Work Text:
Every time Dean gets called a girl, something clenches in his heart. When he looks at his feminine frame in the mirror, he so desperately wants to claw his way out of it. It’s what he’s feeling now, sitting in the back of the Impala with Sam, staring at his reflection in the window. His hair is too long even as it rests just above his shoulders (though his dad was hesitant to allow that to happen, but Dean protested that “if Sammy can have long hair why can’t I have short hair?” so John caved).
“Millie, you listening to me?” John asks from the driver’s seat, looking back in the rearview at Dean.
“No, sir. Sorry.” It’s no use lying to his dad, he’ll know immediately.
“I’ve got to leave for work soon as we get to the motel. Lock the doors and windows, don’t open them for anyone--”
“And watch out for Sammy. I know, Dad.” Dean knows what John’s work is, and he knows that Sam knows too, now. Since he found Dad’s journal on Christmas last year.
“Good.” The rest of the ride is silent, and Dean spends it dreading the thought of a new school--dreading the thought of having to be called Millie all day, everyday, again.
A week passes. Then two. Then three.
John comes back every few days, to avoid CPS being called, and Dean continues to keep his head down at school, though he does feign confidence around the other kids; what kind of a Winchester would he be if he didn’t?
Sam starts to pick up on Dean liking more “boy” things than “girl” things, and Dean explains out of his ass to keep his brother’s suspicion at bay. He’s only 10 but he’s a smart kid, and he can read Dean like a book.
“Why do you only have boy friends?” He asks, sitting at the table drawing a picture for art class.
“I don’t know, why do you only have nerd friends?” Dean shoots back, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Because we’re similar--and they’re not nerds.” He sticks his tongue out and continues to draw.
“Then that’s why I hang out with guys: we’re similar.”
“But why are you similar? You’re a girl, Millie. Dad always says girls should have girl friends.” Dean’s silent for a moment. He knows his dad would kill him if he said what he felt, but maybe… maybe he can tell Sammy, and he won’t be mad or upset about it. Maybe Sam will still love him.
He bites the bullet.
“Well… maybe I’m not a girl.” He watches Sam knot his eyebrows and put his pencil down. Dean takes a deep breath. “I’m not a girl, Sam.”
Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me.
After a minute or so of deliberation, Sam speaks.
“So you’re a boy,” he asks, though it sounds more like a statement. Dean can tell he doesn’t understand, not yet, but he’s just a kid; no one expected him to already know. Especially not Dean, since he only recently figured it out, himself.
“Yeah, Sammy. Just like you and Dad.” Sam makes a face like he’s got a complicated question to ask.
“But… you’ve always been a girl. Why are you a boy now? What’s Dad gonna think?” There it is. One of many questions Dean had been dreading. He turns to face his brother on the bed, crossing one leg and leaving the other dangling off.
“Dad isn’t gonna find out.” Sam nods, holds out his pinkie, and makes a silent promise not to say anything. Once they both let go, Dean explains.
“I was born a girl, but it’s--I’m not, really. Not on the inside. I don’t feel like your sister, Sammy. I… feel more like your brother.” The younger Winchester makes his ‘thinking face’ again, before answering:
“Then you’re my favourite brother.” And leaning forward, wrapping his small arms around Dean and hugging him tight.
“Damn straight,” Dean replies, pretending not to be tearing up. “I’m your only brother.”