Sassy Week gets the honour of my first post... Or something.
Fic: Measuring Up
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Castiel (Sastiel, Sassy)
Genre: Angst/Friendship/genderswap
If she measured up to Cas' estimation, she could do anything.
Sam had always been jealous of how easily Dean drew people in.
He had this sort of effortless charisma, the kind of charm she often saw described as “roguish” in books, and he was pretty enough to get away with just about anything. He always had been, even when they were kids - golden-haired Dean, with their mom’s eyes and their dad’s smile. He was the one who always fit in when they moved to a new school, finding company with the stereotypically cool, edgy kids on the fringe of the student population, who were held in awe by their stereotypically non-preppy peers.
Dean himself had always been a bit of a stereotype - Sam had always wondered if Dean hadn’t maybe played up to the James Dean, rebel-without-a-cause, cute boy in the leather jacket with the insanely cool car stereotype on purpose. He got away with good grades - always good grades, because Dad was a total hard-ass about their schoolwork when they weren’t actively hunting - because he was just so… So cool.
Sam, meanwhile, had been the bony, awkward girl with zero social skills and hair that always fell around her face, no matter what she did with it. Sure, she’d had a certain level of cool just because she was Dean Winchester’s little sister, but she sometimes wondered if it would’ve been better if she’d been born a boy. Boys got a lot more leeway to be geeky and awkward, Sam thought, and boys didn’t bully the same way girls did.
Girls were mean and bitchy and made fun of Sam’s broad shoulders and hips, the way her arms and legs were hard and muscular rather than smooth and toned, how plain and practical her clothes were - especially her plain white or black cotton bras and panties, which were apparently especially laughable. It was okay for the girls she’d gone to school with, the girls who usually had a mom at home, who didn’t share a chores rota with their elder brother and their dad, who didn’t know that having your dad wash your underwear was embarrassing enough without having him wash pretty pink bras or silk panties.
And she couldn’t hit girls for making fun of her. They always ran and told on her, even into high school. If she’d been a boy, she could’ve broken some douche’s nose and earned a little respect, but because she was a girl she had no choice but to put up and shut up.
It had been better when she’d gone to college. She wasn’t the tallest girl there by any means (although six-one was still enough to put her among the tallest), nobody knew what her family was like because she didn’t live in a motel or some cheap-shit studio apartment anymore. Because there were so many people, it was simply a matter of avoiding the kind of girls who’d always treated her like crap, seeking out other people, other friends.
And for the first time in her life, Sam - awkward, too-tall, too-big, shy, geeky Samantha Marie Winchester - had made friends. Real friends, who didn’t think it weird when she knew all the grisly details about the bad guys in the horror movies they watched, or that she could never quite stop herself from commenting about how crap the hero’s hold on their gun was in action movies.
And then there’d been Jess. Jess, who’d shown Sam that you didn’t necessarily have to realise you were interested in girls to be interested in girls - because Sam sure as hell hadn’t realised that she swung both ways until Jess kissed her over margaritas that night.
But even Jess, her Jess, who’d only spent maybe thirty seconds in Dean’s company, had been charmed. Because everyone was, that was just how it was, and Sam had been struck for the billionth time in her life with the feeling of just not measuring up to Dean, because it had taken her weeks to wring that flirty little smile from Jess.
***
She’d been more jealous - burningly, ragingly jealous, green with ugly, hateful envy - of how close Dean and Dad were.
She’d wondered, when she was small, why Dad was never fun and happy and nice the way everyone else’s dads were. She’d always thought she’d done something wrong, until that Christmas when Dean had sat her down and explained everything.
Oh yeah. That had been fun. Even more fun when they’d discovered that it was her fault that Mom was dead. And it was her fault, to hell with what Dean said - if she’d just never been born, a whole heap of crap would have been avoided. Dean had denied it, but Sam had had a creeping feeling that maybe Dad had known that it was her fault - he blamed her whether he knew or not, she’d always felt.
It didn’t matter. Her and Dad had always just grated on each other’s nerves, right back as far as she could remember. He’d been so damned focused on the hunt, and on avenging Mom’s death, on killing everything that was even vaguely supernatural, that her wanting to stay in the same school and to have pink sneakers and a house - an actual house with a yard and a swing set - had been tantamount to mortal sin.
And she’d argued with him over every little thing, too. Her temper tantrums were notorious, violent and often ended in physical pain for at least Dad, if not Dean too.
Usually just Dad, though, because Dean was the closest thing she had to a real friend, and she didn’t want to risk alienating him by kicking him in the balls. She’d done that to Dad a few times, which usually resulted in her being grounded and forbidden to do anything but go to school (if they’d even stuck around for long enough for school to be an issue) and training.
God, she’d hated training. The only good thing about it, as far as she was concerned at the time, was the coordination it leant to her gangly limbs. But Dad had insisted that training was essential, and Dean had always found it so easy…
She’d been better at the research, learning the dead languages, the exorcisms, the nuances that differentiated one type of haunting from another, of course, but Dad had always been so focused on the practical side of things that Sam had given up on the whole thing. Never being able to measure up to expectations, to his expectation, was a big part of what made her want out so badly.
***
When Dean had introduced her to Castiel (if it could be called an introduction), she’d seen straight away that here was yet another person who was comparing her to Dean and seeing that she was falling way, way short of her big brother.
The funny thing was, though, she didn’t think he meant it as an insult when he called her “the girl with the demon blood.” The more time she spent with Cas, the more she realised that he rarely meant to insult, and never to hurt. He was blunt beyond all reason, to what would have been the point of cruelty had there been any malice behind his words, and she found it oddly… Refreshing, maybe.
Because she was used to gruff, blunt men with all the emotional maturity of temperamental toddlers. She’d been raised by two (because Dean had raised her as much as Dad), had met more than her fair share will hunting, had been hit on by plenty of them at college… But there was something different about Cas and his abruptness.
Maybe it was that he didn’t see her as the girl who ran away. She knew that there were plenty of people in the hunting community who looked down on her for going to college, for wanting to get out and make something of her life, something that didn’t involve salt and shotguns and alcoholism.
He didn’t even see her as the girl with the demon blood, not really. She was pretty sure he saw how hard she fought against that side of herself, once she’d put too much faith in Rudy and sprung Lucifer from the cage.
He didn’t just see her as John Winchester’s girl. Cas had never known their father, know of him only from second-hand titbits, mainly from Bobby (and Bobby had always disapproved of the way her father had handled raising his only daughter, so the reports might not have been as favourable as Dean would’ve liked).
He didn’t see her as nothing more than Dean’s little sister. Yeah, sure, she knew that he and Dean had this “profound bond” stuff going on - Cas had pieced Dean back together after pulling him out of the Pit, after all, so it stood to reason that they’d be close on some other level. Still, she liked that he judged her on her own merit, not her merit in relation to Dean’s.
To him, she wasn’t just a geek. He found her wealth of knowledge pleasing, because it meant he didn’t have to spend as much time explaining things when they simply didn’thave the time. When they did have the time, she was pretty sure he enjoyed their conversations about history and language and theology and demonology just as much as she did.
To him, she wasn’t just a screw-up. She couldn’t be sure, but if she judged by the shy little smiles he slipped her way, the way he was so careful around her, so gentle, the way he accepted all that she’d done in the past without question or reproof, she was pretty sure that she, Samantha Marie Winchester, was doing something right.
And when she’d gone to him to tell him her plan, her stupid, absurd, ridiculous plan, and he’d looked at her with so much sorrow and worry and fierce pride in those insanely blue eyes of his, she’d known then that she was strong enough to put the Devil back in his cage.
If she measured up to Cas’ estimation, she could do anything.
So, angst-queen Samantha Winchester reigns supreme here, but puppy-dog Cas makes it all better. This is my first foray into the heaven that is Sassy, so here's hoping it worked out okay.
Written for Sassy Week 2012 on tumblr.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Castiel (Sastiel, Sassy)
Genre: Angst/Friendship/genderswap
If she measured up to Cas' estimation, she could do anything.
Sam had always been jealous of how easily Dean drew people in.
He had this sort of effortless charisma, the kind of charm she often saw described as “roguish” in books, and he was pretty enough to get away with just about anything. He always had been, even when they were kids - golden-haired Dean, with their mom’s eyes and their dad’s smile. He was the one who always fit in when they moved to a new school, finding company with the stereotypically cool, edgy kids on the fringe of the student population, who were held in awe by their stereotypically non-preppy peers.
Dean himself had always been a bit of a stereotype - Sam had always wondered if Dean hadn’t maybe played up to the James Dean, rebel-without-a-cause, cute boy in the leather jacket with the insanely cool car stereotype on purpose. He got away with good grades - always good grades, because Dad was a total hard-ass about their schoolwork when they weren’t actively hunting - because he was just so… So cool.
Sam, meanwhile, had been the bony, awkward girl with zero social skills and hair that always fell around her face, no matter what she did with it. Sure, she’d had a certain level of cool just because she was Dean Winchester’s little sister, but she sometimes wondered if it would’ve been better if she’d been born a boy. Boys got a lot more leeway to be geeky and awkward, Sam thought, and boys didn’t bully the same way girls did.
Girls were mean and bitchy and made fun of Sam’s broad shoulders and hips, the way her arms and legs were hard and muscular rather than smooth and toned, how plain and practical her clothes were - especially her plain white or black cotton bras and panties, which were apparently especially laughable. It was okay for the girls she’d gone to school with, the girls who usually had a mom at home, who didn’t share a chores rota with their elder brother and their dad, who didn’t know that having your dad wash your underwear was embarrassing enough without having him wash pretty pink bras or silk panties.
And she couldn’t hit girls for making fun of her. They always ran and told on her, even into high school. If she’d been a boy, she could’ve broken some douche’s nose and earned a little respect, but because she was a girl she had no choice but to put up and shut up.
It had been better when she’d gone to college. She wasn’t the tallest girl there by any means (although six-one was still enough to put her among the tallest), nobody knew what her family was like because she didn’t live in a motel or some cheap-shit studio apartment anymore. Because there were so many people, it was simply a matter of avoiding the kind of girls who’d always treated her like crap, seeking out other people, other friends.
And for the first time in her life, Sam - awkward, too-tall, too-big, shy, geeky Samantha Marie Winchester - had made friends. Real friends, who didn’t think it weird when she knew all the grisly details about the bad guys in the horror movies they watched, or that she could never quite stop herself from commenting about how crap the hero’s hold on their gun was in action movies.
And then there’d been Jess. Jess, who’d shown Sam that you didn’t necessarily have to realise you were interested in girls to be interested in girls - because Sam sure as hell hadn’t realised that she swung both ways until Jess kissed her over margaritas that night.
But even Jess, her Jess, who’d only spent maybe thirty seconds in Dean’s company, had been charmed. Because everyone was, that was just how it was, and Sam had been struck for the billionth time in her life with the feeling of just not measuring up to Dean, because it had taken her weeks to wring that flirty little smile from Jess.
***
She’d been more jealous - burningly, ragingly jealous, green with ugly, hateful envy - of how close Dean and Dad were.
She’d wondered, when she was small, why Dad was never fun and happy and nice the way everyone else’s dads were. She’d always thought she’d done something wrong, until that Christmas when Dean had sat her down and explained everything.
Oh yeah. That had been fun. Even more fun when they’d discovered that it was her fault that Mom was dead. And it was her fault, to hell with what Dean said - if she’d just never been born, a whole heap of crap would have been avoided. Dean had denied it, but Sam had had a creeping feeling that maybe Dad had known that it was her fault - he blamed her whether he knew or not, she’d always felt.
It didn’t matter. Her and Dad had always just grated on each other’s nerves, right back as far as she could remember. He’d been so damned focused on the hunt, and on avenging Mom’s death, on killing everything that was even vaguely supernatural, that her wanting to stay in the same school and to have pink sneakers and a house - an actual house with a yard and a swing set - had been tantamount to mortal sin.
And she’d argued with him over every little thing, too. Her temper tantrums were notorious, violent and often ended in physical pain for at least Dad, if not Dean too.
Usually just Dad, though, because Dean was the closest thing she had to a real friend, and she didn’t want to risk alienating him by kicking him in the balls. She’d done that to Dad a few times, which usually resulted in her being grounded and forbidden to do anything but go to school (if they’d even stuck around for long enough for school to be an issue) and training.
God, she’d hated training. The only good thing about it, as far as she was concerned at the time, was the coordination it leant to her gangly limbs. But Dad had insisted that training was essential, and Dean had always found it so easy…
She’d been better at the research, learning the dead languages, the exorcisms, the nuances that differentiated one type of haunting from another, of course, but Dad had always been so focused on the practical side of things that Sam had given up on the whole thing. Never being able to measure up to expectations, to his expectation, was a big part of what made her want out so badly.
***
When Dean had introduced her to Castiel (if it could be called an introduction), she’d seen straight away that here was yet another person who was comparing her to Dean and seeing that she was falling way, way short of her big brother.
The funny thing was, though, she didn’t think he meant it as an insult when he called her “the girl with the demon blood.” The more time she spent with Cas, the more she realised that he rarely meant to insult, and never to hurt. He was blunt beyond all reason, to what would have been the point of cruelty had there been any malice behind his words, and she found it oddly… Refreshing, maybe.
Because she was used to gruff, blunt men with all the emotional maturity of temperamental toddlers. She’d been raised by two (because Dean had raised her as much as Dad), had met more than her fair share will hunting, had been hit on by plenty of them at college… But there was something different about Cas and his abruptness.
Maybe it was that he didn’t see her as the girl who ran away. She knew that there were plenty of people in the hunting community who looked down on her for going to college, for wanting to get out and make something of her life, something that didn’t involve salt and shotguns and alcoholism.
He didn’t even see her as the girl with the demon blood, not really. She was pretty sure he saw how hard she fought against that side of herself, once she’d put too much faith in Rudy and sprung Lucifer from the cage.
He didn’t just see her as John Winchester’s girl. Cas had never known their father, know of him only from second-hand titbits, mainly from Bobby (and Bobby had always disapproved of the way her father had handled raising his only daughter, so the reports might not have been as favourable as Dean would’ve liked).
He didn’t see her as nothing more than Dean’s little sister. Yeah, sure, she knew that he and Dean had this “profound bond” stuff going on - Cas had pieced Dean back together after pulling him out of the Pit, after all, so it stood to reason that they’d be close on some other level. Still, she liked that he judged her on her own merit, not her merit in relation to Dean’s.
To him, she wasn’t just a geek. He found her wealth of knowledge pleasing, because it meant he didn’t have to spend as much time explaining things when they simply didn’thave the time. When they did have the time, she was pretty sure he enjoyed their conversations about history and language and theology and demonology just as much as she did.
To him, she wasn’t just a screw-up. She couldn’t be sure, but if she judged by the shy little smiles he slipped her way, the way he was so careful around her, so gentle, the way he accepted all that she’d done in the past without question or reproof, she was pretty sure that she, Samantha Marie Winchester, was doing something right.
And when she’d gone to him to tell him her plan, her stupid, absurd, ridiculous plan, and he’d looked at her with so much sorrow and worry and fierce pride in those insanely blue eyes of his, she’d known then that she was strong enough to put the Devil back in his cage.
If she measured up to Cas’ estimation, she could do anything.
So, angst-queen Samantha Winchester reigns supreme here, but puppy-dog Cas makes it all better. This is my first foray into the heaven that is Sassy, so here's hoping it worked out okay.
Written for Sassy Week 2012 on tumblr.