SPN Fic: Girl Talk, With Dean Winchester (pre--girl!Sam/Dean)
Title: Girl Talk, With Dean Winchester
Author: downjune
Characters/Pairing: Girl!Sam and Dean (pre-wincest/gencest?)
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 1933
Disclaimer: Not mine, not even a little
Summary: John would have foisted The Talk off on him, anyway.
Notes: This is a hoodie_time wishlist fic for Skyofisis! For the Wish: "Anything with Dean dealing with issues pertaining to raising girl!Sam. Eternal love will be rewarded to any fics having to do with Dean managing the squicky enigma of periods and/or girl!Sam's puberty or development."
So, yes, there is some period talk. Chronologically, this fic comes first in my girl!Sam/Dean verse. And I've wanted to write a 5 Things fic for this verse for awhile, so consider this 1 and 2 in a 5 Conversations about Sex list. :) I hope you like this, Skyofisis!
1. Sam did a pretty good job hiding it for as long as she did, but there were very few secrets to be kept when you lived out of a duffel bag with your dad and your big brother.
Dean was shoving clean clothes back in Sam's bag when he found them--a box of tampons and a bag of pads. Tiny ones in little pink packets.
"Fuck," he said to the empty motel room. Sam and Dad were out registering her at the high school so Dean was on laundry duty, washing their mountain of dirty clothes now that they'd landed in a new town. "This is not something you want to know about your fourteen-year-old sister."
Stuffing the rest of Sam's clothes in, he resolved not to think about it. Sam obviously had the situation in hand. Health class and sex-ed existed for a reason. If she were having any trouble, she'd come to him for help.
But as they settled into their digs outside Johnson City, TN, Dean couldn't quit thinking about it, couldn't keep himself from worrying that he should say something, sit her down for the Talk that he knew Dad would eventually foist off on him anyway. Sam was fourteen and, yeah, she hadn't really grown into her legs yet and her ribs showed and her hair was always a wreck, but Dean thought she was gorgeous, and guys -- especially fourteen-year-old guys -- were awful, so.
He resolved to sit her down and hash all this out as soon as they had some time to themselves. She'd be mortified if Dad were around. But if she could stitch up a gash on his butt cheek -- an incident she was never going to let him live down -- and they could laugh about farts and snot and other bodily functions, then they should certainly be able to talk about periods and sex. Dean was way too cool of an older brother to be intimidated, and Sam was just too cool of a kid, full stop.
Thus bolstered, Dean seized the opportunity when Dad hit the road on a job near Lexington, bought his sister a milkshake at the DQ, and parked them at a picnic bench to have the Talk.
"So... Sam, you know you can come to me if you need anything, right? Like if you have any questions or..."
Jesus christ, how had he ended up using the exact same opening as the one John had given him? That talk had been terrible. And Sam was giving him the eyebrow, which meant that he'd blown it.
"Dean, was that seriously your opening to the Talk? That was pathetic." She looked like she might start laughing.
"Oh, come on!" he whined. "It's harder than you'd think. How would you have started?"
That turned out to be exactly the right question to ask because Sam, being Sam, took it seriously. She sucked on her milkshake and tried to run a hand through her hair. When her fingers got tangled, she frowned and gave up.
"I would say... 'Don't listen to what people say about you because fuck those people.'"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's a good start. You, uh, you got guys givin' you a hard time?"
Sam shrugged. "A couple. They're just jerks."
"You got--you got any guys that aren't jerks?"
Sam snorted a laugh. "Yeah, right. Guys are gross, Dean. They smell and they're either totally goofy or totally mean."
Dean relaxed and sucked hard on his own milkshake to keep from grinning. "Sounds like a great attitude. You nurture that one, Sammy--cultivate it. This was a good talk; I'm glad we sorted you out."
"The girls, though. The girls are meaner," she said, softly enough that Dean almost didn't hear. He could picture those girls--they were the same in every school he and Sam had been to.
"Yeah, they can be pretty vicious."
"I just want them to like me. I wanna be able to talk to them."
"Give it time, kiddo. It gets easier."
"For you, maybe," she mumbled. "You can talk to anyone. Girls love you."
Leaning across the table, he punched her arm. "Well then, you just follow my lead. And if you say the wrong thing, fuck it. We'll be gone by the end of the month anyway."
She looked up at him and nodded, mouth twitching up into a faint smile, utterly trusting. For a moment he felt a little reckless with just how much she trusted him. He felt a twinge of jealousy that Sam would want to be close to anyone other than him. They didn't need anyone else.
Then her smile slid into a smirk. "So... did you want me to tell you about my menstrual cycle? I'm not sure you can report back to Dad that we've had this Talk until I tell you."
Mouth falling open, Dean's voice stalled in his throat. Which of course she took to mean that he wanted her to continue.
"It's pretty gross, you know. And for at least two days, it feels like I've got pliers shoved up there. I bleed for five days straight and don't die, which is totally badass if you think about it. And the blood is all clotty and thick and it smells different than when you get torn up on a hunt."
Lurching to his feet, Dean almost tripped backwards stepping back from the picnic table. "Soundslikeyou'vegothatwellinhand,let'shittheroad,Sammy."
2. The summer after she turned sixteen, Sam bought a dress. It was gray and sleeveless and made of stretchy knit material. It hung to her knees, flaring out from just above her waist. She'd picked it up on a Goodwill run, and it wasn't anything special, but the skirt showed off her long legs and spun out when she twirled, which funnily, she liked to do because she knew she could get a smile out of Dean.
The dress looked good on her he decided--especially when she wore her shiny red Doc Martins. He wanted to tell her but he realized she only wore it at a certain time of the month, when the bathroom trash flilled up and the Advil disappeared. He knew how much she liked to be complimented on the way she looked, but when he got a clue as to why she wore the dress, he wasn't sure she'd appreciate it.
One day, he found her with the dress on, curled up in bed with a pillow pressed to her abdomen and her forehead creased with pain. When she spotted him in the motel room doorway, she moaned pitifully and hid her face.
"Sam? You okay?"
"No," she bit out, voice muffled.
"You take anything?"
"Yes, I took something, Dean."
Coming over to the side of the bed, he carefully sat down next to her. Right away, like she'd been waiting, she wrapped herself around him, arms circling his middle, forehead pressed tight against his side.
"I feel like shit," she said into his shirt. "It's only getting worse."
Dean pressed his hand to her back and stroked gently down her spine. "What can I do for you, Sammy?" he asked. "Just tell me what I can do." His sister almost purred when he pressed a little harder right over her lower back. "What do you need?" he asked again.
"You're not gonna like it," she said, breath damp through the thin material of his t-shirt.
"If it helps you, I'll do it. You know I will."
Sam nodded, squeezed his middle tighter. "I, um. I wanna go on the pill."
He could feel her holding her breath and forced himself to let go of his own. "Birth control?"
"It doesn't mean I'm having sex, Dean."
"No, jesus, no, I know," he said too quickly, wincing as his voice got a little frantic sounding. "But Dad would kill you."
"You'd kill me," she added. And Dean could hear a question in her voice.
He thought about that for a second and finally put his hand on her hair, rubbed her temple with his thumb. "No, I wouldn't. Long as you let me threaten the bejeezus out of him, I trust your judgment."
Shifting around enough that she could rest her head on his thigh, Sam laughed. "Thanks, Dean, but um, you don't have to worry about any guys. You're the only good one I know."
Dean grinned at that, felt heat seap down from his chest to warm his whole body. He had the wild desire to roll her on top of him and make declarations of unending devotion, but she probably already knew them--she was a smart kid. And he'd never been very good keeping that kind of thing off his stupid face, anyway.
"So--," she started, sounding uncomfortable again. "There's a Planned Parenthood downtown. Could you--could we--"
"You want me to take you?" he asked, feeling absurdly flattered. She had a fake ID saying she was eighteen. She could go on her own.
"Yeah, if you don't mind. I don't want to go by myself the first time."
"Yeah, course, Sammy. Let's hit it--we can get you fixed up by supper time." When she pushed herself up from his lap, he stood up and brushed her too-long bangs out of her eyes, pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
*
They were living on the edge of Milwaukee, so it was a bit of a haul into the middle of town, but the traffic was all headed in the opposite direction, commuters fleeing back to their safe suburbs. Sam sat in the passenger seat with her knees drawn to her chest, her dress tucked up between her legs so she didn't flash anyone. She pressed her forearm into her lower belly and Dean had to remind himself that he was already doing what he could to help her, that anything else would cross a line they were already dansing around.
Still, he wanted to put his hand there, to feel out the shape of her organs, ease that ache with his touch.
*
He parked the Impala around the corner from the Planned Parenthood and Sam hovered by his shoulder while he fed the meter. When he nodded toward the building, signaling that he was ready to go, Sam looked down at his hand where he still held the car keys and then back up.
"Say you're my boyfriend, okay? It'd be weird if you said you were my brother. Wouldn't it?"
"I--" Flustered, he cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure they respect your privacy at these places. You don't have to say anything you don't want to."
"So I can say anything I do want to," she answered, tilting her chin up in challenge. "We'll be gone from here within a month. And I think it'll be easier this way."
"...Okay, Sammy," he finally said, "whatever you want." Then he hastily pocketed the car keys when she reached for his hand and threaded their fingers together. She set off down the sidewalk and he kept pace, glancing sidelong at their joined hands and the way her shoulder pressed warm along his.
As they waited at the back of the line to sign in at the window, he put his arm across her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head. She slung an arm around his waist and leaned against him with most of her weight. And even though he knew she felt pretty bad, this, what he was doing for her, felt really good.
Author: downjune
Characters/Pairing: Girl!Sam and Dean (pre-wincest/gencest?)
Rating: pg-13
Word Count: 1933
Disclaimer: Not mine, not even a little
Summary: John would have foisted The Talk off on him, anyway.
Notes: This is a hoodie_time wishlist fic for Skyofisis! For the Wish: "Anything with Dean dealing with issues pertaining to raising girl!Sam. Eternal love will be rewarded to any fics having to do with Dean managing the squicky enigma of periods and/or girl!Sam's puberty or development."
So, yes, there is some period talk. Chronologically, this fic comes first in my girl!Sam/Dean verse. And I've wanted to write a 5 Things fic for this verse for awhile, so consider this 1 and 2 in a 5 Conversations about Sex list. :) I hope you like this, Skyofisis!
1. Sam did a pretty good job hiding it for as long as she did, but there were very few secrets to be kept when you lived out of a duffel bag with your dad and your big brother.
Dean was shoving clean clothes back in Sam's bag when he found them--a box of tampons and a bag of pads. Tiny ones in little pink packets.
"Fuck," he said to the empty motel room. Sam and Dad were out registering her at the high school so Dean was on laundry duty, washing their mountain of dirty clothes now that they'd landed in a new town. "This is not something you want to know about your fourteen-year-old sister."
Stuffing the rest of Sam's clothes in, he resolved not to think about it. Sam obviously had the situation in hand. Health class and sex-ed existed for a reason. If she were having any trouble, she'd come to him for help.
But as they settled into their digs outside Johnson City, TN, Dean couldn't quit thinking about it, couldn't keep himself from worrying that he should say something, sit her down for the Talk that he knew Dad would eventually foist off on him anyway. Sam was fourteen and, yeah, she hadn't really grown into her legs yet and her ribs showed and her hair was always a wreck, but Dean thought she was gorgeous, and guys -- especially fourteen-year-old guys -- were awful, so.
He resolved to sit her down and hash all this out as soon as they had some time to themselves. She'd be mortified if Dad were around. But if she could stitch up a gash on his butt cheek -- an incident she was never going to let him live down -- and they could laugh about farts and snot and other bodily functions, then they should certainly be able to talk about periods and sex. Dean was way too cool of an older brother to be intimidated, and Sam was just too cool of a kid, full stop.
Thus bolstered, Dean seized the opportunity when Dad hit the road on a job near Lexington, bought his sister a milkshake at the DQ, and parked them at a picnic bench to have the Talk.
"So... Sam, you know you can come to me if you need anything, right? Like if you have any questions or..."
Jesus christ, how had he ended up using the exact same opening as the one John had given him? That talk had been terrible. And Sam was giving him the eyebrow, which meant that he'd blown it.
"Dean, was that seriously your opening to the Talk? That was pathetic." She looked like she might start laughing.
"Oh, come on!" he whined. "It's harder than you'd think. How would you have started?"
That turned out to be exactly the right question to ask because Sam, being Sam, took it seriously. She sucked on her milkshake and tried to run a hand through her hair. When her fingers got tangled, she frowned and gave up.
"I would say... 'Don't listen to what people say about you because fuck those people.'"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's a good start. You, uh, you got guys givin' you a hard time?"
Sam shrugged. "A couple. They're just jerks."
"You got--you got any guys that aren't jerks?"
Sam snorted a laugh. "Yeah, right. Guys are gross, Dean. They smell and they're either totally goofy or totally mean."
Dean relaxed and sucked hard on his own milkshake to keep from grinning. "Sounds like a great attitude. You nurture that one, Sammy--cultivate it. This was a good talk; I'm glad we sorted you out."
"The girls, though. The girls are meaner," she said, softly enough that Dean almost didn't hear. He could picture those girls--they were the same in every school he and Sam had been to.
"Yeah, they can be pretty vicious."
"I just want them to like me. I wanna be able to talk to them."
"Give it time, kiddo. It gets easier."
"For you, maybe," she mumbled. "You can talk to anyone. Girls love you."
Leaning across the table, he punched her arm. "Well then, you just follow my lead. And if you say the wrong thing, fuck it. We'll be gone by the end of the month anyway."
She looked up at him and nodded, mouth twitching up into a faint smile, utterly trusting. For a moment he felt a little reckless with just how much she trusted him. He felt a twinge of jealousy that Sam would want to be close to anyone other than him. They didn't need anyone else.
Then her smile slid into a smirk. "So... did you want me to tell you about my menstrual cycle? I'm not sure you can report back to Dad that we've had this Talk until I tell you."
Mouth falling open, Dean's voice stalled in his throat. Which of course she took to mean that he wanted her to continue.
"It's pretty gross, you know. And for at least two days, it feels like I've got pliers shoved up there. I bleed for five days straight and don't die, which is totally badass if you think about it. And the blood is all clotty and thick and it smells different than when you get torn up on a hunt."
Lurching to his feet, Dean almost tripped backwards stepping back from the picnic table. "Soundslikeyou'vegothatwellinhand,let'shittheroad,Sammy."
2. The summer after she turned sixteen, Sam bought a dress. It was gray and sleeveless and made of stretchy knit material. It hung to her knees, flaring out from just above her waist. She'd picked it up on a Goodwill run, and it wasn't anything special, but the skirt showed off her long legs and spun out when she twirled, which funnily, she liked to do because she knew she could get a smile out of Dean.
The dress looked good on her he decided--especially when she wore her shiny red Doc Martins. He wanted to tell her but he realized she only wore it at a certain time of the month, when the bathroom trash flilled up and the Advil disappeared. He knew how much she liked to be complimented on the way she looked, but when he got a clue as to why she wore the dress, he wasn't sure she'd appreciate it.
One day, he found her with the dress on, curled up in bed with a pillow pressed to her abdomen and her forehead creased with pain. When she spotted him in the motel room doorway, she moaned pitifully and hid her face.
"Sam? You okay?"
"No," she bit out, voice muffled.
"You take anything?"
"Yes, I took something, Dean."
Coming over to the side of the bed, he carefully sat down next to her. Right away, like she'd been waiting, she wrapped herself around him, arms circling his middle, forehead pressed tight against his side.
"I feel like shit," she said into his shirt. "It's only getting worse."
Dean pressed his hand to her back and stroked gently down her spine. "What can I do for you, Sammy?" he asked. "Just tell me what I can do." His sister almost purred when he pressed a little harder right over her lower back. "What do you need?" he asked again.
"You're not gonna like it," she said, breath damp through the thin material of his t-shirt.
"If it helps you, I'll do it. You know I will."
Sam nodded, squeezed his middle tighter. "I, um. I wanna go on the pill."
He could feel her holding her breath and forced himself to let go of his own. "Birth control?"
"It doesn't mean I'm having sex, Dean."
"No, jesus, no, I know," he said too quickly, wincing as his voice got a little frantic sounding. "But Dad would kill you."
"You'd kill me," she added. And Dean could hear a question in her voice.
He thought about that for a second and finally put his hand on her hair, rubbed her temple with his thumb. "No, I wouldn't. Long as you let me threaten the bejeezus out of him, I trust your judgment."
Shifting around enough that she could rest her head on his thigh, Sam laughed. "Thanks, Dean, but um, you don't have to worry about any guys. You're the only good one I know."
Dean grinned at that, felt heat seap down from his chest to warm his whole body. He had the wild desire to roll her on top of him and make declarations of unending devotion, but she probably already knew them--she was a smart kid. And he'd never been very good keeping that kind of thing off his stupid face, anyway.
"So--," she started, sounding uncomfortable again. "There's a Planned Parenthood downtown. Could you--could we--"
"You want me to take you?" he asked, feeling absurdly flattered. She had a fake ID saying she was eighteen. She could go on her own.
"Yeah, if you don't mind. I don't want to go by myself the first time."
"Yeah, course, Sammy. Let's hit it--we can get you fixed up by supper time." When she pushed herself up from his lap, he stood up and brushed her too-long bangs out of her eyes, pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
*
They were living on the edge of Milwaukee, so it was a bit of a haul into the middle of town, but the traffic was all headed in the opposite direction, commuters fleeing back to their safe suburbs. Sam sat in the passenger seat with her knees drawn to her chest, her dress tucked up between her legs so she didn't flash anyone. She pressed her forearm into her lower belly and Dean had to remind himself that he was already doing what he could to help her, that anything else would cross a line they were already dansing around.
Still, he wanted to put his hand there, to feel out the shape of her organs, ease that ache with his touch.
*
He parked the Impala around the corner from the Planned Parenthood and Sam hovered by his shoulder while he fed the meter. When he nodded toward the building, signaling that he was ready to go, Sam looked down at his hand where he still held the car keys and then back up.
"Say you're my boyfriend, okay? It'd be weird if you said you were my brother. Wouldn't it?"
"I--" Flustered, he cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure they respect your privacy at these places. You don't have to say anything you don't want to."
"So I can say anything I do want to," she answered, tilting her chin up in challenge. "We'll be gone from here within a month. And I think it'll be easier this way."
"...Okay, Sammy," he finally said, "whatever you want." Then he hastily pocketed the car keys when she reached for his hand and threaded their fingers together. She set off down the sidewalk and he kept pace, glancing sidelong at their joined hands and the way her shoulder pressed warm along his.
As they waited at the back of the line to sign in at the window, he put his arm across her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head. She slung an arm around his waist and leaned against him with most of her weight. And even though he knew she felt pretty bad, this, what he was doing for her, felt really good.