#non-binary sam

Anon, I'm having flashbacks. That is SUCH a look (or lewk, to be era appropriate) and you're SO RIGHT. NB Sam ROCKS those shirted dresses. This is such a cute idea.

They flaunt their weirdkid vibes and draw on the flare of their jeans and the sides of their converse, too. Protective symbols alongside alt rock song lyrics. They raid thrift stores for castoff strappy shifts and sundresses and worn-in t-shirts to pair--doesn't matter if there's a picture or not; Sam turns the shirt inside out when they have to.

It's getting more difficult to find jeans that fit right under the dresses. But when they find a nice, leggy flare or bootcut that's not too large in the waist, it's like a treasure. A couple times they've taken a not-quite-right pair to the home ec lab and altered them.

The flannels are a must, and always plaid even if Sam's wearing a dress with a print. They try to at least match the colors. And the sleeves start off down around their wrists, but end up cuffed up or pushed up their arms by the end of the day. Or tied around their waist if it gets warm.

written for @transnaturalweek

ao3 wc ~ 663

cw: a little angsty

follow up to these (x) (x) but can be read alone too

w*ncesties dni

Sam and Dean were once again sitting outside the motel watching the sunset. Dad was out on a hunt, and he had taken the Impala. That meant no late night trips for Sam and Dean. Dean liked sitting by the motels more than he liked driving. It had never been fun to drive; Dad had ruined that too. One day he might get his own car and then he would take Sammy and leave. He didn’t know where, but he knew he wanted to leave. And so did Sammy.

“Dean?” 

Dean hummed, turning his head from the sun to look at Sam.

“Do you ever just want to leave? Live your life the way you want to?” 

Sam rested his head on his arms and looked up at Dean with big warm eyes. There was a sadness behind them, and Dean was unsure if Sam was gonna begin to cry or if it was just the sun reflecting in his eyes.

“And do what?” Dean asked back. He turned his head, not wanting his face to betray how much he really wanted another life. 

“I don’t know.” Sam closed his eyes and warmed his face in the sun. “Settle down, get married, have kids.”

Dean didn’t answer. He knew that that was exactly what he wanted. But he couldn’t tell Sam that. He had to make the best out of their current situation, and daydreaming about another life wouldn't help. 

“Eat proper food,” Sam muttered. “Not own any weapons.”

Dean gasped. He knew it had been hard the last couple of months, but he didn’t know it had affected Sam that much. He slid to the side, his thigh touching Sam’s, and wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder. Sam brought his arms closer to Dean, and pressed his face into Dean’s chest. 

At first Dean thought Sam was crying but it seemed like he just shuffled around a bit. Hopefully the kid was thinking of much better stuff. 

“Do you think Dad will accept me as I am?” came a muffled voice from underneath Dean’s arm. “He doesn’t accept you.”

Dean had some suspicions but he didn't want to  pressure Sam into telling him anything he wasn’t ready for. He knew Sam would tell him when he was ready.

“I guess that depends on who you are,” Dean answered and laid his chin on top of Sam’s head. 

“What if I’m-” Sam trailed off, he sounded nervous so Dean was quiet, letting him take his time, “not a boy.”

“That’s okay,” Dean whispered into Sam’s hair.

“But for Dad?”

“Probably not.” 

Dean kissed the top of Sam’s head, pressing him a little closer towards him. He started to pick on a loose thread on Sam’s dress. He was the one who gave it to him, and nothing more had made him more happy than seeing his little sibling’s face light up with joy.

They sat quiet for a while, watching the sun go down, their shadows getting longer and longer, until they faded out in the dark. Dad wouldn’t be home until the day after tomorrow, and Sam had done all his homework before dinner; they could sit outside for as long as they wanted.

“But like, I’m not a girl either,” Sam spoke, continuing on the conversation from earlier. “I’m just, in the middle.”

Sam lifted his head and looked up at Dean, his hair falling into his eyes. Dean smiled softly, using the scrunchie he had around his wrist to put up half of Sam’s hair. Sam smiled back as a thank you.

“That’s okay too.” Dean pressed his lips to Sam’s forehead. “I love you no matter what.”

Then years later, he passes one with Sam and waves his hand dismissively when Sam reminds him of the celebrations in whatever town they’re in that week because John wouldn’t approve.

But then!

Then, he’s riding through a town with Cas sitting on the passenger’s seat and Sam passed out in the backseat and Cas looks so awed by the glitter and the flags that Dean doesn’t think twice before pulling into a parking spot and climbing out of the car with Cas and Sam hot on his heels as he stares, wide-eyed and with his heart pounding in his chest when a smile slides across his face.

five dollar footlong is not necessarily the title of this small work, just the phrase that inspired it.  

---

The guy describing himself to Sam seemed ok. He was clean, had a steady job and couldn’t flake on the rent, and he was an artist so he’d spent a lot of his time in his room. He even threw in enough little not-so-nice details that made it obvious he wasn’t too good to be true. It was perfect.

 ---

“You’re a hooker in your spare time,” Sam said flatly.