Chapter Text
Mary was the first to know.
He’d met her in college, when Fate had decreed that they would be roommates. The name of this college was something he was always reluctant to discuss in casual company, as it gave away too much about himself. Sharing a room during the formative years of their youth had made them best friends for life.
Back then, he’d already embraced the goth lifestyle, favouring a more androgynous wardrobe. Mary was punk through and through, safety pins and all. This meant that they borrowed items of clothing from each other all the time, but she often lamented how much bigger her roommate’s foot size was, or she’d steal more shoes from him.
She’d been painting his nails (black, of course) one day, as they sat on the floor of their room, when he sighed wistfully.
“What’s up with you?”
“I wish I’d been born a boy.”
It consumed his thoughts all the time, ever since he’d been a child, but there was something about saying it out loud that made it more real. It felt less like a figment of his imagination.
“I feel the same about once a month,” she replied. She laid his hand carefully on her knee to inspect her work.
“It’s just…” Frustration robbed him of his vocabulary. He’d never been able to articulate this out loud. “Why couldn’t I have been? Everything would be so much easier.”
“Yeah. Fuck the patriarchy. Imagine how much easier we’d get by with male privilege.”
“I mean, that’s true and all, but it’s also… It feels wrong. I feel… I feel as though when I was being made, my Creator put me in the wrong physical form. As though I’ve been given the wrong body. Is that weird? It’s so jarring sometimes, to wake up and look at myself in the mirror, and…” He stopped short, because Mary was staring at him, brush paused in mid-air.
Later on, he knew that this was when she’d realised. She’d realised long before him, really.
“Oh, honey,” she whispered. “I think I know what’s happening.” Mary leaned over and hugged him tightly, for a long time. “You’re not wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
He felt his eyes prick with tears. “I get by, most of the time, but… sometimes, it feels almost unbearable, to have to exist in this skin, unable to look, and feel, and be the way you want to be.” Mary shifted to sit next to him, putting an arm around him. He curled up against her side, wiping his face. It was clear that he had never told a soul until now. “I wish it would just go away. I wish I could just be normal,” he said, mournfully.
“No, fuck that.” Mary sat up straighter. “Dames, you look at me. You don’t have to be normal. You can still be you. You be whatever makes you happy. Okay?” He stared in wonder at her. In that moment, with her fiery red tresses, she looked more Valkryie than young woman. “I will personally curbstomp anyone who tells you otherwise.”
He sniffed. “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for, and I’m infinitely grateful you’re in my life.”
“Aw, come on, kid, don’t make me start bawling too.” She patted his hair. “I think I know some people that can help.”
The next day, she’d taken him to the only LGBT youth centre in town, and he felt like he’d come away with more questions than answers. But it was a good feeling, to know he wasn’t alone, to know there was a light at the end of the tunnel, to know that he was free to be him.
After college, they’d found an apartment together, where they continued to be roommates. He’d waited until after graduation to start. She took him to all his doctor’s appointments, all his counseling sessions, everything. He’d been so nervous, and he hadn’t wanted to be alone, but he needn’t have worried. Mary was with him throughout it all.
She’d cried at the doctor’s office, when he’d got his first prescription of hormones. She’d cried at the civil court, when his name had been legally changed. She’d cried at the hospital, when he came out of surgery, and again when she took him back home to nurse him through the pain.
“It’s tears of joy, silly,” she told him every time, when he’d get flustered and bid her not to.
“Dames,” she drawled, staring into her whiskey, more than a little drunk. “You know. My own life may be a failure. It is. Let’s face it.” She looked up at him, battle-weary, so much older, so much wiser. “But at least, at the very least, I saw my special boy come this far. You made it. And I’m okay with that.”
“Mary, you are not a failure,” he insisted, sipping his own cranberry and vodka.
“It’s fine. I’m fine with it.” Her words were a tiny bit slurred, and she rested her head on friend’s shoulder.
“I found something in the attic the other day.” He pulled something out of his cloak, giving it to her. She looked at it and squealed loudly, frightening several patrons of the Jim and Kim’s.
It was an old Polaroid of the two of them, back in the day. They both had hair teased ridiculously high, and they were both wearing copious amounts of makeup and fishnet stockings. The only difference was the colour of their lipstick and hair - Damien's was black, and Mary’s was firetruck red.
“Oh my god! I remember this!” She snatched it from him, and he laughed at her sudden exuberance. “Awww, look at you! You were such a baby bat.”
She flipped it over. On the back, in his younger self’s handwriting, were the words, “Thank you for everything.”
“That still holds true, you know,” he told her, patting her hair fondly. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, Mary.”
“Pffft.” She waved a careless hand. “I wasn’t doing it for that, was I? You’re my friend. I know you’d do the same for me. I know. I’ll always have you. You'll always have me.”
“Absolutely.” He clinked glasses with her. “To our eternal and undying friendship,” he declared.
She giggled and clinked back. “Love you, Dames.”