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Sam stands in front of the mirror, long brunette hair hitting mid-spine by now, as he brushes it out slowly. It's greasy and matted, a result of leaving it in a tight braid for days because he'd rather it up and out of the way. But now, John tells him he needed to clean up, because God knows it's been days since the family had access to a shower. Everytime the brush catches, pulling at his tender head he seethes through his teeth, already on edge and frustrated. Finally, he throws the brush in the sink, angrily stripping and hopping in the shower as the old motel pipes squeal to life.
Sam doesn’t look down at his body, because it isn't truly his. This body was a mistake, some slip up from a higher power. Soft, feminine features, and small, budding mounds on his chest that have more recently begun to form after puberty are at the top of the list for the young boy's angst, his body beginning to do all the things he fears most. These are things that mark him as 'other.' Not quite a boy, not quite a girl, either. Dad still called him his little girl, and princess, Dean still calls him sis… but Sam was a boy, heart, mind, and soul. The problem is, nobody knew.
John knows his daughter is different, a rough and tough little tomboy who always spends a few minutes too long staring at other girls while they're out and about. His little girl who could hold her own against boys twice her size with an attitude even bigger. She was a spitfire, brave and beautiful, but seemed to carry such a weight on her shoulders for only being 13 years old. John just chalks it up to his girl being a dyke, maybe even just some phase she'd grow out of, but he certainly wasn't going to ask. Winchesters don't do feelings well, and that's something he's passed on to his kids, making for lots of walls, and pent up emotions.
Dean just sits and observes from the sidelines. The perfect brother, the perfect parent, the perfect friend for his little sis. When she got her first period, Dean was the one who went out in the middle of the night to the nearest convenience store, using whatever pocket change he had to buy her feminine pads and ibuprofen. Dean was also there when boys would pick on her at school, pushing her around and calling her homophobic slurs for kissing Katherine White on the playground. Even though Sam already had a go at them, big brother still stepped in and delivered a few blows of his own on the other kids before both Winchesters were inevitably expelled. Dean can still remember the beating the both of them got from John for that stunt.
And now, it's all coming to a head. Too much, too long, hitting all at once. Sam sits in the shower and sobs, knees pulled to his chest as his shoulders shake in disdain. When he finally comes out of the shower, he stands bare in front of that blasted mirror again, fingers tracing over his chest wanting nothing more than to take scissors and cut away the parts that don't belong, the parts that mark him as female - a word that in relationship to himself makes his skin crawl. The entry door to the motel room opens, only to slam shut a moment later followed by heavy boots and rustling of plastic grocery sacks. Sam wraps a towel under his armpits, covering up as he cracks the door, meeting eyes with an exhausted looking Dean.
"Hey, I just got out of the shower… give me a minute." He says softly, not waiting for a reply before clicking the door shut.
Sam has learned to do these next steps fast because of necessity, so as to not get caught by John specifically. He rolls his ace bandage up from earlier, quickly drying his torso just before he begins to bind his chest. After a couple loops around his soft flesh, Sam is satisfied with the flat span of his body and pulls on one of his hand-me-down shirts from Dean, and some baggy shorts that he typically sleeps in. He ruffles a towel through his long rat's nest and makes his way out.
Dean zeros in on the dark cloud over his sister straight away, pausing in sorting through their scarce groceries to look at her. "Hey, you alright, Sammy?"
Sam sits on the edge of one of the beds, sighing heavily. "Yeah, yeah I'm good." He replies, forcing a small smile as his eyes absently stare at the TV.
"You look like you've been crying. You sure you're okay? Dad say something screwy?"
"Dee, I'm fine!" His tone is a little more harsh than intended, and he shakes his head, looking down as his leg bounces rapidly - an anxiety tick he's had for years. "I'm sorry, I'm just frustrated is all."
Dean isn't good with feelings, for the most part, but with Sam he is because he has to be. Everything having to do with Sam comes first for Dean. He sits down next to Sam, gently grabbing her shoulder with a soft squeeze.
"Sammy, you can talk to me. You know that." His tone is stern and unwavering yet comforting and all consuming at the same time.
Sam shrugs, sniffling a bit as his eyes gloss over. He isn't crying, because he's holding back. "It's just- my hair, I guess… I don't know, it's stupid." He shakes his head again.
"What about your hair, Sammy? It just needs to be brushed out, it's still real pretty." He tries to reassure her, running a hand through a looser tangle before pulling away.
"I just don't take care of it… I don't like it. I've never liked it. Dad won't help me get a haircut." He grumbles, playing with some threads along the bottom hem of his shorts.
Dean sits and ponders, thoughtfully taking in his sister's words. An idea comes to mind, and he may get reprimanded by John for it, but he'd deal with that later.
"I could cut it, Sam. If that's what you really want."
Sam's face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Really? I mean- what about dad? He will kill us…"
Dean shrugs. "I'll handle dad, you don't worry about that. I'll tell him I stuck gum in your hair or some shit. C'mon."
Dean jerks his head towards the bathroom, pausing to pull their father's hair trimmers out of one of the duffels. John has given Dean dozens of buzz cuts with the damn things, and vice versa- him giving John a buzz cut, so he knew his way around them damn perfect at this point. Immediately upon first inspection, Dean frowns, observing the thick mat halfway down the length of Sam's hair. How had he himself not noticed sooner? He would've helped Sam brush it out if she had wanted… Regardless, his sister seemed to want it all off, so it shouldn't really matter now.
To start, Dean throws a hair tie in, sitting just at the nape of Sam's neck, and then takes a pair of scissors from the hair kit. Sam is thrumming with excitement, meeting Dean's gaze in the mirror with a smile.
"You ready?" Dean asks, giving a single snip in the air - like a warning.
Sam nods, no words coming out, just nods expectantly.
And then Dean is cutting, Sam's hair so thick it takes several seconds for him to get through the dense collection of tendrils. The eldest sibling hands Sam the severed ponytail over his shoulder, a literal weight off the young hunter’s shoulders as he grasps the hair in awe. It was gone, truly gone. There was no putting it back now. He feels like he could cry - first steps to freedom.
Dean is attaching the longest spacer, watching his sister's emotional reaction in the mirror. It was odd, he'd never seen her like this. Before starting with the trimmers, Dean pauses again. "You still want it shorter?" He asks for confirmation.
"Yes… please. Want it like yours." Sam whispers, still petting and playing with what used to be his long hair in his lap.
Dean gulps - his hair wasn't as short right now as it typically is, but for a girl, it was very short. John was gonna kill him.
But he nods. He'd do anything to see his sister smile.
With every buzzing pass of the clippers, clumps of dark, damp hair fall to the floor, little pieces sticking in both of their clothes and making them itch just a bit. Dean goes down in spacer comb sizes a few times, leaving the top of her head longer as he cleans up the sides, blending it all in to the best of his ability, just how John had taught him. Sam watches the entire time, watches his brother's cut and calloused hands make gentle and calculated passes and swipes, brows furrowed and eyes narrow in determined focus. He's watching his appearance turn more and more into how he feels on the inside, and it's a magical, pivotal moment in the youngest Winchester's life.
Dean sets the clippers down finally, brushing Sam's hair back with a wide tooth comb, getting it all sitting just right. It was short, that was for sure, but it is one of Dean's finer haircuts he's provided - better than ones he's done on their father. He nods slightly, satisfied.
"Well? What do you think, kiddo?" He asks softly, meeting his sister's glassy eyes in the mirror.
Sam grins, a tear rolling down his cheek that he quickly whisks away. "It's fucking awesome, Dean." He replies in a wobbly, choked out laugh.
Dean is a bit taken aback by Sam's tears. Was it really bothering her that much? Dean just smiles, squeezing Sam's shoulder softly before starting to put everything away.
And then, when Dean goes to get the broom to sweep up the pile of hair, Sam stops him, gently grasping his older brother's wrist. "Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean turns back, his face full of concern. Sam was worrying him a bit, with all of this change… all these emotions.
"Can you… can I be your brother from now on?" Sam's tone is so weak and shy, like a kitten.
Dean doesn't say anything for a moment, just makes a subtle, sharp intake of breath as he stares down at Sam. It's like everything falls into place between them, everything Dean thought he knew about his little sister Sammy getting sweeped away, because Sam never was his sister.
Dean had a little brother, all this time.
Dean grips the back of Sam's neck, quick to tug him into his chest for a tight hug, Sam's small hands balling up into the fabric of Dean's flannel on his back. He presses his tear stained face deeper into his brother’s warmth, to his comfort. And Dean just holds him, for a long, drawn out moment.
"Of course. Of course you are, Sammy." Dean holds Sam out by the shoulders, smiling fondly at him for a moment before speaking again. "My little shit head brother."
Sam laughs again, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves, as well as his dripping nose. "Thanks, jerk."
"Bitch. C'mere…" Dean pulls Sam in one last time, saying goodbye to his sister, and welcoming his brother.
It felt perfect. It felt right.
"Don't tell dad, not yet. I will someday when I'm ready." Sam murmurs against Dean's chest.
Dean gives Sam a firm, loving pat before stepping back again, his hand rested on the back of Sam's neck protectively. "Sure thing, kid. It's between you and I."
And with that, Dean gives one more kind smile, before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving Sam in front of the mirror, happy with his reflection for the first time in years.