Just a little thing I wrote I between working on the next chapter of All I've Ever Wanted and building a story structure for the sequel to The Things We Hide (which incidentally I have decided to call Come to Light).

Also, this was an exercise in writing in the present tense. Comments are always welcome!

Crossposted on AO3 and Tumblr

Enjoy.

…

For as long as he can remember, Sam Winchester has been aware that the things that go bump in the night are very real and very likely want to kill you. Some might call it paranoia or superstition, but he calls it life, a life he had successfully left behind. But old habits dies hard and when Sam wakes in the middle of the night with the hairs raised on the back of his neck, he is awake and out of bed, on alert in an instant.

He moves from the bedroom to the living room silently. There are no sounds apart from the usual ambiance but Sam still knows something is wrong.

A floorboard creaks and, as he glances into the next room, a figure moves past the window. His heart is in his throat but his hands are steady as he launches himself into the dark. He grapples with the man for a man is what he is, even without the benefit of sight Sam can tell that much. His grunts are low, stature nearly as tall as himself, and his attack is powerful (not that that is an indication of gender because he knows one female in particular who would kick him in the balls for even implying that).

He fights and the stranger fights right back, matching his every blow, anticipating his every move. It is like a dance and it is so achingly families that he can practically hear the taunts.

Stop hitting yourself Sam.

This really is pathetically easy you know.

Ha! And they say I'm the feminine one.

His concentration slips and he goes down, pinned to the ground by at least 180 pounds of muscle.

"Whoa, easy there tiger."

He looks up into a face lit by moonlight that he has has not seen in nearly four years. Not since the day his dad kicked him out for wanting to go college and De drove him to the bus stop with a sympathetic look and an order to call when he got there.

Sam left his phone on the bench when he finally boarded. If De wasn't going to stand up to Dad for him, especially in the moment it mattered most, Sam wasn't going to bother to call.

And now he is staring up into the same green eyes, the same full lips, the same cocky grin. The hair is still short and the amulet from Christmas of '91 still swings from its leather cord.

And yet, at the same time, everything is different.

"Deanna?"

His sister's usual cocky grin falters and she stands, pulling Sam up with hands that are bigger than he remembers.

"It's Dean now." She says in a voice that is still hers, but lower, gruffer. For a split second it sounds almost like dad.

"What?"

It is far too late in the night or early in the morning for Sam to be wrapping his brain around what exactly is happening.

De rubs the back of her neck, mask of impunity holding firm despite the shift he can see in her vibrant eyes.

"It's Dean. I go by Dean now."

Sam frowns.

"What?"

"Sam?"

Light floods the room and he turns to see Jessica, hand on the light switch, peering in at them. Sam glances open mouthed between the two of them. How the hell is he supposed to explain what is going on here when he has no idea himself? Deanna looks at him expectantly before turning to Jess. She always had a charming smile.

"Dean Winchester." She smiles, stepping forward and Jess takes the proffered hand. She nods down at her shirt, "I love the Smurfs. You know, I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league."

Jess blinks at her and then frowns at Sam.

"Just let me put something on." She turns but Deanna's voice stops her.

"No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously." She moves back to Sam and claps him on the back, "Anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business. But, uh, nice meeting you."

Sam glances between Deanna and Jess. He knows she's curious about his life, his family, his past. And now that it's come crashing so spectacularly back into the life he has made here, he wants her to be a part of it. Whatever the hell 'it' is.

"No." He goes over and puts an arm around her, "No, whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her." Perhaps with Jess there, this whole thing will be easier to understan.

Deanna shrugs and turns to face them, "Okay. Um. Dad hasn't been home in a few days.

"So," Sam shrugs, "he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

De squares her jaw and stares hard into his eyes.

"Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam can feel Jess look up at him as he stares back at his sister.

"Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside."

...

Sam pulls on a hoodie as he steps out of the apartment. De is already headed down the hallway and stairs ahead of him.

"What the hell De?"

"I told you. Dad's missing, I need your help to find him."

"That's not what I'm talking about Deanna."

She stops five steps down from him and Sam sees her shoulders slump before she turns. When she speaks, her voice is weary.

"It's Dean, Sam."

There is a part of Sam that knows he is being unfair, that he really ought to be more sensitive, more understanding, but he is tired and in shock and he can still see the remnants of his big sister in this stranger that is standing in front of him. He knows he has no one to blame but himself; he was the one who cut ties, he was the one who turned his back. But the reminder is too strong and he misses his sister all the more for it. So he lashes out.

"I can see that! It still doesn't answer my question of what the hell? Since when have you wanted to be a dude?"

"Since I was like ten."

Sam blinks in shock.

"Ten?"

She just stands there, daring him to continue.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She looks away and shrugs.

"You were young and you already had to deal with so much shit what with us moving everywhere. And then when you were older, I dunno. I guess I just got used to hiding it."

Sam continues to look at her but he can't see past the betrayal. Suddenly, the anger of her adolescence makes a whole hell of a lot of sense but it doesn't excuse the fact that she took it out on him.

He scoffs and turns his head, missing the way her face crumbles a fraction.

"And what? You think you could just show up like this? No phone call, no nothing?"

"If I'd'a called, would you have answered?"

Sam chooses to ignore the obvious truth.

"And what? You just expect me to drop everything and go with you?"

"It's dad, Sammy."

"You remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine."

"Not for this long. Now are you gonna come with me or not?"

Self-righteous rage rises up in his chest and he squares his shoulders, taking a stand. If De thinks she can just blow in here, drop this surprise on him, and expect him to just go along with it, much less expect him to go find Dad, she's got another thing coming.

"I'm not."

He can see the hope die in De's eyes but his anger is preventing him from giving any fucks. Instead he stands firm as she nods.

"Fine. Fine." She lowers her gaze and stares at the ground, "It was a mistake coming here anyway. I'll see if Bobby can give me a hand."

They stand in silence in the dark hallway. Sam does not offer anything. Perhaps once she is gone he can just pretend his sister is dead. Killed in a hunting accident. It is quite common in their line of work after all.

"Well, it was nice seeing you Sammy. Take care."

She turns and descends the stairs. He hears her footsteps, heavy from the boots she wears, echo until the door creaks open and slams shut. Sam rubs his eyes. It is way too early for this shit.

"I though you said you had a sister."

He looks up to see Jess standing in the doorway and then glances back the way De left.

"I did."

"Did you have any idea he was trans?"

Trans.

The word echoes around in his head. Sure she was never a typical girly girl, always wore her hair short, never really got into make up. But Sam always attributed that to the way they were raised.

"No."

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns. Jessica is looking up at him with that eager look she gets sometimes when she's excited about something on his behalf. That look is the main reason he ever got his act together enough to even get this interview he has on Monday.

"Go to him."

Sam sighs.

"Jess, you don't know what you're talking about. She's-"

"He."

"What?"

She sighs impatiently.

"Dean's identifying as a guy now. It's clear he's very far into his transition. He's a he now."

"What does it matter?"

She stares up at him with an expression that has him withering under her gaze.

"Look, I get that this is a shock to you, and I know I don't know anything about your past and yeah, maybe Dean shouldn't have told you this way but honestly, how the hell else was he supposed to?"

And all at once he feels like utter shit. It's one thing to know something to be true and another to be told it angrily by your girlfriend in the middle of the night.

"I know you loved your sister. And I'm sure you're missing her like hell right now. But that guy, that person, is Deanna. She's not gone, she's just…different. Like you're different. And that doesn't have to be bad. So go talk to him."

He looks down at her and smiles, shaking his head.

"You're gonna make a great psychologist one of these days."

She slaps his arms playfully, "Yeah, if I can ever get around to actually choosing a major, now go."

He kisses her quickly and hurries down the stairs. Luckily, the Impala is still there. He stops for a moment and runs his fingers over the car. Despite the hatred that built in him, growing stronger every time they climbed into her to leave another town, he still had fond memories of the car; the toy soldiers they'd stuffed in the ashtrays, the initials they'd carved into her frame, the soft growl of the motor that lulled him to sleep on the never-ending journeys criss-crossing the country. He can see De sitting in the driver's seat, one hand clenched into a fist on the wheel, the other propped against the rolled up window, her—his head leaning against it as she—he stares out the windscreen. Sam opens the passenger door and slides in.

"I'm sorry." He says softly after a long moment of silence.

"Me too." De says, "I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that. I did call to tell you, but I chickened out. I didn't want to do it over the phone. Felt like you wouldn't really take it seriously unless the evidence was staring you in the face."

Sam can't argue with that, he barely believes it now and it practically punched him in the face. Did punch him in the face come to think of it.

"Does Dad know?"

"Yeah."

"How'd that go?"

De scoffs.

"About as well as you'd expect, but Bobby knocked some sense into him eventually."

Sam smiles, if there's anyone who could pull John Winchester's head out of his ass it was Bobby Singer.

"How is Bobby?"

"Good, he's good. Been really supportive of everything. Helped me though a lot."

Sam's chest tightens and he is suddenly flooded with guilt. It should have been him supporting his…brother through his transformation. Instead he reacts like…well, like John Winchester.

"That's good."

There is a beat of awkward silence before De turns to him.

"Look, I really am sorry. I know this is big and I—"

Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.

"No I'm sorry. I was surprised and I acted badly. It's just…I miss my sister."

De laughs and pats his shoulder.

"I know. Sometimes I miss her too. But I feel so much better like this. And hey, I can still kick your ass so not much has changed."

Sam looks around at the interior of the car; at the dashboard and the box of tapes at his feet and Dad's old leather jacket that De wears and decides that yeah, not much has changed and, at the same time, everything has, and maybe that's just the way things have to be.

"I'm a little out of practice."

"Well, we can work on that."

Sam smiles, "I'd like that…Dean."

Dean's eyes grow moist and he wipes a hand over his eyes before any tears can escape, glancing away to avoid any tender moments of sibling bonding. So that's no different.

"So." Sam says, Dean looks over at him, "Where are we going?"