Sam not quite knowing what’s going on but aware that Dean wears lingerie and panty sets outside of sex often, will claim she has nothing clean to wear if Sam asks. And it hasn’t escaped his attention that Dean borrowed some clothes from Jody during a hunt and never gave them back. Dean always looks so comfortable in those clothes, like they were made for her despite their illfit. Not to mention how she practically preens when anyone says Dean and Mary look alike. Sam can connect the dots, but he also knows Dean, and he knows saying anything outright probably wouldn’t help.
so one night Sam goes out to a near thrift store and buys a beautiful emerald sleeping gown, simple and plain but silky soft. He presents it to Dean with the excuse that he found it in some storage in the bunker, says he thinks it’d go well with the Dead-Man’s robe. Might even be more comfortable on hot nights. Dean squints at him for a minute then mumbles a “Maybe,” and snatches it up before padding to her room.
Later that night Sam finds Dean sitting on her bed, rubbing the smooth fabric of her new nightgown between her fingers with a small smile glued to her face. Sam can see the strap of a bra he recognizes from years ago that Dean claimed was left by a one-night stand slipping off her shoulder. She looks more at home than Sam’s ever seen her in the bunker, even after her nesting ritual. Sam’ll have to make more visits to that thrift store.
tbh i think sam would research and read about transitioning and queer history and stuff but i don't think she would let it worry her too much. if dean were to ever figure out anything (which is extremely unlikely but maybe there is one (1) parallel universe out there) she would be the one who would go crazy over discourse and labels and stuff. and she would be awful about it. sam is wayyyy more chill and doesn't feel like she needs to "perform gender" that much. she gives, "yeah i'm a woman, so?" vibes. meanwhile dean is on her fiftieth microlabel losing sleep over it.
Happy Birthday, Dear Deanna, Happy Birthday to You (part of the Crooked Soul verse)
Deanna looks at the clock through the bars. It’s a fancy one that shows the time and the date. They didn’t have clocks this fancy at their house. Now they don’t have any clocks, except the one on Daddy’s arm. All of their clocks are gone, along with everything else.
“Twelve oh two, January twenty fourth,” Deanna says quietly. She blinks and turns over to face Sammy on his side of the crib.
Sammy is awake. His big eyes stare at Deanna the way they used to stare at Mommy. His lips are really small and he likes to blow bubbles with them. Right now, Sammy’s drooling. Deanna tries to laugh at him like Mommy would, but she’s still really sad and can’t laugh properly anymore, and she doesn’t think she ever will again. She wipes Sammy’s drool away with her pajama sleeve.
“It’s my birthday,” Deanna says. She bites her lip, which she hasn’t been able to put lipstick on since the fire. She hasn’t had any makeup since then. She can’t ask for it, because she can’t talk, and even if she could ask, Daddy would say no. He always says no.
Sammy doesn’t understand what she’s saying yet, but he likes her voice. Deanna only talks to Sam.
“I’m five years old. You’re not even one.”
Deanna holds up a finger, and Sammy takes it immediately and tries to put it in his mouth. Deanna tries to laugh again.
“You can’t eat that; I’m not food.”
Sammy still tries to chew her finger with his toothless mouth. Deanna sighs.
“You hungry? I can mix some formula for you. I know it doesn’t taste as good as Mommy’s milk, but since I can’t make milk, it’s all we got.”
Sammy gurgles and takes Deanna’s finger out of his mouth to wave it around excitedly. Maybe Sammy does understand words now.
Deanna pulls her finger from his tiny hands and climbs out of the crib. She tries not to make noise as she creeps out of the room and into the washroom. Daddy’s friends are nice, but she doesn’t want to wake them up. She turns on the water and waits with her finger beneath the spout for it to get hot. Then, she fills up Sammy’s bottle. The water looks cloudy, so Deanna dumps it out and fills it back up again, but it’s still cloudy the second time. Maybe it’s supposed to look like that.
Back in the bedroom, she closes the door quietly, then goes to the desk under the window. Daddy put his bag there, and in it is the powder Sammy is supposed to eat now. Deanna unzips the bag and looks around. She finds a knife underneath a pair of pants. What’s Daddy doing with a knife in his bag? Deanna holds it up, careful not to touch the sharp part, but she still doesn’t know why there is a knife in Daddy’s bag. She thinks about asking him when he gets back, but he probably won’t tell her. He’s been really weird lately, and not just in a sad way. He’s been going for long trips, and he comes back in the middle of the night without saying where he went.
She puts the knife on the desk and continues her search for the powder. When she finds it, she takes off the lid. A puff of powder comes out, making her cough.
Not knowing how much powder goes in Sammy’s bottle, Deanna guesses. There is a spoon already in the powder container, so she puts one spoonful of the powder in the bottle, then stirs. The powder clumps and looks disgusting, and it smells disgusting too. Curious, Deanna takes a small sip and then wishes she hadn’t. How can Sammy drink this stuff?
She makes a face and climbs back into the crib next to Sammy. Sammy is happy to have her back where he can grab her finger.
“You like my finger,” Deanna says, and Sammy waves it around. Deanna smiles at him. “So you can understand me, huh?”
Sammy can’t say yes or anything, but he does gurgle.
“Then I guess you should know what’s going on. It’s gotta be frustrating not knowing what’s going on. I don’t even know what’s going on, but I know a lot more than you.
“Daddy’s gone. Not like Mommy’s gone; he’ll come back, he promised. He’s just busy. I think it has to do with Mommy and how she died. They say it was electrical fire but Daddy says that’s bullshit.”
Immediately, Deanna pales. “Don’t tell Daddy I said that. We aren’t supposed to use swear words until we’re adults. And don’t repeat me, okay? Promise.”
Sam promises by giving Deanna her finger back.
“Also this stuff is really gross. I’m sorry.”
She puts the bottle to Sammy’s mouth, and he sucks. Some of the water dribbles down his chin; Deanna wipes it off with her sleeve. Her sleeve is really wet now.
In the quiet, her thoughts try to bite her. One of them whispers a hard truth, and Deanna feels very small, and the world feels very big.
She’ll never see her mother again. And since Sammy is a little baby, Deanna has to be the mother.
Tears gather and fall from her eyes. One of them splashes onto Sammy’s clothes, and after that Deanna makes sure not to let anymore fall further than her cheeks.
When Sammy is done with the bottle, Deanna puts it on the little table next to the clock. She also puts away Daddy’s mysterious knife, hoping that maybe he won’t notice that she’s gone through his stuff. He doesn’t like other people touching his things.
She feels better sleeping next to Sam rather than alone on the bed. She gets nightmares of fire a lot and wakes up scared, and having Sammy next to her when she wakes up is comforting. Sammy doesn’t get nightmares even though he was in the room when Mommy died and when the fire started. Deanna is really happy for that. She doesn’t want Sammy to be scared like Deanna is.
+
Mrs Guenther wakes them up at nine in the morning. She opens the door with a smile. Deanna doesn’t like her; she wants her mommy back, not this fake trying to smile at them and take care of them.
“Good morning. Happy birthday!” she says, flicking on the light. Deanna closes her eyes tight, but not before noticing Daddy isn’t in the bed. Sammy starts to cry. Mrs Guenther clicks her tongue. “You’re in the crib again. That’s Sam’s space, you know.”
She reaches in to take Sammy out. Dean climbs out after and follows them out, down the stairs, and into the dining room. There’s no sign of Daddy downstairs either. Deanna hopes he comes back soon.
Deanna sits down at the table where breakfast is laid out. Mrs Guenther ruffles her hair as she passes behind her. “Your hair’s getting awfully long. I used to work at my papa’s doggie grooming salon; I could cut that for you.”
Deanna shakes her head, but Mrs Guenther isn’t looking at her anymore. It’s no good.
Mrs Guenther takes the scissors out after lunch.
Deanna sits in a chair in the bathroom facing the mirror. Mrs Guenther stands behind her and stares down at her head, looking like her hair is a puzzle.
“What kind of cut were you thinking?” Mrs Guenther asks, lifting some of her hair up. She uses two fingers like scissors and puts Deanna’s hair between them. “This short? Shorter? Longer?”
Deanna bites her lip as her eyes get wet. She sees Mrs Guenther’s makeup bag sitting on the counter and stares at it.
Mrs Guenther runs a hand down her hair. “It’s okay, Dean. I’m sorry.”
Deanna, she wants to say, but she can’t say a word. Mrs Guenther chooses a haircut for her and snip, snip, snip her hair falls onto the floor. Deanna shakes quietly as the tears run from her eyes.
+
Today is Tuesday. Before, Deanna would have gone to school with Alexis and all of her other friends, and the entire class would have had a party for her birthday. Deanna hasn’t gone to school since her mom died, though. She misses her friends a little, but not as much as she misses Mommy.
Mommy probably would’ve made Deanna a cake, if she were still here. She would have written Deanna’s new name in cool purple frosting, and Deanna would have smiled so widely as they sang the birthday song with her new name in it. Mommy would have taken a lot of pictures, given her a lot of kisses and hugs, and sung Hey Jude while Deanna went to sleep.
Deanna sits on the Guenther’s sofa most of the day with Sammy by her side. Sammy watches the TV, and Deanna mostly watches Sammy suck his thumb and giggle at Oscar the Grouch.
Around 4 o’clock (the first hand and second hand look like a straight line), the front door opens. Deanna looks up, thinking it’s Daddy, but it’s just Mr Guenther.
“Hello, boys,” he says, smiling. Deanna frowns and slides low down the sofa. Mr Guenther goes over to Mrs Guenther and kisses her on the cheek. The ache in Deanna’s chest really hurts, so she closes her eyes.
“How was your day?” Mrs Guenther asks.
“Can’t complain,” Mr Guenther says. “John back?”
Deanna doesn’t hear Mrs Guenther say anything, so she must be shaking her head. Deanna almost wants to open her eyes and look, but she can’t.
“Oh, yeah! What do you think? Should we take him to the skating rink and that ice cream place?”
Mrs Guenther doesn’t say anything again. They go no where, but she makes a cake. Deanna only has a bite, which she throws up an hour later. Mrs Guenther puts a cold washcloth on her forehead and rubs her back and gives her a mouth rinse, and Deanna tries not to cry but it’s really hard and she misses her Mommy and her Daddy and she doesn’t even want to be here anymore she just wants to go where Mommy is and have her hugs, her washcloths, and not Mrs Guenther’s.
Daddy comes home at one in the morning. He wakes Deanna up accidentally when he comes into the room. She sits up, blinking quickly.
“Oh, Dean, I’m sorry,” Daddy says. Deanna doesn’t know what he’s saying sorry for: for missing her birthday, for calling her by the wrong name, for leaving, for waking her up, for Mommy’s death. He picks her up from the crib and carries her to his bed. “I’ve got something for you. Hold on.”
He digs through his bag for a little, then holds something out to her. Deanna takes it. It’s a Batman toy.
Daddy sits down next to Deanna. “You know, Batman lost his parents, too.”
Deanna plays with Batman’s arm. It goes up and down. His hand is a fist.
“And Batman decided to become a superhero so no one else has to go through what he did.”
Deanna looks up. Daddy’s eyes shine like they have tears in them, so Deanna sniffs hers up, hides them away. She has to be strong.
Daddy pats her on the shoulder. “You should get some sleep. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
Deanna almost asks Where? They don’t have a home to go back to, and Deanna doesn’t even want to go back there anyway. Her mommy won’t be there, and Deanna doesn’t want to be there if Mommy isn’t.
Daddy puts a kiss on the top of her head. “It’s okay, Dean. Everything’ll be okay again.”
