Disclaimer: I do not now, nor will I ever own anything related to Supernatural. I do own my own characters and places though.

A/N: Italics are memories and thoughts. Also I've kind of modeled where they are after my home town in California, but not exactly. I've also attempted to set it in 1995, as Sam is 12, Dean is 16, so apologies if I've mucked it up. Comments and reviews are loved!

Update: I am going to be reposting all of my chapters as I have finally found an amazing beta! All the awards to Tam.

In retrospect, there were many signs. If he'd been paying attention. If he'd really cared. If they had up and moved after a couple weeks the way they usually did. Funnily enough, everything that made their precarious position possible was pretty simple. Or, as simple as anything ever got in their family anyway.

The first sign was Sam's recent obsession with accents. He began practicing different kinds of accents all the time and coveted foreign movies with an unhealthy obsession. Dean teased him: wasn't a Kansas accent good enough for Sam? The first time, Sam had taken him seriously.

"Of course it is! It's sort of like a disguise I guess. But more than that, it can really help sometimes."

"Oh?" Dean had cocked an eyebrow at that, amused by Sam's geeky personality.

"Well, if you listen to someone talk, you can tell pretty quickly where they're from."

"Like a dialect?" Sam paused and looked at Dean wide-eyed, Dean scowled, obviously offended. "Sam, contrary to popular belief, I'm not an idiot."

Sam flushed a little. "I just mean, it's interesting...and helpful. That's all."

Sam crossed his skinny arms over his chest, tipped his head down, and pouted from beneath his bangs. Dean just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Yeah okay. Whatever you say. Bitch."

"Jerk."

After that, the teasing just became yet another inside joke between them, though secretly, sometimes Dean listened to Sam practicing and he had to admit, the kid was good. He could do anything once he set his mind to it. It never even crossed his mind to wonder why Sam had randomly picked linguistics to fixate on.

Then, the second sign. The fact that while Dean would be flirting with the lady working at the counter, trying to persuade her that Sweetheart, I really am eighteen and do need a cigarette, I just forgot my I.D. at home today, Sam would wander off. Well, it wasn't weird that Sam would wander off. Ever since Dean turned thirteen and began flirting incessantly with any girl that crossed his path, Sam was immediately interested in something on the other side of the store or restaurant. When questioned by their father, Sam claimed that girls were gross and Dean was gonna get cooties. After laughing it off, Dean cornered him late that night. Sam may have pulled off the lie with their father, but it didn't fool Dean. Sam confessed.

"It's a weird feeling. Like low in my tummy."

"A bad feeling?"

"Yeah. It's uncomfortable. Like it hurts to watch you be with some girl."

"Would you rather be the one with the girl?"

Sam shook his head vigorously, "I wanna be the one you're talking to!"

Dean had laughed and given him a soft noogie, assuring him that Sam would always be the one that Dean came back to, that the girls didn't mean anything. Sam had no reason to be jealous. Dean had always assumed that Sam was jealous that Dean was spending time with someone who wasn't Sam and off doing things he couldn't do with Sam. He was pretty clingy like that.

Sam still wandered off. Dean had successfully snitched a pack of American Spirits earlier, he was just wheedling the girl for fun. When it seemed pretty apparent that, while she would happily let Dean get his hands all over her, she wasn't going to let him get his hands on any smokes, he decided it was time to find Sam and get some grub. His stomach rumbled and he rubbed at it absently.

"Sam?"

He heard a small clatter followed by the sounds of something scrabbling on the ground. He turned the corner to find a red-faced Sam attempting to pick up a couple of lipsticks that he'd knocked over. Dean's eyebrows visited his hairline.

"Lipstick?"

Sam hastily put them away, but Dean saw him palm a shade and slide it surreptitiously into his back pocket. Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam? What's up?"

Sam shook his head, blushing impossibly harder. Dean wrapped his arm around the kid's shoulder and guided him out of the Rite-Aid. Once out and sufficiently away from the store, Dean pulled out a cigarette and wedged it between his lips. He pulled out his lighter, flicked it to light the cigarette, puffed a few times and put the lighter away as he gave a grateful sigh. He wasn't addicted to the nicotine; he knew better. Somehow though, the act of smoking was very calming. It also gave him something to do with his hands during potentially awkward conversations, such as the one Sam was currently hedging around.

"Its a kind of curiosity, I guess."

Dean half inclined his head to show that he was listening, without turning to Sam fully. Dean blew the smoke out his nose and Sam was still watching his feet as they idly walked in the general direction of their rented apartment. Dean looked up at the sky; it was his favorite kind of day. No school, warm enough not to need a jacket, but not sweaty or watery-warm. The sun was half peeking from behind a few clouds and the rest of the sky was a beautiful deep robin's egg blue. There was just enough sun to make the pavement shimmer in the distance, a tantalizing oasis.

"I mean, girls wear it all the time so I guess I just wanted to try it out?"

"You wear it?"

Sam tried to backpedal fast. "I-I mean, it's, uh, n-n-not like that, I mean-"

Dean held up his hand, effectively cutting off the rambling river of nonsense of Sam's nervousness. "I'm only wondering Sam, not judging."

Sam turned to face him fully, scrutinizing his face maybe, for some sign that this was all a big joke on him, that any minute now Dean would burst out laughing and push him playfully and tease him mercilessly for the rest of the day. Sam seemed to see the true curiosity in Dean's face because he turned back to face the direction they were walking, but he was looking directly ahead, not at the sidewalk.

"I guess maybe I'm too curious, you know? Like, I know what it's like to be a guy, cause I am one."

Normally, Dean would have interjected, calling him Princess Samantha, but he was too deeply interested in what his younger brother was saying to do that. Sam bit his lip.

"Have you ever wondered, like, what make-up feels like? Or how girls can walk in such high heels? Or such tight clothes?"

Dean took another long drag thoughtfully; he blew out and shut his eyes for a moment.

"No, it never really crossed my mind. But, I'm not nearly as curious as you, Sammy. Have you figured it out?"

Sam took advantage of the fact that Dean wasn't making fun of him to be really honest.

"I would, if I had the chance. I mean, girls shoes fit differently and it's hard to walk out of a store with big pieces of clothes, you know? And it doesn't seem like a good idea to bring women's clothes into the men's dressing room."

Dean snickered at that image, but it wasn't a mean chuckle.

"So, it's all make-up eh? What'dja get this time? Maybelline? Uh, Wet N' Wild?"

Dean hazarded a guess, naming the only brands of make-up he knew, mostly because he'd had to go through a few girls' purses, looking for condoms usually. Sam threw his head back and laughed a little.

"Dean! That's the crappy stuff that high school girls wear! No, I mean like real stuff."

"Oh sorry. Forgot you were the expert on that." Dean mock glared at him and for a second, Sam was convinced that this conversation was about to go to Hell. His nervousness must have showed on his face, because Dean broke out into a small smile. "C'mon Princess. I'm hungry. Let's stop at the cafe before we head back, yeah?"

Sam nodded eagerly, his stomach rumbling on comedic timing.