Work Text:
Jess
“It’ll be nice to see everyone.” That’s all I can think to say at the door. Dean just grunts. Yeah, there’s a reason I’m usually not the one trying to cheer people up. I’m not great at this.
Dean’s been depressed since the election. We both have been. I can handle it better because I’m used to expecting the worst from people. Dean still likes to believe the best about everyone. So this shocked him. Even more than 2016 did. He probably hoped people would have learned their lesson. I’d love it if they did.
Stars Hollow did go Democratic overall as usual. But the margins were narrower than they’ve usually been. Even in a place Dean still thinks of as home, there are people who will choose to harm people like us just for the perception of feeling like they’re doing better than others.
We already knew some people would vote for that man no matter what. Taylor keeps loudly declaring he’s “not a fan of the man’s character, but he is leading the country in the right direction.” I almost wish I was still the teenage version of myself who would’ve slashed his tires.
Some people hit a little harder. Dean’s friend Kyle had gone full MAGA in 2016 and, in spite of Dean’s efforts to get him to see all the harm Trump was causing, voted for him again in 2020 and 2024. Dean’s pretty close to cutting him off. I hope he does.
As validated as I feel in my cynicism, I hate what this is doing to Dean. He seems disoriented. Not even just that. Like he’s lost a lot of his drive. To be fair, plenty of us see a future that looks bleaker than it did just a few months ago. One in which a lot of people are going to get hurt. Or worse.
I know he’s worried about Marilyn Horne in particular. We know this country is getting more dangerous for trans women. And we’ve both seen the increase in MAGA hats and Thin Blue Line flags in Stars Hollow. Marilyn’s admitted that she’s going out less because of it. Dean and I talked about springing for a two-bedroom and inviting her to move in with us, here in New York City. She could be safer here.
For the moment, all I can think about is taking care of Dean. I suggested a holiday party together with our other friends here to try to take his mind off of things. Lane gave me a bad time, saying something along the lines of, “Who knew you had it in you to organize a holiday party, Mariano?” To be fair, all I did was make the suggestion to everyone. Rory and Paris offered to host since they knew Dean would be too depressed to handle cleaning and such and I…well, no one trusts me to decorate festively. A good call, really.
Dean did come the closest to smiling I’d seen from him when I mentioned that it was happening. There was reservation there. I think he’s almost afraid to get his hopes up now. Hopefully he’ll relax once we see our friends.
I text Rory that we’re downstairs. A minute later, she opens the door to let us into her building. “Hi guys! Lane and Dave are already upstairs.” We follow her to the elevator, then to her apartment.
Oh, wow, Rory and Paris really went all out. They made latkes, mulled wine, gingerbread figures, all sorts of Christmas and Hanukkah stuff. The place is covered in decorations. And there’s a glimmer in Dean’s eyes that’s almost painful to see. I can’t stand knowing how badly he needs this.
“Good to see you guys,” I say as we sit on one of the couches. I can tell I’ll need to handle all the small talk since Dean still seems like he’s not in the mood for it. Even being with our closest friends is only cheering him up so much. This kind of chatter feels so awkward - how does he do this all the time? “Lane, Dave, how was the tour?”
They just got back from three months performing with their band across the entire country, so we haven’t seen them in a while. Their band’s a little past their peak, but they still sell out most of their venues.
“Good!” Lane replies. I can tell she’s forcing some levity, and I appreciate the effort. “We made enough in pre-sales to hire a homeschooling teacher so our kids could come on the road with us. I don’t think we’re getting any new fans, but it’s nice to know that our old fans still like us.”
Dave rubs her knee in the most wholesome way. “That’s because you keep getting better all the time, sweetie.”
Lane beams at him. “Hey, I think it’s your lyrics. You’ve been writing some great stuff lately.”
Twenty years. Twenty years I’ve seen this, and it remains disgusting, if also endearing. I need to get someone else talking. “How about you, Rory? How are you doing?”
She sighs like a world-weary ninety-year-old. “I mean, I’m still doing really well at work.” That’s an understatement. She’s been one of the New York Times’ top reporters for years. “I just hate what we’ve become. We hyperfocus on the most inconsequential stories to make some billionaires happy, and we so often ignore Trump’s insanity…” Rory grimaces as Paris rubs her shoulder. “Thanks, honey. I know I’m ranting. I just…used to be so proud when I told people where I worked. Now I just feel complicit in the downfall of our country.”
I guess we’re getting right into this stuff after all. Dean doesn’t seem too put off yet, at least. “You’re still doing great work there,” I assure her. “I know you’ve had to fight your editor to cover real issues, but you’re getting good information out there that would be buried without you.”
She blushes. “You guys still read my articles?”
“Every single one,” Dean says with more force than I’ve heard from him in a while. “What you’re doing is important.” That’s Dean. Even when he’s deep in his own shit, his main focus is on helping and comforting others. I love him for it. It also reminds me that I need to be here for him if he won’t focus on himself.
Rory turns to Paris. “Why don’t you tell them what you’ve been up to, my love?”
“Well, lately, I’ve just been shoring up funding sources in case Trump decides to shut down all academia,” Paris deadpans. “I know it’s not likely, but we have to be prepared for everything.” Paris runs some kind of public health research organization at Barnard College. Exactly the kind of place that has already contradicted Trump’s lies and could be a target.
“Uplifting,” Rory teases.
“The point of the holiday party was to soften the blow of what we all were inevitably going to talk about, isn’t it?” Paris says. Always straight to the point, that one.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dean slump in the couch. “I wish there was something we could do,” he mumbles. Crap, maybe this is backfiring.
“There’s always something we can do,” Lane insists. She’s always been the most resilient out of any of us, so I’m not surprised she’s still got some fight in her. “Dave and I talked, and we’re going to start writing songs that are a lot more political. Art always plays a huge role in driving change, and people need to know they’re not alone in how they feel.”
“You’ll lose fans,” I point out because I can’t help myself.
Dave smiles at Lane. “We know. But those fans never got us anyway. And worst case, if we lose everyone? We had a good run.” She strokes his cheek fondly, and Jesus, this is the kind of couple we’ve all become, isn’t it?
“That’s really cool of you guys,” Dean says. I can’t read his expression exactly. It seems… somewhat positive?
“I’ve been thinking of changes I want to make too,” Rory says. “I can’t stay at the New York Times. Not with how they’ve been handling this. They might just fire me at some point anyway for angering the wrong people. I’m going to apply to some of the independent places. ProPublica. Zeteo. And if that doesn’t work out, maybe I can strike out on my own.”
“You do have the name recognition to get people to follow you,” Paris says. “Just try to get some income before I lose mine.”
Rory chuckles. “I think we’ve got some time. Even if they do come for the universities, New York should hold out for a while.”
Paris smirks. “Well, Hochul was never known for her spine, but we’ll see. I’ll say my part in all of this will be to keep trying to share information on public health issues, even if my group gets shut down. I think you all know there’s no way to keep me quiet anyway.” We all laugh, and she smiles. “I’m going to keep pushing the other scientists I know to engage more in politics too. ‘Neutrality’ isn’t going to cut it anymore.”
I kept glancing at Dean through all these declarations and was surprised to find him enthralled with all of it. He looked hopeful for the first time in weeks. I want that for him. I always want to be someone who gives him that feeling.
That makes me feel better about bringing this up. I’d never said it aloud because it didn’t seem like it would accomplish much, even if I own my damn publishing company. Hearing everyone else talk about their plans though…cheesy as it sounds, it made me think that us all doing our own small bits could add up to something real.
“I want to expand my company’s focus on writers from marginalized communities,” I announce. “We’ve already been doing pretty well at representing gay and lesbian writers, but I want to make sure we’re publishing more BIPOC and trans authors. I know the big publishers are going to quietly drop a lot of people in these groups, and I want to make sure their voices are heard.”
I look at Dean, and God, there’s that smile I haven’t seen in way too long. I would do the craziest things for that smile. Dean gives my hand a squeeze.
Then his face falls. “You guys have all these ways you can push back and do something. I’m totally useless right now.”
“You’re not useless,” I tell him. “I think you actually have the toughest job out of any of us.” His eyebrows rise up, an implied question. “The rest of us live in bubbles where we’re not actually interacting with the MAGA types very much. But I know you get some guys like that on your crews, including a lot of the younger guys who listen to Rogan and think they have to conform to some bullshit ideal of masculinity.
“You can show them there are different ways of being a man. You can be the guy who talks openly about being married to another man and who makes them see that you get respect from being kind, not being an asshole.”
Dean frowns. “It doesn’t seem like enough.”
“ None of what we’re doing is enough,” Paris says. A little blunt, but that’s Paris. “Not individually at least. But we’re fighting a war on all fronts. You never know whose minds you’ll change.”
“None of what I’ve been doing has been working so far,” Dean groans.
“Well, have you called them out on their behavior?” Paris presses. I know this is Paris, I know she doesn’t mean anything bad by it. I still give her a look to remind her this whole party is about helping Dean feel better. Then I see the determined look on his face. He wants to rise to the challenge.
“I haven’t been,” he admits. “They might ignore me since I’m the boss, but I have to at least try.”
“People rarely change right away,” Paris says. “If you start calling them out now though, in a way they’ll listen to, they might improve over the course of a few years.”
Rory shakes her head, chuckling. “Is that the best we can hope for?”
Paris’ expression doesn’t change. “I’m just being realistic.”
“You know, I actually do feel a lot better now,” Rory says. “Oh God, are we being too white savior-y about all of this?”
“Always,” Lane teases. “But hey, if you’ve got that white privilege, you might as well use it for some good!”
Rory laughs. “Yeah. I’ll try to be better about that than I used to be.”
Weirdly enough, the vibe of the room has lightened a lot since we got here. Talking through all of this, committing to even the small things we can do going forward, it all seems to have helped.
It starts to feel like a real party after all of this. We joke, share stories, get a little buzzed. I keep checking in on Dean. He’s laughing and reminiscing and generally coming back into himself. It’s a Christmas miracle.
When we finally get back home, Dean leads me straight into the bedroom. Didn’t expect a reward, but okay. Tonight’s sex feels affirming, not desperate. We relish the warmth and solidity of each other’s bodies. Whatever comes ahead, this is what’s real for us. This is the good we have in our lives, the love that they’ll never take from us. This is what we’re going to fight for.