SPN Fic, "Five Times Dean Acted Like A Girl" (Sam/girl!Dean/Andy), 5/6
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Five Times Dean Acted Like A Girl (5/6)
Author: arby_m
Pairing: various combinations of Sam, Andy and girl!Dean
Rating: R (cussing, Wincest)
Spoilers: Through Simon Said.
Warnings: None
Length: ~10k words in total, this chapter clocks in at ~1500 words
Disclaimer: Fictional characters used without intent of copyright infringement.
Summary: Dean comes home bearing stolen booty, and wonders about his own. Sam refuses to give him the comfort he asks for.
Author's Note: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4.
5. Dean Kicks Ass, But Neglects to Take Names
Sam was listening to the tiny variations in pitch made by the sustained whine of the turned-off TV, forming them into a tiny song that he whistled along with idly as he read the interminably boring local history paragraph for the fourteenth time. His left hand doodled arcane symbols in ballpoint pen on a yellow legal pad. Suddenly the door slammed open - with what seemed to him to be excessive force - and Dean blew in like an elaborately styled 'non-style' hurricane.
“Guess what?!” All kid in a candy shop.
“What?” Sam put on “exasperated and annoyed face #34”‚ (late-night version).
“Some asshole tried to jump me, on the way home from Andy’s truck! But I scared him off with this,” and he whipped out his second most ginormous knife.
If Sam had been drinking something, he would have done a spit-take. "Jesus Christ, Dean. Where do you put that thing?”
Dean gave him a classic Dean smirk. It sat oddly on his new face. "A lady never tells. But I’m not a lady, so between you and me? I keep it in my sock.” He shrugged off her jacket, then started pulling mini glass Remy VSOP bottles out of his pockets and plunking them on the cheap wood of the flimsy hotel desk. *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* And then a *thud* as a can of Coke™ came out. From under his shirt, no less.
“Nice, Dean. Those don't look legal.”
“I got two words for you. 'Five. Finger. Discount.'“
"You know, technically that's three words."
"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed a dingy hotel glass and poured himself a swig of cognac. Then he made himself a C&C (cognac & Coke, naturally). Typically, there was no ice to be had. Even more typically, Dean was too lazy to go see if they had a machine (likely) in working order (50-50) or failing that, if the front desk could hook them up (improbable at best and those guys were invariably creepy).
Sam sighed. Dean was silent for an uncharacteristically long moment. Sam looked over and caught him studying himself in the cheap full-length mirror that was hot-glued to the back of Sam's door. "What are you doing?"
"I don't get it. Am I, like, secretly ugly?"
After a confused pause Sam replied cautiously, "No, I wouldn't say so."
Dean turned around and craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "What about my ass? Is it fat?"
Sam sighed even louder. “Certainly NOT. Don’t fall for advertising or magazines, Dean - those women are airbrushed to within an inch of their lives."
Dean grinned, momentarily distracted by the memory of his skin mags - Dean presented with even theoretical porn was like a magpie with a shiny object. “Don't I know it - and I wouldn't have it any other way.” A pause. “But I don't get it. If I were still a guy I would hit me."
Sam was silent for a few seconds, working through the tortured grammar of that sentence.
Dean continued without waiting for a reply. "I always thought most girls could get any guy they wanted. I mean, non-heifers/uglies, of course. Unless he's gay."
Sam managed to follow this, and despite being pretty sure he knew the answer (and really not wanting the confirmation in any case), had to ask anyway, "Dean, who are you talking about?"
Dean turned to look at him, his bewildered expression making a tiny frown line between his eyebrows. Sam tried to resist the urge to point it out and succeeded.
"It's Andy. I don't understand. He seemed like he was interested, and then we started macking, and - well, then he barfed a lot, but I'm pretty sure that was just the tequila - and then he said it was ‘too weird’ and he didn’t want to get with me.”
Sam was skeptical. “He used those exact words?”
“Something to that effect! He definitely said 'too weird'. Anyway since when is anything too weird for Andy! He’s up for everything! That’s one of the things I like about him!”
He pouted and continued petulantly, “This sucks. I was used to rejection as a guy - guys are always getting rejected! Girls are the rejecters, that’s just how it works - you wear down their resistance until they give in. You never get a girl to like you by blowing her off!”
Sam ignored the rampant sexism and third grade view of relationships on display. He said quietly, “Do you even like Andy 'that' way?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just think that if I’m kind enough to offer myself up to him” - Sam choked on his water for real this time, but Dean continued oblivious - “the least he can do is take me up on it and be grateful. Unless he’s really not interested for some other reason. Do you think he’s gay? Seriously Sam, do you? You’ve got the Sensitive Guy Super-Gaydar, tell me.”
Sam, coughing, totally thrown off guard for a number of reasons (that was so not where he thought Dean was going with that sentence, for one), accidentally blurted out the truth: “I think he’s bi.”
“What?" Dean was obviously not expecting that answer in turn. "Seriously?”
Sam shrugged. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he might as well come clean. “Yeah, honestly I do.”
This made Dean even more indignant, if such a thing were possible. “Well then what the fuck, he has no excuse! You’d think this would be right up his alley! No pun intended.”
Sam wasn't even sure there was a pun there. He couldn't help himself, he assumed his educator mode, the one Dean redundantly called "Dr. Professor". “Dean. Just because someone is bisexual doesn’t mean they necessarily like, um, transgendered individuals.”
Dean spun on his heel to look at him, eyes wide as a cartoon character's. “Are you kidding me? I’m a tranny?”
Sam couldn’t hold back the tiniest - and therefore, by the inverse property, most irritating - of smirks. “No, I'm not kidding, and technically? Yes.”
"But it's not like anyone can tell, right?" He felt for his Adam's apple worriedly.
"No. But for anyone who knew you before, it takes some getting used to. Give Andy time, maybe he'll come around. Or maybe we'll get you changed back into a guy soon, and then it won't matter."
Dean looked solemn. Apparently being a girl had become serious business. "Why are you in such a hurry? Don't you like me this way either?" He went over to Sam, invading his personal space in a way that was distinctly disconcerting.
Sam shot him a glance. Dean was staring up at him with a look that said, Say the wrong thing now and you're dead, mister. Brother or no.
The moment hung in the air, fragile and glittering, it tingled between them like a wind chime until Dean seemed to pick it up and throw it across the room at the mirror, which shivered and broke into an ugly spiderweb of cracks. The echoes of breaking glass rang in the silence like the laugh of an exotic goddess. Sam stared stunned until he realized it was just a drinking glass that lay shattered at the mirror's plastic-shod foot.
And then Sam spoke. He said the exact same thing he would have said before Dean pitched a fit - or a glass, for that matter.
"Are you sure you really want me to answer that?"
Dean looked hurt. "Why wouldn't I? Unless I'm really just that ugly!"
"You don't think it would make things a little, um, awkward when you change back?"
"Why would it..." A pregnant pause ensued. " Oh. OH. That must mean you think I'm hot! Otherwise you wouldn't be afraid to say."
Sam bridled at that. "I'm not afraid of anything. I'm just thinking about the future, that's all - something you consistently refuse to do."
"Dude. You know me. It's not in my nature to think beyond the next whatever - sandwich, drink, fuck."
Sam was alarmed. "Nice, Dean! Who said anything about fucking?"
Dean actually stamped his foot at that. "This is so totally unfair! You know I'm in a very vulnerable place right now! How can you be so vicious?" He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, pausing only to add, "Would it kill you to give a girl a compliment? I thought you loved me!" before slamming the door with such violence it rattled on its hinges. Bits of mirror shivered down with a high-pitched silvery sound like he imagined ash would make, floating in the wake of a volcano.
Sam stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection stared back, unmoved. A shard of glass pierced its eye, like Kay in The Snow Queen.
He didn't follow.
Not even when he heard Dean crying through the paper-thin walls.
It was for the best.
Really.
On to the Interlude!
Title: Five Times Dean Acted Like A Girl (5/6)
Author: arby_m
Pairing: various combinations of Sam, Andy and girl!Dean
Rating: R (cussing, Wincest)
Spoilers: Through Simon Said.
Warnings: None
Length: ~10k words in total, this chapter clocks in at ~1500 words
Disclaimer: Fictional characters used without intent of copyright infringement.
Summary: Dean comes home bearing stolen booty, and wonders about his own. Sam refuses to give him the comfort he asks for.
Author's Note: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4.
5. Dean Kicks Ass, But Neglects to Take Names
Sam was listening to the tiny variations in pitch made by the sustained whine of the turned-off TV, forming them into a tiny song that he whistled along with idly as he read the interminably boring local history paragraph for the fourteenth time. His left hand doodled arcane symbols in ballpoint pen on a yellow legal pad. Suddenly the door slammed open - with what seemed to him to be excessive force - and Dean blew in like an elaborately styled 'non-style' hurricane.
“Guess what?!” All kid in a candy shop.
“What?” Sam put on “exasperated and annoyed face #34”‚ (late-night version).
“Some asshole tried to jump me, on the way home from Andy’s truck! But I scared him off with this,” and he whipped out his second most ginormous knife.
If Sam had been drinking something, he would have done a spit-take. "Jesus Christ, Dean. Where do you put that thing?”
Dean gave him a classic Dean smirk. It sat oddly on his new face. "A lady never tells. But I’m not a lady, so between you and me? I keep it in my sock.” He shrugged off her jacket, then started pulling mini glass Remy VSOP bottles out of his pockets and plunking them on the cheap wood of the flimsy hotel desk. *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* *Plunk.* And then a *thud* as a can of Coke™ came out. From under his shirt, no less.
“Nice, Dean. Those don't look legal.”
“I got two words for you. 'Five. Finger. Discount.'“
"You know, technically that's three words."
"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed a dingy hotel glass and poured himself a swig of cognac. Then he made himself a C&C (cognac & Coke, naturally). Typically, there was no ice to be had. Even more typically, Dean was too lazy to go see if they had a machine (likely) in working order (50-50) or failing that, if the front desk could hook them up (improbable at best and those guys were invariably creepy).
Sam sighed. Dean was silent for an uncharacteristically long moment. Sam looked over and caught him studying himself in the cheap full-length mirror that was hot-glued to the back of Sam's door. "What are you doing?"
"I don't get it. Am I, like, secretly ugly?"
After a confused pause Sam replied cautiously, "No, I wouldn't say so."
Dean turned around and craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "What about my ass? Is it fat?"
Sam sighed even louder. “Certainly NOT. Don’t fall for advertising or magazines, Dean - those women are airbrushed to within an inch of their lives."
Dean grinned, momentarily distracted by the memory of his skin mags - Dean presented with even theoretical porn was like a magpie with a shiny object. “Don't I know it - and I wouldn't have it any other way.” A pause. “But I don't get it. If I were still a guy I would hit me."
Sam was silent for a few seconds, working through the tortured grammar of that sentence.
Dean continued without waiting for a reply. "I always thought most girls could get any guy they wanted. I mean, non-heifers/uglies, of course. Unless he's gay."
Sam managed to follow this, and despite being pretty sure he knew the answer (and really not wanting the confirmation in any case), had to ask anyway, "Dean, who are you talking about?"
Dean turned to look at him, his bewildered expression making a tiny frown line between his eyebrows. Sam tried to resist the urge to point it out and succeeded.
"It's Andy. I don't understand. He seemed like he was interested, and then we started macking, and - well, then he barfed a lot, but I'm pretty sure that was just the tequila - and then he said it was ‘too weird’ and he didn’t want to get with me.”
Sam was skeptical. “He used those exact words?”
“Something to that effect! He definitely said 'too weird'. Anyway since when is anything too weird for Andy! He’s up for everything! That’s one of the things I like about him!”
He pouted and continued petulantly, “This sucks. I was used to rejection as a guy - guys are always getting rejected! Girls are the rejecters, that’s just how it works - you wear down their resistance until they give in. You never get a girl to like you by blowing her off!”
Sam ignored the rampant sexism and third grade view of relationships on display. He said quietly, “Do you even like Andy 'that' way?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just think that if I’m kind enough to offer myself up to him” - Sam choked on his water for real this time, but Dean continued oblivious - “the least he can do is take me up on it and be grateful. Unless he’s really not interested for some other reason. Do you think he’s gay? Seriously Sam, do you? You’ve got the Sensitive Guy Super-Gaydar, tell me.”
Sam, coughing, totally thrown off guard for a number of reasons (that was so not where he thought Dean was going with that sentence, for one), accidentally blurted out the truth: “I think he’s bi.”
“What?" Dean was obviously not expecting that answer in turn. "Seriously?”
Sam shrugged. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he might as well come clean. “Yeah, honestly I do.”
This made Dean even more indignant, if such a thing were possible. “Well then what the fuck, he has no excuse! You’d think this would be right up his alley! No pun intended.”
Sam wasn't even sure there was a pun there. He couldn't help himself, he assumed his educator mode, the one Dean redundantly called "Dr. Professor". “Dean. Just because someone is bisexual doesn’t mean they necessarily like, um, transgendered individuals.”
Dean spun on his heel to look at him, eyes wide as a cartoon character's. “Are you kidding me? I’m a tranny?”
Sam couldn’t hold back the tiniest - and therefore, by the inverse property, most irritating - of smirks. “No, I'm not kidding, and technically? Yes.”
"But it's not like anyone can tell, right?" He felt for his Adam's apple worriedly.
"No. But for anyone who knew you before, it takes some getting used to. Give Andy time, maybe he'll come around. Or maybe we'll get you changed back into a guy soon, and then it won't matter."
Dean looked solemn. Apparently being a girl had become serious business. "Why are you in such a hurry? Don't you like me this way either?" He went over to Sam, invading his personal space in a way that was distinctly disconcerting.
Sam shot him a glance. Dean was staring up at him with a look that said, Say the wrong thing now and you're dead, mister. Brother or no.
The moment hung in the air, fragile and glittering, it tingled between them like a wind chime until Dean seemed to pick it up and throw it across the room at the mirror, which shivered and broke into an ugly spiderweb of cracks. The echoes of breaking glass rang in the silence like the laugh of an exotic goddess. Sam stared stunned until he realized it was just a drinking glass that lay shattered at the mirror's plastic-shod foot.
And then Sam spoke. He said the exact same thing he would have said before Dean pitched a fit - or a glass, for that matter.
"Are you sure you really want me to answer that?"
Dean looked hurt. "Why wouldn't I? Unless I'm really just that ugly!"
"You don't think it would make things a little, um, awkward when you change back?"
"Why would it..." A pregnant pause ensued. " Oh. OH. That must mean you think I'm hot! Otherwise you wouldn't be afraid to say."
Sam bridled at that. "I'm not afraid of anything. I'm just thinking about the future, that's all - something you consistently refuse to do."
"Dude. You know me. It's not in my nature to think beyond the next whatever - sandwich, drink, fuck."
Sam was alarmed. "Nice, Dean! Who said anything about fucking?"
Dean actually stamped his foot at that. "This is so totally unfair! You know I'm in a very vulnerable place right now! How can you be so vicious?" He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, pausing only to add, "Would it kill you to give a girl a compliment? I thought you loved me!" before slamming the door with such violence it rattled on its hinges. Bits of mirror shivered down with a high-pitched silvery sound like he imagined ash would make, floating in the wake of a volcano.
Sam stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection stared back, unmoved. A shard of glass pierced its eye, like Kay in The Snow Queen.
He didn't follow.
Not even when he heard Dean crying through the paper-thin walls.
It was for the best.
Really.
On to the Interlude!