fic: somewhere in between (supernatural; dean, girl!sam, gen, au)
I don't know that anyone's actually interested in this, but this was the scene I wrote that ended up inspiring Beggars Would Ride - it doesn't actually fit in the original AU, and obviously things went differently in Beggars, but I do like how sibling-y they are in it.
somewhere in between
Supernatural; Dean and girl!Sam; AU; gen; 1,120 words
Growing up sucks.
Sam's nowhere to be found when Dean comes home. She's taken to locking herself in the bedroom she insists is hers alone, and it's not like Dean spends many nights at home these days anyway, not with two girlfriends to juggle in between hunts. He remembers fifteen pretty vividly, so it's not like he doesn't know what she's doing in there, because he doesn't really believe it's that different for girls. At least, not the girls he knows. But it's one of those things he does his best not to think about, like the first time she got her period and they'd all freaked out until they'd realized what was going on. Dad had sent him to Walgreens to buy maxipads ("Are you gonna show her how to use tampons?" Dad had growled when he'd mentioned it, and that had been the end of that idea) and he'd charmed this hot chick into helping him pick out what would be appropriate by explaining how his kid sister had just gotten her first period and he had no clue what to do, and if he very carefully didn't explain that their mother was dead, because that was the one thing he'd never used to get sympathy or get laid, well, she hadn't asked. The cashier had smiled at him as well, and it was then that he realized chicks dig a guy who will buy their girly crap without blushing, and really, it isn't any scarier than facing down a banshee.
The door to the bedroom is open, though, and Sam is curled up on the bed, face pressed to her knees and shoulders shaking like she's crying. Shit.
"Sammy?" He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, hey, Sammy, what's wrong?"
She looks up at him, sniffling and scrubbing at her face with her hands. "You'll think it's stupid," she says, which means it's probably something about school, and he'll have to pretend he understands why she cares so much about grades and shit.
"Scoot over." He plants himself on the bed next to her, wraps an arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close. "Somebody picking on you?" She shakes her head. "Teacher say something stupid?" Another shake. "Then what?"
"There's this boy," she starts, then buries her face against his chest. He feels his stomach drop because, shit, she's so not old enough for that yet, won't be for, well, a really long time if he has anything to say about it.
"Don't you know you're not allowed to talk to boys?" he jokes, trying not to tense up. He knows Dad had the birds-and-bees talk with her when she was ten (Dad had sent him out to run wind sprints, but she'd told him all about it afterwards, her face disbelieving and disgusted), but she hasn't really shown any interest in anyone before now, so it hasn't come up again. He and Dad both are grateful for that.
She pulls back, frowns at him, mouth turned down and forehead creased. "I knew you would laugh."
"I'm not laughing. Not even on the inside."
She looks at him, head cocked, all serious Sammy-face, trying to gauge whether he's lying or not. He must past the test, because she says, "His name's Tommy. We've been studying together during our free period. Today, they announced there's going to be a spring semi-formal. And I thought, I don't know, I thought he might want to go with me, so I asked him--"
"You asked him?"
"You always say--"
Fuck. "Sammy, honey, I'm probably not the best example--"
She stares at him in disbelief. "Dad always says, 'Watch what Dean does. Do what Dean does.'"
"Yeah, for hunting. Not for...this." Fuck. "Look, it's not fair, and it's not right, but there are names for girls who--and I don't want them to say that shit about you--"
"I'm not a slut, Dean!" Which probably shouldn't sting, but does for some reason. "I mean, not that you are--"
"Oh, I am," he says, laughing, though he's not finding any of this funny anymore.
"Whatever." She shakes her head. "Look, I asked, and he said no, and no one's ever going to like me." Her voice rises shrilly. "And I've never even been kissed! How can I be a slut?"
He rubs his hand over her arm, squeezing lightly. "You're only fifteen. You've got plenty of time. Like, when you're thirty. Thirty's a good age. You can kiss anyone you want when you're thirty."
She rolls her eyes, unamused by his bullshit. God, fifteen-year-olds are such serious little fuckers. "Dean."
"What?"
"Jenna Clark's already gone all the way, and Kim Harris went down on half the football team."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I do not want to hear this," he says, pulling away and standing up. "You need to stop hanging around with those girls."
"In two years, you'll be hanging around with those girls, Dean."
"First of all, I am so over high school chicks, and in two years--hell, in two months--we'll be out of this godforsaken town--"
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, okay, I do, but that's not the point." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'll tell you a secret, okay?"
She folds her arms across her chest, and she's not flat anymore, and he really wishes he hadn't noticed that, because it means those squeaky-voiced little fuckers in her class, with their hungry, gropy hands and desperate, eager dicks, probably have as well.
"Okay," she says, body language saying, this better be good.
"Teenage boys are stupid. They will say and do anything to get into your pants."
She snorts. "That's not a secret."
He holds up a hand. "Lemme finish. The thing is, most guys will go for the obvious, easy lay. A girl like you, Sam, you're a lot of work. Study dates and dancing and meeting me and Dad--you think we're gonna let just any schmuck take you out?" She snorts again, shakes her head. "Also, you're smart and cute, and that's scary to some pimply fifteen-year-old who just figured out how to work his dick."
She's smiling now, and blushing a little, and he sighs in relief.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Just give it time. That Tommy kid is going to kick himself when he realizes what he passed up."
She gets up off the bed and hugs him. She's getting tall, he thinks, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.
"Growing up sucks," she mutters into his shoulder, and he laughs.
He wishes she didn't have to learn that, but he's going to protect her from the worst of it whenever he can. "You don't know the half of it."
***
somewhere in between
Supernatural; Dean and girl!Sam; AU; gen; 1,120 words
Growing up sucks.
Sam's nowhere to be found when Dean comes home. She's taken to locking herself in the bedroom she insists is hers alone, and it's not like Dean spends many nights at home these days anyway, not with two girlfriends to juggle in between hunts. He remembers fifteen pretty vividly, so it's not like he doesn't know what she's doing in there, because he doesn't really believe it's that different for girls. At least, not the girls he knows. But it's one of those things he does his best not to think about, like the first time she got her period and they'd all freaked out until they'd realized what was going on. Dad had sent him to Walgreens to buy maxipads ("Are you gonna show her how to use tampons?" Dad had growled when he'd mentioned it, and that had been the end of that idea) and he'd charmed this hot chick into helping him pick out what would be appropriate by explaining how his kid sister had just gotten her first period and he had no clue what to do, and if he very carefully didn't explain that their mother was dead, because that was the one thing he'd never used to get sympathy or get laid, well, she hadn't asked. The cashier had smiled at him as well, and it was then that he realized chicks dig a guy who will buy their girly crap without blushing, and really, it isn't any scarier than facing down a banshee.
The door to the bedroom is open, though, and Sam is curled up on the bed, face pressed to her knees and shoulders shaking like she's crying. Shit.
"Sammy?" He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, hey, Sammy, what's wrong?"
She looks up at him, sniffling and scrubbing at her face with her hands. "You'll think it's stupid," she says, which means it's probably something about school, and he'll have to pretend he understands why she cares so much about grades and shit.
"Scoot over." He plants himself on the bed next to her, wraps an arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close. "Somebody picking on you?" She shakes her head. "Teacher say something stupid?" Another shake. "Then what?"
"There's this boy," she starts, then buries her face against his chest. He feels his stomach drop because, shit, she's so not old enough for that yet, won't be for, well, a really long time if he has anything to say about it.
"Don't you know you're not allowed to talk to boys?" he jokes, trying not to tense up. He knows Dad had the birds-and-bees talk with her when she was ten (Dad had sent him out to run wind sprints, but she'd told him all about it afterwards, her face disbelieving and disgusted), but she hasn't really shown any interest in anyone before now, so it hasn't come up again. He and Dad both are grateful for that.
She pulls back, frowns at him, mouth turned down and forehead creased. "I knew you would laugh."
"I'm not laughing. Not even on the inside."
She looks at him, head cocked, all serious Sammy-face, trying to gauge whether he's lying or not. He must past the test, because she says, "His name's Tommy. We've been studying together during our free period. Today, they announced there's going to be a spring semi-formal. And I thought, I don't know, I thought he might want to go with me, so I asked him--"
"You asked him?"
"You always say--"
Fuck. "Sammy, honey, I'm probably not the best example--"
She stares at him in disbelief. "Dad always says, 'Watch what Dean does. Do what Dean does.'"
"Yeah, for hunting. Not for...this." Fuck. "Look, it's not fair, and it's not right, but there are names for girls who--and I don't want them to say that shit about you--"
"I'm not a slut, Dean!" Which probably shouldn't sting, but does for some reason. "I mean, not that you are--"
"Oh, I am," he says, laughing, though he's not finding any of this funny anymore.
"Whatever." She shakes her head. "Look, I asked, and he said no, and no one's ever going to like me." Her voice rises shrilly. "And I've never even been kissed! How can I be a slut?"
He rubs his hand over her arm, squeezing lightly. "You're only fifteen. You've got plenty of time. Like, when you're thirty. Thirty's a good age. You can kiss anyone you want when you're thirty."
She rolls her eyes, unamused by his bullshit. God, fifteen-year-olds are such serious little fuckers. "Dean."
"What?"
"Jenna Clark's already gone all the way, and Kim Harris went down on half the football team."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I do not want to hear this," he says, pulling away and standing up. "You need to stop hanging around with those girls."
"In two years, you'll be hanging around with those girls, Dean."
"First of all, I am so over high school chicks, and in two years--hell, in two months--we'll be out of this godforsaken town--"
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, okay, I do, but that's not the point." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'll tell you a secret, okay?"
She folds her arms across her chest, and she's not flat anymore, and he really wishes he hadn't noticed that, because it means those squeaky-voiced little fuckers in her class, with their hungry, gropy hands and desperate, eager dicks, probably have as well.
"Okay," she says, body language saying, this better be good.
"Teenage boys are stupid. They will say and do anything to get into your pants."
She snorts. "That's not a secret."
He holds up a hand. "Lemme finish. The thing is, most guys will go for the obvious, easy lay. A girl like you, Sam, you're a lot of work. Study dates and dancing and meeting me and Dad--you think we're gonna let just any schmuck take you out?" She snorts again, shakes her head. "Also, you're smart and cute, and that's scary to some pimply fifteen-year-old who just figured out how to work his dick."
She's smiling now, and blushing a little, and he sighs in relief.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Just give it time. That Tommy kid is going to kick himself when he realizes what he passed up."
She gets up off the bed and hugs him. She's getting tall, he thinks, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.
"Growing up sucks," she mutters into his shoulder, and he laughs.
He wishes she didn't have to learn that, but he's going to protect her from the worst of it whenever he can. "You don't know the half of it."
***