Chapter Text
It wasn’t that Sam hated herself.
She was perfectly content with who she was as a person. She was smart, Dean thought she was funny sometimes. Perhaps it was just the stress from constantly moving around, but even when she stayed with Uncle Bobby for months at a time, something still wasn’t right.
At first she thought she was a lesbian. It never actually occurred to Sam that she liked girls, she just knew she was different, and putting a label she knew on it seemed like the easiest thing to do.
Sam didn’t tell anyone, not Dean, not even Bobby. It felt simple that way. Having something to herself felt almost rebellious.
Then puberty came. It wasn’t like she was under prepared, she just didn’t expect it to come so soon. It made her feel disgusted. There were many nights where Sam couldn’t sleep because of the knowledge that developing like other women was slowly coming upon her. She hated how it felt, her chest hurt, and she was starting to look more like girls around her age, it was uncomfortable.
She had always kept her hair short, but something in her hated how the hair that was cut just above her shoulders looked. Eventually she had asked Dean to cut it off, just so it would be easier to manage. To her, that was a point where something in her changed.
Sam had started to try and pick out her own clothing at the second hand shops, always looking through the boys section before anything else. She’d take Dean’s hand-me-downs as soon as he’d offer.
And that’s when it happened. Kids and teachers at her school started to assume she was a boy. It made her giddy, an inescapable smile creeping up the corners of her mouth when a teacher would call her something along the lines of “a clever boy.”
She thought Dean didn’t notice, and she thought she was keeping it together when random people would call her a boy, but eventually Dean started to question her.
“Sam, what's up with your teachers?” Dean questioned as he tore his focus from the analog TV in front of the two.
Sam cocked her head, furrowing her brows at Dean. “What do you mean?”
“With the,” Dean took a spoonful of his mac and cheese into his mouth, only chewing a little before speaking with noodles still littered throughout his mouth. “Y’know. Calling you a dude.”
Sam stared at Dean as if she was a deer in headlights, immediately shrinking into the couch.
“I don’t know, they just do that. I don’t really care though, it's not a big deal.” Sam hoped her sad excuse for a reply would fly over Dean’s head as an acceptable answer.
Dean made a sound akin to “Mmh” then he nodded. “Aight, just tell me if it's bothering you, I'll talk with them.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief, replying with a quick “okay” before returning to the cartoon on the TV.
She knew Dean was onto her, because he started to give her strange looks when she would layer shirts over each other to hide her figure. She hoped he was as stupid as he was on paper sometimes, but she knew there would be a conversation she couldn't escape from.
She knew John didn’t like her tomboyish appearance, he had commented on her hair, saying that Mary would’ve hated it. That had almost made her reconsider looking more feminine just for his approval, until Dean had taken her aside after it had happened, telling her it wasn’t true, and that Mom would’ve thought she looked handsome.
Handsome.
Sam sobbed that night. She sobbed in the bathroom of their dingy motel room, rubbing her wetting face into her sleeves, albeit it wasn’t helping. She didn’t know why she was crying exactly, but she knew it was a mix of Mom, and the fact she wouldn’t look like the boys around her.
Dean had knocked on the door eventually, quietly asking if she was okay.
When Sam opened the door, she didn’t know what she expected, half of her thought that Dean would hate her. She didn’t know where this idea came from, but Sam was terrified of losing the person closest to her.
“What’s wrong?” Was the first thing Dean had asked when Sam opened the door.
She couldn't speak, her throat aching and drying up when she needed to tell him. He understood, closing the door behind him as Sam backed up into the bathroom, wiping her face on her sleeves.
“I— I don’t,” Sam tried, she tried to get the words out, but her sobs broke through as soon as she tried.
Dean was patient, more than she thought was possible for him. He sat on the cracked floor with her, not talking, just waiting for Sam to speak.
“I don’t feel like a girl.” Was the only way he could describe it. That was the only way the words would come out.
Dean gave him a confused look, trying his best to process what Sam was trying to say. “I’m sure a lot of girls feel that way, Sam. Your hormones are out of whack and stuff.”
That just made it worse. “It’s not like that.” Sam pleaded with him through tears, he wanted to make Dean comprehend what he was saying. He wanted to be understood. “I want to be a boy, like you. I hate— I hate being like this.” He gestured to himself, sniffling and rubbing his face with his sleeves again.
Dean wanted to understand, he really did. “So, you don’t wanna… what? Be a girl?” Sam nodded desperately.
Dean nodded slowly, seemingly getting what Sam was putting down. “So you’re like… a transsexual? Or am I not getting it?”
“What? I don’t… I don’t know what that is.” Sam replied meekly. He seemed to have a false sense of hope. “I want to be a boy, like you. I want to just… be a normal boy.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “I think I get it.” He wanted to support Sam, no matter what, he wanted Sam to feel safe around him.
“That would make me your… brother.” Sam mumbled, shrinking into himself.
Dean pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding at Sam. “Okay, that's cool. Whatever makes you happy, dude.”
Sam lit up, his composure changing almost immediately. He practically threw himself onto Dean, bringing him into the most awkward hug of all time. It took Dean a minute to process, as Sam was definitely not one for physical touch, especially hugs. But he slowly put his arms around him, patting his back awkwardly as if Sam was going to snap in half if he did anything besides that.
“Thank you. Thank you for understanding.” Sam whispered, sniffing into the shoulder of Dean’s worn out t-shirt.
Dean didn’t reply, he wanted to understand this, he really did. Although he knew it would take awhile, but he wanted to understand, for Sam.