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Dean was looking at his reflection in the mirror and frowned. He looked tired. The lines on his face looked deeper than he remembered. He had dark circles beneath his eyes. He was skinnier as well, his regular clothes hanging loose over his body. I guess that what happens when you let an archangel joyride your ass for a few months.
Grimacing at himself, he set on his bad and put his head in his hands. He felt like damaged goods, like a used paper towel - all crumpled and worn out. He wished he could feel better.
Sam and Cas trited to cheer him up. They found good hunts, treated him to the best food and pies they could get their hands on, and always asked if he needed something or if there is something they could do to help. He appreciated that, he really did. But nothing they did made him feel better.
He felt like he was trapped in his own body, an ugly and coarse vessel of destruction and war. He needed to get out of himself, so he got up and got out of the bunker. He left a note saying he’ll be back in a few days, got out into Baby, and drove away.
He drove for six hours straight before his first pit stop. It was at a small town with pretty houses and prettier gardens. He booked a room at a motel at the edge of it and then drove around to find someplace to eat.
After eating he decided to walk around before getting back to the motel. The weather was nice and there was still light outside, so a stroll in the fresh air sounded like a good idea. He was walking past the closing shops of the town’s main street when he saw it. A mannequin wearing a long pale purple dress at one of the store fronts. The dress had no sleeves, had a modest neckline, and had a simple shape. It was stunning. The lady in the store looked like she was tidying up but the sing on the door still read ‘open’, so Dean decided to get inside so he could examine it closer.
The bell on the door alerted the sale lady that he got in, and she looked at him and smiled. “I was about to close for the evening, but if you know what you want I can still get it for you and ring you up quickly.” Dean looked from the lady to the dress and back to the lady, and deciding on an impulse asked: “Do you have the pale purple dress from the window in XL?”
“I believe we do. Would you like me to get it for you?”
“Yes, please, that would be great.”
“Just a moment.” And with that she went to the back of the store, leaving Dean not to think about what he was doing. A minute later she was back with what he asked for. A minute after that he was on his way back to his car, holding a plastic bag containing the softest and prettiest dress he had ever seen, still not knowing why he bought it and purposefully not looking for an explanation for that. That was a lie. He knew why he bought the dress; he just didn’t want to think about it.
On the next morning, when he was purposefully driving to the nearest ‘Target/Walmart’, he couldn't pretend not knowing what he was doing. When in the store, he went straight to the makeup section. It was nearly two decades since he owned makeup. He sold it before he started looking for his dad. He hoped not a lot had changed. He picked foundation, powder, dark green eyeliner, beep dark cherry color lipstick, and the basic kit of nude eye shadows.
Next he went to the nail polish stand. So many beautiful colors, thank god it’s cheap. After a lot of deliberations, he decided on a deep dark cherry one, to match the lipstick, and a silver sparkle one, because it’s silver AND sparkle! I can’t not have it!
He wasn’t sure if he wanted a wig or not. When he used to do this twenty years ago - dress in drag and go to bars, he had a long curly golden-blond wig. He was 21 then, and very skinny, and with the wig and a padded bra he looked like a very tall girl. Now he knows he can’t pass as a woman, and to be honest, he didn’t want to. It wasn’t for the thrill of transforming himself to someone else that he was going to do it now. He just wanted to feel pretty and maybe boost his self-esteem a little. He wanted to still be him, only wearing things that made him happy. The dress made him happy. Makeup made him happy. Sparkly colors made him happy. That little purple bow hairpin will make my happy. But the wig won't. He didn’t need a wig, or a bra. It wasn't a costume he wanted.
After buying all he needed, Dean kept on driving. He needed to find the right place for what he wanted to do. It had to be safe and accepting, and preferably with a small stage. As much as he want to go out, he’ll stay in a motel and just look at himself in the mirror all dressed up if the alternative was to get beaten to death by some hating assholes. A day and a half, and a lot of searching and asking later, he found it - The perfect place - A small gay bar that held an open mic whenever they didn’t have a show scheduled. To his pleasant surprise, the place wasn’t hidden in some shady alley like the places he used to go to, but was at a fairly main location. They even had the pride flag painted loud and proud above their door. He spoke with the bar’s manager and made sure it was OK for him to come that night and take the stage for a while.
That night Dean packed everything he bought the past few days into his duffel bag and drove to the bar. It was still early, so the bar was almost empty. He went directly to the bathroom, locking the door so no one will interrupt him. He stripped down to his boxers briefs and put on the dress. It was soft and stretchy, and set nice on his body. It was supposed to be a maxi dress, but because he was tall, it ended at his mid calves. He put on the ridiculous silver shoes he found at the store. They matched the nail polish on his pinkies, which were the silver sparkle. His other nails were the deep dark cherry. He painted them earlier that day so they could dry properly. Next was the makeup. He was afraid it will take him forever to get it right, but apparently his muscles memory was working. Like riding a bike. Ten minutes later he had smooth colored skin, smoky eyes accentuated with green eyeliner, and thick deep dark cherry lips. He attached the hairpin to the left side of his head as a final touch and smiled.
He looked delicate but not girly. He was a man in a dress. More like a cross dresser than a full on drag queen. He liked what he was, and he hoped that he wasn’t taking a too much of a risk just to make himself feel better.
He got out of the bathroom and set at the end of the bar. He ordered a beer and a shot of whiskey, and asked the bartender if he could put his duffel behind the bar for safe keeping. The bartender took his bag, got him his drinks, said that he liked the outfit, and left him alone. Dean sipped his beer and sighed, enjoying the music, and waited for the bar to fill up.
At 22:00 the bar was almost full. People were talking and laughing, eating and drinking, and having a good time. A few guys tried to pick him up, but he politely declined. It wasn’t what this night was about. He didn’t want to get laid. He wasn’t looking for company. He was here to reclaim his feeling of confidence, in his own terms.
Dean finished his second beer for the night and signaled the bartender. When the bartender approached him, he gave him his music player and showed him the song he wanted him to play when he was on stage. It wasn’t easy find the right song. He went through all his favorite Led Zeppelin songs in his mind, but nothing seemed to fit quite right. Metallica wasn’t what he was looking for either. Every song he thought about made him feel like he was lying to himself. Sure, he liked these songs, but something was missing. Some deeper meaning. He wanted a song that will make him feel better. When Damn! It’s so obvious! I can’t believe I didn’t think about it sooner!
The bar slowly quieted down when he got up the stage. He waited for a few moments until he felt he had enough attention. He smiled and spoke to the microphone.
“Eh, hey, I’m Dean, and I would like to sing you a song if you don’t mind.”
Some people clapped their hands and cheered. He took a deep breath and nodded to the bartender to start the playback.
“Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
Hey Jude, don't be afraid
You were made to go out and get her
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better”
The bar went completely silent, all eyes were on Dean. He feared he would feel vulnerable, singing in front of strangers all raw and exposed, but he felt calm and in control. The words his mother used to sing to him were settling something in his heart.
“And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah
Hey Jude, don't let me down
You have found her, now go and get her
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better”
He looked at the crowd, his crowd, the people he never met before and probably will never see again after tonight, and felt love. Not their love towards him, but his love towards them. They didn’t have to pay attention to him, they could continue their meals and ignore him. But instead, they listened to him sing. They gave him a place in their world, a chance to maybe make them smile, and he was thankful for that.
“So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin
You're waiting for someone to perform with
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do
The movement you need is on your shoulder
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah yeah
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her under your skin
Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh”
For the first time in a long while, Dean felt powerful. He was standing straight, in charge of all his faculties, and doing something good. He was taking his broken soul and starting to mend it, he was taking a sad song and making it better.
“Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude
Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude…”
People were singing with him, some standing up and holding their beer up in the air, like he was some kind of a rock star. He felt like a rock star. Even if he was only singing a Beatles song that used to be his lullaby in a gay bar in some random little town. He felt pretty, all dressed up and in the spotlight, and he loved it. The people who went out that night will remember him as a strange man in a dress that sang ‘Hey Jude’, not as a monster. He couldn’t ask for more than that.
Everyone applauded when the song was over. Dean bowed down and got off the stage. The bartender gave him back his player and Dean asked for his duffel bag as well. He went back to the bathroom and changed back to his regular clothes, not bothering with the makeup. Taking it off will take a while, and I can do it more comfortably at the motel, preferably in the shower.
That night, after removing the makeup and nail polish, he lay in bed and felt contented. When he slept, he had no nightmares.
The next morning Dean pecked everything neatly in his duffel bag and got into Baby. He got what he was looking for, and now it was time to start the journey back home.