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“Thirteen is a shitty age for everyone,” Deanna was told, day after day. She didn’t know why she felt the way she did, all she knew was it was wrong for her to feel the way she did. Deanna was always different and she always envied her brother, Sam. She spent too much time wondering how different her life would be if she had been born a boy. She stayed up late at night thinking about what she would look like with short, close cut hair and a sharp jawline and no visible chest. She was just curious though, right? She always dressed similar to her brother and her father, claiming boys clothes were cheaper and justified boy jeans for having pockets. Her father didn’t care anymore. She rarely spoke up for herself, but Deanna refused to dress in any girlie way. She thought it was bullshit and made her uncomfortable as hell. If she was going to feel “wrong,” she could at least have clothes that felt comfortable.
Deanna slammed her bag on the floor after school. She was particularly quiet on her and Sam’s walk home today. The thought had been killing her, and she felt like she was ready to burst into flames if she didn’t do something. She knew she was just having what she dubbed “a bad week,” and whenever she felt extra shitty, she rewatched her favorite movie, Rebel Without a Cause. Since Deanna’s parents never got along, her father bought himself a television set so he could watch TV in the basement alone. It sat relatively untouched after her mother died.
While Sam did his homework in his own room, Deanna carried the VHS tape down from her room where she kept it safe. Her father occasionally sold their possessions at random for extra money, since he spent so much of it on whiskey. Deanna couldn’t bear the thought of her movie being taken away. It was the only thing that kept her sane. She closed the basement door behind her and locked it. The extra security helped her relax a little as she pulled the tape out of the protective plastic case and pushed it in the DVR slot. The couch that used to be in the basement was sold years ago, so Deanna just had a couple of old blankets on the floor, and she occasionally brought down a pillow if she was watching late at night.
She hit the power button a few times on the side of the TV. Its age was beginning to show, but Deanna liked to see it as she kept it running. It would die without her using it, and she would die without her movie. As the beginning of the movie played, Deanna stared at the case a little more intensely than she usually did. She was not particularly admiring James Dean on the cover, more imagining what it would be like to be him. To be a cool guy who could get a date with a pretty girl and have a friend who was more like family to her. She ran her fingers down the side of the case and looked back up at the screen, the glow of the TV being the only illumination in the room. It was blinding and burning and beautiful. The longer she watched, the more the swell of pain and want grew in her chest. She wanted to look like James Dean more than anything, and she was almost desperate to make it happen.
Sam and Deanna’s father had been gone for a couple of days now, and he had a tendency to disappear for days or even weeks at a time, so she knew she wouldn’t have to deal with his consequences for a while. She thought about her decision for a long time, and she couldn’t stand not doing what she was about to do any longer. She didn’t know how she would feel after the deed was done, but what was the harm in trying anyway? Her father could only hit her so many times. Besides, Deanna had time to come up with an excuse for her decision.
Deanna locked the door behind her and stripped her flannel and her t—shirt off, leaving her in a somewhat tight fitting tank top she always wore instead of a bra. She didn’t have much of a chest anyway, so she was able to get away with smoothing what she did have out with a tank top. Her chest would probably never be as flat as she wanted, but she would never be comfortable with it anyway. She considered wrapping her chest in bandages to flatten it out completely, but she never dared to try it. If she was going to try to look more like a boy, she was going to start small. She always kept her hair tied back in a ponytail and tucked it into her flannel to hide it, but she just wanted it gone. She pulled her father’s hair trimming kit out from under the sink and placed it on the counter. A figure she never truly recognized watched her from the mirror above as she pulled out a pair of scissors and hesitantly pulled her hair toward the side so she could get a better grasp. Looking one last time at the hair in her hand, she began trying to cut through all of it with the scissors. It was tough and thick and took much longer than Deanna could stand, but a moment later she was standing with a chunk of her hair in her hand, completely disconnected from her head. She didn’t even acknowledge the tears she saw from the stranger in the mirror as she began to cut more and more hair from her head. Through the blur in her eyes, the stranger started to look more familiar, somehow.
Once her hair was short enough, she pulled the electric hair trimmer out of the small, black bag and plugged it into the wall. She flipped the switch and by the time she was surrounded by the remains of who she was pretending to be, she finally wiped her tears and looked at the person in the mirror one more time. The tears returned when she realized she finally recognized the person staring back at her. No, not “her.” “Him.” Deanna wasn’t Deanna anymore. Deanna felt like a part died and a new part had grown in the dead part’s place immediately. Deanna ran both hands through the hair that was left to shake out the leftover trimmings and cleaned up the mess. Deanna shifted around a little and made a couple of poses, the person in the mirror doing the same. The person staring back at Deanna was new, but Deanna finally recognized the stranger. Deanna wasn’t “Deanna” anymore. “Deanna,” in a matter of minutes, had finally discovered what was wrong for so many years.
“Like James Dean.” The breathy sentence dripped out, throat quivering and eyes watery. Dean. The name repeated in Deanna’s mind. Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean. “Dean,” he finally said out loud. He wasn’t Deanna. He was Dean.
Dean wiped the tears again from his face as his breath hitched in his throat. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, panic and reality setting in. He raked his hands through his hair again as he began to feel lightheaded. He didn’t want to leave the bathroom anymore. He didn’t know what Sam was going to say, if anything, and was already dreading what his father was going to say or do. Dean checked his watch and saw that, despite feeling like he was a standstill, time had continued ticking. It was past time for him to start cooking something for him and his brother to eat. He debated telling Sam it was a “fend for yourself” night, but he had already committed to making macaroni and cheese. It was simple, and Sam was nine. He was more than old enough to cook for himself, but Dean didn’t want him to. He didn’t want his brother to grow up as fast as he did.
He flinched as the lock clicked and the door swung open immediately.
“Jesus Christ, D. How long does it—” Sam stopped mid sentence, noticing Dean’s hair. He had a small, amused yet sympathetic smirk on his face. “Dad’s gonna kill you,” he said casually. Dean rolled his eyes and pushed past Sam.
“Be nice or no dinner,” he said lightly.
The Winchester kids ate in silence that night, watching some rerun of a cartoon that Dean didn’t care about on TV. Every commercial break, Dean wanted to speak up and say something, but he thought he was crazy. Everything about what he had done a couple hours before felt crazy and Dean felt like he belonged in an asylum. He wasn’t born a boy, but knowing how he felt when he looked like a boy made him realize that, somehow, he was a boy.
“So, are you a lesbo now, or something?” Sam asked out of the blue. Dean froze at the question. He knew he was going to have to tell Sam something eventually. He rarely did shit that would piss their father off without a reason. Now he had to make a decision; lie to his brother or tell Sam something he only found out himself a couple hours ago.
“Can’t be a lesbian if I’m a guy, Sammy,” he said with a straight face, eyes locked on the TV. The figures blurred and time stood still as the silence lingered longer than Dean was comfortable with.
“How does that work?”
Dean didn’t know how to answer that even for himself. He just shrugged. “I don’t like being a girl so I’m a boy, I guess.” The answer made no sense, but also was the only explanation Dean could think of.
“Are you gonna tell Dad?”
Dean bit his lip. Sam always asked questions he never knew how to answer. This was a simple “yes” or “no” question, but Dean still had no idea. He just shrugged. “We’ll see,” was all he said.
“So what about being Deanna?”
“It’s Dean now,” he said carefully. “Like— like James Dean…”
Sam scoffed at him lightly. “You would, jerk.”
“Bitch.”
The TV seemed to glow a little brighter, and Dean could feel a light warming inside himself. He felt alright for the time being. Sam wasn’t going to tell their dad anything, and Dean would do his best to keep his dad off his ass about his hair. Maybe he would take things farther and try to flatten his chest somehow. Maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter, he was just messing around. No harm in that, right?
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“What the hell did you do?” Dean’s father asked him, uncomfortably calm, upon seeing his hair short for the first time in the week since he cut it. John had been gone until now, and hadn’t known about the haircut, so it was a shock for him.
“I didn’t like it,” was all Dean said. His dad didn’t look at him directly. Just over his shoulder. Dean didn’t know how to feel about it, but could feel a light weight lift when his father shrugged.
“Whatever. Just don’t start kissing girls or some shit like that.”
Dean just nodded and went back to his room. There was no way he was going to tell his father. Not if he didn’t think Dean just being a lesbian was okay. Dean wasn’t even sure if he liked girls or boys or anyone for that matter. All he knew for certain that he liked was movies.
“And grab me a beer, would you?” Deanna’s father called loudly up the stairs. She decided not to get too comfortable being “Dean” to try and keep herself from slipping up in front of her father in particular. She did as she was told and before going back into her own room, she slipped into Sam’s uninvited.
“D, what the—”
“Forget what I told you last week.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“The, uh, the ‘Dean’ thing. Forget I said anything, alright?” Deanna tried to keep her voice firm but quiet, making her stance clear. “Got it?” she said a little more harshly. Her brother nodded slowly, a small frown on his face.
“Whatever, D. I wasn’t going to call you that anyway,” Sam muttered as he looked back down at his book. The words shot a bullet through Deanna’s heart. She had hoped her brother would at least be okay with the way she was, but she seemed to be wrong. Maybe she should just give up and just be a normal fucking girl. For the next five years, she would do exactly that.
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Deanna pushed the tape under her bed and never watched Rebel Without a Cause again. It hurt for a while, not having the comfort of her movie anymore, but soon the pain faded into the background of all the other pains of her life. She was miserable even when she had the movie by her side, what difference did it make if she didn’t have the movie in her life? By the time she was eighteen she mainly had a vague idea of the movie’s plot and couldn’t remember any of her favorite scenes as vividly as she used to. She had forgotten the weight of her struggles being lifted by the characters struggling through life alongside her and the joy she felt as she felt like she was a part of the family that they built together in that abandoned mansion.
After she cut her hair the first time, she grew it back out as fast as she could, trying to get her father and brother to forget she ever cut it in the first place. She kept it just below shoulder length, short enough to hide it in her flannel every day at work. She convinced her manager to let her keep her flannel on during her shift, saying she was always cold. As long as it was blue— the store’s primary color— it would be okay.
Deanna was cleaning her room properly for the first time in years. She had so many clothes that no longer fit her that her brother didn’t want and old mini figures and collectables, as well as a bunch of trash everywhere. She didn’t care about a lot of things, but she figured it would give her something to do while she was wired at 2am. While digging through the old wrappers and pop cans under her bed, her hand landed on a cold piece of plastic. She dragged it out with her fingers carefully and under the light of her lamp, she saw it. The case for Rebel Without a Cause was in her hands once again. She just held it for a moment, cradling it, almost. She soaked in every detail of James Dean on the front and skimmed over the words on the back. She hated that she felt that old, familiar tug towards the man on the cover again, years and years of repressed desire surfacing in moments. A tear dripped onto the cover and Deanna hadn’t even realized she was silently sobbing. She wiped her eyes and stood shakily, clutching the VHS tape in her arms and made her way back to the basement.
A wave of deja vu flooded over Deanna as she locked the basement door behind her. She felt like she hadn’t aged a day since she was thirteen, the last time she watched the movie. Everything was exactly how she left it five years ago. The blankets still had the wrinkles from her moving them around and she even found her old pillow resting on top of them. She sneezed from the dust as she smoothed the blankets out and plugged the old TV set back in, wondering if it would even work. Clicking the TV on by the side and the DVR by the front, she pushed the tape in the slot more carefully than she used to. As the static on the TV turned to clear moving pictures, Deanna could feel the walls she had spent so much time carefully constructing over the past five years crumble in an instant.
The movie was different than she remembered. A lot more and less impactful all at the same time. As with every time when she watched the movie, she was focused on James Dean more than anything. She always used to think it would be exciting to end up in a police station when she was young, but having been treated worse than police by her father, she thought that maybe it would be a refuge. Like Judy, Deanna wanted to break away from her own family more and more each day. Plato’s story of being completely abandoned by his own family and desperately wanting something or someone to cling to, struck her in her previously broken ribs that were never the same. Sometimes, she still got sharp pains in her chest from trying to breathe. Jim’s story hit her the hardest. No one listened to him or respected him, and everyone thought it would be better for him to run from everything. His own father had no advice to give and his mother always told him he did everything wrong. The worst part was the fighting. They fought over every little thing, making Jim feel like a failure in any way possible. It reminded Deanna of her own parents when her mother was still alive. Her parents did nothing but fight, not caring if she was in the room or not. Neither of her parents ever backed down like Jim’s father did, though.
Worst of all was watching Buzz and Plato die for their mistakes. Deanna had made so many mistakes in her life, and she was barely an adult. In a way, she wondered if she should die for her mistakes too. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it before.
When Plato spoke his line about wanting to be closer to Jim, Deanna thought of it differently than she did before. Plato wishing for Jim to be his father didn’t seem so literal like it used to. He had a different look in his eyes. He didn’t necessarily even want a father at that point, he just wanted someone to love him. Maybe Deanna wanted the same thing.
Then she reached the scene of Jim, Judy, and Plato fleeing to the abandoned mansion by the Griffith Observatory. They started playing house like kids on the playground, but it didn’t feel like a game to them, nor for Deanna. In the span of a handful of movie minutes that probably translated to hours, they became a real family. Deanna grew violently jealous with each second added to the runtime of the movie while the small, self—made family was on screen. She wanted a family, a real family so terribly, but she would never get it. Not being the fuck up she was. She could barely keep up with those who were supposed to be her family. How the hell would she find a family who would want her?
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Deanna was still reeling from watching Rebel Without a Cause again, distracting her from her work the next day. She was stocking air cabin filters when she was startled by the voice of a young man behind her. “Excuse me.”
“How can I help you?” Deanna cringed a little extra hard at the sound of her customer service voice. She had laid awake all night wondering how she would feel if her voice was deeper, like James Dean. She felt a twinge of envy for the voice of the young man, his voice deep and comfortable. It reminded her of the time she tried to push her voice lower when she was fifteen out of curiosity. She couldn’t remember what it sounded like, but it would stay on her mind now.
“I’m looking for spark plugs. The lights on the inside of my car are out.”
“Right this way,” Deanna said, pushing her voice down a little lower than usual. The rumble in her lower throat that trickled into her chest felt good. Warm and comforting and oddly familiar. Right.
Deanna led the man across the store where he searched for the correct kind of spark plugs, but he looked completely lost. “Need some help?” Deanna offered. She may not have been her father’s son, but she was the one of his kids to show interest in cars. She knew more than the average person about the inner workings of cars, so she often offered a little extra help with customers. She felt good showing off what she knew and proving to even a single person that she wasn’t just some stupid girl that was out of her depth while working at an autoparts store. She felt important.
After talking to the man a little more, she helped him pick the correct parts and rang him up at the counter. She handed him the receipt, and he paused after taking it from her. “Would you, um, would you mind helping me with these? I’m not sure how to install them.”
Deanna couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath. “Then why didn’t you go to a mechanic?”
“My stepfather says I need to learn about cars.”
Deanna immediately understood what the man was talking about. Her father could not care less about her rejection of femininity. On the other hand, when Deanna’s mother was alive, her mother wanted nothing more than for Deanna to just be a girl. Deanna would always refuse though. She would bite, scratch, kick, and scream to avoid wearing a dress and break down about getting dolls instead of cars, even if it got her a smack on the back of the head or locked in her room for the rest of the day. “Right, uh, I’m almost off. I can show you a couple other things after too if you want.” Deanna regretted her impulsive offer. She wasn’t even sure why she said what she did. The man tilted his head and squinted at her, a little taken aback by the offer. “If not I can just—”
“That sounds good,” the man responded before she could rescind the offer completely.
“Awesome,” Deanna said, a hint of her rare, genuine smile breaking through.
The rest of Deanna’s shift went by in a flash. It felt like it was only a moment before she had removed an inner panel in the man’s car and was talking him through the process of how to change the spark plugs. She checked in every once in a while to make sure he was understanding, and the man nodded slowly. He didn’t interrupt her once like other guys may have done. It was nice. “You got it?”
The man nodded as she replaced the panel. “I understand. Thank you very much.”
“No problem,” she said coolly. “You want me to show you a couple other things while I’m here?” Deanna was still in the mood to work with cars. Four years ago, she started helping her father restore a 1967 Chevrolet Impala he got from a scrapyard. They never finished the project, as her father began spending more and more money on alcohol. She ended up dropping out of school at 17 to get a job and pick up the slack so her brother could have enough to eat. It worked out for the better, since she always had issues with bullying anyway.
“I would like that,” the man said with a smirk. Deanna smirked back. She showed him where the compartment for the cabin air filter was and how to check his fluids, simple things anyone can remember.
“I appreciate it,” the man said, sticking his hand out to her for a handshake, almost like she was just another guy to him. It made her feel right, but also wrong at the same time as she shook his hand awkwardly but firmly, like she had heard her father explain to her brother. She felt seen, but like she didn’t deserve to shake the man’s hand in the proper way because she wasn’t technically a man.
“Anytime,” she said. She caught a glimpse of the man’s backseat on accident, but she saw a familiar image obscured by the shine of light against plastic. “Rebel Without a Cause?” she said without thinking. The man looked at her awkwardly and Deanna, thinking she made things uncomfortable, panicked. “I just— I like that movie, that's all.”
“I’ve heard a decent amount of things about it and was curious, so I found it at a used video store today.”
“That’s cool. I have it on VHS.”
“That must be interesting,” the man said in response.
“Yeah. Maybe you could come by sometime and watch,” Deanna said without thinking. The man gave her a look that looked uncomfortable.
“I— I don’t like girls, just so you know.”
“Oh hell no that’s not what I meant! I just meant like— I, just, not that,” Deanna clarified. She wasn’t thinking about this guy like that at all. She wasn’t even sure if she liked guys. She never cared enough to figure it out anyway.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made things—”
“No, nah, you’re fine,” Deanna chuckled awkwardly, crossing her arms over her chest. She crossed her arms in such a way that covered her chest so it wasn’t sticking out like normal, pressing it against herself. Now she was hyperaware of her body and everything she didn’t like about it.
“Here. My number,” the man said, handing Deanna a post—it note with a phone number. It also had the name “Castiel” underneath.
“Thanks, Castiel,” she said cautiously. Castiel still had the pen and notepad in his hand, so she took it from him and wrote down her address, then handed it back.
“I’m not too far from there,” Castiel said.
“Are you free Saturday night?”
Castiel squinted, reading over the address again and again. “Not until late,” he said hesitantly.
“How late?” Deanna asked, eager to see her favorite movie with someone else for once. She never forgot the inkling feeling of isolation when she saw the movie alone in her basement.
“I think I would be able to come over around 10:30pm, if that’s not too late. I’m not sure if you—”
“You’ll have to be quiet, and leave before the sun comes up, but other than that it should be fine.”
“I don’t have a problem with that, but why so early?”
“I don’t need my dad kicking my ass for having a guy over,” Deanna chuckled bitterly.
“Is he strict?”
Deanna thought for a moment. She didn’t necessarily consider her father strict. More like he had a terrible temper and every moment he was awake, Sam and Deanna would be walking on eggshells around him.
“Kind of,” was the best explanation Deanna could give. It at least made sense to the average person, and Deanna thought it was best to keep the way her father was a secret.
“My stepfather is strict too.”
Deanna nodded in understanding. “I’ll see you Saturday then,” she said, taking a step back.
“10:30pm,” Castiel said back, taking a step closer to his own car. The two departed without another word.
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At 10:30pm that Saturday night on the dot, Deanna heard a light tap tap on the ground—level window to the basement. She quickly and quietly let Castiel in and he landed on the concrete with a light thud. Deanna stiffened and listened closely for her father. She knew he had passed out drunk in his own room, but she just wanted to be sure. The door was locked and the two were safe.
She and Castiel were silent the majority of the movie, the light and sound of the TV being the only thing that broke through the quiet darkness. She occasionally glanced over to Castiel to see how he was responding, but he never looked back at her. He was fully engrossed in every scene. About a third of the way through, Deanna stopped checking in and got lost in the character of Jim Stark. She wanted to be tough and brave and daring like him, and she could almost see herself as him, but that person also wasn’t Deanna at all. For the first time in years, Deanna could feel Dean creeping up behind her, and it terrified her.
Deanna was lost in thought for the rest of the movie. While she was focused on every small movement Jim made, wanting to look and feel and be exactly like him. Her chest tightened at the thought of cutting her hair and flattening her chest and talking deep all over again. She could feel Dean trying to claw his way out of her chest and it was tearing her apart.
“Deanna?” Castiel asked lightly. “Are you okay?”
Deanna swallowed, her throat tight. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to lock Dean away where he had been for the past five years and move on. She cleared her throat and nodded. “I’ve just been thinking about a lot of stuff lately.”
Castiel nodded. “I understand. Do you want me to g—”
“No! Uh, no, you can stay,” Deanna started too quickly. She didn’t want to sound desperate, but she despised the thought of herself being alone with no one but herself and the boy she had buried so many years ago digging himself out from his grave.
“You don’t want to be alone,” Castiel said quietly, reading her mind. He shook— no— She shook her head, trying to keep herself grounded. She couldn’t speak. Dean had sewn her mouth shut and she was terrified. She couldn’t breathe, like Dean was strangling her and trying to make her take his place in the coffin in her chest.
A few hours later, Deanna shot up off the floor as the sun started filtering in from the basement windows. She had fallen asleep and the guy she met at the autoparts shop was now sitting up next to her, hand gently on her back as he put space between them. Deanna remembered that Castiel was trying to keep her from getting the wrong idea. She wasn’t into him like that.
“I should go,” Castiel said to her softly. Dean— Deanna nodded.
“Yeah…”
Deanna helped him out the window and quickly waved goodbye as he crept out of the backyard and disappeared into the sunrise. Now she was alone again. She sighed as she sat back down in front of the TV and stared at her reflection on the black screen. She wanted the light from the sun to fade out again so she could sit alone in the dark, watching James Dean all over again. At the same time, watching Rebel Without a Cause again might dig Dean back up after she had spent all night trying to bury him again. Deanna couldn’t do that. Not now, not ever. She listened to the static of the TV as she got the tape out of the DVR and put it back into its case. She shut the TV off again, taking one last look at her old friend as she shut the basement door behind her.
Back in her room, Deanna stared at all the laundry she had left on the floor and the beer bottles laying next to her bed. She occasionally gave her father enough money to buy her alcohol as well. She was still technically underage, but having an alcoholic as a father meant he didn’t give a shit as long as she didn’t get him in trouble. She looked around and found an old shirt that she didn’t wear as often anymore, wrapped the tape in it, then stuffed it under her bed. She needed to put Dean away for good, and this seemed to be the only way.
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Deanna and Castiel stayed friends for the next four years. A month after they had watched their first movie together, Castiel would disappear for the following year and a half. Finally, he called from a payphone three towns away. He told Deanna how he felt he was going crazy and he would have died if he had stayed in Lawrence, so he ran. Deanna understood. He apologized for leaving her behind, but Deanna promised it would be okay as long as they kept in touch from then on.
When Castiel settled into his own apartment, Deanna would come over for a weekend at a time and they would watch movies together in the daylight. He suggested Rebel Without a Cause once, but Deanna panicked, remembering how she had a breakdown last time they watched it together. Castiel never mentioned the movie again.
Now it was Deanna’s turn to move out. Sam had recently been accepted to Stanford University alongside a girl had been dating since the last month of his senior year, Jessica Moore. The two of them had plans to get an apartment out in California so they could be close to school. Sam told Deanna and their father it was so he could save money from living off campus, but Deanna knew it was so Sam wouldn’t have to come back to Kansas. She was okay with her brother never coming back. After Deanna had cut her hair, things were never the same between them. There was a tension that hadn’t been there before, and even after she grew her hair back out, the tension remained.
The two of them began packing their belongings around the same time, but Sam was good and gone before Deanna finished getting her things together. Now she was double checking the handful of things that remained in her childhood bedroom. Her brother’s was completely empty, and the only couple of things left in Deanna’s room was a dresser and her old bed. She had already had a buyer lined up and he would be picking up the mattress and frame in a couple hours, so she needed to finish gathering what few things she had beneath it and disassemble the frame for transport. As she moved the bed from against the wall, she threw away the trash she found and picked up the shirts that made their way underneath the space. As she went to fold a black one that she found near the wall, something fell out of it and landed on her foot. “Son of a—” Deanna stopped as she looked at what fell on her foot and her blood ran cold.
Deanna sat on her floor with the tape in her hands for a solid twenty minutes before she made any kind of movement besides blinking. Her legs had fallen asleep underneath her and she checked her watch. The man who was going to pick up her bed would be at the house within the next thirty minutes or so and she needed to finish taking all of it apart. She zoned out completely during the whole process and just stared blankly as moments later, a man she didn’t know placed $150 in her hand. She watched the van take off out of the driveway and realized her childhood was truly over. She was moving forward with a life she didn’t fully understand how to live, but she had other things to worry about, like the tape she placed on the front seat of her car as she left the house for the final time, leaving for her new home.
A month after she had settled into her apartment, she shut the blinds in her living room and waited until 10:30pm to turn on her new—ish TV set. She had bought the TV and a DVR from a thrift store earlier that week for one reason only. As she sat on her floor on the blankets that held her younger years together, she put in her favorite tape and settled in with a glass of whiskey to yet again watch Rebel Without a Cause.
Watching the movie again for the first time in her own space at twenty—two years old was so much more different than when she was eighteen and dramatically different than the first time she saw it at six years old. She knew every scene by heart and still knew every line. Memories of the feelings she felt the first time surfaced, slowly at first. She felt like she was watching a rerun of her life up to the age of thirteen every camera cut. By the middle of the movie, she could feel a strange yet uncomfortably familiar pit catching in her stomach and rising to her chest. It was the same suffocating sensation she felt last time she saw this movie, but this time, she was completely alone.
Deanna’s breaths came quicker now and she began to feel lightheaded. She placed a hand on her chest, trying to gather her thoughts against her quickening heartrate. She forced her breathing to slow and looked up to focus back on James Dean as he laid in Natalie Woods’ lap, Sal Mineo at their feet. As her vision blurred, the only figure of light she could focus on was James Dean. All she could think of was James Dean. Soon, the “James” of “James Dean” had vanished, and she could feel her ribs collapsing under her as she was left alone with herself, three dead actors, and Dean.
Before Plato was shot, Deanna turned the TV off and rushed to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her out of habit and stared at the mirror, wondering if she could find someone else behind the reflective glass. She saw the same odd figure who had only disappeared once in her life. She recognized the person staring back at her, but it wasn’t her. It was Deanna Winchester, and she wasn’t sure if that was who she really was.
She dried her tears and pulled at her hair, playing around with it. She pulled it back as tight as it would go, tying it into place as the strands pulled painfully against her scalp. It hurt like hell and she wanted it all to go away. With her hair all behind her head, she caught a fleeting glimpse of Dean in the mirror. For the first time in almost a decade, she didn’t run from him. She didn’t try to hide or force him back into the coffin in her chest. Deanna, for the first time, wasn’t afraid to embrace him.
The next morning she got up early and went to the store to buy a set of electric hair trimmers. The set sat on the bathroom counter for two weeks, untouched. Every morning she got up for work and just stared at the set, wondering if Dean would beg her enough for Deanna to set him free. Finally, one Saturday, before Castiel had planned to come over to see her, Deanna got tired of Dean’s whining. She was too sleepy to argue that morning, and didn’t fight Dean as she went to get everything in place for what she was about to do.
Muttering to herself and trying to talk herself out of it one final time, Deanna pulled her shirt off, leaving her in a tank top and stared at the mirror as she pulled hair out of the hair tie. She messed with it one final time before grabbing the scissors she had set on the counter moments before and snipped a chunk of her hair off. She held it in her hand and stared, looking between the chunk and the mirror. There was no turning back now. Unlike the last time she watched Rebel Without a Cause, she could no longer turn the TV off. She couldn’t put Dean back now even if she tried.
Twenty minutes later, Dean had finally surfaced and pushed Deanna to the side. He was back. Free. Dean watched the last few stray hairs fall to the floor and looked back in the mirror. The person staring back at him was someone he hadn’t seen in a long time, but someone who had been with him the whole time. Over the past nine years, Dean felt like a stranger in his own skin. He hadn’t seen a glimpse of himself for almost a decade, but now that he was here, it was like he had never left. He hadn’t realized how out of focus his life had been until now. Dean hadn’t noticed he felt like he was going to float away at any moment until he landed sturdily on the ground. He was real again. Dean was the one who was supposed to be here all along.
________________________________________________
Dean stopped himself from opening his door right away, frozen in fear. The last time Dean showed himself, he was met with indirect rejection from the people who were supposed to care about him the most. If Castiel rejected him, Dean would have no one. He wasn’t close with his co—workers and they would think he was crazy if he told them to call him “Dean” instead of “Deanna.” It was too soon for Dean to skip town and break his lease, and it was too late to hide behind the facade of Deanna again.
Dean had barely finished wrapping support bandages around his chest to flatten its appearance when he heard a knock at his door. Son of a bitch…He took as deep of a breath as the bandages would allow and opened the door cautiously. Castiel was about to knock again and almost struck Dean in the face on accident. “You cut your hair,” Castiel said as Dean stepped aside to let him in. Dean shifted awkwardly as Castiel took a closer look at his hair. “Did you cut it yourself?” he asked.
“Is it obvious?” Dean chuckled, worried his hair was messier than he thought it looked.
“Your sides are uneven, and the back isn’t lined up,” Castiel answered. “I can help you fix it if you would like,” he offered.
“I— yeah. Sure.” Dean hesitated to agree, but what was the worst that could happen?
In the bathroom, Castiel held his one hand under Dean’s chin tenderly. He turned the trimmer on and tilted Dean’s head to the side to begin lining up the edges. Castiel’s eyes were locked in deep focus. Dean, on the other hand, was distracted by every touch of the trimmer on his face and every strand that fell to his shoulders. He noticed the stubble on Castiel’s chin from the close proximity of their faces and he immediately felt an ache of jealousy rise into his too tight chest.
Castiel’s hand remained on Dean’s neck just a touch as he rounded behind Dean to trim his neckline. His left hand rested at the top of Dean’s spine as the trimmer buzzed the stray hairs away.
“May I ask why you cut it?” Castiel’s voice was monotone but curious. Dean suppressed a shiver of anxiety down his spine. He was worrying again about losing his best and only friend if he declared himself to be a guy. Dean had to hurry up and decide before Castiel— click. “I’m done,” he said softly. He swept the trimmings off of Dean and onto the floor. Dean traced his finger along the clean, straight line against his neck.
“Thanks,” Dean said quietly, checking the lines on his sides. He felt even better and more comfortable with his appearance now as he looked at himself in the mirror. He could even feel what was left of Deanna smiling at him through the mirror. She was wilting now, but she was at peace.
“I’ve been cutting my own hair for a long time, so if you need any help you can ask me,” Castiel said comfortably, looking Dean in the eye for only a moment.
“Thanks, Cas,” Dean smiled.
“I assume you plan on keeping it short?”
Dean nodded, running his hand nervously through his hair. He never answered Castiel about why he cut his hair. Considering Castiel didn’t press once they left the bathroom and set themselves up on the floor in front of Dean’s TV, he figured he wouldn’t have to tell him anything just yet. Maybe Castiel would assume Dean was a lesbian and let it go. Dean wanted to tell him everything like always, but he didn’t want anyone to know what he was.
Everything was quiet that afternoon. The two sipped their beers and ordered pizza after their first movie. Dean was starting to doze off, tired from all his overwhelming emotions.
“Deanna? Are you okay?”
The name pricked his spine. While expected, as no one had ever called him Dean, it still made him uncomfortable. “No, Cas. I’m— I’m not okay,” he confessed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Castiel asked more softly than before. Dean locked his eyes on the screen, too afraid to answer “yes.” He didn’t want to say no either. Dean was convinced that the only thing keeping his pounding heart in his chest was the bandages. The bandages may have been suffocating, but Dean hadn’t felt it so easy to breathe in years.
“I, uh, I— I think I might be a guy.” He kept the admission uncertain just in case. Castiel tilted his head and squinted at him, confused. Dean thought Castiel might be trying to catch his gaze, but Dean’s sight never broke from the glow.
“As in, you want to become a guy?”
Dean nodded. “Always have, kind of…I— I tried to call myself ‘Dean’ once,” Dean chuckled, cringing at every word that fell out of his mouth. He sounded crazy. No wonder Sam told Dean he wasn’t going to call him ‘Dean’ anyway.
“Because it’s the male equivalent of ‘Deanna?’” Castiel asked. Dean huffed and shook his head.
“More like ‘James Dean,’” he corrected. “I was kind of obsessed with him as a kid. At first I thought I just had a crush on him or something, y’know? Then I got a bit older and it felt more like I wanted to be like him. I tried to act like him a little at school and that kind of shit, but then I wanted to look like him…”
“And that was a problem for you.”
“I always tried to dress like a boy when I was a kid too. My dad didn’t give a shit. Just made things easier for him. Buy everything in my size, then Sammy always had hand—me—downs.”
“But you knew for all these years,” Castiel confirmed.
“Ever since I was a little girl,” Dean chuckled uncomfortably. He felt like the joke would have landed better if he had a naturally flat chest, a deep voice, and maybe a penis as a bonus.
“Why did you never say anything?”
Dean couldn’t help but scoff. “My dad thought I was crazy. My brother basically told me I was crazy— I mean— I am crazy. But I don’t know…”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Dean.”
Dean’s neck snapped to the right to meet Castiel’s soft gaze. A tear slipped from the corner of his own eye. No one had ever called him “Dean” before, but it felt like it was his name all along. It was terrifying and exhilarating. A new feeling of flying freedom, something Dean never thought he would feel. “You believe me…”
“Of course I do. I have no reason not to.”
Dean swallowed thickly, his heart swelling into his throat and choking him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Awesome,” he said with a subtle smile. Castiel placed a soothing hand on his shoulder as he had done many times before. The movie had ended by then and all that was left was the sound of the static, gritty but comforting. The sound of pure silence between the two of them would be too much for Dean at the moment.
“You’re not crazy, Dean,” Castiel repeated. Dean and Castiel had become close friends after they first met, so it wasn’t strange to either of them for Castiel to cup his face gently on both sides and wipe his tears with his thumbs. “I will always believe you.”
Dean nodded, unable to say “thank you.” Castiel just hugged him tightly. For the first time ever, Dean felt like a person. A real, living human being. Not just some soulless shell pretending to be alive or a soul stuck in a corpse watching someone live the life he was supposed to. His life was finally his.
________________________________________________
Twelve years. Dean had been living as himself for twelve years now. His life was finally normal. He and Castiel had an apartment together in Lebanon, Kansas, and they lived their lives peacefully. Dean never had any sort of romantic life, while Castiel went through a few boyfriends every now and then. By the time Castiel had hit thirty—two, he had given up on anything permanent. That was when he moved in with Dean. Neither of them wanted to live alone at that point, and they had spent so much time together they figured they may as well. They worked during the day, watched movies and drank a little at night, and generally went about their lives as normal as anyone could. They were talking about getting a pet sometime soon. Dean wanted a dog, but Castiel wanted a cat. They wouldn’t decide for another decade.
Dean was checking the prices on the cereal, head down and somewhat cautious. He had a few run—ins early on after coming out with people who thought he was crazy for being born a girl then becoming a guy. It was before he started his treatments and got his surgery, but it stuck with him anyway. Now nobody could tell. Even he forgot sometimes he had ever been anybody but Dean Winchester. He kept having an unsettling pit in his stomach and kept glancing to his left. There was another guy with shaggy brown hair at the end of the aisle looking at oatmeal. Dean never understood the appeal and preferred the sugary sweetness of kids cereal. It was stupid having to dig through the shelves to find his favorite off—brand, but it was always worth it. “Fucking inflation,” he muttered under his breath.
Dean glanced up as he went to leave the aisle and froze as he came face to face with the man. Shock and fear and excitement and guilt and grief and anger and every other emotion that Dean could never name shot through his entire body. He recognized the man who was now making uncomfortable eye contact with him as well.
“Sammy?” he asked quietly. He looked at Dean in the same confused way his little brother always did when he had a question.
“Uh, do I know—” the man’s eyes widened as he stopped mid sentence. “Deann— uh— D?”
Dean cleared his throat and ran his hand through the back of his hair. “Dean, now, but, uh, yeah?”
“When did…you…I—”
“You’re back from Cali, huh?” Dean was trying to keep things casual and normal, but Sam’s shock at seeing his sister turned brother seemed to be overriding that, as it would for anyone, especially after over a decade of no contact at all. Dean had completely ignored his father and his brother, afraid of their rejection.
“You’re not…you’re not dead.” The words fumbled awkwardly out of Sam’s mouth.
Dean scoffed. “Of course I’m not dead, bitch,” he chuckled. He was hoping Sam would respond by calling him “jerk” without hesitation, but Sam looked like he was face to face with a ghost. In Sam’s head, he probably was staring at a ghost. Sam swallowed uncomfortably, and took a step closer. There was a darkness in his eyes and Dean was already convinced he could feel his brother’s hand against the side of his face, the stinging pain, but he didn’t feel that at all. What he did feel? His brother’s arms wrap around him in a crushing embrace, his chin tucked securely into Dean’s shoulder. Dean, completely stunned, hesitated before hugging Sam back protectively. It was like they had never been apart.
“Sam?” A lady behind them questioned, sounding concerned. Sam took a deep breath and pulled himself back, taking another look at Dean before turning to a blonde woman. She was holding a young boy, about three years old— who was preoccupied with some squishy toy— on one hip while she held the handle of a shopping cart.
“Jessica, hey. It— this is my, uh…my brother, Dean,” Sam said hastily. Dean didn’t know how to feel. Everything was happening so fast and none of it felt real. Every second felt like hours or days or weeks. He didn’t know anymore.
“I’m Jessica,” she said, sticking out an awkward free hand towards Dean. He shook it uncomfortably, wondering if she had figured out Dean was a different kind of guy. He hadn’t seen or heard from Sam in years. For all Dean knew, Sam could have been telling her that he had a sister named Deanna this whole time. Dean cringed at the thought.
“Sam never told me he had a brother,” she said lightly, looking back over to Sam. “But he also didn’t tell me he liked ketchup in his macaroni and cheese until about four weeks ago,” she said playfully. Sam just looked away embarrassed, but Dean could only breathe a sigh of relief.
“He’s kind of a freak,” Dean chuckled, playing along with the joke. “He used to eat marshmallows in his mac ‘n’ cheese too, y’know,” Dean told her. Sam rubbed his temples as his face flushed with embarrassment.
“Anyway,” Sam started, clearing his throat. “Yeah, this is Jessica she’s my—”
“Wife,” Dean said, finishing for him. He didn’t miss the wedding ring on her finger when he shook her hand.
Sam glared at him lightly for interrupting him, but continued. “And our so—”
“Jack!” the kid shouted, throwing his hands in the air. He locked his attention back on his toy and started tugging at it while babbling what Dean guessed was supposed to be a song.
“Your son,” Dean repeated. Sam had a son. He had a wife and a son. Dean had missed so much of his brother’s life. He missed his college graduation, his wedding, his kid. Dean had a nephew all this time and he had no idea.
“Dean?”
“Yeah. I— I gotta get going,” he said, running his hand through his hair. Jessica looked at Dean a little confused and Sam frowned at him.
“I— give me your number,” Sam said, pulling one of those new touch screen phones out of his pocket and handing it to Dean. “I’ll call you. Maybe you could come over for dinner one night,” he smiled softly.
“Yeah, it— it’s been a while,” he breathed tensely. Dean was wondering just how much he really missed in his brother’s life. They used to be so close. There was a time where Dean considered Sam his best friend, and he was Sam’s for years. Then he tried to cut his hair and things dissolved from there…
________________________________________________
Dean couldn’t stop anxiously picking at his fingers as he sat in his car outside the address Sam had texted him earlier that week. He wanted to bring himself to the door, but he was scared. He just got off the phone with Castiel, complaining about his nerves, but like always, Castiel’s comfort only did so much. Dean was never one to take solace in the words of another, no matter how heartfelt and genuine. Many times, words were completely meaningless to him.
Unable to soothe himself, Dean grabbed his carton of cigarettes out of his center console, double checked he had his lighter, then locked his car and strolled to the end of the street. He figured he should at least try to avoid being caught by his brother, so he ditched his jacket in the car to keep it from retaining the smell of any smoke. He still caught a chill from the breeze as he cupped his hand to guard the small flame from the wind as he lit his cigarette. Taking a couple puffs, the nicotine slowly started to clear his mind. Dean didn’t want to walk into his brother’s house for the first time in front of his wife and kid drunk. He already felt like a fool, seeing his brother after his transition, he didn’t want Sam thinking he took after their father.
“Well, you got your shit together, didn’t you?” Sam said sarcastically, startling Dean.
“Jesus, fuck! I hate when you do that,” he spat.
“Put that out, would you?” Sam always detested Dean’s little habits, especially smoking. Dean was never consistent. He only smoked when he was stressed, like he was now. He took a final puff and sighed as he stomped out the rest of the cigarette. He could already feel his anxiety returning.
“Alright, what’s up?” he asked, trying to stay casual and tucking his hands in his jeans.
“Well,” Sam started, clearing his throat and stuffing his hands in his jacket. Dean was starting to wish he hadn’t left his own in his car. “You sat in your car in front of my house for fifteen minutes. Then, instead of coming inside, you go off for a smoke.” Dean couldn’t tell if Sam was trying to make him feel guilty, but Dean did anyway. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Sam asked a little more gently this time. Sam may have been talking about Dean’s avoidance at the moment, but that wasn’t what he was referring to.
“About me, you mean,” Dean grunted. His anxiety was already getting the better of him. Sam just nodded, leaving Dean room to continue. “Does Jessica know?” He kept his gaze on his shoes and slipped his hands in his jean pockets.
Finally, Sam shook his head. “I never even told her about you…y’know, before,” he said awkwardly. “I never told her how Dad was and only told her that Mom’s gone and…and that I don’t like talking about family.” Sam looked embarrassed about his secrecy towards his wife and partner of about thirteen years at this point.
“And you?” Dean asked hesitantly. “About, uh, this?” Dean asked, gesturing to himself. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know the answer. Maybe Jessica made Sam call him over for dinner and Sam wants nothing to do with him.
“I—I— I don’t know, Dean…” Sam whispered. At least he didn’t call Dean his birthname. “I— I mean it’s not— I— I’m not against people like you or anything,” Sam rushed. Dean cringed as Sam said the phrase “people like him.” He was almost talking like Dean was a freak or something. Dean thought he was a freak too, but he was the only one who could call himself a freak. “I— I just never expected to see you again. A—And now that you’re here and— and you’re different and I— I don’t know what to think…”
“I— I mean…I tried to tell you when we were kids but Dad…you— you know how he is…”
“Was, um, actually,” Sam cut in. “He kicked the bucket a few years ago now…”
“Hm,” was Dean’s only response. “How?”
“Stroke, I think.”
“You think?”
Sam tilted his head and shrugged. “I— that’s what his friend Caleb told me, but the coroner’s report said ‘significant blood loss’ for some reason.”
“What, like a vampire?” Dean joked. He earned half a chuckle from Sam.
“He did love those old horror flicks,” Sam added.
Dean nodded, then furrowed his brow as he recalled their original topic. “You remember though, right? When I—”
“A little, yeah….” The brothers went quiet, Sam a little more uncomfortable than Dean. “I remember Dad kicked your ass a week later…” he whispered, fear tightening in his throat.
“Two ribs and an arm,” Dean chuckled darkly. “A new record for him.”
“Dean…”
“Eh. The guy’s six feet under. No bones about i—”
“Dean!”
“Alright, alright,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t help but make light of his past. He felt like he had the right to joke about it, and it was the only way he could really talk about it. Besides, he wasn’t the one to bring it up. No matter who started it though, it would always be Dean’s burden to bear. He mumbled a quick apology under his breath anyway, more for making Sam uncomfortable and less about what he said. “You remember though, right?”
Sam nodded.
“So you remember saying you’d never call me ‘Dean’ and telling me I looked like a ‘stupid lesbo’ every day for two months, right?” There was a little more bite behind his words than Dean intended.
Sam hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I— we were kids, man…”
Dean bit his tongue. He couldn’t fault Sam too hard for what he said all those years ago. They were just kids, and the man who was supposed to be raising them didn’t exactly keep his opinions to himself. “Yeah…Sorry, I— I know…”
“I didn’t know shit back then—”
“Are you still surprised though?”
Sam paused for an uncomfortably long time. Seconds blurred together quickly while the sky darkened and the streetlamp above them flicked on. “A little, I— I guess…Honestly I’m more surprised you’re alive right now,” he chuckled. “You pulled a lot of dumb shit when we were kids.”
Dean snorted. “Can’t argue with that.”
“Are you— like— happy? Now?”
“I’ve never felt better, Sammy,” He answered without hesitation. Dean wouldn’t necessarily consider himself “happy,” but he was at least enjoying his life as much as he could. Since he cut his hair the second time and had come out and transitioned, he wanted to be alive. As far back as he could remember, Dean hated being alive. Even when he was a kid, he thought a lot about dying. It sounded dramatic, sure, but he really hadn’t been able to imagine a life for himself until he came out. Truly, if he hadn’t transitioned, Dean would be long dead by now.
Sam smiled a little, looking relieved to hear Dean’s answer. He jumped as his phone chimed and checked it real quick before pocketing it again. “We should head back,” he said, nodding back towards his house. “Jess is getting worried.”
“Right. Yeah,” Dean breathed. The two began heading back, walking side by side and just a touch out of sync, down the sidewalk. Dean bit his lip as the brothers came upon his car parked in front of Sam’s house. “You’re not gonna tell her, right?” Dean asked as his driver’s side door swung open. He traded his cigarettes for his jacket and shut the car again as Sam scoffed.
“Why would I?”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know…She’s your wife?”
Sam huffed, a trace of guilt in his eyes as Dean found his way right back to his side. “I should tell her more, shouldn’t I?”
“I would.” Dean nudged him playfully but not too lightly. Sam immediately nudged him back. “But not about me,” he added. “She doesn’t need to know that,” he chuckled uncomfortably.
“Right. Yeah. Of course not.”
Dean sucked in a tight breath as Sam opened the front door and led him inside. Before Dean crossed the threshold, he was excitedly greeted by two very loud, very rowdy dogs. One looked to be a golden retriever and the other looked to be some kind of mix. “Jesus f—” he cut himself off, seeing Sam’s kid off in the corner.
“Bones! Riot! No!” Sam shouted, yanking the dogs off Dean. “Jess!?” he shouted towards his kid where his wife was as well. She bolted over to help Sam wrangle the dogs and the two led them away. “Sit wherever,” Sam said quickly, leading the mixed dog away.
Dean looked around before sliding his boots off and dropping them over by the shoe rack. He wanted to look around, but felt it would be too invasive without his brother’s explicit permission. He at least meandered around the living room, getting a vague layout of the house. It wasn’t long before he was hit in the head with a ball. “Son of a—”
He looked over to where Sam’s kid was sitting, laughing and clapping a little. Dean felt like he should remember the kid’s name, but he didn’t. “Jack, come on,” Jessisca whined as she went to pick up Jack.
“You good?” Sam asked as he reentered the room behind her.
“I’ve had worse,” he said, winking at Sam. Sam just shook his head in disappointment.
“I’m sorry about the dogs,” Jessica said sympathetically while Jack played with her hair.
“Damn dog! Damn dog!” Jack repeated.
Sam just nodded and chuckled. “Yup. Those goddamn dogs,” he said, ruffling Jack’s hair.
“They were your idea, Sam.”
The couple bickered playfully and Dean just listened, watching his brother. He couldn’t believe how much Sam had grown. It was hard to believe he was the same person who used to run around drawing on the walls or sleeping on Dean’s floor when he had a nightmare since he couldn’t go to their father. Dean was there for so much of Sam’s younger years, being thrust into the future and seeing his baby brother have a wife, a kid, two dogs, and a house seemed like a dream. The world had such a hazy bright filter over it, Dean wondered if any of it was real. There was peace and laughter around the dinner table that night. Riot tried to steal some of Dean’s food and Sam called him a “greedy bastard.”
“Dean?” Sam asked, nudging him on the shoulder and bringing him out of his daze. Jessica was staring at him worriedly and Jack was off to the side playing with his spaghetti with no sauce. “You okay?” he continued, hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Kinda lost you there for a second,” Jessica chuckled with a soft yet concerned smile.
He looked around the table for a moment and the dog that was begging him for food while the other dog laid on the couch. He took in the sight of his brother sitting next to him across from his wife who was sitting beside his son. It almost seemed too good to be true. He smiled just a little. “I’m pretty damn good, yeah.”
“Damn dog! Damn dog!” Jack shouted out of word association. Bones trotted over to Jack’s side and barked quietly a few times. Jack barked back, having as close to a meaningful conversation as a three year old could have with a dog.
“Is ‘Damn Dog’ his middle name?” Dean joked.
“Basically, yeah,” Sam answered, taking a sip of his water.
“Jack heard it once thanks to someone…” Jessica said, looking at Sam, “...and now it’s all he calls Bones now.”
“Damn dog! Damn dog!” Jack continued to say sporadically throughout dinner. Dean offered to help clean up, but Jessica tried to block him from doing so, insisting she had it handled and should spend time with Sam since it’s been so long. He continued anyway, collecting plates and carrying them to the kitchen behind Jessica.
“I can take care of this, you know.”
“You know Sam better than I do now, so I kind of wanted to ask about him,” Dean said quickly. He didn’t want to sound weird about it, but Sam really was a different person now, and Dean didn’t know shit.
“Oh,” was all she said as she began rinsing the first plate in the stack. “I guess that makes sense. Shouldn’t you talk to him about that though?”
Dean shrugged. “I just thought it’d be easier to pull shit out of you than him. He ain’t always the sharing type, y’know,” he said lightly. She couldn’t help but nod in agreement.
“Maybe you know him better than you think,” she chuckled. She wasn’t wrong. Dean was almost acting like he knew absolutely nothing, but he could probably still guess the basics. His name was Samuel William Winchester, he was always their parents’ favorite, and a stubborn asshole who knew exactly what he wanted out of his life.
“I used to…” Dean said solemnly. He couldn’t help but scoff to himself at what he could remember about his kid brother. “But he ain’t a kid anymore, y’know?”
“Yeah. Things change.”
“Damn right they do…” he said with a smile to cover his grief. He had missed so many changes in his brother’s life, but Sam also missed so many changes in Dean’s life. They could never truly know how different their lives are, nor would they experience some of the milestones that many would find to be most important. “So?” he asked again, pushing Jessica only a little to continue.”
________________________________________________
“So, you’re some big fancy lawyer now, huh?” Dean asked, sitting on the other end of the couch. Sam just chuckled and rolled his eyes.
“If you wanna put it that way, I guess,” he answered modestly. That was another thing that felt familiar to Dean. Sam had a way of downplaying his accomplishments. In his defense, he never had the chance to celebrate his academic achievements with their father. John Winchester wasn’t particularly the caring type of father who was proud of either of his children. He never praised either of them for basically anything.
“Dude. You went to Stanford Law. The only person I know who has a higher law school whatever test grade than you is Elle Woods.”
“You watched Legally Blonde?” Sam asked lightly.
“Shut up,” Dean said, shoving him lightly. “A friend made me watch it. Plus, Reese Witherspoon? Have you seen her?” It almost felt good to have Sam taking light jabs at him again. Maybe they really could be brothers now. Dean could have a family.
________________________________________________
When Dean parked in his designated spot in the parking lot that night, he couldn’t get out of his car. His hands were frozen to the steering wheel. Nothing felt real. The whole evening felt like a dream and Dean was scared he would wake up any second. He didn’t want to lose his brother or his best friend or anything he had, but it felt too good to be true. He was scared he would wake up still thirteen years old as a beaten, broken, and bloody Deanna, who had to keep living a lie. He did vaguely remember getting knocked out during that particular beating. It was the worst one his father ever gave him. Maybe he didn’t even wake up. Maybe Dean got a head injury from hitting his head on the stairs and was in a coma or died and he was in some sort of twisted afterlife that kept him going anyway. Maybe he would wake up a paralyzed vegetable in a hospital in Lawrence, Kansas, completely alone. Sam would have no way of visiting him and John likely wouldn’t have come to check on him. Depending on how things went, John could be in jail while Sam was shipped off to some foster home or some shit.
A light knock on Dean’s window made him gasp and jump back, snapping his head against the headrest of his seat. He swallowed uncomfortably as he exited the car, standing close to a worried Castiel.
“You were late, so I came to check on you. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer,” he explained. “Are you okay?”
Dean cleared his throat and wiped his nose with his sleeve quickly. “I’m fine, Cas,” he responded, the two walking shoulder to shoulder into their building.
“You’re lying,” Castiel noted casually, not looking Dean in the eye. After so long, he knew looking Dean in the eye only made him shut down more. “Did things go poorly with Sam?” he asked softly. He quietly followed Dean into their apartment, mimicking Dean as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. They sat side by side on the couch, their knees touching. Dean’s opposite leg was bouncing frantically as he popped open both of their bottles and took a few silent sips from his.
“If you, uh, if you can believe it…things went too well…”
“Too well?” Castiel asked, tilting his head. He almost made eye contact with Dean, but looked away, focusing on his own bottle. Dean nodded.
“I don’t know, man. It was just weird.” Dean didn’t know how to explain it without sounding crazy. He tried his best anyway.
“It sounds more like you were expecting the worst without hoping there could be a good outcome,” Castiel told him bluntly. He wasn’t wrong. Dean was waiting the whole night for Sam to say something. To out him to Jessica or say him being the kind of man he was made him uncomfortable. Hell, Sam hugged him before he left and Jess gave him a side hug. Even now, after the whole night, Dean never received a follow up text from Sam telling him that he never wanted to see him again.
“I guess.”
“And because nothing bad happened this time, you’re still waiting for it.”
Dean nodded. Castiel was always good at analyzing him. He knew Dean better than Dean knew himself sometimes. “Nothing like waiting for the worst,” he sighed, taking a long sip.
“You never hoped for the best though, Dean. And now that it happened—”
“It doesn’t feel real…”
Castiel nodded. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze. Pressure always helped Dean. “It’s certainly not something you expected.”
Dean shook his head.
“So, because you didn’t expect it, you’re probably still in shock.”
“I’m just not used to people taking it so well.”
“I did, if you remember.”
Castiel was right, again. Not everyone was against people like him. His brother certainly wasn’t, thankfully, but he couldn’t help but remember how John almost beat him to death. From every rude glance to physical assaults would always haunt him. “But you’ve seen how other people take it too,” he responded. It was also true. Castiel was the first person Dean called when he had been beaten and left for dead in an alley. He was the one who had helped Dean get through all the terror of threats against his life for being who he was and cope with all the news reports of people like him getting murdered in the streets.
“It’s not important, Dean. What matters is what’s real.”
“How would you even know?”
Castiel, looking frustrated but staying calm, pulled Dean into a hug and the two sat silently in their embrace for a moment. Castiel finally pulled away, but kept his hands on Dean’s shoulders, his grip firm. “What of this is real?” he reiterated. “We are. The people who care about you are real. This is real,” he gripped Dean’s shoulders even tighter. Tears welled in his eyes, but not from pain, from relief. He really wasn’t crazy and who he was wasn’t something that should be seen as bad or wrong. Dean’s exactly who he’s supposed to be, and the ones who matter know that. It didn’t change anything between him and Sam in the end, and it was the most important thing to him. Things were so simple, that Dean could barely believe it was real, but as Castiel was telling him right now, it was. It was all real. It wasn’t a dream he was going to wake up from in the morning in a body he hated with people who never understood him. He would wake up the next morning in an apartment with his best friend and his brother and now family just a phone call away. There was nothing else he needed at this point.
________________________________________________
If Dean could talk to a young Deanna, he would have an unreasonable amount of things to tell her. She spent so much time trying to fight him off for all those years, despite wanting to be him so badly. If he only had time for one thing to say, he knew exactly what it would be. “There is still time.” She would have the rest of her life to become him. Now, on his death bed at age 79, Dean was finally at peace.