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Today was the day. Dean had been waiting his whole life for this.
Today was the day his class got the talk.
Things had been mentioned at home. His mom had told him about how Dean arrived on the coldest, wettest, most blustery night of the year. The poor stork had been hounded by the wind, battling the storm and almost breaking his wings in the process.
Mary had had to bring the poor bird inside, offering him a towel and hot cocoa, and Dean always adored the story: even though his mom was head-over-hoof about finally having her new foal, the stork had needed help, and Mary was kind enough to provide her attention.
Dean wanted to be like that. Not just caring for his own, but for others. He’d care for all the ruffled storks, if they ever blew his way.
Mary was his hero, he always said to other ponies. Some laughed, because colts Dean’s age were meant to idolise expert fliers like the Wonderbolts, or whichever musical group was the coolest at the time. He wasn’t meant to be devoting his time to looking after his little brother, he was meant to “ditch the stupid foal and come join the party”.
Dean wasn’t like that. He loved his little brother. He loved his mom. He didn’t get why that kind of thing wasn’t important to the other colts and fillies in his class.
Anyway, enough moping. He lifted his head and trotted proudly into the classroom, excitement lifting his hooves like a spring was strapped to each one. All the other ponies were at their desks already, some giggling. They all knew what today was going to be, and Dean was certain a lot of his peers thought it was silly. They were all still young - only just teenagers, really, and nopony here was about to get themselves a foal anytime soon.
Foals were hard work, Dean had experience enough to know that as fact. Little Sammy was about as easy to care for as a...
A...
Well, he was real flippin’ hard to care for. No question about it.
Dean sat his butt down in his seat, shifting himself closer to the desk, whipping his tail out of the way. He could feel whispers around the edges of the classroom; the other ponies had rumours to share.
Dean had heard theories.
He’d heard ponies had to sell their immortal souls to get foals, and that was why parents were so horrible. But he dismissed that as soon as he heard it; maybe everypony else’s parents sold their souls, but Mary was perfect. Mary was an angel. If anything, she had two souls.
He’d heard ponies had to write a really strongly worded letter to the storks, begging them for a foal. He hoped that wasn’t true, because he’d failed his persuasive writing paper. He was better at building things, and fixing things, and making broken things work again. He was also terribly good at making things that shouldn’t work into things that worked at doing something else entirely. And at calming baby foals. But nopony graded on that sort of thing, so his best skills remained nothing but useless hobbies.
He’d heard...
The last one was kind of embarrassing, actually. He’d heard adult ponies had to put their naughty bits inside each other, and somehow that made a foal. That was the most ridiculous rumour, and if he ever found the pony who made that one up, he’d buy them a really nice pie, just to show his approval of their impressive imagination.
But no matter what the rumours, today they’d all find out the truth.
Dean took a deep breath as Ms. Mills trotted into the classroom, her satchel held in her mouth.
“G’morhnin’ clasf,” she greeted, her words muffled by the handle of her bag.
The class greeted her in return, a bumbling uncoordinated set of “Good morning”s. Their teacher smiled as she put her bag on her desk, then turned to her blackboard, plucking her chalk from the holder with her mouth, and writing out the lesson heading on the board.
HOW FOALS ARE MADE.
“Now, I’m sure all you colts and fillies have talked about this with your parents―”
Parent, Dean thought. Singular. Not everypony had a daddy.
“But today, I’m going to explain to you how us ponies get our babies.”
It all started quite slow: Ms. Mills explained the basics, and every theory but the one about the strongly worded letter dissipated into nothing but a hazy, unimportant lie that Dean would never have to worry about again.
Storks, it seemed, was where the foals came from.
Every foal was crafted with love, and magic, and of course, everypony was unique. It was a little mysterious; not everything was known about the process yet, because not even the pegasi could fly high enough to see the storks’ precious clouds. But ever since the dawn of time, there had been storks.
“What came first, the stork or the stork?” Ms. Mills asked the class, and then laughed. Nopony else got it, but she seemed rather amused in any case.
Baby ponies would be delivered to their mothers when the time was right, and they were almost always matched up correctly. Their traits would follow on, there were these things called genetics, and as far as Dean could understand, the storks were very good at doing them.
There were some rare cases where the baby ponies didn’t match to their parents, but Ms. Mills was delighted to explain that in pretty much every case, the foals would fit with the family anyway. The traits didn’t matter, because family was all about the bond.
Dean fondly thought of Uncle Bobby. He wasn’t family, and yet he was.
The hours went on, and the class took morning break, then came back and learned about how very important it was to always be prepared for a new foal. Dean already knew most of what followed. He knew how to foal-proof a home, he knew how to change diapers. He knew what kind of milk to feed a baby, he knew how to do the choo-choo-train to get Sammy to swallow his icky baby mush.
Ms. Mills called for question time every half an hour or so, and the other ponies asked so many questions that even when Dean did raise his hoof, Ms. Mills overlooked him. He supposed she thought his questions might be too complicated for the rest of the class, since he was the only one here who knew about this foal-rearing stuff.
Jo asked how old a pony had to be before they got a foal. Ms. Mills was a little edgy on the subject, but at last she stated to the class that you had to be an adult pony to have a foal. Whether that meant a certain age or a certain level of maturity, Dean couldn’t be certain.
Charlie asked whether it had to be a colt and a filly raising the foal together, or whether it could - maybe, possibly, just theoretically - be two fillies? Ms. Mills smiled, and nodded. So long as there was a mother mare for the stork to deliver to, then the foal could be raised by anypony the mother deemed suitable.
But Dean’s question never got asked, and he was a little scared to ask it himself. Besides, from what he could tell, everything else they covered was discussed pretty thoroughly. He figured he’d get his answer by the end of the day.
After lunch, they learned about the foal growth cycle, and the whole ‘puberty’ thing. Everypony winced at least once.
Then they covered cutie marks.
Almost everypony in the class had their cutie mark, and Dean was one of the two who didn’t. He was pretty sure it was because he hadn’t decided yet. He knew what he was good at: raising Sammy, and making impossible machines. But he didn’t yet know which he liked more.
If he had his own foal, he’d know what his destiny would be. He knew he’d know.
He wanted a foal so badly he didn’t think he’d even make it to adulthood before he got his own. Because he was ready, and the storks delivered when the parent was ready. He knew everything now. Half an hour before the end of the school day, he was so utterly certain he’d be the best daddy Equestria had ever seen, his very important question almost disappeared from his mind.
But he overheard a snicker from the back of the room, Victor’s stage whisper cutting through most of the classroom. Dean turned in his seat in time to hear, “Any colt that falls for a mare with a foal is just lame. No colt who’s really a colt wants to be tied down like that, am I right?”
Dean’s mane bristled, and he returned his eyes to the front of the classroom, where Ms. Mills was drawing an example of a typical pony family, the likes of which was nothing like Dean’s home unit.
Dean said nothing to Victor, even though he should have. Dean was a blank-flank, and Victor was cool. If Victor believed colts didn’t want foals, then that was his opinion. He didn’t have to have a foal. But Dean would.
Dean swallowed. He was going to ask his question, no matter what Victor thought. In fact, just being brave enough to ask it would probably be enough to change Victor’s opinion. Prove him wrong.
Dean waited until Ms. Mills turned around, asking everypony to take out a crayon and some paper, and draw their own families. It was pre-school stuff, and the class complained about exactly that, but Ms. Mills was kind enough to insist. This was the part where Dean got to show everypony else that not all families had a daddy, a mommy, and one or two foals.
But Dean never reached for his paper, nor his crayons. Instead, he raised his hoof.
“Yes, Dean.”
Dean bit his lip, then lowered his hoof. “This is... about earlier, right at the start, when we were talking about storks.”
Ms. Mills inclined her head. “Mmhmm, go ahead?”
Dean fidgeted, tapping his back hooves nervously on the ground under his chair. “Um. So, when the storks deliver the foals for the moms―” He glanced around; the other ponies were looking at him. He cleared his throat and continued, determined to get an answer. “H- How do the boy ponies get their foals? Colts - stallions, I mean.”
Ms. Mills raised her eyebrows, and Dean definitely heard a snort from the desks behind him. “Well, if they marry a nice filly, keep her comfortable and safe... When the time’s right, it’ll happen.”
“No, but―” Dean saw Charlie looking at him from the desk to his side, her red mane flicked off her ears so she could give Dean her full attention.
“But,” he managed, “Not a filly. Just a colt.”
“You mean... on his own?”
Dean’s jaw felt a little slack. He nodded. “Yeah. How do boys have babies?”
A violent laugh exploded from the class around him, and Dean shrank back into his seat, a shamed blush rising on his cheeks. There wasn’t anything wrong with asking that! It was a valid question! ...Wasn’t it?
Ms. Mills looked concerned, a little frown between her eyebrows. She stepped closer, looking down her muzzle at Dean, as if the other ponies between himself and her weren’t there.
“Mr. Winchester,” she began, “Colts... can’t have foals.”
Dean grinned. “What?”
Raucous titters still filled the room, haws and whinnies of total amusement bouncing off every wall. Only Charlie remained silent, her eyes wide, a second-hand blush colouring her cheeks as she peered around at everypony who was laughing. Dean blocked it all out; he wanted to hear the answer. This was some sort of joke, he was sure of it. That was why everypony else was laughing.
“Only mares can have foals.” Ms. Mills smiled. She seemed to be on the verge of laughing too, and her mouth twitched a little, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “Storks only deliver to girls.”
There was so much wrong with that statement that Dean laughed too. But he saw the softness in Ms. Mills’ eyes... and he realised she wasn’t joking.
It wasn’t a joke.
Boys... couldn’t have babies.
Dean’s mouth slid open, everything inside him kind of halting for a few seconds while he let it all process. The laughter was nothing, compared to the resounding silence that his mind fell into.
He felt like he was falling. Into blackness, into... sorrow. He felt sorrow.
He could never be a daddy.
He could never have a foal of his own.
He could never...
His life changed in that instant. Half his hopes smushed flat like every machine he’d ever built drove right over it. Killing it dead.
He felt tears on his cheeks. They were warm but turned cold, and they shook as his body shook, they trembled into his mouth and burst salt on his tongue. The howling silence faded, and sound returned as his awareness of the world returned. Laughter. Mocking.
“All right, all right, class! That’s enough,” Ms. Mills scolded, a little more heat in her words now she’d seen Dean’s tears. “A question not asked is the only silly question―”
Dean’s heart actually felt broken. Visualising two halves of it breaking apart inside him was the easiest thing he’d ever imagined. Snapped. Shattered.
He could still hear laughter.
He fell out of his chair, and tore his way to the classroom door, wrenching it open and galloping down the empty hallway. The sound of his hooves on the floor made an almighty clatter, echoes chasing his path. He ran the only way he knew would take him somewhere quiet - he ran to the colt’s bathroom.
The tiles in here were even louder under his hooves, and he ran straight into a corner, past the drinking fountain, past the sinks on the left, past the three cubicles on the right. He clattered to a halt and rested his head in the joining of the two white walls, tears running like ice down his face.
The cloudy grey light through the skylights above let him see the wetness in his own eyes. He watched the tiles beside his hooves splash with drips off his muzzle, hearing his own sobs bounce back at him, twice as loud.
Everything was ruined. It felt like everything he ever wanted was... gone. Taken from him because of one simple technicality, just that he wasn’t a filly. Just because he wouldn’t have a slender feminine body when he grew up, just because he would talk a little deeper, just because he would have one set of naughty bits and not the other. Even now, at his age, all the colts and fillies looked much the same. The future was coming, and he’d change and grow into a stallion, and it wasn’t fair.
He actually thought, in that moment, that he would give almost anything to be a mare.
“Hic!”
Dean sniffled, ignoring the weird noise that came from behind him. His heart was broken, and nothing was going to distract him from that feeling. He wanted to wallow in it. He’d never feel this awful ever again.
“Hic!”
Dean’s ears twitched, but he closed his eyes, set his ears closer to his head, and sat himself firmly on the cold tiles.
“Are you - hic! - o’k-hic!?”
Dean thrust his front knee against his nose, wiping away a dribble of snot. “What?” His voice was thick and wet, and he sniffled again, lower lip trembling.
“Are - hyec - you - haouc! - okay? Hic!”
Dean turned his head, feeling another line of tears join the tracks that spilled down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw. Through his bleary eyes, he saw the haze of another pony the same size as him, a blur of caramel tan.
“‘m fine,” Dean sobbed, unable to keep the pain out of his voice.
“It’s just that - hic! - you look a little bit... upset. Hic!”
Dean trembled all over, and he turned completely to face the other pony. As his eyes cleared just a tiny bit, he saw tucked-in wings, a dark mane, and big concerned blue eyes looking back at him. “I... I just found out,” Dean struggled to say, “that I... can’t have a baby.”
It seemed so real now. Saying it out loud made it real, and he wished he hadn’t said anything.
The other pony hiccuped once more, then took a step closer. “Oh,” the pony said.
“B’cause I’m a boy pony,” Dean explained, lying down on the floor and resting his chin on his front legs. “The stork won’t deliver to me.”
He was silent for a few seconds, then collapsed into another wave of sobbing and tears, a small whine escaping his throat. He buried his nose between his front knees and let the tears pour over his short fur, making it soggy and dark.
He heard hooves clopping right up to him, then a hiccup beside his ear.
Then he felt a little nuzzle against the side of his head, and then came the softest of breathy, heartfelt nickers into his ear. The other pony meant to comfort him, and it was working.
Dean lifted his head and nudged his face against the other pony, not caring that they were a stranger to him. They were nice, and they smelled like berries, and their hiccups made him tickle. The other pony nuzzled and nuzzled, and Dean took slow and desperate breaths, heaving each one until he could sense nothing but berries, and the feel of the other pony’s messed-up fur, their wings brushing on Dean’s side.
“Hic!”
Dean giggled. He pulled away, looking the other pony in the eye. So big and blue, and even they had a little well of tears, empathy for Dean written all over the pegasus’ beige face.
Staring at the other pony, Dean realised then that he couldn’t tell if they were a colt or a filly. They were handsome, and sweet, but even their voice didn’t seem very determined. Dean smiled weakly, feeling somewhat soothed by the vagueness of his new friend.
“I’m Dean,” Dean said, a rattling breath falling from his mouth after his words.
“Cas - hic! - tiel,” the other pony said. They sat in front of Dean, peering down at him.
Dean could have very easily looked between the other pony’s legs, just to see what kind of naughty bits they had. Then Dean would know if they would be able to have a foal or not, and that kind of thing seemed very separating in his mind. The world was now split into those who could, and those who had no choice but to accept that they couldn’t.
But Dean didn’t look between the other pony’s legs. It wasn’t something ever seen as polite, and to be perfectly honest, he didn’t care what their bits looked like. If the other pony wanted to reveal themselves as a colt or a filly, then that was up to them.
“You have hiccups,” Dean told the pony.
Cas-hic-tiel smiled, then hiccuped again, wings flapping. “I can’t get them to - hyek! - stop. My teacher told me to leave the room, I was - hic! - disturbing the class.”
“Well, you know what works for that, Cas?” Dean said, with a very wobbly smile.
“No,” Cas said. “Nothing works.”
Dean pushed himself to his hooves, shaking the chill of the tiles off him. “I have an idea for how to - BOO!”
He leapt at the other pony, smushing their chests together. Cas reared in shock, mouth releasing a fast squeal. The two of them fell to the ground, a startled whinny surrounding them, a noise that could have come from either of their mouths. Cas kicked, and Dean only nudged back, a grin breaking over his face as he nosed against Cas’ cheek, forcing their faces together. It was comforting before, but it was tickly now, and Cas laughed.
Then Cas hiccuped.
Dean just lay there, a shaking laugh encompassing him, warm against Cas. Heartbroken, yes, but Cas made him feel better.
Cas kept on making him feel better for the next eight years.
Today was the day he got his baby.
He’d paced around all night, desperate beyond measure. He’d sent his strongly worded letter off months and months ago now, and they told him it was today. He knew sometimes foals came late, sometimes the stork got distracted, got sent off-course, got caught in traffic - hell if he knew. But he was going to wait here until he got his foal, and that was that.
Sammy was asleep back inside the house. The wait was too much for some ponies, but not for Dean.
The skies above were clear, the mid-morning blue slowly giving way to the high cloudy brightness of midday. Dean was on the edge of frantic. If it didn’t happen sometime soon, he felt like he was going to burst.
If it didn’t happen at all, he didn’t think he’d be able to take it. He’d suffered this once already, and the shock of it had set him up for life. He hated being told he couldn’t do something, just because he was a boy and had the wrong parts. If Charlie could have a foal with a faerie mare pony, then Dean sure as heck could raise a foal without having to call himself a mare. He was a stallion, and he was perfectly capable of raising a baby by himself.
“Dean!”
Dean turned at the sound of Castiel’s deep voice, seeing him trotting over, a stuffed basket weighing down his jaw. Dean beamed at the sight of his friend, relieved he was here to share this day.
“I brought you breakfast,” Castiel said, offering Dean the basket. It was crammed with a dozen different pies, each of them with an imprint of a fruit in the crust. Peach, apple, berry.
Dean warmed so intensely inside that he was sure he was glowing as he leaned over to rub his face against Castiel’s neck. “Thanks, Cas. And thanks for comin’ out today, I was...” Dean swallowed, barely meeting Castiel’s eyes before he glanced away. “I was worried I’d have to do this by myself.”
Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Dean shrugged, finishing, “Sam’s... heh, he’s not a light sleeper. It’s no fun waiting by your lonesome.”
Castiel gave a hesitant smile, eyes flicking to the empty sky, then back to Dean. “I wouldn’t make you do it alone, Dean. I hope you know that.”
Dean chuckled, taking a whole pie into his mouth and squashing it between his palate and his tongue, smirking at the awesomeness of it. Then he blinked, eyes shifting to Cas. “Uh, you... you mean the waitin’, right?”
Castiel watched Dean chew, then finally swallow the pie. Then he gave a tiny smile. “Or the rest of it.”
“The rest of what?”
Castiel closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Dean’s cheek. “Everything.”
Dean looked at Castiel. The rest of everything. Castiel would stand by him, for... forever.
It wasn’t news. Castiel had always done that. But it felt like Dean’s eyes were opened for the first time, and he looked at his friend, and he saw completion.
The rule was that the stork delivered when the parent was ready.
Dean saw Castiel, saw the two of them as parents, saw them as one, and not ten seconds passed - Dean only got as far as whispering his heart of thanks to Castiel - before the stork swept right off the roof of Dean’s house and landed in his front yard.
Bundle in beak, wings tucked behind himself, the stork lowered the bundle to the ground, then nodded. And then he took off, job done.
Sam trotted out of the house just in time to see Dean biting the cloth bundle’s knot apart, Castiel’s body pressed against his side.
Today was the day. Sam had been waiting his whole life for this.
Dean’s life wasn’t complete. It wasn’t full, it wasn’t over yet.
Today was the day Sam’s brother became a daddy. This was just where it began.
