"Every time I close my eyes
It's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
I'm scared that you
Won't be waiting on the other side"
(Lana Del Rey, Dark Paradise)
A/N: This is for Otorisosa-kan's Lyric Exchange Prompt Challenge for the month of June -
(fanfiction topic/168121/134411700/1/Lyric-Exchange-Prompt-Challenge-1st-June-28th-June)
Thanks to Aeternus. Flamma for submitting the lyrics for the challenge.
I used the feel of this verse as inspiration for Dean's feelings and I also incorporated the crossdressing theme that was a suggested extra prompt. The story takes place pre-series. Sam is 11, Dean's 15. Sam and Dean struggle to communicate when a secret lies between them.
Enjoy and feedback is always appreciated! Thanks!
"What the fuck are you doing? Get out!" Dean shouted, pushing his brother frantically out of the bathroom.
"I didn't know you were in there! I'm sorry!" Sam shouted as the door was slammed in his face. "Dean, I'm sorry!"
"Just go away!" Dean called through the door, quickly tearing at the thin straps on his bony shoulders and slipping out of the dark blue dress. The flowing fabric slunk over his skin and onto the floor, pooling at his feet. He hurriedly grabbed his cargo shorts and t-shirt from their resting place on the edge of the bathtub and put them back on.
He mashed the dress into a tight ball and shoved it into a plastic bag, squeezing it in his hand and taking a deep breath. He glanced in the mirror above the sink, breathing in and out, trying to quiet the panic building in his chest. He steeled himself, squaring his shoulders, biting his lower lip, and grabbing the doorknob with his free hand and twisting.
Sam sat at the edge of the far mattress, pointedly looking at the floor. The air hung sticky and silent in the sunlit motel room. The summer sun had just begun to rise, casting golden light through the flimsy curtains. A beam fell across Sam's cheek.
"You didn't see anything," Dean told him, shoving the plastic bag to the bottom of his duffle bag and making sure the rest of his belongings were strategically placed over it.
"I didn't see anything," Sam echoed with a little nod.
"Right," Dean muttered as he zipped up the duffle and slid it under the other bed.
"Where'd you get it?" Sam asked.
"Shut it, Sam."
A few days passed, filled with terse silence and carefully avoided eye contact. Dean couldn't tell if John noticed the tense hum that vibrated between the two of them. He was in and out of the room between hunts, sometimes taking the boys along for an interview or a convenience store run. If John had noticed, Dean figured he was probably choosing not to engage until it became a clear issue.
A day later, just after the click of the motel room door signaled John's exit, Sam spoke. He was always the one to break the silence between the two of them.
"Dean… I swear I won't say anything to Dad. I just wanna understand —"
"There's nothing to understand. Nothing to talk about to me or to Dad. Got it?" Dean cut in. "I'll be back later," he murmured before walking for the door.
"Wait! Just hold on!" Sam yelled. Dean bristled but paused by the doorway, hand outstretched towards the knob before turning into a tensed fist. "Can we skip this routine?" Sam asked. "Anytime we argue it turns into this. I ask you something and you bitch about it and storm off. Can we just skip ahead to where we actually talk?"
"You ever think this happens every time 'cause I don't wanna fucking talk? This isn't Oprah! I'm not here to share my feelings," Dean said through clenched teeth.
"Too bad! We're brothers. I'm not asking you to air your shit on a talk show, and you know it. It's just us. We should be able to talk to each other. Just tell me what's going on. I don't wanna pry, but -"
"The fuck you don't. That's all you ever do. You wanna talk about feelings and all that touchy-feely, self-help, chick-flick crap. Shove it. I'm not interested." Dean grabbed the door handle and twisted it violently, exiting the room and slamming the door behind him.
Normally, Sam would wait, filled with frustration and uncertainty about how to approach his brother. He didn't care this time. He'd had enough. He followed right after Dean. It was a chilly day for the end of June, with rain clouds hanging threateningly overhead.
"Look, I dropped it when you came home stumbling drunk a few times. I let it go when I saw you take stupid risks for some hunts. I'm sick of it. I'm not gonna keep your secrets anymore until you start talking to me!"
Dean clenched his fists and pressed them against his sides. "Are you threatening me, Sammy? 'Cause that's not a good idea,"
Sam bristled. "No! It's not a threat. I'm just — just talk to me, Dean."
Dean paused, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of his brother. Sam's brow was furrowed, his jaw was set, his feet were planted. He looked ready to block a punch. "You're not gonna drop this, are you?" Sam shook his head. "Fuck it. Let's go for a walk," Dean muttered.
Sam worked to hide his relief and surprise. The two brothers began walking, leaving the motel behind, passing convenience and package stores, going under a couple of overpasses, and heading into a rundown area with blocks of dingy apartments. The streets were more or less deserted, people were already off at work and those who weren't were staying at home on that gloomy day. The sky loomed dark and gray above Sam and Dean.
"So…?" Sam prompted awkwardly.
"It was a dress Dad had planned to buy for Mom for their anniversary. He showed it to me one day. Maybe a year after the fire. It was on the end of a clearance rack, 'cause it wasn't in season anymore or something." Dean cleared his throat and looked ahead as they continued to walk. "You wouldn't remember, you weren't even two yet," Dean told Sam. "Anyway, Dad just stumbled across it and mentioned it. But I got fixated. I was like five, and all I could think about was Mom and how she would've looked like an angel in it." Dean fell silent.
"It is a pretty dress," Sam ventured quietly. Dean gave a curt nod.
"So, I stole it. You'd started crying, so Dad was trying to quiet you down, pacing with you. And when there was an aisle of shit between us, I just grabbed it and shoved it in my backpack."
"Dad never noticed?"
Dean shrugged. "He might've. He's not stupid. But he was sleep deprived and drinking and doing the single dad thing and going all X-Files and learning the truth is out there and shit. So, if he really didn't see or if he just chose not to get into it, I don't blame him."
"So, you kept this dress hidden for ten years?" Sam asked, amazed this hadn't come up sooner. Then again, Dean could be vigilant when he wanted to be. John had taught them well: stay alert, keep secrets, don't slip up, stay alive.
"Yeah," Dean said with a shrug.
"When... when did you first try it on?" Sam asked.
"The night I took it. You had just gone down and Dad was out too. I snuck to the bathroom of whatever motel room we were in at the time and tried it on. It was way too big, obviously. The whole thing just slid off my shoulders. I remember sitting down and wrapping it around me. The bathroom tile was gross and cold but I felt… I don't know."
"Comforted?" Sam offered, unsure.
"Yeah, I guess. I pretended Mom actually got to wear it. I pretended she was still alive to wear it," Dean said, his voice half-caught in his throat, barely audible.
"And Dad never found out?"
"No. I think he'd beat the shit out of me if he did," Dean said, straightening his back as they continued to walk.
"You really think so?" Sam asked. "He's never hit us to punish us. I mean, fight training is a different story, but… do you really think he'd —"
"An ex-marine with a faggot kid? Probably," Dean said with a shrug, a hard smile lifting up one corner of his mouth.
"Are you —?" Sam started.
"I'm not gay. What I wanna wear doesn't have anything to do with who I wanna fuck," Dean said, a blunt edge to his voice.
"Oh, okay. So… the dress? It's about connecting with Mom?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded. "Yeah." He paused, unsure what to say to his little brother, how to explain. "I know it's weird. I can't really justify it. And…" Dean ran a hand over his face and sighed. "It started out as a way to feel close to Mom, but over time it became something else, I guess."
"What did it become?" Sam asked, kicking a small chunk of broken pavement as they walked.
"It just felt good to wear the dress," Dean said softly with a little shrug.
"Why?"
"I don't know. It just does," Dean said, defensive.
"Dean, I'm not judging. I'm just trying to get it," Sam told his brother.
"This is why I didn't wanna talk. I don't know how to talk about this," Dean muttered, his voice laced with embarrassment and frustration.
"It's okay. I don't really either," Sam said. "You wanna head back?" he asked just as a few heavy drops of rain began to fall. Dean nodded. "Hey," Sam said, pausing and putting a hand on Dean's arm to stop him. "Thanks," he said before grabbing Dean in a hug. "Thanks for trying to talk about it," Sam said, his head pressed against Dean's shoulder.
Dean took a deep breath and returned the hug. He was surprised to feel a sense of relief, not that he wanted to admit that to Sam. But talking to his little brother had lifted a weight. And the fact that Sam had listened and not reacted with complete confusion and disgust made Dean breathe easier. He was grateful for his little brother's compassion.
The two walked without speaking for a few minutes. The sound of cars rolling by and the rain coming down heavier provided a soundtrack for them to walk to. Within minutes their clothes were soaked. Sam pushed his sopping hair out of his eyes. He had always known that Dean missed their mother, but he hadn't realized just how much Dean carried it with him. Sam missed the idea of her, but she was just an abstract concept to him. It was different.
Dean cleared his throat and spoke, breaking through Sam's thoughts. "With all that we know, all the shit we've seen and fought, I gotta believe there's something after this life. But what if—? I'm just scared. Like, what if there's nothing on the other side and she's not waiting for me? For us?"
"I don't know," Sam said. It's something he hadn't really considered. He was more rooted in the here and now — hoping he and his family stayed alive long enough to move onto the next motel, avoiding arguments with John, and keeping up with a school curriculum even when he didn't have a school to attend. He didn't put much thought into the afterlife. Sam prayed every day, but it was more idle hope and ritual. It wasn't about the afterlife for him. It was about now.
"I just wanted something I could hold that was hers. Everything burned up. There's nothing left of her besides a couple of old worn-out photos Dad has. That's all we get," Dean said, wiping water off his face as they walked under an overpass. "That's all that's left of her. There's nothing to hold onto."
The two shivered slightly but kept going. Within a few minutes, the storm clouds drifted and the rain began to lighten.
"And no one can compare to her or replace her, you know? She was a really great mom. You never got a chance to see that. She was smart and funny and fun and she would sing to us. She was shy about singing in front of people, but she would sing to us. And she had a really pretty voice," Dean said, a genuine smile crossing his face at the thought.
"I wish I could remember something… anything about her," Sam muttered.
"I wish you could too," Dean said, putting an arm around Sam's shoulder. "I close my eyes, and if I really focus, I can still hear her singing," Dean said, humming a line of 'Hey Jude' softly under his breath.
They continued on. The rain turned into a drizzle. Finally, they could see the motel up ahead. "Man, for someone who didn't wanna talk, you managed to get a lot out of me," Dean said, elbowing Sam lightly in the ribs.
Sam nodded, playfully returning the jab. "Oprah would be proud."
"Pfft, yeah, I'll bet."