam's episodes (?) so he simply shuffles himself onto the couch and positions Sammy against his chest.
It's not the worst place to be stuck for however long Sam decides is enough physical contact, Dean secretly likes it when Sammy lays with his head on Deans pec, arms curved over his neck, knees bent up to fall sideways over Deans. A nice rhythm starts of Dean rocking them both in place and soon enough, Sam's knocked out.
-
"Why’s your brother sleeping this early?" John asks as soon as he enters the living room of the apartment and sees Sammy's drooling over Deans shirt.
"He had one of his uh- episode things." He still can't find the word for it, but John gets the picture as his lips twist in worry.
"How bad?" It wasn't the worst Sam's had, they were more intense when he was younger, sometimes Dean would be fully on him just to stop him from scratching at his arms and yeah, that might've been the wrong thing to do but he was only a kid himself so there weren't many other options.
"He was hitting his head a bit, kept callin' himself stupid, but he's been asleep for about an hour and calmed down pretty quickly." Thankfully Sam seemed tired enough today that the meltdown (?) didn't last long.
"What happened?" Dean swallows thickly, he knows John doesn't like boys in makeup, he knows Sam would kill him if he found out he was actually contemplating telling dad but— he doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't want to lie, can't even think of a lie really.
"Dean?" Shit he has to say something.
"I uh- I came home while he was in the middle of something and kinda disrupted it I guess." That sounds so much worse out loud than it did in his head, shit even Johns eyes are wide.
"Uh okay, what exactly was he doing?"
"Wearing makeup." It's mumbled enough that John can barely catch it but the slight head nod he does confirms to Dean he did in fact hear it. He doesn't look mad, or like he's going to open a bottle of whiskey, he's just— staring — at Sam and Dean. Lips in a tight line and furrow of thought in his brow- it's unnerving to Dean.
"Okay, tell him I'll talk to him when he wakes up and is ready to talk, I'm not mad." With that John walks off to his bedroom/research room and closes the door softly, not a slam which is a good sign, and he said he wasn't mad, Dean has to believe that.
"Yes, sir." He mutters despite his father not being close enough to hear it.
-
Chapter 3: John
Summary:
Johns trying his best okay?
Chapter Text
John
John sighs as he flicks through an old book of legends, trying to figure out if driving down to Ohio is worth it, he’d have to leave the boys here alone and that’s not something he’s jumping to do when Dean said Sam had an episode. He hasn’t had one in a while, at least to Johns knowledge.
And it was about makeup. John subconsciously grimaces thinking about it, not Sammy in makeup, but what other people would say or think. He’s known since Sam was a kid that he was and is different from Dean and other kids. He’s at peace with it, the episodes, the humming, the tapping, the bouncing on his feet, the rambling, the loud cries in Deans chest, the misunderstandings— it’s always been like that and John tries to help where he can but it gets hard between hunts and everything.
Deans always been there for Sam. He’s a blessing that boy, in more than one way. He practically raised his brother on his own and while John is nowhere near proud of that fact, he is grateful his oldest son stepped up, especially with Sam being so opposite of how Dean is himself.
There’s no way John would think Dean would put a lick of makeup on his face, he’d probably throw a right hook to anyone who tried it. But again, Sam isn’t Dean. John knows that and knows about the makeup, he found it in the bathroom a few days ago when he was home very briefly, both boys were out of the house so John couldn’t really say anything about the lip gloss and eyeliner stashed in the bathroom cupboard. Not that he would’ve anyways.
He knew he needed time to think this over, Sam’s far too sensitive for John to barge in asking questions, he’s too much of an overthinker for that. Despite how many arguments that kid can start . So John let his thoughts stew as he hunted a simple spirit causing some issues in a town nearby, nothing fatal or more than a couple broken dishes in an old woman’s house; which gave John the perfect place to think.
He did. A lot . After some consideration of what it could really mean for Sam if he wore makeup, John decided he didn’t care, for the most part. It wouldn’t make him any less of a good hunter or researcher, kids smart as a whip so his grades aren’t slipping (not that John cares all that much), and he’s almost always with Dean so if someone did have to gaul to say something about it, Dean could protect Sammy if Sam couldn’t do it himself for whatever reason. It’s really just something Dean and John would have to get used to seeing, which they can.
They did when Sam was younger and would start sobbing anytime either tried to cut his hair with an electric razor, hence his shabby haircut that’s kept up with when John's home and can hack some pieces off with his hunting knife as Dean does his best to distract Sam from the knowledge of his hair changing. They got used to his converse shoes as well. He didn’t like how bulky the work boots the other Winchesters wore, he hated how loud they were, so John had splurged a bit of money on a pair of red converse for Sam, he stills wears the same shoes only a bigger size.
So John thinks if Sam wears makeup regularly it’ll just be another one of those things. No big deal. They don’t need to argue, John especially hates making the kid upset if he’s had an episode earlier in the day.
There’s the rattling thought that Sam’s a boy and shouldn’t be wearing makeup, years of believing that claws at Johns mind, there’s so many hunters he knows would look down on him, would ridicule his parenting or his son in general, and while that all still spins around Johns thoughts— this is Sam. He won’t let something like makeup make Sam feel even more outcasted, he’s listened to enough cry filled vents of how difficult it is for Sammy and how different he feels, this doesn’t need to be another one.
“Dad?” The soft knock at the door takes John from his thoughts, looking up to see Sam hovering nervously in the doorway, swaying on his feet a bit.
“Morning Sam.” His son takes the prompt and quickly shuffles to sit on the edge of Johns bed across from the chair John’s leaned back in.
“Dean said you wanted to talk to me.” He nods shortly, watching how the anxiety practically radiates off Sam, his hands fidget restlessly in his lap, slowly rocking in place on the squeaky mattress.
“I did, he said you were uh- overwhelmed earlier, do you feel any better?” There’s always that awkward pause when it comes to naming Sam’s episodes, John tries his best to be sensible with his words but it’s not really his strong suit.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Is that all you needed?” Sam’s anxious to get out of here, John gets that, him and Sammy have never had a tight knit relationship before.
“Just one more thing, I’m okay with it.” He turns back to his desk momentarily, squeezing his eyes shut because god who says that to their kid wearing makeup , he should’ve thought out what to say beforehand, or at least been more specific. Sam always needs that. John knows it and so does Dean, Sam isn’t good with vague things, he needs assurance.
“Okay with what dad?” There’s a pause where John steels himself in case of— well he doesn’t really know, it just feels like the right move for this conversation.
“You wearing makeup. If it makes you happy and it doesn’t get in the way of hunting then I’m okay with it.” He finally pushes the words through his teeth and swivels to look over at Sam’s shocked expression.
“R-really?” John nods shortly.
“I- I didn’t expect you to be okay with it- I um- thank you, sir.” Sam’s bangs flop to cover his eyes when he drops his head, a grin showing the white of his teeth and his hands balling into fists that he shakes up and down by his sides. John smiles at the action, his chest feels warm with his youngests happiness seemingly filling the room.
“Course Sammy. But you gotta do some extra self defense with Dean now.” It doesn’t phase the brunette one bit, far too giddy to care about the extra work out, instead Sam runs to hug around Johns waist with a squeal.
“Anything, anything! Thank you, thank you!”
And yeah, John can definitely get used to Sam in makeup if it makes him this happy.
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princeofsnowfield on Chapter 3 Sat 13 Jul 2024 05:30PM UTC
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