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Sam sighed, flipping through the magazine. She couldn’t keep her eyes from constantly flicking towards her brother, checking to see if he’s done, if he’s looking over at her. It’s stupid. She’s 13 she can read what she wants. But she knows Dean will make fun of her for caring about “stupid girly things”. She hates it when Dean makes fun of her.
She flicks her eyes back to the page, at the smiling girls modelling “the latest prints and patterns”. It seemed floral was back in. She ran a finger over one of the tops. She knew it was stupid and she didn’t care that much. Her family obviously couldn’t afford to shop for the latest trend every time it changed. She just thought, maybe, once in a while, it would be nice to have new things, to have “pretty” things. Was that shallow? Vain? Sam sighed, dumping the magazine back on the shelf. Why was this so hard?
“You all good there Samantha?”
Sam rolled her eyes. Full name. Dean had seen her looking at the magazine. Ignoring him, she stomped out to the car were John was waiting. She slumped into the back, pulling the door shut and staring out the window.
“What’s up with her?” John asks Dean, as if she’s not just in the back seat and can’t hear them.
“Dunno.” Dean shrugs “Must be puberty.”
Sam doesn’t want to sulk, she knows it’s childish but she’s fed up. She takes a calming breath, roots through her duffel and pulls out her notebook. She focuses on sketching, drawing the top she’d liked. The flowers are hard to get right and she erases them a few times before she’s happy with them. Concentrating on them made her feel better, calmer. She smiles at them, proud of herself.
When they get back to the motel Sam rushes into her room. She pulls out the black ink pen she keeps in the drawer and goes over her latest drawing, wanting to make it more permanent.
“What’s that Sammy? Homework?” Dean tries to look over at it.
“It’s Sam” she retorts, snapping the notebook shut and throwing it in the drawer away from prying eyes.
“Samantha Millicent Winchester, you better cut the attitude right now” John said, eyeing her up.
She bites back a sigh, suppresses the eye roll. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. You two can help yourselves to dinner. There’s leftover macaroni and Chinese in the fridge.” John leaves, going to set up camp in the living room as usual.
“I’ll have the Chinese. Wouldn’t want Sam ruining her girlish figure” Dean croons in falsetto, striding out of the room.
Sam grits her teeth, waiting until she’s alone to punch her pillow. She hates it when Dean says things like that, but not for the reason he thinks. It’s because she doesn’t have a girlish figure. Sam is well aware of her ramrod straight torso and almost completely flat chest. She knows that the bob haircut her father insists on makes her look like a page boy. She desperately wants to grow it long but ever since her father started her on “hard core training” he’s forbidden it, saying it’ll get in the way or some monster will grab it. Sam’s pleas that she will wear it up, covered by a beanie if she has to, fall on deaf ears. She doesn’t even want to think of the look on his face if she ever asked for a padded bra. All the books say to give it time and wait, that’s there’s nothing you can do to make your body develop faster but Sam’s sick of waiting. She’s sick of being mistaken for a boy because she’s wearing Dean’s cast offs and has no curves.
She knows from looking at photos that her father used to dress her like a girl. He wonders when he stopped caring, if he’s noticed Sam’s almost grown out of the one dress she has left.
She stays in her room reading for 10 more minutes when Dean returns, barging in without knocking as usual.
“Sam? Are you not going to come and have dinner?”
Sam brings the book up over her face “I’m not hungry”
“You sure? You can have the Chinese if you really want...”
She looks over her book at him “No it’s fine. You have it.”
She waits, expecting him to leave, expecting him to be done. Instead he fidgets at the door way. He’s obviously got more to say.
“What?” She snaps.
“Are you… are you doing okay Sam?”
Sam doesn’t suppress the eye roll this time “Yes, God! Can a person not say no to dinner one time without an interrogation?”
Dean’s lip curls, all 17 year old aggression where the caring brother look used to be. “I was just asking. You don’t have to be such a bitch”
“Leave me alone jerk”
Dean finally leaves, only leaving the door un-slammed because Dad would tear him a new one and go on a rant about deposits and motel expenses. Sam drops back against the pillow. She didn’t mean to get angry at Dean. She punches the pillow again before switching her light off, mentally declaring this day a bust.
---
Dean mutters to himself, depositing the bowl into the microwave with a little more force than strictly necessary. He hates teenage Sam. Baby Sam was sweet and adorable. Little girl Sam idolised him, tween Sam had been his friend. Teen Sam was a monster, silent one moment and raging the next. The kid who could come to him with anything had become this little madam he didn’t understand at all.
In the back of his head he knew he was worrying too much. She said no to dinner once and he’d envisioned an eating disorder. But didn’t he have a right to be concerned, after all the times he’d pulled her ass out of the fire, all the times he’d been there when Dad couldn’t be. He looked over to where John sat, nose in his journal, seemingly unconcerned with his daughter’s behaviour. Like telling her to can the sass fixed everything.
Dean chewed over his half warmed noodles, replaying the day over in his head. It had been a fairly normal day until an hour ago, when they were at the store. When Sam had been reading that magazine. God, teen girl magazines had all sorts of things in them nowadays. It could have been one of those stupid Cosmo sex quizzes or an actual serious article on scary *** like wrist slashing or whatever.
Again the little voice said he was worrying too much. He didn’t listen and resolved to watch Sam like a hawk. Discreetly of course (lest he incur her hormonal wrath.)
---
John is gone by the time Dean and Sam wake up which doesn’t surprise them. Dean makes breakfast in silence, passing Sam her bowl of cheerios without comment. He almost asks her if she’s got lunch before remembering Dad picked this school specifically for its cafeteria lunches. So there’s really nothing to say. They sit in the car in silence, Dean driving her to the school gate.
“Do you want me to walk you in to the office?”
“No, I’ll be fine” Sam says at an almost whisper, looking down at her shoes.
Dean bit back his “you sure?” well aware that this is what set her off last night. He walks a distance behind her (because god forbid anyone know they’re related. That seems like an anathema to Sam which completely baffles Dean. He’s a senior. Seniors are cool right? Whatever) and watches as she collects her timetable from the office lady. She shuffles off into the hallway, quickly getting lost in the hordes of other kids surging into class.
Dean gets nothing done all day, his mind keeps coming back to focus on Sam. He finds her again at lunch, sitting at a table all by herself, doodling in that notebook again. Out of the corner, Dean catches a group of girls spot Sam and head over. His hackles rise and he moves to the edge of his seat, ready to rush over. They seat themselves at her table, gathering round her. Dean moves closer to listen in.
“Hi, are you new here?”
Sam looks like a deer in the headlights and Dean wants desperately to swoop in. He holds back only because he knows it further embarrass her.
“Umm, yeah. I just started today”
“I thought so! You’re in my math class, with Mrs Pickler right?” The girl spoke like her words were bubbling up out of her instead of being thought about.
“Yeah….”
“Well, I’m Brittney, this is Breanna, Monica and Grace”
They all waved hi in chorus. Sam managed a small smile “I’m Samantha. But you can, uh, you can just call me Sam”
Dean sits back, satisfied now that these girls aren’t going to jump his little sister. But even as he relaxes, he’s in surveillance mode, sussing out the girls. Brittney is obviously the leader, the others followers.
“I’m glad you told us you were Samantha.” Monica laughed “Before that, we didn't know if you were a boy or girl”
She laughs and the others join in. Sam smiles good-naturedly but Dean catches the way her face crumbles when the others momentarily turn away.
Oh. The light goes on in Dean’s head and he gets it. He sees the other girls’ long ponytails and compares them to Sam’s harshly short hair. He sees their little skirts and brand name jackets and compares them to Sam who is wearing his old washed out jeans and plain grey t-shirt that could have been dad’s once upon a time. Their clean white converse and her battered hunting boots. He understands exactly what Sammy was looking at in that magazine. Not fad diets or creepy sex tips. Just clothes. Ordinary girly clothes all her other classmates took for granted.
The conversation turns to hair and makeup and while the other girls try to involve Sam she’s just lost. They’re trying to make friends with her but they couldn’t have picked a worse topic. Sam doesn’t own a single scrap of makeup and the only hair tool she has is a hairbrush. The bell rings and they bid her goodbye, promising to meet up later and exchange numbers. Sam waves at them as they disappear down the hall but as soon as they’re gone her face falls again, she swipes at her eyes, wiping away tears. She squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, like she’s going on a hunt, not just back to class.
Dean’s heart breaks as he too shuffled out of the cafeteria. If he was even a little focused before he definitely isn’t now. He bunks off his last class, going to wait in the car. When the bell rings and all the kids pour out the front doors, Sam wanders on over. Her eyes widen clearly surprised to see Dean there before him. She flings her backpack into the back seat and goes to sit shot gun before Dean stops her.
“Hold on little sister. You wanna talk to me about what happened today?”
She shrugs “nothing to discuss. Nothing happened”
“Bull*** Sammy. I saw your face when those girls talked to you.”
She whirls round at him “were you spying on me all day or just at lunch? God Dean why don’t you just get a life! So I got made fun off by some idiots at school, I’m a big girl I’m not going to go crying about it”
“They weren’t making fun of you Sam…”
“Of course they were! They thought I was a boy! They wanted to rub it in my face that I have no femininity whatsoever and they’re *** right! But that’s life alright, it just sucks I get it.”
“Sam they were just trying to be friendly. I know it made you feel crappy but…”
Sam clambers into the car, ignoring him. “Leave it Dean. I don’t need you to make this all better”
Dean gets in the car, starting it up and pulling out of the carpark. He’s no longer pissed off by her attitude now that he knows where it’s coming from. Silence reigned for a moment before he tentatively starts on it again.
“Y’know its okay if you wanna be girly sometimes. Hunting and looking nice are not mutually exclusive.”
She turns away, staring out the window “You’re like a dog with a bone. I’m fine Dean. Just forget about it.”
“What’s so wrong about me caring about if you’re happy or not?” Okay, he’s a little pissed now.
She turns to look at him and he sees a flicker of that little girl, the one who looked to him to fix everything. But it’s quickly gone and she’s back to the window, providing him no answer. That’s alright. He’s already found one.
---
Sam wakes the next morning to the sound of rustling plastic and Dean swearing. He sees her eyes flutter open and freezes.
“Go back to sleep Sammy. It’s Saturday. You don’t have school”
But his soothing voice doesn’t work. Sam has sensed the vibe as she always did. She scrubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sits up, looking at Dean.
“What are you doing?”
Dean sighs, setting the bag down on the table. “I uh, I got you a few things. They’re only from the convenience store and the second hand place so they aren’t like, fantastic but… yeah.”
Sam gets up, eyeing him in confusion until she opens the bag. Then her eyes go all soppy and soft. She pulls out a bottle of red nail polish, a stick of mascara, a tube of red lipstick and some slightly beat up white converse shoes.
“Now you can’t use the makeup every day otherwise it will run out. If you wear one of Dad’s plaid shirts and those jeans you ripped you can look, I don’t know grunge-y. Kind of alternative.”
Sam is silent, staring down at the gifts in her hands.
“Well… do you like them? Did I get the right stuff?”
Sam slowly set them down on her bedside table, turning round to Dean with a fixed expression on her face. Then she launched herself at him, effectively leaping into his arms.
“Whoa, Sammy!” Dean bursts out laughing, scooping her up and holding her to him.
“Thank you, thank you thank you!” When he sets her down she’s grinning, wider than he’s seen since she was 3 and he threw her a surprise birthday.“How did you afford all this?”
“Well the lipstick and nail polish were a two for one deal in the bargain bin and the label was torn off the mascara so they had to reduce it. The sneakers were a little pricier but no too much, coz they’re second hand.”
“Yeah but where did you even get the money?”
“Dad never asks for his change back so I’ve just been keeping it.”
She mock gasps “and you’ve got such an honest face”
“Shut up, dork”
She smirks, gathering up her new treasures, going to put them away.
“Wait." He stops her "There’s something else”
“What?” She turned and the grin got even wider.
“Y’know how Dad won’t let you grow your hair long? Well there’s this unisex hair saloon advertising trendy short hair cuts for women. I made you an appointment”
She sets the things down and punches him in the arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Because you are a complete and total ass-hat who can’t mind your own business. I love you so much” She flings her arms around him, again.
“Aww Sammy you’re such a girl.” Dean grins, hugging her back. He's missed this.
----
That Monday, Sam Winchester strode into school, pixie cut proudly revealed, her converse now decorated in black ink and rainbow felt tip flowers, her legs clad in tastefully ripped blue jeans and her hands plunged into the pockets of her red plaid shirt, opened to display one of Dean’s ACDC shirts. She grinned at those who stared at her with blood red lips and waved at them, flashing her equally startling nails.
Dean watched her from round the corner, grinning all the while. He almost laughed aloud when he saw the group of girls from the other day charge over, shrieking the way girls do when not seeing each other for two days feels like 3 years and something as simple as a makeover is enough for them to lose their minds. They took Sam’s hands, walked with her down the hall, nattering with her all the way. The best thing is, Sam talked back, giggling with the rest of them.