Home (Teen!George Washington/Trans!Reader)
Day 4 of @hamwriters writeathon (Worldwide Day)! This has no real location to it, but I’m growing up in a rather tight-knit area that is generally filled with religious people or extremely judgmental people, so I haven’t come out to many people, but most of my peers have been rather accepting. This is what I wish would happen when my family makes fun of me for who I am or talks shit about the LGBT+ community. Also ;) @boss-headcanons I know you were kinda excited for this and I just adore my platonic soulmate twin babe @gunsandfics so you get tagged, too.
This is based on a female-to-male transgender teenager, but you can change the pronouns and easily make it male-to-female.
Warnings: Extremely homophobic and transphobic language/word usage, swearing, mentions of the whole transgender bathroom thing, and me not knowing how to characterize Teen!GWash or his parents.
(Y/B/N) is your birth name and (Y/N) is your name that you prefer that people should respect and call you by or they will have to face my wrath :))))))))
Words: 2212 (I got carried away but this is really personal for me and I was almost scared to post this)
Coming home was always something you looked forward to. Not home, not where your biological family was, but home to George. You had known each other for most of your lives and even though you weren’t fond of each other as children, you grew closer as you grew older. Your house was just down the street from his, which turned out to be a blessing once you realized you were transgender. Whenever your parents would make remarks or make fun of you for how you dressed, you would tell them you were going out for a bit and just go to his house so you could cheer up and tell him what happened.
Today was an especially bad day. Your parents had been especially into the recent news today and saw that there was recently a case about transgender people using the bathroom of the gender they identify that had gone to the Supreme Court. You sat on the couch, taking small bites of your dinner, knowing exactly how your parents were going to act once the news had gone on to another subject.
“Tch, fucking perverted trannies need to just shut up and be thankful for what they’re given. They ask for more and more everyday, but what do they do? Bitch and moan that it isn’t enough. The fuck is up with those fags?” Your dad laughs and takes a sip of his drink, sitting down next to you, placing an arm around you. “Right, (Y/B/N)?”
“Uh, yeah, sure, dad,” you say, frowning into another bite, holding back your sigh. He knows how upset this shit make you and he knows that bringing it up will make it worse.
“You don’t seem too enthusiastic about shit talking those faggots. You wanna say that again?”
“Not really, no…” You give him a side glance and set down your fork, putting your hands in your lap.
“What, you one of them? Huh, (Y/B/N)? You a tranny, too?” He pushes you and laughs, looking over at your mom who is laughing as well.
There is a long silence before your dad starts to stand up.
“You’re fucking with me. You’re fuckin’ fucking with me. No way I raised a goddamn pussy like a tranny,” he snarls, looking at you with a fierce expression that makes you want to bolt out the front door. You start standing up as well, dashing off to your room instead of the front door, so you could grab a few small things, knowing full well you weren’t staying the night here to deal with their shit.
You grab a small bag and stuff in your phone charger, a lighter, a toothbrush, a few bobby pins, and a twenty dollar bill just in case, then run back downstairs. Your father catches your eye and opens his mouth, continuing his hateful rant from before, but you just go towards the door, trying to push away what he’s saying.
“You fuckin’ get back here! We gotta have a conversation about you thinking you’re some piece of shit fa-”
“Dad, seriously, shut up! You don’t know anything about what you’re talking about! You’re in absolutely no place to be shit talking my peers, my friends, my people, so just shut up!” With that, you slam the door behind you and walk towards the only place you really could go at this point- George’s house.
Ever since your parents had started getting really bad, like your dad was then, you started going over to his house, simply telling him and his parents that you would explain it all later when it was over with. His parents didn’t like the idea of you staying the night with their son, but they soon came to realize that you quite literally only had the energy to go to their house, plus George calmed you down well, so they weren’t complaining. Since about the third time you stayed over at random, they’d basically been like a second set (or rather, a better set) of parents to you. You’d eat meals with them and they’d congratulate you on your grades and they’d make sure to pick up snacks you like at the store so George can give them to you in school as a little pick-me-up. You practically never stop thanking them, even though you know they’ll probably act like your parents did once they eventually find out that you’re transgender.
You’re knocking on their door, mid-thought and glassy eyed, before you even know it, so used to the routine. The door opens mere moment later and George is looking back at you, wearing his usual outfit of a worn out t-shirt with some fuzzy pajama pants.
“(Y/N)! Come in, it’s gotta be cold outside! We were just cleaning up dinner, would you like anything?”
You can only bring yourself to respond with a shake of the head. He immediately sees that something is wrong. You’ve had this look in your eyes for far too long and he doesn’t like it. He likes his (Y/N). His (Y/N) with the dorky but captivating smile and eyes that shine brighter than all the stars combined when they talk about things they admire, like music or him.
“...My room?” You nod. “Mom! Pop!—sorry (Y/N),” he whispers to you before continuing, “—(Y/B/N) is over! We’re gonna go up to my room!”
“Alright Georgie, but no funny business okay?” His mom always joked about that, but knew nothing would happen. You could hear it clear as day in her voice. George laughs at her and convinces you to let him carry your bag even though it’s small. You walk up the stairs to his room and upon entering, you collapse onto the carpet, a blubbering mess. He sets your bag down and sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around you.
“Hey hey hey, what happened? Your parents again?” He rubs your shoulder supportively, pulling you to his chest.
“I came out,” you barely manage to say before you knot a hand in his shirt, letting out a sob.
“Wh- oh, (Y/N)... they didn’t touch you, did they? I swear to god, if they did I—” You quickly shake your head and start pulling at his shirt, telling him to stop. “Okay, good…” He goes silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry that they’re like that… You’re always welcome here, whenever they pull anything like that again.”
“Thank you s-so much, George… You have no idea how much it means to me.” You wrap your arms around him and begin crying on his shoulder. He doesn’t mind, he simply rubs your back and lets you cry it out, whispering to you that it’s okay. “We should tell my parents about this, though. They’re really confused about why you’ve been coming over so much lately.” He looks down at you, searching for approval in any form, but only finds more tears and what he can only guess is a held back scream of no.
“Please, no. No, they’ll never let me over here again because I’m… I… I’m me…” You look down at the ground, wiping your eyes with your sleeves.
“(Y/N), you know they’ll accept you. My parents aren’t like yours, they’ll still love you and support you just the same. They might have a few questions, but other than that, it’ll be like nothing changed.” You still shake your head, fearing that they would never let you near the house, or let you see George, again. You were more worried about not seeing George because he was your rock and whenever something happened, he was there and you couldn’t lose that.
“...Can I just stand there and you tell them? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ll really be able to talk. You know how I-”
“Lock up when you get nervous? Of course I do. Look, if I can order your lunches at school for you, I can come out to my parents for you, okay?” He presses a kiss to your temple and helps you stand, beginning to lead you downstairs.
“If I lose my only safe haven because of you, I will never forgive you.”
“You won’t, now stop it.” He walks downstairs, smiling at his parents, who are there waiting.
“We heard crying… Do you mind if we ask what’s wrong, (Y/B/N)?” At his mom’s use of your birth name, you cringe and look down, then at George.
“...No, um… Mom, Dad, he doesn’t like being called (Y/B/N)... his name is (Y/N) and he’s transgender and can confirm that he’s deathly afraid you’ll hate him for it.” George forces all of that out in one breath. His parents are silent for a good fifteen seconds before you can’t control your quivering lip or tears any longer. You put your hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs and catch the tears falling over the previously dried ones. You couldn’t believe it, but you had practically trained yourself to accept that even the ones that say they love you and care about you can be changed by the tiniest of things.
“...(Y/N)? It’s kind of a weird name, but I like it. It’ll take some getting used to, but hey, we’ll try our best.” Mrs. Washington says, smiling at you, pulling you into a soft hug with teary eyes as well. “Right honey?”
“Of course. You’re welcome to come over anytime you need it. There’s always leftovers in the fridge and you know where we keep the soda, so you and Georgie can study and, well… I don’t know, what do teens do these days?” His dad laughs and clears his throat before continuing. “Anyway, we’re not going to push you away or bully you or be pricks because you’re different than us or we don’t quite understand all of this yet.”
“I have an idea,” George says, smiling over at you while you’re still being smothered by his mom. “How about we go to the diner down the street in a bit after (Y/N) gets cleaned up and cheered up, and we get some dessert with him?”
“I think that’s a great idea, son. Now, Mary, stop suffocating the boy, we have to get the dishes done and give them some time.” Mr. Washington puts his arm out, practically pulling his wife off of you.
“Oh, ha, yeah, right. Georgie, please bring him upstairs and just hang out until we’re ready to go.” She smiles at her son who slides his hand into yours, nodding. He leads you back up the stairs and notices that you’re grinning from ear to ear, tears still falling, but the tone of the tears has changed.
“...They… accepted me… George, your parents accepted me! Automatically! Straight up! Oh my god!” You pull him down into a tight hug, pushing your head into his neck.
“Well, of course they did. My parents aren’t as bad as their shitty puns suggest, (Y/N),” he jokes, rolling his eyes. You snicker and look up into his eyes, the joy of the situation reflecting back at you. You two get closer and closer without realizing it, but before you have the chance to meet in the middle, George’s mom calls for him from the kitchen. You flush red and pull back, sparing him one last glance before going into his room to change into some more comfortable, not tear-soaked clothing. You smile in his mirror, feeling much more refreshed, looking at yourself from pretty much all angles before he returns.
“C’mon, time to… You look incredible, (Y/N).” He smiles at you and walks over to you, standing next to you, checking himself out in the mirror as well. “I gotta say, you look about five times as good as me.”
“Ah yes, the pure neighbor-magnets that are my old sweatpants and t-shirt. Real sexy, huh?” You laugh and tug at your worn t-shirt that you’d had for a good few years now.
“Extremely. Alright, not sexy, per se, but rather cute.” He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you two were pressed together. Now he’s either just really teasing or he’s actually genuinely ignorant for not realizing what he was doing. You roll your eyes, figuring it was the first, and lean up to plant a small kiss to his lips. He looks down at you after with wide eyes filled with adoration, wonder, and the literal embodiment of fucking finally.
“We have dessert to eat. We can do this later.” You take his hand and pull him down the stairs, smiling at his parents.
“Let’s go, kids,” Mrs. Washington declared with a smile.
You, from that moment on, ended up going there as soon as you got off the bus, only grabbing a drink from your house, then going over to your home. Where you belonged and where you were loved and where you were kissed while homework was supposed to be being done and where the dinners were always home cooked with love and most of the spice cabinet (not that you minded much).
It was nice to have a place to call home for once. Even better to call it home with those who made that house a home.
