Five Times Dean Winchester Was A Girl, 1/1
Title: Five Times Dean Winchester Was A Girl
Author: chaletian
Rating: PG-13 for language, I suppose
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Mary, John
Summary: A bit of wee!chesters, a bit of teen!chesters, a tiny bit of gender-switch, a bit of crack, a bit of humour and a bit of angst. Tiny AHBL spoiler.
[1]
Mary poked the contents of the pan, her expression suspicious. She ran a finger down the recipe propped up against the cookie jar and her suspicions were confirmed. Coq au vin was not supposed to look like this. Goddamn French cooking. So it was her and John’s anniversary - so what? They could have gone to a restaurant like anyone else. Get someone in to babysit Dean, go off for a romantic meal, come back. Maybe take the romance on to the next step. That would have been a plan. The saucepan gave a sullen burp, and Mary grimaced at it. But no. She had decided that a nice, romantic meal in their own home would be an idea. Yeah. She could be stupid sometimes.
She sighed deeply, and went over the steps that had led to the brown burping. Maybe it would be salvageable. Maybe she could fix it. A strange smell suddenly permeated the kitchen. Huh. Maybe she could get take out. Deciding that the coq au vin was now officially a non-starter, Mary swung the pan off the hob, and had turned towards the trash when she stopped suddenly, narrowly avoiding dropping the pan on the floor.
“Great. Aunt. Jemima,” she said slowly, as her brain processed the sight in front of her. Her three year old son stood before her, beaming happily as little hands clutched her lace shawl tightly around his shoulders. Dean, her macho little Dean, who liked nothing better than trailing round after his daddy in their garage, nodding solemnly as John explained what he was doing, was wearing, in addition to the lace shawl, a pair of high heels and the jaunty straw hat she had worn to the last 4th of July picnic. And either he had been clawed to death by a raven, or that was her reddest lipstick scrawled all over his face.
“Like you, Mommy,” announced Dean cheerfully, as he shuffled his way towards her. Mary sincerely hoped that she had never quite looked like that and, as Dean made heavy weather of the heels, gave up a fervent prayer of thanks to whoever it was who guarded over little boys coming down stairs in their mothers’ shoes. As he reached her, he lifted his arms up, the shawl slipping to the floor. Mary put the pan on the table, bent down, rescued the shawl and picked up her son, lifting him to rest on her hip. Eye to eye, mother and son looked at each other.
“Pretty Mommy,” said Dean, pre-emptively, and patted her cheek.
“Pretty Dean,” Mary replied dryly, leaning back to inspect him more closely. Bright hazel eyes shone out of a freckled and lipstick-smeared face, and she couldn’t help but smile, and hug him closer, uncaring as lipstick stained her sweater and the coq au vin pan slowly scorched the kitchen table.
[2]
Dean Winchester crouched by the school gates, intently observing a colony of ants as they scurried to and fro. It was the last day of school before the summer holidays, and the sun beat down, bleaching his blond hair even lighter. Dean wasn’t paying attention to the weather though. He was watching the ants. Ants were kinda cool. He wondered if his dad would let him have an ant farm, like the one in the science classroom, but regretfully decided that the answer would prob’ly be no. Maybe one day, when he was big, like ten or something, he could have an ant farm. He poked a bit in the dirt, then wiped his hand absently on his t-shirt, turned a colour that suspiciously resembled pink after an incident with a launderette and Sammy’s favourite red t-shirt.
A glance down the road showed that Dad was on his way, Sammy in the stroller, Dean stood up, and was just about to edge closer to the school gate (he wasn’t allowed to walk outside until Dad was actually definitely there, otherwise it was Big Trouble), when meanie Suzy walked past with her grandma, who was about a hundred years old and all wrinkly like a monkey. Suzy just walked past, but her grandma stopped and patted Dean on the head. He froze, not quite sure what to do, and looked wildly towards his father, who was making zooming noises for Sammy and not paying any attention at all to the scary lady. But after a moment she stopped, and Dean backed away quickly. Scary Lady just smiled, though, and said, “What a pretty girl!” Dean stared, aghast, as meanie Suzy laughed out loud, and ran to his father.
“Dad, can you cut my hair?” Dad stared at him sort of funny, then fiddled with his hair, and finally nodded.
“Sure thing, Dean. Do it when we get home?” Dean nodded, relieved. Sammy laughed, and Dean bent down and gave him the Super Strength Big Brother Glare With Lasers. Sammy might still be little, but big brothers had to make sure they didn’t get out of line. And Dean was the best big brother. He definitely wasn’t a girl.
[3]
“Hey, Winchester, c’mon over here!” Panting slightly, Dean Winchester ran over to where Coach McGee stood, clipboard in one hand. Most of the other boys in the class had headed towards the locker room; a few remained, clustered round the coach, most of them on the football team. Coach McGee nodded approvingly at the new student. He was quick, smart and determined. Good athlete. Potential there. Still had some growing to do - kid was a bit on the skinny side - but definite potential. He tucked the clipboard under one arm, and clapped Winchester on the shoulder.
“You did good today,” he said gruffly. “Team’s practising tonight after school. You want to come along?” Winchester’s eyes lit up, and the coach grinned. It never failed to give him a kick, making the offer. Some of the kids never quite made the standard, but a lot of them did, and it was exciting, finding new talent. But then, to his surprise, Winchester dropped his gaze, and shook his head.
“I can’t, Coach, sorry,” he said, scuffing one shoe against the other. “Uh, thanks, for the offer.”
“Well, do you want to take some time to think about it, son?” the coach said, taken aback at Winchester’s refusal, but the kid just shook his head.
“I have to take care of my brother,” he said softly, straightening a little, looking McGee in the eye, and the coach nodded. The other boys weren’t as understanding.
“Chicken, Winchester?”
“Hey, Winchester’s a girl!”
Dean Winchester didn’t say anything, but looked at them in disgust, and as he walked back towards the locker-room, Coach McGee thought he heard “fucking assholes!” floating towards them. He shook his head. Shame about the kid. Would have made a good football player.
[4]
“I’m not wearing a fucking bra.”
“OK.”
“I mean, what’s with those things? Goddamn torture chambers.”
“I said OK, Dean.”
“And panties! I hate panties! What’s wrong with God’s honest boxers?”
“You could’ve worn your…”
“No. I couldn’t.”
“Well…”
“They fell off.”
“Aw, Dean!”
“Dude. Shut. The fuck. Up.”
“Oh, c’mon, man, you have to admit this has a certain… poetic justice to it.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Look, I… Dean, what are you doing!!”
“Scratchin’.”
“You can’t do that in public! You’ve got… girl parts.”
“Aw, you can say it, Sam. I’ve got tits.”
“Yeah, and you don’t need to show ‘em to everyone!”
“Sam, will you just chill?”
“Me? Me? You were the one having some kind of breakdown this morning!”
“Oh, really? You think? See how you react when you wake up in the morning WITHOUT A DICK!”
“I would have been a hell of a lot calmer than you.”
“You know, you’re right.”
“Uh? I am? Yeah. Thank you.”
“You’re such a pussy anyway, nobody would’ve noticed the change.”
“I hate you.”
“Sammy! Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you shouldn’t be mean to girls?”
“You’re sick.”
“Nope. I’m hot.”
[5]
Sam Winchester lay in the narrow bed in Bobby’s spare room, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with the day’s events. Or… no, it was longer than a day. He’d just spent part of it being dead. You know. As you did. He sighed, and rolled over, trying to sleep, trying not to think about what had happened; what had still to happen. What Dean had done. He rolled back over onto the other side. Yeah, like ‘not thinking’ was going to happen anytime soon. He sighed. Again. Then a muffled sound brought him up on one elbow, his eyes trying to make out Dean in the grey gloom of the night. The noise came again, and Sam realised with a painful lurch that it was Dean.
Dean was crying.
It wasn’t something Sam was used to, and he didn’t know how to react. A tear here or there, yeah, OK, that had happened. But actual crying? He couldn’t remember the last time. What should he do? Pretend to go on sleeping, give Dean his privacy? Or try and comfort him - be the big brother for once? He stayed still, propped up on his elbows, indecisive. But Dean didn’t stop, and as his breath began to catch on his sobs, Sam couldn’t take it anymore, and he slipped out of bed, and knelt beside Dean, one hand gingerly resting on his brother’s back.
“Hey man,” he said softly, rubbing small circles. “It’s OK. It’s going to be OK.” His presence didn’t seem to have much effect, so he sat up on the bed, pushing against Dean a little with his hip, resting his hand more heavily against him. “C’mon, Dean, we’ll sort this…” He broke off as Dean sat up, twisted around and, in a display of emotion a stunned Sam didn’t think he’d seen since they were both small children, threw his arms round Sam and held tight, crying into his shoulder. Sam froze for a moment, then relaxed, and let Dean take what comfort he needed, murmuring reassurances into his hair and hugging him, amazed beyond words that he was actually being given this opportunity to help Dean.
Eventually the storm subsided, and a shame-faced Dean pulled away, swiping inelegantly at his face.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he muttered, not lifting his head to look at Sam. Sam just nodded sympathetically, and patted Dean on the arm.
“Hey, dude, you needed to let it…”
“Sammy. C’mon. No chick flick moments.” Sam stared in disbelief at Dean’s defensive expression, red-rimmed hazel eyes and pale, tear-stained cheeks all the proof needed of his elder brother’s crying fit. He laughed.
“No chick flick moments? Are you for real?”
“Whatever. Go to sleep.” Sam grinned as he slid off Dean’s bed, watching as his brother hunched the blankets around him.
“Dean Winchester, you are such a girl!”
Author: chaletian
Rating: PG-13 for language, I suppose
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam, Mary, John
Summary: A bit of wee!chesters, a bit of teen!chesters, a tiny bit of gender-switch, a bit of crack, a bit of humour and a bit of angst. Tiny AHBL spoiler.
[1]
Mary poked the contents of the pan, her expression suspicious. She ran a finger down the recipe propped up against the cookie jar and her suspicions were confirmed. Coq au vin was not supposed to look like this. Goddamn French cooking. So it was her and John’s anniversary - so what? They could have gone to a restaurant like anyone else. Get someone in to babysit Dean, go off for a romantic meal, come back. Maybe take the romance on to the next step. That would have been a plan. The saucepan gave a sullen burp, and Mary grimaced at it. But no. She had decided that a nice, romantic meal in their own home would be an idea. Yeah. She could be stupid sometimes.
She sighed deeply, and went over the steps that had led to the brown burping. Maybe it would be salvageable. Maybe she could fix it. A strange smell suddenly permeated the kitchen. Huh. Maybe she could get take out. Deciding that the coq au vin was now officially a non-starter, Mary swung the pan off the hob, and had turned towards the trash when she stopped suddenly, narrowly avoiding dropping the pan on the floor.
“Great. Aunt. Jemima,” she said slowly, as her brain processed the sight in front of her. Her three year old son stood before her, beaming happily as little hands clutched her lace shawl tightly around his shoulders. Dean, her macho little Dean, who liked nothing better than trailing round after his daddy in their garage, nodding solemnly as John explained what he was doing, was wearing, in addition to the lace shawl, a pair of high heels and the jaunty straw hat she had worn to the last 4th of July picnic. And either he had been clawed to death by a raven, or that was her reddest lipstick scrawled all over his face.
“Like you, Mommy,” announced Dean cheerfully, as he shuffled his way towards her. Mary sincerely hoped that she had never quite looked like that and, as Dean made heavy weather of the heels, gave up a fervent prayer of thanks to whoever it was who guarded over little boys coming down stairs in their mothers’ shoes. As he reached her, he lifted his arms up, the shawl slipping to the floor. Mary put the pan on the table, bent down, rescued the shawl and picked up her son, lifting him to rest on her hip. Eye to eye, mother and son looked at each other.
“Pretty Mommy,” said Dean, pre-emptively, and patted her cheek.
“Pretty Dean,” Mary replied dryly, leaning back to inspect him more closely. Bright hazel eyes shone out of a freckled and lipstick-smeared face, and she couldn’t help but smile, and hug him closer, uncaring as lipstick stained her sweater and the coq au vin pan slowly scorched the kitchen table.
[2]
Dean Winchester crouched by the school gates, intently observing a colony of ants as they scurried to and fro. It was the last day of school before the summer holidays, and the sun beat down, bleaching his blond hair even lighter. Dean wasn’t paying attention to the weather though. He was watching the ants. Ants were kinda cool. He wondered if his dad would let him have an ant farm, like the one in the science classroom, but regretfully decided that the answer would prob’ly be no. Maybe one day, when he was big, like ten or something, he could have an ant farm. He poked a bit in the dirt, then wiped his hand absently on his t-shirt, turned a colour that suspiciously resembled pink after an incident with a launderette and Sammy’s favourite red t-shirt.
A glance down the road showed that Dad was on his way, Sammy in the stroller, Dean stood up, and was just about to edge closer to the school gate (he wasn’t allowed to walk outside until Dad was actually definitely there, otherwise it was Big Trouble), when meanie Suzy walked past with her grandma, who was about a hundred years old and all wrinkly like a monkey. Suzy just walked past, but her grandma stopped and patted Dean on the head. He froze, not quite sure what to do, and looked wildly towards his father, who was making zooming noises for Sammy and not paying any attention at all to the scary lady. But after a moment she stopped, and Dean backed away quickly. Scary Lady just smiled, though, and said, “What a pretty girl!” Dean stared, aghast, as meanie Suzy laughed out loud, and ran to his father.
“Dad, can you cut my hair?” Dad stared at him sort of funny, then fiddled with his hair, and finally nodded.
“Sure thing, Dean. Do it when we get home?” Dean nodded, relieved. Sammy laughed, and Dean bent down and gave him the Super Strength Big Brother Glare With Lasers. Sammy might still be little, but big brothers had to make sure they didn’t get out of line. And Dean was the best big brother. He definitely wasn’t a girl.
[3]
“Hey, Winchester, c’mon over here!” Panting slightly, Dean Winchester ran over to where Coach McGee stood, clipboard in one hand. Most of the other boys in the class had headed towards the locker room; a few remained, clustered round the coach, most of them on the football team. Coach McGee nodded approvingly at the new student. He was quick, smart and determined. Good athlete. Potential there. Still had some growing to do - kid was a bit on the skinny side - but definite potential. He tucked the clipboard under one arm, and clapped Winchester on the shoulder.
“You did good today,” he said gruffly. “Team’s practising tonight after school. You want to come along?” Winchester’s eyes lit up, and the coach grinned. It never failed to give him a kick, making the offer. Some of the kids never quite made the standard, but a lot of them did, and it was exciting, finding new talent. But then, to his surprise, Winchester dropped his gaze, and shook his head.
“I can’t, Coach, sorry,” he said, scuffing one shoe against the other. “Uh, thanks, for the offer.”
“Well, do you want to take some time to think about it, son?” the coach said, taken aback at Winchester’s refusal, but the kid just shook his head.
“I have to take care of my brother,” he said softly, straightening a little, looking McGee in the eye, and the coach nodded. The other boys weren’t as understanding.
“Chicken, Winchester?”
“Hey, Winchester’s a girl!”
Dean Winchester didn’t say anything, but looked at them in disgust, and as he walked back towards the locker-room, Coach McGee thought he heard “fucking assholes!” floating towards them. He shook his head. Shame about the kid. Would have made a good football player.
[4]
“I’m not wearing a fucking bra.”
“OK.”
“I mean, what’s with those things? Goddamn torture chambers.”
“I said OK, Dean.”
“And panties! I hate panties! What’s wrong with God’s honest boxers?”
“You could’ve worn your…”
“No. I couldn’t.”
“Well…”
“They fell off.”
“Aw, Dean!”
“Dude. Shut. The fuck. Up.”
“Oh, c’mon, man, you have to admit this has a certain… poetic justice to it.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Look, I… Dean, what are you doing!!”
“Scratchin’.”
“You can’t do that in public! You’ve got… girl parts.”
“Aw, you can say it, Sam. I’ve got tits.”
“Yeah, and you don’t need to show ‘em to everyone!”
“Sam, will you just chill?”
“Me? Me? You were the one having some kind of breakdown this morning!”
“Oh, really? You think? See how you react when you wake up in the morning WITHOUT A DICK!”
“I would have been a hell of a lot calmer than you.”
“You know, you’re right.”
“Uh? I am? Yeah. Thank you.”
“You’re such a pussy anyway, nobody would’ve noticed the change.”
“I hate you.”
“Sammy! Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you shouldn’t be mean to girls?”
“You’re sick.”
“Nope. I’m hot.”
[5]
Sam Winchester lay in the narrow bed in Bobby’s spare room, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with the day’s events. Or… no, it was longer than a day. He’d just spent part of it being dead. You know. As you did. He sighed, and rolled over, trying to sleep, trying not to think about what had happened; what had still to happen. What Dean had done. He rolled back over onto the other side. Yeah, like ‘not thinking’ was going to happen anytime soon. He sighed. Again. Then a muffled sound brought him up on one elbow, his eyes trying to make out Dean in the grey gloom of the night. The noise came again, and Sam realised with a painful lurch that it was Dean.
Dean was crying.
It wasn’t something Sam was used to, and he didn’t know how to react. A tear here or there, yeah, OK, that had happened. But actual crying? He couldn’t remember the last time. What should he do? Pretend to go on sleeping, give Dean his privacy? Or try and comfort him - be the big brother for once? He stayed still, propped up on his elbows, indecisive. But Dean didn’t stop, and as his breath began to catch on his sobs, Sam couldn’t take it anymore, and he slipped out of bed, and knelt beside Dean, one hand gingerly resting on his brother’s back.
“Hey man,” he said softly, rubbing small circles. “It’s OK. It’s going to be OK.” His presence didn’t seem to have much effect, so he sat up on the bed, pushing against Dean a little with his hip, resting his hand more heavily against him. “C’mon, Dean, we’ll sort this…” He broke off as Dean sat up, twisted around and, in a display of emotion a stunned Sam didn’t think he’d seen since they were both small children, threw his arms round Sam and held tight, crying into his shoulder. Sam froze for a moment, then relaxed, and let Dean take what comfort he needed, murmuring reassurances into his hair and hugging him, amazed beyond words that he was actually being given this opportunity to help Dean.
Eventually the storm subsided, and a shame-faced Dean pulled away, swiping inelegantly at his face.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he muttered, not lifting his head to look at Sam. Sam just nodded sympathetically, and patted Dean on the arm.
“Hey, dude, you needed to let it…”
“Sammy. C’mon. No chick flick moments.” Sam stared in disbelief at Dean’s defensive expression, red-rimmed hazel eyes and pale, tear-stained cheeks all the proof needed of his elder brother’s crying fit. He laughed.
“No chick flick moments? Are you for real?”
“Whatever. Go to sleep.” Sam grinned as he slid off Dean’s bed, watching as his brother hunched the blankets around him.
“Dean Winchester, you are such a girl!”