My name is Sam -- [Part 2]
| Masterpost | Part One | Part Two | Part Three |-'-1999(MAR)-'-
Sam's first day of school rocked. He'd sat through a meeting with the principal and Dean for over an hour, so by the time the bell rang and signaled the start of classes, Sam was way more prepared than he'd been for any other school he'd ever been to. He was in every AP class he could feasibly be in, and Dean somehow talked the principal into letting Sam skip out on PE for the rest of the year because he already had all the units he needed, technically (but Sam wasn't really sure how that worked, exactly), and if Dr. Kinley, the principal, needed it, Dean could fish out a medical note excusing him.
By the time Dean picked him up that afternoon, Sam was vibrating with nervous energy, anxiety and anticipation, all wrapped up in a jumbled, mismatched package. Dean greeted him with a grin and a cup of cheap takeout coffee, but no matter how cheap and awful it was, it did the trick of relaxing Sam. Well, somewhat relaxing him. He was far too jittery.
"Ready to rock?" Dean asked.
Sam's stomach was doing cartwheels and he clutched his coffee tight. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Dean shot him a panicked look. "For real?"
"I dunno. I'm kinda…" Sam waved his hands in the air. "I feel like I'm all over the place."
"If you don't wanna do this, just say the word and I'll take us right out of here."
Sam shook his head so fast his vision went kinda blurry. "No, no!" he blurted. "I'm sure. It's not a phase. I won't grow out of it-"
"Hey, Sammy. Easy, kid. I never said you would."
Sam nodded, then drank several mouthfuls of the coffee that was just warm enough not to scald his mouth and throat as it went down. "Right. Sorry."
"Talk to me, bitch," Dean suggested, eyes on the road.
So Sam did. He just opened his mouth, and the words vomited out.
Some of it was related to the classes he'd had that day in his new school, and "it's awesome, Dean," but most was just random chitter-chatter about everything and nothing. Like, "I've just had one girlfriend, and she was totally amazing. She kissed me, like, three times and then took me to the movies," or, "I swear, Dean, the robot had laser eyes," or, "We should totally go to Europe, man," so, yeah, coherence wasn't very high on Sam's list of priorities right then. It was probably why it took Sam a long while to realize that they'd stopped driving and that the car was parked in front of a nondescript building with two rainbow flags hanging from the wall by the entrance.
Dean was looking at him, body turned toward Sam's in the car, all indulgence and soft smiles in his eyes. "Oh," Sam said.
"Wanna go inside, check things out?"
Sam nodded numbly. He was still clutching the coffee cup in his hand when Dean came around the car to get him out, and he refused to let go of it until Dean tickled him. Dean kept his hand on Sam's shoulder, grip just tight enough that it propelled him forward instead of him just stopping and standing stock-still like an idiot. The cup was tossed in the trash, and then they were inside and the secretary sitting behind the desk looked expectantly at them.
"Hey, I made an appointment with a Dr. Becket for my brother, Sam? I'm Dean Winchester."
The secretary looked between them, but Sam was too busy looking at all the posters on the walls to really pay any attention to the guy. "Of course. Dr. Becket will be with you in a couple of minutes. Why don't you sit down and wait?"
"Sounds good," Dean agreed, and so Sam was dragged along to one of the couches in the room. "You with me, Sammy?"
"If you have a pizza with radius z and thickness a, its volume is pizza," Sam blurted out.
Dean blinked. "Like, pi times z times z times a?" Sam nodded. Dean smiled. "Yeah, that's kinda cool if you're a geek, I guess."
Sam was just about to protest, because how fair was it of Dean to call him a geek when Dean knew exactly what Sam was talking about, really, when the secretary cleared his throat and announced that, "Dr. Becket will see you now; her door is open if you'll just go down the corridor to your left."
So Sam froze up a little, Dean chuckled, and next thing Sam knew, he was standing in front of a woman who was way shorter than he was, wearing glasses, graying hair and a brisk smile.
"Sam Winchester?" Sam nodded. "I'm Dr. Becket. Your brother contacted me last week." Sam nodded again, but he didn't say anything because he couldn't really remember how to speak, much less how to move so he could shake her hand.
"Hi, I'm Dean," Dean said, all smooth and easy charm, and reached out to shake her hand in Sam's stead. "To be honest, I think my brother's a little, well. Overwhelmed."
"Yes, I can see that."
"Partly my fault," Dean went on. "I kinda dropped the bomb on him yesterday, so to speak. Maybe I shoulda told him right after I spoke with you. S'just, I didn't know he didn't know there was, y'know, treatments and stuff."
"I'm not sick!" Sam burst out.
Dean started. "No, I know," he said, looking kind of worried. "You with us now, Sammy?"
Sam blinked.
Dr. Becket indicated that they should sit down, so Sam allowed himself to be led again, then just- just didn't know what to do.
"How long have you been referring to Sam as you brother, Dean?"
"Since last week. He kinda… exploded on me? Rough day at school. I guess it got to be a bit much to hold in. To be honest, I'm kinda floundering here."
"Dean's the best," Sam heard himself say. "He's just awesome."
Dr. Becket raised her eyebrows, but she was almost smiling now as she looked from Dean to Sam, so Sam took that to heart. "Did hearing about this place make you nervous, Sam?"
Sam nodded. "Oh, yeah. Big time. I didn't know. I didn't know fixing me was possible. You can fix me, right? I'm all wrong, and I. I don't want to be wrong anymore."
"How are you wrong?"
"Wrong body," Sam declared, and even though it wasn't the first time he was saying it - far from it, what with how easily Dean had taken to it - it still sent such a rush of relief and pleasure through him that Sam went all tingly inside. "I'm a guy, not a girl."
"Simple as that, is it?" she asked, and Sam nodded with a big grin.
"Totally as easy as that."
"Has it always been?"
Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Ever since I was a kid, I always hated that Dad called me a girl, or that I had to have long hair when Dean didn't. I hated that the teachers in school always made me sit with the girls when I'd rather be outside with the boys, and that I wasn't allowed to do all the sports I wanted 'cause they didn't get that I wasn't a girl. I remember wishing when I was really little that maybe someone had just made a mistake and that I'd be fixed."
"Would you say you look up to your brother?"
It was such a huge understatement that Sam didn't really have words for it. "Yeah, I think you could say that. I've probably been running after him since I was, like, four or something, trying to be exactly like him."
"Look, we didn't have a lot of money growing up, so most of the time I'd save my old clothes so that he could wear them," Dean cut in. "I think Dad brought home skirts and dresses once or twice, but Sam, well. Sam sort of refused to wear them."
"I was jealous a lot," Sam whispered then.
"Jealous of your brother?"
Sam nodded, aware that Dean looked sharply at him. "Yeah," he agreed. "I just. I thought it was so unfair that he got all the cool stuff, and I got stuck with all the lame girly stuff. I hated that no one understood that we were the same, that I wasn't a real girl. I mean, I don't think it was until I started school that I really got why boys and girls were so different, so it wasn't too bad until then, but." Sam shrugged. "Dad never bought him any stupid skirts. I hated that he tried to make me wear them because I hated that it made me different and wrong."
"Did you ever feel pressured into thinking that you were a boy even though you have a female body?"
"No, absolutely not!" Sam protested. "The opposite, if anything. Dad's always the one who's on me about being too, too boyish. Dean's never really cared."
"'Cause I'm an awesome brother," Dean added.
"You accept this facet of your brother?"
Dean smirked. "Only thing that changed were the pronouns," he declared. "He's been like this since I can remember."
At some point during their appointment, it occurred to Sam that Dr. Becket might have been a psychologist, not a real doctor, and to be honest he wasn't too sure what to make of that. Then again, he theorized, she hadn't accused him of being either a liar or confused, like that stuck up counselor Mr. Fugly Sweater had.
"How do you feel about your body, Sam?"
"Don't like it," Sam said at once.
"Why?"
"It's… wrong. Uncomfortable. I…" He shook his head and trailed off.
"Look," Dean started. "Might not be my place, but he binds his, you know." Dean made the universal sign for boobs. "And when he came out to me he said something about hating mirrors."
"Because mirrors only show reflections of our outsides?"
"Yeah, exactly," Sam agreed. "And I don't like what I see. It's not me."
"You never consult mirrors?"
Sam shrugged. "If it's just my face, then it's okay. But I can't really… No, I kinda stay away from them."
Dr. Becket cleared her throat and glanced at Dean once before turning to Sam. "Do you touch yourself when you shower?"
"Just to get clean," Sam mumbled.
"Do you ever pleasure yourself?"
Sam went beet red in under a second flat. He pointedly ignored that Dean was even in the room, much less sitting squirming in the chair next to his. "Um. Maybe if I don't think about it? Like, if I can pretend it's someone else's body?"
-'-
"I'm going to recommend further therapy for Sam, or both of you if you find that you have a hard time adjusting," Dr. Becket said to them both after one of the longest hours in Sam's life. "I would see that you do it separately, though. It's not always topics you find you want to share with your family."
"You don't say?" Dean drawled.
Dr. Becket smiled. "Oh, but I do."
"Why do I need therapy?" Sam asked.
"Why not?" Dr. Becket returned. "Transitioning is a difficult time. You'll be confused, feel unbalanced, maybe even uncertain. It's vital that we assess your state of mind before it's too late. Not to make you change your mind or make you think you're merely confused, but to make sure you're comfortable all the way through. Living with the wrong sex is difficult. You know this, Sam; you've been doing it all your life. Dean tells me you were afraid to find out why in case there was something wrong with you. Now that you know you are perfectly normal…" She shrugged. "It can be hard, knowing your dreams might be fulfilled one day. You need someone to talk to during all of this who is unbiased, and for all that your brother is… awesome, was it?" Sam smiled. "He is hardly impartial. There is also the matter of how much you want to change."
Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"
Dr. Becket pulled out a folder from one of the drawers behind the desk. "Hormone treatments are fairly non-invasive, as a rule. You are the only one who can decide how absolute you want your transition to be. Do you want chest reconstructive surgery? Do you want to remove your uterus and your ovaries? Do you want genital reconstruction surgery?"
While Sam sort of understood what it all meant in a literal sense, he couldn't really make sense of it. Yeah, he knew he wanted to be a guy, it was just. Just, well.
"Geez, I'd no idea there was that much to it. All I could pull up at the library was testosterone shots," Dean filled in, sounding only slightly less astonished than Sam felt.
"As I said: there is a lot to consider, which is why these sessions are necessary. Now. I understand you have a meeting with Dr. Cavanaugh in five minutes regarding personal issues?"
It was Dean who nodded, because Sam hadn't known they were meeting more than one doctor (or, well, that he was meeting more than one doctor).
"A suggestion?"
"You want me to wait outside," Dean drawled.
Dr. Becket smiled. "Yes." She handed the folder to Sam. "You'll find some basic information in there on what the complete transition entails. I recommend you read it and start thinking about what kind of changes you want to make. But Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Take your time. There is no rush."
-'-
They didn't spend more than just a couple of minutes in the waiting room with the nice couches. Sam handed the folder over to Dean and tried to come up with a reason for Dean to follow him into the next doctor's office as well.
"You can stop thinking about it. I'm not joining you this time."
Sam glared. "Don't read my mind, jerk. I don't want to go in there alone."
"Sam, she's probably gonna examine you. Cavanaugh is the 'your puberty's all whacked' doctor. You seriously want me to watch you naked while she checks if your bits are in order?"
Sam went white in the face. "Oh my god," he gasped. "She's gonna make me sit in one of those GYN chairs, isn't she? Dean! I don't wanna-"
"Dr. Cavanaugh is ready to see you now," the secretary announced.
"Be right there," Dean called, then turned to Sam. "Listen, Sammy. I'll be out here the entire time. She's not gonna make you do anything you're uncomfortable with, and she'll ask before she does anything, then she'll tell you exactly what she's doing, the entire time. I promise, all right? Now get going before I drag your ass there."
That didn't really make Sam feel any better. He still felt nervous as hell as he walked into Dr. Cavanaugh's room. It looked identical to Dr. Becket's, except more clinical and medical, and there was a second room farther in that Sam could only see part of through the open door. Cavanaugh was slightly younger, a bit rounder and infinitely more smiley than the other doctor, though, which kinda helped make Sam feel at ease.
"Sam Winchester?" she asked.
"Yeah. Uh. Hi." This time, he didn't need any prompting to shake the doctor's hand.
"It was your brother who booked the appointment. I understand he was a bit concerned over your development into puberty?"
"Right," Sam agreed awkwardly.
The next hour Sam spent being poked and stung with needles and prodded at in various states of undress, being asked uncomfortable questions and offering awkward answers, with Dr. Cavanaugh writing down notes and humming through it all. And just like Dean had said, she never once did anything without first asking him, and then she talked him through the entire process. When he was shown into the next room and asked to undress, Sam had a quiet, private moment of freaking out.
"I really don't want to do this," he said.
Dr. Cavanaugh looked at him kindly. "What is it that makes you most uncomfortable, Sam?"
"Everything!" Sam pointed at the bed with the stirrups. "That! I hate being- I don't-!"
"We can reschedule and have you sedated, if that would make you feel better," she offered, and Sam shuddered; that sounded even worse.
"Why do I need to…?" Sam gestured at the bed, not quite willing to actually say the words.
"You can answer questions to no end, Sam, but only your body holds the answers. We will take as many breaks as you need."
So in the end, Sam lay down in just a flimsy hospital gown, feet in the stirrups and tried not to feel exposed and violated. He squeezed his eyes shut for good measure and mostly ignored what the doctor was doing down there. Then, when she was done, she wanted to examine his breasts and made him remove the wrap that kept them suppressed. He felt more than a little frazzled by the time they made it back out to the doctor's office, where they waited for less than a minute for Dean to arrive so they could go through the results of the check-up.
"Sam is exceptionally healthy and well-trained," Dr. Cavanaugh said. "A bit undernourished, but not alarmingly so, and it's not something that is at all unusual in teenagers."
Dean nodded. "And the rest?"
"If this were a normal scenario, I would recommend kick-starting Sam's body so that puberty is back on track. We will have to wait for the lab results to come back to know for sure, but going by the preliminary and the physical examination it does not look like Sam's body is going to start menstruating any time soon. Even breast development appears halted and immature. It's not unusual; it happens, but natural progression at this point is extremely unlikely. It's all easily solved in most cases, except I understand Sam does not wish to be a woman."
"Yeah, no, he doesn't."
"Yeah, so can't you just do nothing?" Sam put in, a vaguely hopeful expression on his face. Because not having breasts larger than what he had? Never getting periods? That sounded just about perfect to him.
Dr. Cavanaugh shook her head. "We go through puberty for a reason; skipping it entirely will just lead to more complications down the road. Now, while we wait for the results to come back to me, it's my understanding that Sam will be seeing Dr. Becket for regular therapy?" Sam and Dean nodded, Sam a bit less readily than Dean. "By the end of that, hopefully Dr. Becket will have enough to judge whether or not you would benefit from testosterone treatments. That will start puberty, just not in the way your body was designed to originally."
"Different how?" Dean asked. "Like, he'll grow a beard?"
"Eventually," Dr. Cavanaugh agreed, smiling a little. "It'll halt whatever progress his body has made in terms of female development and start developing more male characteristics. Deepening of the voice, facial hair, coarser body hair. Depending on whether or not the growth plates in his long bones have fused, he may grow a little taller."
"I think he's still growing," Dean put in, glancing at Sam, who slouched a little at that.
"Sam's medical records indicate as much as well." Dr. Cavanaugh looked between them before focusing on Sam. "If you choose to undergo testosterone therapy, there are a multitude of medical and physical issues you need to be made aware of and consider. And you must remember that you are the only one who can make this choice."
-'-
Sam was quiet for most of the ride home. He had two thick folders stuffed full with information in his lap that he'd need to go through, read and consider, and he just knew Dean would do exactly the same because that was what Dean did, apparently, and it wasn't really something that should've surprised Sam the way it did initially. Dean cared, Sam knew that better than anyone, but it hadn't ever occurred to him that Dean actively went out and looked up information that could help Sam, not like that (not stuff like puberty, identity and sexuality; not gender issues or testosterone treatments). But Dean didn't push or prod or demand answers from him; he just let Sam be, which was exactly what he needed right then.
The second they got home, Sam commandeered the kitchen table and started in on his homework. The folders from the doctors' office lay neatly on the couch, out of sight but not mind. Dean went out and returned with Chinese food, and plunked one of the containers down within easy reach in front of Sam, then disappeared. The TV was turned on, but Sam tuned it out in favor of his algebra homework. While Sam worked his way through history, literature, physics and Latin, he was sort of peripherally aware of Dean working his way through crappy horror movies that involved a lot of screaming, half-naked women in wet, see-through T-shirts (okay, so he noticed some bits).
"Time for bed, Sammy," Dean announced, and Sam looked up from his books with gritty eyes.
"Huh?"
"Bedtime," Dean repeated. "C'mon. It's, like, five minutes 'til midnight and you get grumpy if you don't sleep enough."
"I'm so behind in, like, every subject, Dean," Sam complained. "I need to-"
"You always have the first week off, dude. They don't expect you to be up to date until next week, and you know it."
Sam kinda hated when Dean was logical like that, but he allowed himself to be pushed into the bathroom. Brushing his teeth and washing his face, scrubbing it clean, felt awesome and, yeah, maybe he was a lot more tired than he'd thought. By the time Sam was done, Dean was waiting for his turn. The house was quiet and dark, doors and windows locked and salted. There was a bedside lamp on in the bedroom, and Sam picked the other side so Dean could turn it off when he was done preening himself in the bathroom (because no one took longer showers than Dean).
-'-
They settled into a routine in no time at all: Sam went to school, Dean went to work. Occasionally, Sam went down to the Community Council for Adolescent Development; sometimes Dean went with him and sometimes he didn't. They didn't talk about Dad much. Sometimes Sam would walk in on Dean talking to Bobby on the phone, or Pastor Jim, or Missouri, or Caleb, or some other hunter whom Dad may or may not have been in contact with. It wasn't that Dad was missing as such, it was just that they couldn't seem to find him. The only reason they didn't freak out entirely were the occasional postcards that found their way to them, all with Dad's handwriting, most of them just saying 'safe' or 'lay low' or something similar that was just as frustrating. They took to marking down Dad's progress through the country on a map they had on the wall, based on where the postcards had been sent from. It didn't really tell them much, other than that Dad was moving from one side of the US to the other, and that he was moving a lot faster than he ever had when they were with him.
"We might as well stay," Dean said one day, sprawled out on the couch next to Sam. The TV was on, showing a documentary on meerkats that was disturbingly captivating, and they hadn't looked away for over an hour. "I mean, no way I can drag the two of us around the country when you ain't even legal, Sammy."
"I wanna finish school."
"Yeah, and that."
"Remember the case that maybe wasn't a case?"
"No."
"Well, someone drowned a couple of days ago. Third time in three weeks, now."
"Huh. Isn't that river a bit too cold for swimming?"
"I was looking into sea creatures."
"Is it Nessie?"
"Could be a selkie, maybe, or a mermaid or a water demon or an undine or something."
"You think an army of them could take over Africa?"
"Dean, are you listening to me?"
"Sure. Monsters in the river. Fascinating. Have you seen these guys? They're, like, perfect little soldiers."
-'-1999(AUG)-'-
Sam started his T therapy in April and didn't feel that much different. Except, maybe, how his voice got a little deeper after a while and how he started getting hungry, like, all the time. Then one day Dean dragged him into the bathroom, shoved a razor in his hand and told him to start shaving, dammit. They were at Bobby's at the time and Dean had taken some time off work so they could drive up to meet the man. Usually they'd stop by once a year or so, but with Dad gone since about two weeks after Dean's birthday, they hadn't had the yearly check in, so Sam had suggested that maybe they should take some time and go visit the hunter themselves.
It'd be the first time since Sam began taking T that they met up with anyone who'd known him 'before'. So yeah, Sam was distracted and jumpy and Dean was poking fun and being annoying. It took them about eleven hours to get there, as now that Sam had his license they could easily drive through the day without worrying about cops or Dean falling asleep at the wheel.
"What the hell've you kids gotten into now?" Bobby asked when they got out of the car.
"Whaddya mean?" Dean asked, grinning. "We haven't gotten in trouble in ages now."
"You don't say," Bobby drawled, but he was looking at Sam, and Sam found he couldn't stop fidgeting or even raise his head enough that he could look Bobby in the eye. Maybe, he thought, they should've told Bobby beforehand, like, on the phone or something, but it was too late to do anything about that now, because, well. They were already here.
"Yeah," Dean was saying, and then he rounded the car and slapped Sam on the back, squeezing his shoulder once before letting his hand fall away. "So, Sam is my brother."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that," Dean agreed, and his voice was about three kinds of steely and immovable. "You got a problem with that, we'll just drive straight back home again."
"Your Daddy know about this?" Bobby gestured at Sam. The scrutiny made him feel uncomfortable for the first time ever since he started with the T, and it wasn't because he was gangly and awkward and finally more guy than a girl, except for maybe how it was exactly that, because he was finally going through puberty and, right parts or not, it was awkward. Pimples weren't fun, his voice squeaking wasn't fun, aching bones weren't fun, but he absolutely loved that his puberty didn't involve tits, periods or widening hips, and that it did include something he'd always been jealous at Dean for: muscle mass (well, he'd been jealous about a lot of things when it came to Dean, but that wasn't really the point). The point was that he was a guy, not a girl, and that Bobby probably just needed to do some research on the topic; he was a hunter, after all.
"Dad ain't been around since January," Dean was saying, drawing Sam out of his thoughts. "We were kinda hoping you'd heard something about that."
Bobby pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't pretend to get this," he said, gesturing at Sam, but he didn't look outright disgusted, either, which made it all the harder to read him.
Sam shrugged. "I'm the same as always, only now I'm starting to look it."
"Yeah." Dean grinned and knuckled Sam's cheek. "Kinda liked him when he was shorter, though."
"Shut up, jerk," Sam spat and elbowed Dean in the side. Dean grunted, then went for all of Sam's ticklish spots. Sam, of course, retaliated.
"All right, you two!" Bobby growled. "Stop tussling. Come on, inside with you then and lay it out for me. Get going with you; ain't got all day."
So yeah, they were at Bobby's when Dean handed Sam a razor and showed him how to shave. Sam pretended to be annoyed through the entire process, but he couldn't deny that he felt kind of giddy about it all, too, 'cause there was no mistaking the hint of pride in Dean's eyes or the way he bragged about it to Bobby later on.
Bobby, of course, just rolled his eyes and told them to stop acting like idiots. Sam didn't fool himself into thinking that Bobby was all right with Sam being a guy, but he made an effort, at least, and Sam tried not to take it personally when he slipped up every now and then.
-'-
"So you two holed up in Colorado Springs, huh?"
"Yeah. I go to school, and Dean brings in the money. It's not ideal, exactly, but it works."
Bobby scratched his jaw. "Only time I hear from John Winchester these days is when he's got himself in a bind. Don't matter if it's with the law or some kind of supernatural freakshow."
"We get postcards," Sam said. "Dean thought about going looking for him, but…"
"But Sammy needs to finish school, and he can't do that if he needs to hold down a job as well, and I don't like the idea of splitting up and leaving him alone," Dean finished. He didn't even sound bitter about it, and Sam wasn't sure why, because even though Sam didn't particularly like hunting as such - or dislike it for that matter - Dean loved it. So yeah, Sam had never really dared ask why Dean chose to stick around with him instead of taking off to look for Dad, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.
"You boys done hunting, then?" Bobby asked, and Sam couldn't help but smile, even if Bobby kinda looked a bit surprised at hearing himself refer to the two of them as boys.
"If it's in the area, we'll take care of it over a weekend. Like, hauntings and stuff. We don't got the, the juice to go on the kind of long, cross-country hunts Dad took us on. But we keep our eyes peeled, and Sam never stops with the research, so, yeah. We're set."
"There's something in the river, I think, we just can't figure out what it is or narrow it down. It's too random."
"Could just be drownings."
"Except they're almost all women and bits of their livers were missing."
"Which, yeah, can happen if the fish start eating at you, or the wild life. Dude, you saw the forensics on the vics; they weren't pretty. There's no telling how long they'd been in the river, and there was a lot of stuff missing from them, like their eyes?"
-'-
They stayed with Bobby the rest of the week before they had to drive back home.
"Think he'll be all right with you?" Dean asked, once they'd pulled out of Sioux Falls.
Sam smiled and nodded. "Maybe, yeah. He slipped up, but he really tried, you know? I don't think he understands, but I'm guessing he'll do all kinds of research until the next time we meet."
"Yeah." Dean snorted and shook his head. "'Cause if there's someone who's an obsessive research freak, it's a goddamned hunter," he muttered.
-'-1999(SEP)-'-
Bobby called about a month later and told them to pull their heads out of their asses and look up a goddamned kappa already, then hung up.
Dad sent two postcards. The first one said 'safe', same as always. The second one held the title of a book and arrived two days later. A week after that, a letter came with a bank account number in it and the name it was filed under (Sam assumed he'd been in contact with Bobby, who'd given him his opinion on ditching his kids without a dime, but he wasn't sure).
"Well?" Sam asked when Dean came back from the bank.
"So. We've got five grand in my name," he declared, looking kind of numb. "Where the hell did Dad make that kind of money, anyway? Hustling pool?"
"I. Shit," Sam said, and Dean grinned and said, "Yeah, that about sums it up."
By then, Sam and Dean'd had their own joint account for a while, mostly consisting of whatever leftovers there were from Dean's salary, which was never much, if there was anything leftover in the first place (so maybe they technically had two joint accounts after they got Dad's letter, but since they left Dad's money where it was, they sometimes forgot about it entirely). Dean was the one who'd opened their account after Sam'd nagged him about it for a while (and they kept the account long after they probably should've stopped sharing and started up separate ones). Still, they'd been doing well enough with Dean's pay that they didn't technically need the money Dad'd sent them, and they continued to make the odd deposit or two 'just in case' into their own account. They weren't sure what that 'just in case' was, but they'd been raised to be wary, so they saved and stockpiled rather than spent and wasted.
-'-1999(OCT)-'-
Dean's boss at the garage where he worked was a former Air Force major who'd taken a liking to Dean. They didn't mind so much, because they knew when to accept some extra help, but they didn't always appreciate the extra attention that help sometimes brought with it. This guy, though, in his later forties, was really kind of impressed with Dean, especially after they ran into him while on their morning run one day.
It was something Dad had started them in on when Sam was a kid: go running, every day if possible, and stay sharp and fit. So some mornings Major Banks, as people called him, accompanied them on their typical five mile-ish run.
Some days, Dean came home grinning and bruised after work and talked about how Major Banks insisted on teaching him hand-to-hand combat, kind of like Dad used to before he went missing, and sometimes Dean dragged Sam with him when he knew Sam wasn't too busy with school. Eventually it led to Sam and Dean spending their Sunday mornings at a local shooting range, which did wonders for the (in)famous competitive Winchester streak, because when it came to the long range weapons, Sam always won. It evened out, though, because Dean took him every time they did hand-to-hand combat training these days.
Taking T meant, apparently, that Sam wasn't done growing yet, even though both his doctors and most of the reading he'd done, both on his own and with Dean, had said that he probably wouldn't grow significantly taller, because testosterone wasn't a growth hormone (Dr. Cavanaugh reckoned it was because his long bones hadn't started to fuse yet when he started taking T). So Sam was gangly and awkward and thin, and Dean was sturdy, muscled and kind of like a tank. Sam enrolled in martial arts in school in an attempt to get one over Dean, but Dean retaliated by fighting dirty.
Halfway through October, the principal called Sam and Dean in for a conference. The school's counselor was present as well as the school nurse. Dean frowned at Sam, who frowned back and shrugged; he didn't know what this was about anymore than Dean did.
They spent twenty minutes going over Sam's grades (outstanding, all As and A+s), his performance rate (zero absences) and placement tests (highest score in his age group). By the end of that, Sam felt kind of uncomfortable, but Dean was preening and looked proud as a peacock. Still, though, it didn't explain why they were talking about this with the principal, or why the nurse and the counselor were there as well. It didn't exactly make either Sam or Dean relax.
"As you can clearly see, Sam is a very well-adjusted individual."
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "He's wicked smart."
"Certainly." The principal pursed her lips, then said, "Some matters were recently brought to my attention. Regarding… Sam. I would quite like an explanation."
Sam and Dean exchanged a look, then Dean faced the principal and raised an eyebrow. "You gonna kick him out if I don't tell you what you want to know rather than the truth?"
"This is a serious matter, Dean. What would happen if everyone were to simply pretend to be the opposite sex?"
"I imagine the world'd be a happier place, for one. And two? Sam's not pretending."
"Sam's medical records-"
"Are out of date. Sammy?"
Sam shrugged. He sat on his hands to hide how much they were shaking. "I started taking testosterone shots in April," he said. "I go to that Community Council for Adolescent Development center downtown? Dean made me appointments, and I've been seeing one of their therapists since then and I have regular check-ups. I go to support groups. I've always been a guy; this is just my body catching up on that. I've been told I make people uncomfortable because I don't fit into their neatly, prearranged little boy/girl gender perceptions."
The school nurse nodded, then cleared his throat. "I was confused when I went through the records; mandatory check-ups is coming. Your file says you're supposed to be a girl."
"No," Sam disagreed. "It says I've got the body of a girl. It says nothing about who I am. This is who I am. I'm Sam Winchester, I'm sixteen years old, and I'm a guy."
"If this were to get out to your classmates-"
"How would it do that?" Sam asked. "You guys are the only ones who know."
"If you were to form a relationship with a boy," the counselor started.
Sam shook his head. "No, listen, I'm a guy, right?" The three of them looked a bit hesitant, but the principal was the first of them to nod in agreement, even if she didn't actually look convinced of the fact. "Right," Sam said anyway. "So. I'm a guy, and I'm straight. What's that mean?"
"Too much information, I think," the principal said drily.
"The center downtown's all about us being as honest as possible." Sam shrugged.
"Will you have surgery?" the nurse asked.
Sam shook his head. "Can't 'til I'm eighteen, at least. I need to finish school; I want to go to college."
"You are one of our best students," the principal allowed. "Have you started thinking about where you want to apply? Scholarships?"
"Not yet, no," Sam said, and he only darted the quickest of glances at Dean. It wasn't exactly something they'd discussed - Sam going to college. Still, Sam didn't see how Dean could be particularly surprised at the revelation either, so. "I mean, there's so much to study; so many subjects and majors. I don't even know where to start."
"Yes, quite," the principal agreed. "For the sake of my peace of mind, I would request you see the school counselor once a month. If possible, I would have you forward your medical records from the center to the school nurse."
"No," Dean said, voicing his disagreement for the first time since the meeting started. "Last school that pulled us in to have this discussion? Their counselor was not a nice guy. I won't stand for it if all you'll do is try to make Sam feel ashamed of himself, or talk him into admitting that he's just 'confused' or that it's a 'phase he'll grow out of'. If that's what you want? The answer is no. But what I can and will agree to? Have the therapist he's already seeing write out some of those notes that explain how there's nothing wrong with my brother."
The principal looked at them both. "It's a start," she finally agreed, and she only sounded a little grudging about it. "There is also the matter of Sam's gym grades."
Sam offered Dean a fake smile, then turned to the principal and said, "I want to take gym, but Dean won't let me. I already do martial arts and I'm on the track team-"
"And you can go straight home after that without detouring into the locker rooms," Dean snapped back. "Also, you take Latin when the rest of your class runs around the gym. Your schedule is full!"
The principal pulled out a paper from one of the many littering her desk. Her eyebrows went up. "The only times you don't have class is when you have lunch, Sam. In light of your situation, I'm not sure if it is a viable idea to enroll you in gym class. On the other hand, if you were prepared to do a lot of the work in your spare time, maybe we could arrange something with one of the coaches. That you are involved with both track and martial arts would indicate that you are already in good physical shape."
-'-
Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulders the second they were out of the principal's office.
"I couldn't get a reading on them," Sam said tiredly, slumping a little as he led the way to his locker.
"Yeah. Total stonefaces, the bunch of them. No one's giving you a hard time, right?"
Sam shook his head. "Just some of the teachers who think I'm holding back."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Are you holding back? Jesus, Sammy, you can't get better grades!"
"I know!" Sam exclaimed. Then, quieter, he murmured, "I kinda am. A little, maybe. I don't wanna stand out, Dean; I hate people looking at me like I'm a freak."
"'Course you're a freak, Sam," Dean said, tone light and teasing. "Wouldn't be my brother if you weren't. And seriously, you can stop growing any day now. You're like a goddamned weed."
-'-1999(DEC)-'-
They had a proper Christmas that year for the first time that Sam could remember, ever. Dean stole a tree - Sam didn't believe for a second that he'd bought it, no matter what Dean was saying - and Sam stocked up on ornaments at the local second hand stores. Winter in Colorado Springs, was cold and snowy, and they were totally caught off guard in terms of proper winter gear. Dean bitched about it, because the Impala didn't do so well in cold climates (and neither did he, for that matter), but other than that?
Other than that, it was kind of awesome.
They exchanged more or less proper gifts (porn wasn't an appropriate gift, no matter that Dean insisted it was), tried to cook something more fancy and they even tried to bake a pie. The end results weren't completely inedible, and all in all Christmas that year was one of Sam's happiest memories.
-'-2000(JAN)-'-
They caught the kappa two days after Dean's birthday. Dean charmed it into bowing down and knocking its bowl of water off its head, freezing it into position. They hadn't counted on it turning into stone, or how the bowl was sort of all slimy and disgustingly fishlike. The reports of people drowning in strange accidents tapered off, and they sent the bowl via mail to Bobby (who called them back the day he got it and cursed at them for being goddamned idiots) because they didn't know what to do with it.
A week after that, Dean went out early one Saturday morning and didn't come back until well after dark, looking kind of pale and shell-shocked at the same time. Sam spent the day pacing, worrying and cursing Dean to hell and back. In between, he called Bobby and ranted, called Missouri and ranted, and ranted at himself when he didn't know what to do anymore.
When the front door finally opened and Dean walked in, Sam flew up from the couch, heart in his throat. "Dean! Where the hell've you been?!" he demanded, scared and worried and so fucking relieved all at once. "I wake up and you're gone? You don't answer your phone, there's no note, and your car's fucking missing!"
Dean blinked. Then he stumbled over to sit on the couch. "My boss has been bugging me about this stupid test since, hell, since fucking August or something. I figured if I just ignored him he'd stop, but… Only, the bastard signs me up, tells me yesterday, then fucking guilts me into taking it, right?"
"What test?" Sam asked, eyes a little wide. Because he knew all about tests, and they usually meant that, well, if you passed? Then you were going away to, like, college or something. On the one hand? Yeah, he was fucking thrilled that Dean'd finally decided to do something with his life, other than being a hunter and a mechanic. On the other hand? He really didn't want to move. Not again, and certainly not yet. "Dean! What test?"
Dean blinked, and when he looked at Sam his eyes were too wide and too innocent. "I… You know the Air Force? They have this preparatory school, right? That test. Physical's tomorrow. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing, man."
Sam dropped down onto the couch as the air went right out of him. "Air Force?" he breathed.
"Yeah." Dean's laugh was dry and brittle. "I dunno what the fuck I'm doing anymore, Sammy."
"What do you mean?"
Dean shrugged and leaned his head back on the couch, exposing his throat and closing his eyes. "My whole life, Sammy, all I've been doing is looking out for you, right? Dad made that my only priority. Then, suddenly, you ain't a kid anymore, so I start in on making sure you escape from puberty intact. Only, you're not a girl and you wanna be a boy, so I fix all that, get you on track. I didn't finish high school; you made me get a GED 'cause you kept pushing me to be more than just some wannabe hunter.
"I don't have any dreams - I only went to school 'cause you looked up to me. When Dad was around, all I wanted was to be someone he'd be proud of, y'know? But now? These days? I don't do anything. I go to work, I come home - that's it. But I'm not an academic, Sammy. I'm not smart like you. I like to build things, fix cars. I like guns and I like fighting. I like hunting, Sam, I do, but I'm twenty-one; who'd take me seriously? It worked when we were with Dad, 'cause he had authority. But now? The two of us? I look like a college dropout, and you're in high school, man."
"Do you know why Dad left, Dean?" Sam asked then, subdued and hesitant.
Dean shook his head. "No, not really. I know he was hung up on you not looking like a real girl, but that's not why he left. My guess? He got a lead, then another lead, then another lead until it was all messed up and it was just easier to keep going rather than coming back to pick up two kids who were doing all right without him."
Sam shuffled up close to Dean. "Look, Dean," he said. "I just want you to be happy, all right? If doing this makes you happy, then I'm fine with that. Even if they're a bunch of dicks."
"It's just one year."
Sam huffed. "Yeah, and if you decide you like it, what then?"
"Another four. It's like college. I'll get a bachelor's in, like, science or something out of it. If I even get in. Oh, god, man, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore." Dean leaned forward, arms on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. "When did shit get this complicated?"
"You like guns. They have guns in the military. They have cars, right, and tanks and bombs and, oh!"
"Planes," Dean groaned. "They have fucking planes in the Air Force. Like, helicopters and fighters and shit."
"You don't like planes?" Sam asked.
"Don't sound so fucking surprised; why d'you think I drive everywhere? Planes fucking crash, man."
"And cars don't?"
Dean huffed. "Not when I'm driving."
"So do the same when you fly, idiot. Can't be that different, right? Just think how fast you can go."
"Bitch," Dean eventually muttered, and Sam grinned.
"Jerk," he said, just because, then gave Dean a real good noogie, for good measure.
It cued a wrestling match that only ended when they crashed into a wall and nearly split a lamp into pieces.
"Look, Sam," Dean panted, sprawled on the floor. "If I get in? Then I gotta live there. And I mean, yeah, it's at least in Colorado Springs, but I'd only get away on the weekends."
"Oh," Sam said. Then: "Don't take this the wrong way, okay? But I'm not really a kid and you don't gotta look after me the same way anymore."
"Sammy," Dean protested. "It'd be easier to cut all my limbs off than stop looking after you. I just can't."
"Dean…"
Dean shook his head. "Look, don't you think I know how messed up we are? I raised you, Sam. I dressed you, fed you, took you to school, to your after school projects, picked you up from your friends and whenever you hung out at some library, right? Hell, I taught you how to tie your fucking shoelaces, man! I did everything for you; taught you everything. I can't just stop, Sammy. I can't. And, man, what's most fucked up about all that? I'm four goddamned years older than you." Dean rubbed a hand over his face, and he looked so tired that it hurt Sam inside, just a little. "Dad never shoulda dropped that on me. I don't regret it; wouldn't do a thing different. But… you don't do that to your kids, you just don't. I was cooking you dinner and putting you to bed when I shoulda been out, playing football or just being a hooligan, right?"
"Right," Sam agreed, subdued, and he couldn't help but feel that maybe Dean's ever so rare private sessions with Dr. Becket ran in a wholly different direction to his own. "I appreciate it, y'know? How you always stood up for me and took all the crap from Dad 'cause I wouldn't- wouldn't conform to girl standards or whatever. But, Dean… Dad raised us like hunters, soldiers. I think I'd be all right, just one year, if you join the army."
"It's not the army," Dean protested, but he was only half-hearted about it. "It's just. You wanna go to college, don't you? Full out geekhood, amma right?"
Sam nodded. "I've already started looking at applications."
"Yeah, like I'm surprised," Dean muttered. "But if you do?"
"Yeah?"
"This year? Next year? That's all we have, then you're in a dorm somewhere and I'm alone and, fuckit, Sammy, I can't do this alone. Without you? If I don't have anything to do? I'll turn into Dad and obsess over hunting 'til you never see me again, never hear from me again. Hell, I'd probably start resenting the shit out of you for getting out while you still had the chance." Dean's laugh was self-deprecating and dry. "I'm pretty messed up, to tell the truth."
"Dean," Sam said, feeling conflicted and hurt and worried, and so, so confused, that he didn't know what the proper words were to make this right for Dean - for either one of them.
"You know your only hope of going to college is by scholarship, right? Even if I work my ass off 'til you go I won't make nearly enough money to pay that off."
"I'd never ask you to do that," Sam protested, eyes wide. "Look, Dean, to me? You being happy is the most important thing. Whatever you think you owe me or, or think you feel obligated to do for me? I feel the same way about you. I'd hate myself forever if I held you back from being the best fucking Air Force officer there ever was. 'Cause you're my brother, Dean, and you're awesome."
"And you're a goddamned freaky sap," Dean snapped back.
"Jerk." Sam grinned, only half-hiding behind his fringe that was growing too long again.
Dean slapped the back of his head. "Bitch."
-'-
The next day, Dean went out with the sun and came back long after it'd set. He was way more exhausted than he'd been the day before, and he stumbled into the bathroom, then fell over into bed. Sam didn't disturb him until half an hour before they had to leave for school and work respectively on Monday, and then only once he had a cup of coffee in his hand to lure Dean out of bed and into the kitchen with.
"Sammy?" Dean groaned.
Sam rolled his eyes and placed a piece of toast into Dean's blindly searching hand. "The big, bad Air Force wear you out, Dean?" Sam asked, and there was only a mild hint of mocking in his tone.
"Bitch. I fucking owned them," he mumbled. "I was awesome."
"Of course you were."
-'-2000(MAY)-'-
Sam's birthday brought two things: The first one was Dean's admittance letter to the preparatory Air Force Academy. The second one was a set of keys of his own to the Impala (Dean denied that it had been a birthday gift whenever questioned on the topic, and maintained that the gift-wrapped strap-on Sam had shoved down the back of Dean's trousers the second he opened the package had been the 'real gift').
Sam had enough going on with school, after school activities and group sessions at the center downtown as well as regular private therapy, all of which kept him plenty busy. Dean's skin started to crawl sometime midway through April, the kind of itch that said he'd been stationary for far too long, and he started to stay out far later than usual on the weekends when he went bar trawling.
Then there were the hunts.
It'd been well over a year since they'd last seen their dad. Yeah, Sam missed the man, of course he did, but so far his year had been way more tumultuous than Dean's, no matter that he'd had to get used to having a brother instead of a sister. It was Sam's body that the T was reshaping, it was Sam who went to school, and it was Sam who had to deal with it all. Sam who got bigger feet and wider hands and broader shoulders and a square jaw; it was Sam who changed in all the physical ways. But it was Dean who started looking for hunts in a way they hadn't for more than a year now, all grabby hands and snappy words, because change was coming and Dean'd never done well with changes that affected the routine he had going for himself. Hunting was familiar; it was routine, and monsters followed patterns when nothing else did.
Sam figured it was Dean's way of dealing as July loomed closer and closer, and with it his departure for the Air Force prep school.
For two months straight they went on a hunt every single weekend. If Sam didn't have time to do all the research, then Dean did it, and they did all right. By the time Dean came out of his funk there probably wasn't a single ghost left in the region around Colorado Springs, CO.
-'-2000(JUL)-'-
That year, on the second of July, at age seventeen, Sam became a legal adult in the eyes of the law. Dean was put in all the places where emergency contacts, next of kin, closest living relative, family member and so on and so forth were needed, asked for or required. Dean had quit his job when Sam's school let out for the year, and they spent most of the time between the end of Sam's school and the start of Dean's on the road, just the two of them, kind of like they used to do before, only Dad wasn't around.
They slept in dodgy motel rooms they paid for using credit cards they'd scammed for. They ate lousy diner food and drove out to see the Californian ocean. They walked around in San Francisco, CA, banished a poltergeist in Haven, MA, checked in with Bobby for a couple of days, then drove out to meet Missouri for the first time in years (and no one was really surprised that she'd already known all about Sam), then decided to go visit Pastor Jim while they were at it (Pastor Jim didn't really take it better or worse than Bobby had, initially, he was just more… religious and reserved about it, which didn't really make either Sam or Dean able to figure out if he was okay with Sam or not).
Dean made sure they both had functioning cell phones, forwarded their new numbers to the few people they trusted to have them, plus Sam's school and his doctors, then disconnected the landline to the little bungalow that had become home sometime during the period of little over a year that they'd lived there. Dean tried to talk Sam into talking Dean out of going to school at least once a day, and Sam refused to let Dean talk him into talking Dean out of going to school at least just as often.
On the twentieth, Dean left for the Air Force, and Sam was alone for the first time in his life. Sam followed him around the base the day he went in, taking in the place Dean would be spending his next ten months at, sort of, for the first time. He knew a lot of tourists came by to the Air Force Academy every year, but Sam and Dean never had. Together, they sat on a bench and stared at the registrations office for over an hour.
"I don't have to go," Dean said.
"Yeah, Dean, you kinda do," Sam argued, voice soft. "Five years down the line? Ten? You'd never forgive me if you were still working lousy jobs in a garage somewhere, or off hunting alone, and you know it."
"Still, I don't have to fucking like it, ditching you like this."
"You're not ditching me, Dean. Dad raised us to be hunters; I can take care of myself. You'll be the best cadet the prep school ever saw, and you'll come home every weekend. We'll call. I'll write letters and be geeky and needy. I'll sit in the car for hours and wish I wasn't the one driving it-"
"Christ, Sammy," Dean cursed and hugged him. Sam clutched at his brother and didn't ever want to let go. But he had to, of course, because then the bell rang and other new cadets started turning up, and then, well. Then there was really no point in putting it off any longer.
Sam watched Dean walk away until he couldn't stand to see Dean's back and the back of his head anymore as he left Sam's world to become part of a new one that Sam wasn't privy to, not yet, and maybe never would be.
Afterward, he sat in the Impala and stared at the Air Force building in front of him. The car was quiet and still. Dean's annoying music wasn't blaring, no one was yammering on about hot waitresses or shady characters from any number of the weird shows Dean followed on TV. There wasn't anyone (Dean) to tease him or ruffle his hair or just be such a fucking nuisance that Sam wanted to hit someone (Dean).
He might have cried that night, as he tried to sleep in a room that was too empty and too quiet, but if he did then he'd never admit that to anyone, ever, not even under pain of death (and especially not to Dean, even though he was under no illusion that Dean didn't already know, somehow [possibly because he'd maybe cried, too, but Sam never asked and Dean never said]).
Continue
Sam's first day of school rocked. He'd sat through a meeting with the principal and Dean for over an hour, so by the time the bell rang and signaled the start of classes, Sam was way more prepared than he'd been for any other school he'd ever been to. He was in every AP class he could feasibly be in, and Dean somehow talked the principal into letting Sam skip out on PE for the rest of the year because he already had all the units he needed, technically (but Sam wasn't really sure how that worked, exactly), and if Dr. Kinley, the principal, needed it, Dean could fish out a medical note excusing him.
By the time Dean picked him up that afternoon, Sam was vibrating with nervous energy, anxiety and anticipation, all wrapped up in a jumbled, mismatched package. Dean greeted him with a grin and a cup of cheap takeout coffee, but no matter how cheap and awful it was, it did the trick of relaxing Sam. Well, somewhat relaxing him. He was far too jittery.
"Ready to rock?" Dean asked.
Sam's stomach was doing cartwheels and he clutched his coffee tight. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Dean shot him a panicked look. "For real?"
"I dunno. I'm kinda…" Sam waved his hands in the air. "I feel like I'm all over the place."
"If you don't wanna do this, just say the word and I'll take us right out of here."
Sam shook his head so fast his vision went kinda blurry. "No, no!" he blurted. "I'm sure. It's not a phase. I won't grow out of it-"
"Hey, Sammy. Easy, kid. I never said you would."
Sam nodded, then drank several mouthfuls of the coffee that was just warm enough not to scald his mouth and throat as it went down. "Right. Sorry."
"Talk to me, bitch," Dean suggested, eyes on the road.
So Sam did. He just opened his mouth, and the words vomited out.
Some of it was related to the classes he'd had that day in his new school, and "it's awesome, Dean," but most was just random chitter-chatter about everything and nothing. Like, "I've just had one girlfriend, and she was totally amazing. She kissed me, like, three times and then took me to the movies," or, "I swear, Dean, the robot had laser eyes," or, "We should totally go to Europe, man," so, yeah, coherence wasn't very high on Sam's list of priorities right then. It was probably why it took Sam a long while to realize that they'd stopped driving and that the car was parked in front of a nondescript building with two rainbow flags hanging from the wall by the entrance.
Dean was looking at him, body turned toward Sam's in the car, all indulgence and soft smiles in his eyes. "Oh," Sam said.
"Wanna go inside, check things out?"
Sam nodded numbly. He was still clutching the coffee cup in his hand when Dean came around the car to get him out, and he refused to let go of it until Dean tickled him. Dean kept his hand on Sam's shoulder, grip just tight enough that it propelled him forward instead of him just stopping and standing stock-still like an idiot. The cup was tossed in the trash, and then they were inside and the secretary sitting behind the desk looked expectantly at them.
"Hey, I made an appointment with a Dr. Becket for my brother, Sam? I'm Dean Winchester."
The secretary looked between them, but Sam was too busy looking at all the posters on the walls to really pay any attention to the guy. "Of course. Dr. Becket will be with you in a couple of minutes. Why don't you sit down and wait?"
"Sounds good," Dean agreed, and so Sam was dragged along to one of the couches in the room. "You with me, Sammy?"
"If you have a pizza with radius z and thickness a, its volume is pizza," Sam blurted out.
Dean blinked. "Like, pi times z times z times a?" Sam nodded. Dean smiled. "Yeah, that's kinda cool if you're a geek, I guess."
Sam was just about to protest, because how fair was it of Dean to call him a geek when Dean knew exactly what Sam was talking about, really, when the secretary cleared his throat and announced that, "Dr. Becket will see you now; her door is open if you'll just go down the corridor to your left."
So Sam froze up a little, Dean chuckled, and next thing Sam knew, he was standing in front of a woman who was way shorter than he was, wearing glasses, graying hair and a brisk smile.
"Sam Winchester?" Sam nodded. "I'm Dr. Becket. Your brother contacted me last week." Sam nodded again, but he didn't say anything because he couldn't really remember how to speak, much less how to move so he could shake her hand.
"Hi, I'm Dean," Dean said, all smooth and easy charm, and reached out to shake her hand in Sam's stead. "To be honest, I think my brother's a little, well. Overwhelmed."
"Yes, I can see that."
"Partly my fault," Dean went on. "I kinda dropped the bomb on him yesterday, so to speak. Maybe I shoulda told him right after I spoke with you. S'just, I didn't know he didn't know there was, y'know, treatments and stuff."
"I'm not sick!" Sam burst out.
Dean started. "No, I know," he said, looking kind of worried. "You with us now, Sammy?"
Sam blinked.
Dr. Becket indicated that they should sit down, so Sam allowed himself to be led again, then just- just didn't know what to do.
"How long have you been referring to Sam as you brother, Dean?"
"Since last week. He kinda… exploded on me? Rough day at school. I guess it got to be a bit much to hold in. To be honest, I'm kinda floundering here."
"Dean's the best," Sam heard himself say. "He's just awesome."
Dr. Becket raised her eyebrows, but she was almost smiling now as she looked from Dean to Sam, so Sam took that to heart. "Did hearing about this place make you nervous, Sam?"
Sam nodded. "Oh, yeah. Big time. I didn't know. I didn't know fixing me was possible. You can fix me, right? I'm all wrong, and I. I don't want to be wrong anymore."
"How are you wrong?"
"Wrong body," Sam declared, and even though it wasn't the first time he was saying it - far from it, what with how easily Dean had taken to it - it still sent such a rush of relief and pleasure through him that Sam went all tingly inside. "I'm a guy, not a girl."
"Simple as that, is it?" she asked, and Sam nodded with a big grin.
"Totally as easy as that."
"Has it always been?"
Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Ever since I was a kid, I always hated that Dad called me a girl, or that I had to have long hair when Dean didn't. I hated that the teachers in school always made me sit with the girls when I'd rather be outside with the boys, and that I wasn't allowed to do all the sports I wanted 'cause they didn't get that I wasn't a girl. I remember wishing when I was really little that maybe someone had just made a mistake and that I'd be fixed."
"Would you say you look up to your brother?"
It was such a huge understatement that Sam didn't really have words for it. "Yeah, I think you could say that. I've probably been running after him since I was, like, four or something, trying to be exactly like him."
"Look, we didn't have a lot of money growing up, so most of the time I'd save my old clothes so that he could wear them," Dean cut in. "I think Dad brought home skirts and dresses once or twice, but Sam, well. Sam sort of refused to wear them."
"I was jealous a lot," Sam whispered then.
"Jealous of your brother?"
Sam nodded, aware that Dean looked sharply at him. "Yeah," he agreed. "I just. I thought it was so unfair that he got all the cool stuff, and I got stuck with all the lame girly stuff. I hated that no one understood that we were the same, that I wasn't a real girl. I mean, I don't think it was until I started school that I really got why boys and girls were so different, so it wasn't too bad until then, but." Sam shrugged. "Dad never bought him any stupid skirts. I hated that he tried to make me wear them because I hated that it made me different and wrong."
"Did you ever feel pressured into thinking that you were a boy even though you have a female body?"
"No, absolutely not!" Sam protested. "The opposite, if anything. Dad's always the one who's on me about being too, too boyish. Dean's never really cared."
"'Cause I'm an awesome brother," Dean added.
"You accept this facet of your brother?"
Dean smirked. "Only thing that changed were the pronouns," he declared. "He's been like this since I can remember."
At some point during their appointment, it occurred to Sam that Dr. Becket might have been a psychologist, not a real doctor, and to be honest he wasn't too sure what to make of that. Then again, he theorized, she hadn't accused him of being either a liar or confused, like that stuck up counselor Mr. Fugly Sweater had.
"How do you feel about your body, Sam?"
"Don't like it," Sam said at once.
"Why?"
"It's… wrong. Uncomfortable. I…" He shook his head and trailed off.
"Look," Dean started. "Might not be my place, but he binds his, you know." Dean made the universal sign for boobs. "And when he came out to me he said something about hating mirrors."
"Because mirrors only show reflections of our outsides?"
"Yeah, exactly," Sam agreed. "And I don't like what I see. It's not me."
"You never consult mirrors?"
Sam shrugged. "If it's just my face, then it's okay. But I can't really… No, I kinda stay away from them."
Dr. Becket cleared her throat and glanced at Dean once before turning to Sam. "Do you touch yourself when you shower?"
"Just to get clean," Sam mumbled.
"Do you ever pleasure yourself?"
Sam went beet red in under a second flat. He pointedly ignored that Dean was even in the room, much less sitting squirming in the chair next to his. "Um. Maybe if I don't think about it? Like, if I can pretend it's someone else's body?"
-'-
"I'm going to recommend further therapy for Sam, or both of you if you find that you have a hard time adjusting," Dr. Becket said to them both after one of the longest hours in Sam's life. "I would see that you do it separately, though. It's not always topics you find you want to share with your family."
"You don't say?" Dean drawled.
Dr. Becket smiled. "Oh, but I do."
"Why do I need therapy?" Sam asked.
"Why not?" Dr. Becket returned. "Transitioning is a difficult time. You'll be confused, feel unbalanced, maybe even uncertain. It's vital that we assess your state of mind before it's too late. Not to make you change your mind or make you think you're merely confused, but to make sure you're comfortable all the way through. Living with the wrong sex is difficult. You know this, Sam; you've been doing it all your life. Dean tells me you were afraid to find out why in case there was something wrong with you. Now that you know you are perfectly normal…" She shrugged. "It can be hard, knowing your dreams might be fulfilled one day. You need someone to talk to during all of this who is unbiased, and for all that your brother is… awesome, was it?" Sam smiled. "He is hardly impartial. There is also the matter of how much you want to change."
Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"
Dr. Becket pulled out a folder from one of the drawers behind the desk. "Hormone treatments are fairly non-invasive, as a rule. You are the only one who can decide how absolute you want your transition to be. Do you want chest reconstructive surgery? Do you want to remove your uterus and your ovaries? Do you want genital reconstruction surgery?"
While Sam sort of understood what it all meant in a literal sense, he couldn't really make sense of it. Yeah, he knew he wanted to be a guy, it was just. Just, well.
"Geez, I'd no idea there was that much to it. All I could pull up at the library was testosterone shots," Dean filled in, sounding only slightly less astonished than Sam felt.
"As I said: there is a lot to consider, which is why these sessions are necessary. Now. I understand you have a meeting with Dr. Cavanaugh in five minutes regarding personal issues?"
It was Dean who nodded, because Sam hadn't known they were meeting more than one doctor (or, well, that he was meeting more than one doctor).
"A suggestion?"
"You want me to wait outside," Dean drawled.
Dr. Becket smiled. "Yes." She handed the folder to Sam. "You'll find some basic information in there on what the complete transition entails. I recommend you read it and start thinking about what kind of changes you want to make. But Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Take your time. There is no rush."
-'-
They didn't spend more than just a couple of minutes in the waiting room with the nice couches. Sam handed the folder over to Dean and tried to come up with a reason for Dean to follow him into the next doctor's office as well.
"You can stop thinking about it. I'm not joining you this time."
Sam glared. "Don't read my mind, jerk. I don't want to go in there alone."
"Sam, she's probably gonna examine you. Cavanaugh is the 'your puberty's all whacked' doctor. You seriously want me to watch you naked while she checks if your bits are in order?"
Sam went white in the face. "Oh my god," he gasped. "She's gonna make me sit in one of those GYN chairs, isn't she? Dean! I don't wanna-"
"Dr. Cavanaugh is ready to see you now," the secretary announced.
"Be right there," Dean called, then turned to Sam. "Listen, Sammy. I'll be out here the entire time. She's not gonna make you do anything you're uncomfortable with, and she'll ask before she does anything, then she'll tell you exactly what she's doing, the entire time. I promise, all right? Now get going before I drag your ass there."
That didn't really make Sam feel any better. He still felt nervous as hell as he walked into Dr. Cavanaugh's room. It looked identical to Dr. Becket's, except more clinical and medical, and there was a second room farther in that Sam could only see part of through the open door. Cavanaugh was slightly younger, a bit rounder and infinitely more smiley than the other doctor, though, which kinda helped make Sam feel at ease.
"Sam Winchester?" she asked.
"Yeah. Uh. Hi." This time, he didn't need any prompting to shake the doctor's hand.
"It was your brother who booked the appointment. I understand he was a bit concerned over your development into puberty?"
"Right," Sam agreed awkwardly.
The next hour Sam spent being poked and stung with needles and prodded at in various states of undress, being asked uncomfortable questions and offering awkward answers, with Dr. Cavanaugh writing down notes and humming through it all. And just like Dean had said, she never once did anything without first asking him, and then she talked him through the entire process. When he was shown into the next room and asked to undress, Sam had a quiet, private moment of freaking out.
"I really don't want to do this," he said.
Dr. Cavanaugh looked at him kindly. "What is it that makes you most uncomfortable, Sam?"
"Everything!" Sam pointed at the bed with the stirrups. "That! I hate being- I don't-!"
"We can reschedule and have you sedated, if that would make you feel better," she offered, and Sam shuddered; that sounded even worse.
"Why do I need to…?" Sam gestured at the bed, not quite willing to actually say the words.
"You can answer questions to no end, Sam, but only your body holds the answers. We will take as many breaks as you need."
So in the end, Sam lay down in just a flimsy hospital gown, feet in the stirrups and tried not to feel exposed and violated. He squeezed his eyes shut for good measure and mostly ignored what the doctor was doing down there. Then, when she was done, she wanted to examine his breasts and made him remove the wrap that kept them suppressed. He felt more than a little frazzled by the time they made it back out to the doctor's office, where they waited for less than a minute for Dean to arrive so they could go through the results of the check-up.
"Sam is exceptionally healthy and well-trained," Dr. Cavanaugh said. "A bit undernourished, but not alarmingly so, and it's not something that is at all unusual in teenagers."
Dean nodded. "And the rest?"
"If this were a normal scenario, I would recommend kick-starting Sam's body so that puberty is back on track. We will have to wait for the lab results to come back to know for sure, but going by the preliminary and the physical examination it does not look like Sam's body is going to start menstruating any time soon. Even breast development appears halted and immature. It's not unusual; it happens, but natural progression at this point is extremely unlikely. It's all easily solved in most cases, except I understand Sam does not wish to be a woman."
"Yeah, no, he doesn't."
"Yeah, so can't you just do nothing?" Sam put in, a vaguely hopeful expression on his face. Because not having breasts larger than what he had? Never getting periods? That sounded just about perfect to him.
Dr. Cavanaugh shook her head. "We go through puberty for a reason; skipping it entirely will just lead to more complications down the road. Now, while we wait for the results to come back to me, it's my understanding that Sam will be seeing Dr. Becket for regular therapy?" Sam and Dean nodded, Sam a bit less readily than Dean. "By the end of that, hopefully Dr. Becket will have enough to judge whether or not you would benefit from testosterone treatments. That will start puberty, just not in the way your body was designed to originally."
"Different how?" Dean asked. "Like, he'll grow a beard?"
"Eventually," Dr. Cavanaugh agreed, smiling a little. "It'll halt whatever progress his body has made in terms of female development and start developing more male characteristics. Deepening of the voice, facial hair, coarser body hair. Depending on whether or not the growth plates in his long bones have fused, he may grow a little taller."
"I think he's still growing," Dean put in, glancing at Sam, who slouched a little at that.
"Sam's medical records indicate as much as well." Dr. Cavanaugh looked between them before focusing on Sam. "If you choose to undergo testosterone therapy, there are a multitude of medical and physical issues you need to be made aware of and consider. And you must remember that you are the only one who can make this choice."
-'-
Sam was quiet for most of the ride home. He had two thick folders stuffed full with information in his lap that he'd need to go through, read and consider, and he just knew Dean would do exactly the same because that was what Dean did, apparently, and it wasn't really something that should've surprised Sam the way it did initially. Dean cared, Sam knew that better than anyone, but it hadn't ever occurred to him that Dean actively went out and looked up information that could help Sam, not like that (not stuff like puberty, identity and sexuality; not gender issues or testosterone treatments). But Dean didn't push or prod or demand answers from him; he just let Sam be, which was exactly what he needed right then.
The second they got home, Sam commandeered the kitchen table and started in on his homework. The folders from the doctors' office lay neatly on the couch, out of sight but not mind. Dean went out and returned with Chinese food, and plunked one of the containers down within easy reach in front of Sam, then disappeared. The TV was turned on, but Sam tuned it out in favor of his algebra homework. While Sam worked his way through history, literature, physics and Latin, he was sort of peripherally aware of Dean working his way through crappy horror movies that involved a lot of screaming, half-naked women in wet, see-through T-shirts (okay, so he noticed some bits).
"Time for bed, Sammy," Dean announced, and Sam looked up from his books with gritty eyes.
"Huh?"
"Bedtime," Dean repeated. "C'mon. It's, like, five minutes 'til midnight and you get grumpy if you don't sleep enough."
"I'm so behind in, like, every subject, Dean," Sam complained. "I need to-"
"You always have the first week off, dude. They don't expect you to be up to date until next week, and you know it."
Sam kinda hated when Dean was logical like that, but he allowed himself to be pushed into the bathroom. Brushing his teeth and washing his face, scrubbing it clean, felt awesome and, yeah, maybe he was a lot more tired than he'd thought. By the time Sam was done, Dean was waiting for his turn. The house was quiet and dark, doors and windows locked and salted. There was a bedside lamp on in the bedroom, and Sam picked the other side so Dean could turn it off when he was done preening himself in the bathroom (because no one took longer showers than Dean).
-'-
They settled into a routine in no time at all: Sam went to school, Dean went to work. Occasionally, Sam went down to the Community Council for Adolescent Development; sometimes Dean went with him and sometimes he didn't. They didn't talk about Dad much. Sometimes Sam would walk in on Dean talking to Bobby on the phone, or Pastor Jim, or Missouri, or Caleb, or some other hunter whom Dad may or may not have been in contact with. It wasn't that Dad was missing as such, it was just that they couldn't seem to find him. The only reason they didn't freak out entirely were the occasional postcards that found their way to them, all with Dad's handwriting, most of them just saying 'safe' or 'lay low' or something similar that was just as frustrating. They took to marking down Dad's progress through the country on a map they had on the wall, based on where the postcards had been sent from. It didn't really tell them much, other than that Dad was moving from one side of the US to the other, and that he was moving a lot faster than he ever had when they were with him.
"We might as well stay," Dean said one day, sprawled out on the couch next to Sam. The TV was on, showing a documentary on meerkats that was disturbingly captivating, and they hadn't looked away for over an hour. "I mean, no way I can drag the two of us around the country when you ain't even legal, Sammy."
"I wanna finish school."
"Yeah, and that."
"Remember the case that maybe wasn't a case?"
"No."
"Well, someone drowned a couple of days ago. Third time in three weeks, now."
"Huh. Isn't that river a bit too cold for swimming?"
"I was looking into sea creatures."
"Is it Nessie?"
"Could be a selkie, maybe, or a mermaid or a water demon or an undine or something."
"You think an army of them could take over Africa?"
"Dean, are you listening to me?"
"Sure. Monsters in the river. Fascinating. Have you seen these guys? They're, like, perfect little soldiers."
-'-1999(AUG)-'-
Sam started his T therapy in April and didn't feel that much different. Except, maybe, how his voice got a little deeper after a while and how he started getting hungry, like, all the time. Then one day Dean dragged him into the bathroom, shoved a razor in his hand and told him to start shaving, dammit. They were at Bobby's at the time and Dean had taken some time off work so they could drive up to meet the man. Usually they'd stop by once a year or so, but with Dad gone since about two weeks after Dean's birthday, they hadn't had the yearly check in, so Sam had suggested that maybe they should take some time and go visit the hunter themselves.
It'd be the first time since Sam began taking T that they met up with anyone who'd known him 'before'. So yeah, Sam was distracted and jumpy and Dean was poking fun and being annoying. It took them about eleven hours to get there, as now that Sam had his license they could easily drive through the day without worrying about cops or Dean falling asleep at the wheel.
"What the hell've you kids gotten into now?" Bobby asked when they got out of the car.
"Whaddya mean?" Dean asked, grinning. "We haven't gotten in trouble in ages now."
"You don't say," Bobby drawled, but he was looking at Sam, and Sam found he couldn't stop fidgeting or even raise his head enough that he could look Bobby in the eye. Maybe, he thought, they should've told Bobby beforehand, like, on the phone or something, but it was too late to do anything about that now, because, well. They were already here.
"Yeah," Dean was saying, and then he rounded the car and slapped Sam on the back, squeezing his shoulder once before letting his hand fall away. "So, Sam is my brother."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that," Dean agreed, and his voice was about three kinds of steely and immovable. "You got a problem with that, we'll just drive straight back home again."
"Your Daddy know about this?" Bobby gestured at Sam. The scrutiny made him feel uncomfortable for the first time ever since he started with the T, and it wasn't because he was gangly and awkward and finally more guy than a girl, except for maybe how it was exactly that, because he was finally going through puberty and, right parts or not, it was awkward. Pimples weren't fun, his voice squeaking wasn't fun, aching bones weren't fun, but he absolutely loved that his puberty didn't involve tits, periods or widening hips, and that it did include something he'd always been jealous at Dean for: muscle mass (well, he'd been jealous about a lot of things when it came to Dean, but that wasn't really the point). The point was that he was a guy, not a girl, and that Bobby probably just needed to do some research on the topic; he was a hunter, after all.
"Dad ain't been around since January," Dean was saying, drawing Sam out of his thoughts. "We were kinda hoping you'd heard something about that."
Bobby pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't pretend to get this," he said, gesturing at Sam, but he didn't look outright disgusted, either, which made it all the harder to read him.
Sam shrugged. "I'm the same as always, only now I'm starting to look it."
"Yeah." Dean grinned and knuckled Sam's cheek. "Kinda liked him when he was shorter, though."
"Shut up, jerk," Sam spat and elbowed Dean in the side. Dean grunted, then went for all of Sam's ticklish spots. Sam, of course, retaliated.
"All right, you two!" Bobby growled. "Stop tussling. Come on, inside with you then and lay it out for me. Get going with you; ain't got all day."
So yeah, they were at Bobby's when Dean handed Sam a razor and showed him how to shave. Sam pretended to be annoyed through the entire process, but he couldn't deny that he felt kind of giddy about it all, too, 'cause there was no mistaking the hint of pride in Dean's eyes or the way he bragged about it to Bobby later on.
Bobby, of course, just rolled his eyes and told them to stop acting like idiots. Sam didn't fool himself into thinking that Bobby was all right with Sam being a guy, but he made an effort, at least, and Sam tried not to take it personally when he slipped up every now and then.
-'-
"So you two holed up in Colorado Springs, huh?"
"Yeah. I go to school, and Dean brings in the money. It's not ideal, exactly, but it works."
Bobby scratched his jaw. "Only time I hear from John Winchester these days is when he's got himself in a bind. Don't matter if it's with the law or some kind of supernatural freakshow."
"We get postcards," Sam said. "Dean thought about going looking for him, but…"
"But Sammy needs to finish school, and he can't do that if he needs to hold down a job as well, and I don't like the idea of splitting up and leaving him alone," Dean finished. He didn't even sound bitter about it, and Sam wasn't sure why, because even though Sam didn't particularly like hunting as such - or dislike it for that matter - Dean loved it. So yeah, Sam had never really dared ask why Dean chose to stick around with him instead of taking off to look for Dad, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.
"You boys done hunting, then?" Bobby asked, and Sam couldn't help but smile, even if Bobby kinda looked a bit surprised at hearing himself refer to the two of them as boys.
"If it's in the area, we'll take care of it over a weekend. Like, hauntings and stuff. We don't got the, the juice to go on the kind of long, cross-country hunts Dad took us on. But we keep our eyes peeled, and Sam never stops with the research, so, yeah. We're set."
"There's something in the river, I think, we just can't figure out what it is or narrow it down. It's too random."
"Could just be drownings."
"Except they're almost all women and bits of their livers were missing."
"Which, yeah, can happen if the fish start eating at you, or the wild life. Dude, you saw the forensics on the vics; they weren't pretty. There's no telling how long they'd been in the river, and there was a lot of stuff missing from them, like their eyes?"
-'-
They stayed with Bobby the rest of the week before they had to drive back home.
"Think he'll be all right with you?" Dean asked, once they'd pulled out of Sioux Falls.
Sam smiled and nodded. "Maybe, yeah. He slipped up, but he really tried, you know? I don't think he understands, but I'm guessing he'll do all kinds of research until the next time we meet."
"Yeah." Dean snorted and shook his head. "'Cause if there's someone who's an obsessive research freak, it's a goddamned hunter," he muttered.
-'-1999(SEP)-'-
Bobby called about a month later and told them to pull their heads out of their asses and look up a goddamned kappa already, then hung up.
Dad sent two postcards. The first one said 'safe', same as always. The second one held the title of a book and arrived two days later. A week after that, a letter came with a bank account number in it and the name it was filed under (Sam assumed he'd been in contact with Bobby, who'd given him his opinion on ditching his kids without a dime, but he wasn't sure).
"Well?" Sam asked when Dean came back from the bank.
"So. We've got five grand in my name," he declared, looking kind of numb. "Where the hell did Dad make that kind of money, anyway? Hustling pool?"
"I. Shit," Sam said, and Dean grinned and said, "Yeah, that about sums it up."
By then, Sam and Dean'd had their own joint account for a while, mostly consisting of whatever leftovers there were from Dean's salary, which was never much, if there was anything leftover in the first place (so maybe they technically had two joint accounts after they got Dad's letter, but since they left Dad's money where it was, they sometimes forgot about it entirely). Dean was the one who'd opened their account after Sam'd nagged him about it for a while (and they kept the account long after they probably should've stopped sharing and started up separate ones). Still, they'd been doing well enough with Dean's pay that they didn't technically need the money Dad'd sent them, and they continued to make the odd deposit or two 'just in case' into their own account. They weren't sure what that 'just in case' was, but they'd been raised to be wary, so they saved and stockpiled rather than spent and wasted.
-'-1999(OCT)-'-
Dean's boss at the garage where he worked was a former Air Force major who'd taken a liking to Dean. They didn't mind so much, because they knew when to accept some extra help, but they didn't always appreciate the extra attention that help sometimes brought with it. This guy, though, in his later forties, was really kind of impressed with Dean, especially after they ran into him while on their morning run one day.
It was something Dad had started them in on when Sam was a kid: go running, every day if possible, and stay sharp and fit. So some mornings Major Banks, as people called him, accompanied them on their typical five mile-ish run.
Some days, Dean came home grinning and bruised after work and talked about how Major Banks insisted on teaching him hand-to-hand combat, kind of like Dad used to before he went missing, and sometimes Dean dragged Sam with him when he knew Sam wasn't too busy with school. Eventually it led to Sam and Dean spending their Sunday mornings at a local shooting range, which did wonders for the (in)famous competitive Winchester streak, because when it came to the long range weapons, Sam always won. It evened out, though, because Dean took him every time they did hand-to-hand combat training these days.
Taking T meant, apparently, that Sam wasn't done growing yet, even though both his doctors and most of the reading he'd done, both on his own and with Dean, had said that he probably wouldn't grow significantly taller, because testosterone wasn't a growth hormone (Dr. Cavanaugh reckoned it was because his long bones hadn't started to fuse yet when he started taking T). So Sam was gangly and awkward and thin, and Dean was sturdy, muscled and kind of like a tank. Sam enrolled in martial arts in school in an attempt to get one over Dean, but Dean retaliated by fighting dirty.
Halfway through October, the principal called Sam and Dean in for a conference. The school's counselor was present as well as the school nurse. Dean frowned at Sam, who frowned back and shrugged; he didn't know what this was about anymore than Dean did.
They spent twenty minutes going over Sam's grades (outstanding, all As and A+s), his performance rate (zero absences) and placement tests (highest score in his age group). By the end of that, Sam felt kind of uncomfortable, but Dean was preening and looked proud as a peacock. Still, though, it didn't explain why they were talking about this with the principal, or why the nurse and the counselor were there as well. It didn't exactly make either Sam or Dean relax.
"As you can clearly see, Sam is a very well-adjusted individual."
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "He's wicked smart."
"Certainly." The principal pursed her lips, then said, "Some matters were recently brought to my attention. Regarding… Sam. I would quite like an explanation."
Sam and Dean exchanged a look, then Dean faced the principal and raised an eyebrow. "You gonna kick him out if I don't tell you what you want to know rather than the truth?"
"This is a serious matter, Dean. What would happen if everyone were to simply pretend to be the opposite sex?"
"I imagine the world'd be a happier place, for one. And two? Sam's not pretending."
"Sam's medical records-"
"Are out of date. Sammy?"
Sam shrugged. He sat on his hands to hide how much they were shaking. "I started taking testosterone shots in April," he said. "I go to that Community Council for Adolescent Development center downtown? Dean made me appointments, and I've been seeing one of their therapists since then and I have regular check-ups. I go to support groups. I've always been a guy; this is just my body catching up on that. I've been told I make people uncomfortable because I don't fit into their neatly, prearranged little boy/girl gender perceptions."
The school nurse nodded, then cleared his throat. "I was confused when I went through the records; mandatory check-ups is coming. Your file says you're supposed to be a girl."
"No," Sam disagreed. "It says I've got the body of a girl. It says nothing about who I am. This is who I am. I'm Sam Winchester, I'm sixteen years old, and I'm a guy."
"If this were to get out to your classmates-"
"How would it do that?" Sam asked. "You guys are the only ones who know."
"If you were to form a relationship with a boy," the counselor started.
Sam shook his head. "No, listen, I'm a guy, right?" The three of them looked a bit hesitant, but the principal was the first of them to nod in agreement, even if she didn't actually look convinced of the fact. "Right," Sam said anyway. "So. I'm a guy, and I'm straight. What's that mean?"
"Too much information, I think," the principal said drily.
"The center downtown's all about us being as honest as possible." Sam shrugged.
"Will you have surgery?" the nurse asked.
Sam shook his head. "Can't 'til I'm eighteen, at least. I need to finish school; I want to go to college."
"You are one of our best students," the principal allowed. "Have you started thinking about where you want to apply? Scholarships?"
"Not yet, no," Sam said, and he only darted the quickest of glances at Dean. It wasn't exactly something they'd discussed - Sam going to college. Still, Sam didn't see how Dean could be particularly surprised at the revelation either, so. "I mean, there's so much to study; so many subjects and majors. I don't even know where to start."
"Yes, quite," the principal agreed. "For the sake of my peace of mind, I would request you see the school counselor once a month. If possible, I would have you forward your medical records from the center to the school nurse."
"No," Dean said, voicing his disagreement for the first time since the meeting started. "Last school that pulled us in to have this discussion? Their counselor was not a nice guy. I won't stand for it if all you'll do is try to make Sam feel ashamed of himself, or talk him into admitting that he's just 'confused' or that it's a 'phase he'll grow out of'. If that's what you want? The answer is no. But what I can and will agree to? Have the therapist he's already seeing write out some of those notes that explain how there's nothing wrong with my brother."
The principal looked at them both. "It's a start," she finally agreed, and she only sounded a little grudging about it. "There is also the matter of Sam's gym grades."
Sam offered Dean a fake smile, then turned to the principal and said, "I want to take gym, but Dean won't let me. I already do martial arts and I'm on the track team-"
"And you can go straight home after that without detouring into the locker rooms," Dean snapped back. "Also, you take Latin when the rest of your class runs around the gym. Your schedule is full!"
The principal pulled out a paper from one of the many littering her desk. Her eyebrows went up. "The only times you don't have class is when you have lunch, Sam. In light of your situation, I'm not sure if it is a viable idea to enroll you in gym class. On the other hand, if you were prepared to do a lot of the work in your spare time, maybe we could arrange something with one of the coaches. That you are involved with both track and martial arts would indicate that you are already in good physical shape."
-'-
Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulders the second they were out of the principal's office.
"I couldn't get a reading on them," Sam said tiredly, slumping a little as he led the way to his locker.
"Yeah. Total stonefaces, the bunch of them. No one's giving you a hard time, right?"
Sam shook his head. "Just some of the teachers who think I'm holding back."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Are you holding back? Jesus, Sammy, you can't get better grades!"
"I know!" Sam exclaimed. Then, quieter, he murmured, "I kinda am. A little, maybe. I don't wanna stand out, Dean; I hate people looking at me like I'm a freak."
"'Course you're a freak, Sam," Dean said, tone light and teasing. "Wouldn't be my brother if you weren't. And seriously, you can stop growing any day now. You're like a goddamned weed."
-'-1999(DEC)-'-
They had a proper Christmas that year for the first time that Sam could remember, ever. Dean stole a tree - Sam didn't believe for a second that he'd bought it, no matter what Dean was saying - and Sam stocked up on ornaments at the local second hand stores. Winter in Colorado Springs, was cold and snowy, and they were totally caught off guard in terms of proper winter gear. Dean bitched about it, because the Impala didn't do so well in cold climates (and neither did he, for that matter), but other than that?
Other than that, it was kind of awesome.
They exchanged more or less proper gifts (porn wasn't an appropriate gift, no matter that Dean insisted it was), tried to cook something more fancy and they even tried to bake a pie. The end results weren't completely inedible, and all in all Christmas that year was one of Sam's happiest memories.
-'-2000(JAN)-'-
They caught the kappa two days after Dean's birthday. Dean charmed it into bowing down and knocking its bowl of water off its head, freezing it into position. They hadn't counted on it turning into stone, or how the bowl was sort of all slimy and disgustingly fishlike. The reports of people drowning in strange accidents tapered off, and they sent the bowl via mail to Bobby (who called them back the day he got it and cursed at them for being goddamned idiots) because they didn't know what to do with it.
A week after that, Dean went out early one Saturday morning and didn't come back until well after dark, looking kind of pale and shell-shocked at the same time. Sam spent the day pacing, worrying and cursing Dean to hell and back. In between, he called Bobby and ranted, called Missouri and ranted, and ranted at himself when he didn't know what to do anymore.
When the front door finally opened and Dean walked in, Sam flew up from the couch, heart in his throat. "Dean! Where the hell've you been?!" he demanded, scared and worried and so fucking relieved all at once. "I wake up and you're gone? You don't answer your phone, there's no note, and your car's fucking missing!"
Dean blinked. Then he stumbled over to sit on the couch. "My boss has been bugging me about this stupid test since, hell, since fucking August or something. I figured if I just ignored him he'd stop, but… Only, the bastard signs me up, tells me yesterday, then fucking guilts me into taking it, right?"
"What test?" Sam asked, eyes a little wide. Because he knew all about tests, and they usually meant that, well, if you passed? Then you were going away to, like, college or something. On the one hand? Yeah, he was fucking thrilled that Dean'd finally decided to do something with his life, other than being a hunter and a mechanic. On the other hand? He really didn't want to move. Not again, and certainly not yet. "Dean! What test?"
Dean blinked, and when he looked at Sam his eyes were too wide and too innocent. "I… You know the Air Force? They have this preparatory school, right? That test. Physical's tomorrow. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing, man."
Sam dropped down onto the couch as the air went right out of him. "Air Force?" he breathed.
"Yeah." Dean's laugh was dry and brittle. "I dunno what the fuck I'm doing anymore, Sammy."
"What do you mean?"
Dean shrugged and leaned his head back on the couch, exposing his throat and closing his eyes. "My whole life, Sammy, all I've been doing is looking out for you, right? Dad made that my only priority. Then, suddenly, you ain't a kid anymore, so I start in on making sure you escape from puberty intact. Only, you're not a girl and you wanna be a boy, so I fix all that, get you on track. I didn't finish high school; you made me get a GED 'cause you kept pushing me to be more than just some wannabe hunter.
"I don't have any dreams - I only went to school 'cause you looked up to me. When Dad was around, all I wanted was to be someone he'd be proud of, y'know? But now? These days? I don't do anything. I go to work, I come home - that's it. But I'm not an academic, Sammy. I'm not smart like you. I like to build things, fix cars. I like guns and I like fighting. I like hunting, Sam, I do, but I'm twenty-one; who'd take me seriously? It worked when we were with Dad, 'cause he had authority. But now? The two of us? I look like a college dropout, and you're in high school, man."
"Do you know why Dad left, Dean?" Sam asked then, subdued and hesitant.
Dean shook his head. "No, not really. I know he was hung up on you not looking like a real girl, but that's not why he left. My guess? He got a lead, then another lead, then another lead until it was all messed up and it was just easier to keep going rather than coming back to pick up two kids who were doing all right without him."
Sam shuffled up close to Dean. "Look, Dean," he said. "I just want you to be happy, all right? If doing this makes you happy, then I'm fine with that. Even if they're a bunch of dicks."
"It's just one year."
Sam huffed. "Yeah, and if you decide you like it, what then?"
"Another four. It's like college. I'll get a bachelor's in, like, science or something out of it. If I even get in. Oh, god, man, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore." Dean leaned forward, arms on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. "When did shit get this complicated?"
"You like guns. They have guns in the military. They have cars, right, and tanks and bombs and, oh!"
"Planes," Dean groaned. "They have fucking planes in the Air Force. Like, helicopters and fighters and shit."
"You don't like planes?" Sam asked.
"Don't sound so fucking surprised; why d'you think I drive everywhere? Planes fucking crash, man."
"And cars don't?"
Dean huffed. "Not when I'm driving."
"So do the same when you fly, idiot. Can't be that different, right? Just think how fast you can go."
"Bitch," Dean eventually muttered, and Sam grinned.
"Jerk," he said, just because, then gave Dean a real good noogie, for good measure.
It cued a wrestling match that only ended when they crashed into a wall and nearly split a lamp into pieces.
"Look, Sam," Dean panted, sprawled on the floor. "If I get in? Then I gotta live there. And I mean, yeah, it's at least in Colorado Springs, but I'd only get away on the weekends."
"Oh," Sam said. Then: "Don't take this the wrong way, okay? But I'm not really a kid and you don't gotta look after me the same way anymore."
"Sammy," Dean protested. "It'd be easier to cut all my limbs off than stop looking after you. I just can't."
"Dean…"
Dean shook his head. "Look, don't you think I know how messed up we are? I raised you, Sam. I dressed you, fed you, took you to school, to your after school projects, picked you up from your friends and whenever you hung out at some library, right? Hell, I taught you how to tie your fucking shoelaces, man! I did everything for you; taught you everything. I can't just stop, Sammy. I can't. And, man, what's most fucked up about all that? I'm four goddamned years older than you." Dean rubbed a hand over his face, and he looked so tired that it hurt Sam inside, just a little. "Dad never shoulda dropped that on me. I don't regret it; wouldn't do a thing different. But… you don't do that to your kids, you just don't. I was cooking you dinner and putting you to bed when I shoulda been out, playing football or just being a hooligan, right?"
"Right," Sam agreed, subdued, and he couldn't help but feel that maybe Dean's ever so rare private sessions with Dr. Becket ran in a wholly different direction to his own. "I appreciate it, y'know? How you always stood up for me and took all the crap from Dad 'cause I wouldn't- wouldn't conform to girl standards or whatever. But, Dean… Dad raised us like hunters, soldiers. I think I'd be all right, just one year, if you join the army."
"It's not the army," Dean protested, but he was only half-hearted about it. "It's just. You wanna go to college, don't you? Full out geekhood, amma right?"
Sam nodded. "I've already started looking at applications."
"Yeah, like I'm surprised," Dean muttered. "But if you do?"
"Yeah?"
"This year? Next year? That's all we have, then you're in a dorm somewhere and I'm alone and, fuckit, Sammy, I can't do this alone. Without you? If I don't have anything to do? I'll turn into Dad and obsess over hunting 'til you never see me again, never hear from me again. Hell, I'd probably start resenting the shit out of you for getting out while you still had the chance." Dean's laugh was self-deprecating and dry. "I'm pretty messed up, to tell the truth."
"Dean," Sam said, feeling conflicted and hurt and worried, and so, so confused, that he didn't know what the proper words were to make this right for Dean - for either one of them.
"You know your only hope of going to college is by scholarship, right? Even if I work my ass off 'til you go I won't make nearly enough money to pay that off."
"I'd never ask you to do that," Sam protested, eyes wide. "Look, Dean, to me? You being happy is the most important thing. Whatever you think you owe me or, or think you feel obligated to do for me? I feel the same way about you. I'd hate myself forever if I held you back from being the best fucking Air Force officer there ever was. 'Cause you're my brother, Dean, and you're awesome."
"And you're a goddamned freaky sap," Dean snapped back.
"Jerk." Sam grinned, only half-hiding behind his fringe that was growing too long again.
Dean slapped the back of his head. "Bitch."
-'-
The next day, Dean went out with the sun and came back long after it'd set. He was way more exhausted than he'd been the day before, and he stumbled into the bathroom, then fell over into bed. Sam didn't disturb him until half an hour before they had to leave for school and work respectively on Monday, and then only once he had a cup of coffee in his hand to lure Dean out of bed and into the kitchen with.
"Sammy?" Dean groaned.
Sam rolled his eyes and placed a piece of toast into Dean's blindly searching hand. "The big, bad Air Force wear you out, Dean?" Sam asked, and there was only a mild hint of mocking in his tone.
"Bitch. I fucking owned them," he mumbled. "I was awesome."
"Of course you were."
-'-2000(MAY)-'-
Sam's birthday brought two things: The first one was Dean's admittance letter to the preparatory Air Force Academy. The second one was a set of keys of his own to the Impala (Dean denied that it had been a birthday gift whenever questioned on the topic, and maintained that the gift-wrapped strap-on Sam had shoved down the back of Dean's trousers the second he opened the package had been the 'real gift').
Sam had enough going on with school, after school activities and group sessions at the center downtown as well as regular private therapy, all of which kept him plenty busy. Dean's skin started to crawl sometime midway through April, the kind of itch that said he'd been stationary for far too long, and he started to stay out far later than usual on the weekends when he went bar trawling.
Then there were the hunts.
It'd been well over a year since they'd last seen their dad. Yeah, Sam missed the man, of course he did, but so far his year had been way more tumultuous than Dean's, no matter that he'd had to get used to having a brother instead of a sister. It was Sam's body that the T was reshaping, it was Sam who went to school, and it was Sam who had to deal with it all. Sam who got bigger feet and wider hands and broader shoulders and a square jaw; it was Sam who changed in all the physical ways. But it was Dean who started looking for hunts in a way they hadn't for more than a year now, all grabby hands and snappy words, because change was coming and Dean'd never done well with changes that affected the routine he had going for himself. Hunting was familiar; it was routine, and monsters followed patterns when nothing else did.
Sam figured it was Dean's way of dealing as July loomed closer and closer, and with it his departure for the Air Force prep school.
For two months straight they went on a hunt every single weekend. If Sam didn't have time to do all the research, then Dean did it, and they did all right. By the time Dean came out of his funk there probably wasn't a single ghost left in the region around Colorado Springs, CO.
-'-2000(JUL)-'-
That year, on the second of July, at age seventeen, Sam became a legal adult in the eyes of the law. Dean was put in all the places where emergency contacts, next of kin, closest living relative, family member and so on and so forth were needed, asked for or required. Dean had quit his job when Sam's school let out for the year, and they spent most of the time between the end of Sam's school and the start of Dean's on the road, just the two of them, kind of like they used to do before, only Dad wasn't around.
They slept in dodgy motel rooms they paid for using credit cards they'd scammed for. They ate lousy diner food and drove out to see the Californian ocean. They walked around in San Francisco, CA, banished a poltergeist in Haven, MA, checked in with Bobby for a couple of days, then drove out to meet Missouri for the first time in years (and no one was really surprised that she'd already known all about Sam), then decided to go visit Pastor Jim while they were at it (Pastor Jim didn't really take it better or worse than Bobby had, initially, he was just more… religious and reserved about it, which didn't really make either Sam or Dean able to figure out if he was okay with Sam or not).
Dean made sure they both had functioning cell phones, forwarded their new numbers to the few people they trusted to have them, plus Sam's school and his doctors, then disconnected the landline to the little bungalow that had become home sometime during the period of little over a year that they'd lived there. Dean tried to talk Sam into talking Dean out of going to school at least once a day, and Sam refused to let Dean talk him into talking Dean out of going to school at least just as often.
On the twentieth, Dean left for the Air Force, and Sam was alone for the first time in his life. Sam followed him around the base the day he went in, taking in the place Dean would be spending his next ten months at, sort of, for the first time. He knew a lot of tourists came by to the Air Force Academy every year, but Sam and Dean never had. Together, they sat on a bench and stared at the registrations office for over an hour.
"I don't have to go," Dean said.
"Yeah, Dean, you kinda do," Sam argued, voice soft. "Five years down the line? Ten? You'd never forgive me if you were still working lousy jobs in a garage somewhere, or off hunting alone, and you know it."
"Still, I don't have to fucking like it, ditching you like this."
"You're not ditching me, Dean. Dad raised us to be hunters; I can take care of myself. You'll be the best cadet the prep school ever saw, and you'll come home every weekend. We'll call. I'll write letters and be geeky and needy. I'll sit in the car for hours and wish I wasn't the one driving it-"
"Christ, Sammy," Dean cursed and hugged him. Sam clutched at his brother and didn't ever want to let go. But he had to, of course, because then the bell rang and other new cadets started turning up, and then, well. Then there was really no point in putting it off any longer.
Sam watched Dean walk away until he couldn't stand to see Dean's back and the back of his head anymore as he left Sam's world to become part of a new one that Sam wasn't privy to, not yet, and maybe never would be.
Afterward, he sat in the Impala and stared at the Air Force building in front of him. The car was quiet and still. Dean's annoying music wasn't blaring, no one was yammering on about hot waitresses or shady characters from any number of the weird shows Dean followed on TV. There wasn't anyone (Dean) to tease him or ruffle his hair or just be such a fucking nuisance that Sam wanted to hit someone (Dean).
He might have cried that night, as he tried to sleep in a room that was too empty and too quiet, but if he did then he'd never admit that to anyone, ever, not even under pain of death (and especially not to Dean, even though he was under no illusion that Dean didn't already know, somehow [possibly because he'd maybe cried, too, but Sam never asked and Dean never said]).
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