Naturally, a year and a half after I posted this, I go back and think "gee, I don't like this. What if I START OVER?". So here you go.

WARNINGS: Childhood gender-identity issues, bigotry, NOT wincest.

DISCLAIMER: Supernatural is not mine.

Sunday School Switch-a-Roo

It had all started when little Sammy was four years old.

John had left him with Pastor Jim one Sunday morning to take Dean out clothes shopping. The kid was growing like a weed, and it wouldn't be right for him to try and force Dean into pants nearly two sizes too small any longer. When the pair of them returned, Sam had run up to them, the biggest grin on his little face, wearing a frilly blue dress that was most definitely not his, shouting "Wook, Daddy! Pweety!"

After getting over the initial shock of seeing his son in a dress, John couldn't help but smile. Sure hope this doesn't mean some poor little girl is running around in her panties, he thought.

Dean, who had been standing by his father's side, was rolling on the ground in laughter by the time Sammy reached them. Sam, of course, didn't see anything wrong with it-how could he? He was only four.

"Sammy," John said, kneeling down so he was eye-level with his son. "Whose dress is that?"

"Mine!" he replied cheerfully. Dean snorted, and John gave him a look that said 'settle down'.

"No, Sammy. Who's the little girl who let you borrow the dress?"

At this, Sammy frowned, pocking his bottom lip out. "Chawity…"

"Charity?" He looked up, as if expecting the little girl to just appear at the sound of her name. "Where's Charity, Sammy?"

"Ahem." John scooped up his youngest quickly and turned around at the voice, his instincts taking over at being caught off guard. A stern looking woman stood by the steps of the church, grasping the hand of a little girl, whom John assumed was Charity, since she was-thankfully-wearing little Sammy's clothes.

"Ah, you must be Charity's mother," John said.

The woman turned up her nose. "Yes, I am. And I'd like my daughter's dress back, now." Her lips were set in a tight, thin line, and Charity looked down at the ground shamefully. John frowned, and Sammy sniffled pathetically into his shoulder.

"Daddy, no," Sammy moaned into John's jacket. Sighing, he kneeled back down on the ground and set Sam down.

"Sammy," he began. "It's time to give Charity her dress back. She needs to go home."

"But Chawity said it's my dwess now!" he whined, hazel eyes filled to the brim with tears.

"Dresses are for girls!" Dean chimed in. "You're not a girl, are you, Sammy?"

Sammy's frown deepened. "No…"

"This is all very touching," the woman sneered. "But I have things to do, places to go. So if you don't mind?"

John glared up at the woman, who took a step back and looked away. He turned back to his youngest. "Okay Sammy, play time's over. Let's go."

Awkwardly, the two four-year olds switched back their clothing, both with tears streaming down their faces. Dean watched as the woman scolded her daughter harshly, mumbling about 'letting dirty little boys take off her Sunday dress' and 'wearing a dirty little boy's clothes'.

He didn't like her.

After the woman walked away, John was left with a hiccupping four-year old once again in his arms.

"Is Sammy gonna be okay?" Dean asked, reaching up and grabbing onto Sam's foot.

John rubbed Sammy's back for a few moments before rustling Dean's curly hair. "Yeah, Dean. He just needs a nap and he'll be all better."

As he walked his sons back into the church where Pastor Jim was waiting with lunch, he thought to himself, Sammy's getting to be that age. He's wondering about why little girls different from little boys, that's all. Just an innocent gesture of curiosity.

That's all.

And that was all. At least, for a while.