It's Mother's Day and Dean Winchester is nervous as hell about his gift for his mommy. Usually, he and his dad go out and shop for presents together. Dean is normally nonchalant about the whole thing, going for easy options: the "magical" combo of flowers and cards, a foreign movie on DVD and a card, or the easiest Mother's Day gift-giving hack of all: cooking books. On principle, he refuses to buy music for his mommy, no way in hell he'd encourage Sam's highly questionable tastes there. But he can grit his teeth and indulge his book-smart mom in other areas. And thankfully, Sam is always easy to please. Dean is sure that if he ends up getting his mommy deodorant and shaving cream on Mother's Day, the man would still smile big, "awww" at him, take him in his arms, and cover his face with kisses - not that he's complaining, especially not about the kissing. Not anymore, at least.
I mean, those lips, Dean muses.
Last year, Dean bought Sam a series of hardcover books on WWI. His mother is a bit of a nerd and loves history books. It also served as a pastime on those long nights when Sam was up helping a very upset baby Adam return to sleep. They work during the day, too. More than once Dean would hear Sam read parts of those books out loud to Adam, who seems to have inherited the geek genes, perking up to the sound. Adam even reacts to the words - well, the tone of the words - knitting his brows in concentration or frowning in this hilariously cute way, or cooing. Sam thinks it's adorable. Dean thinks it's just plain sad, I'll definitely be outnumbered when Adam grows up and starts making potato batteries ... for fun! Sigh.
But this year... this year is different.
Ever since this thing between his mom and him started growing, things like birthdays and Mother's Day celebrations have taken on a certain significance for Dean. So far the sexual tension has been one-sided. Dean isn't stupid; he's not disillusioned about how his mom feels about him. Sure, Sam doesn't just care about him, he friggin' worships the ground Dean walks on! He loves him, alright. But not in this way. Not yet, Dean tells himself.
He's still the little Alpha of the family (despite the fact that he's becoming stronger, taller, and erm, bigger, everywhere ). Castiel, his dad, is still boss, and until now, he's the only one that puts that shine in mommy's eyes. He's the one that makes him melt and swoon. He can lock lips with Sam anywhere and people wouldn't think twice of it. He can lick Sam's lips, plunder his mouth, get Sam off– he can watch Sam strip, he can take showers with Sam, he can sit him between his legs and touch him all over. He can touch Sam in places Dean can only dream about. He's the one who takes Sam to bed every night, sometimes locks the door, locks the rest of the world out (including Dean) and takes Sam apart slowly, or mounts him and pounds into him if he chooses. He can take Sam on all fours, on his back, on his side, put him on his lap, or blanket him chest to back and fuck him into the mattress. Sometimes the muffled moans filter through the doors. Dean would hide under the pillow, because even those soft reminders of how Sam and Castiel are to each other ( that you Dean is not, may never be ) sucked.
No matter how much Sam loves Dean, Dean is barred from seeing or feeling his mommy this way.
Dean feels a darkness spread inside his chest at the thought, gripping his lungs and squeezing the air out. He hates it. He fuckin' hates that someone else gets to do this to his mommy. Gets to whisper love words in his ears, gets to talk dirty to him, gets to wake up every morning next to him, touch him, make love to him ... when he's his . Dean's. His heart is his. His hair is his. His eyes, his lips ... his tits, cock and asshole are his. Every bit of him from head to toe is Dean's. One day Dean may be able to make him understand that Dean was born out of his own womb, into this world, to claim him. That, without realizing, Sam gave birth to his true mate. It's what it is.
For now, Dean will settle for the stolen touches.
And this. The dress.
Dean has saved up from his own pocket money and picked it out of hundreds. Sure, by the end of every shopping trip, he felt he was ready to grow lady parts; it was both frustrating (strolling through the women sections in malls or department stores) and exciting (the excitement comes just from the thought that his mom might humor him, and actually wear it. Might enjoy wearing it. For him. Because Dean is the one got it, for Sammy).
His mom never wears dresses. He sticks to t-shirts, button-ups, sweaters, hoodies, jeans, and the occasional dress pants. When he's lactating and his boobs have grown to a considerable size, somewhere between a B- and a C-cup, he wears sports bras or those plain-looking white or beige halter tops, with supporting bras, tailor-made for male omegas. Ugly things, if you ask Dean.
Dean's also seen Sam's collection of underwear when he helped him fold laundry a few times. It was clear not much thought was put into the purchases: all whites, greys and blacks and mostly boxer briefs and shorts with some threadbare pouch briefs, which Dean will admit made his breath hitch and his heart race a little when he imagined how the "pouch" would probably cradle Sam's length, how his mother's soft genitals would sit comfily in it, and jiggle some when he moves, how his prick will tent and stretch the thin material when he's aroused.
But apart from those briefs, or more likely the obscene thoughts they illicit in Dean, nothing in his mother's wardrobe is skimpy or remotely feminine, which is unfair considering how delicious his mommy is. He's never seen his mommy buck naked but he's seen him in swimming trunks, and the man is all long legs. He has solidly muscled arms and back, wide shoulders, and a killer pair of rippling pecs that bounce around when Sam is braless and lactating (He flaunts them only when they're on a private beach. Cas refuses to let Sam go shirtless in public and Dean backs him up on this). And the package is all the more gorgeous when his mommy's skin is sun-kissed and glowing.
To be clear, there's nothing soft about his mother's body, except perhaps his belly and breasts post child-bearing. But unlike Dean, who's already packing solid muscles, and some bulk and hard edges thanks to his self-inflicted brutal workout regimen and boxing training, Sam's body is strong but exudes a certain vulnerability, like it can be bent to someone's will, like it needs to be treated with care or it breaks, something that tickles the protective instinct of an Alpha.
This body needs to be treated right, Dean believes. It needs to be wrapped up in silk, and lace, and sexy lingerie - the masculine accentuated by a feminine touch.
Hence the dress, which Dean hopes will be the first of many Sam ends up owning.
Dean chose a white number, a backless cotton summer dress, long. Hugs the torso and then flares out, and it's held up by a pair of criss-cross thin straps. It boasts a long slit in the front, which is most of the reason why Dean picked this one. The material is soft and it looks comfy. For a first-time crossdresser, Dean thinks it isn't very revealing, if you discount the open back. Dean hopes Sam will discount it.
Part of him feels Castiel might actually encourage it, but he doesn't know how he feels about this. Sure, it'll give Sam a better motive to wear it if Castiel likes it, he reasons, still, Dean wants Sam to wear it for him, not for his father.
He bought it a day earlier but goes out on Mother's Day to wrap it up nicely. He even includes a card and all, with a message that begins with, "To my beautiful," and ends with "Love, Dean." Dean rarely uses words like love. He doesn't know how, despite growing up in a very loving environment, and with an openly affectionate mother. Somehow he's just not built to wear his heart on his sleeve-
... but for his mommy, he could learn to. Anything for him, his Sammy.
When he gets home, he doesn't waste time. He finds mommy at the kitchen table and practically throws the wrapped gift in front of him from how nervous he is (mumbling a barely audible "h-happy Mother's Day"). Way to go Dean , he thinks, nothing says confident, fearless Alpha like stuttering through your greeting and sweating bullets as you do. He's only 13 and has girls - omegas and betas, strangers and friends alike - eating out of his hands at school. Older girls, younger girls, even teachers. But at home, with the man he loves and lusts after, with the man who friggin' raised him, he's a pitiful mess of nerves.
His mom's face brightens up when the gift falls with a light thud into his lap.
And Castiel chooses this moment to walk into the room.
With Dad around, Dean generally holds back his affections, tenses a little. No romancing the mommy, touching, tickling, staring longingly in his eyes a few seconds too long, laying his mommy's head in his lap and swirling his fingers through his soft locks as he tells him about his day, or slipping an arm around his waist as he washes the dishes, standing on tiptoe and whispering to Sam softly, right in his ears, nuzzling his neck or kissing his cheek. And Dean would do it all, but not around daddy. He might notice and wonder.
So Dean consciously edits himself. He now squares his shoulders, slips his hands into his pockets, leans back against the kitchen counter and tries to chill a little. Latches that smug smile to his face, ready for wise-cracking if the situation calls for it.
"Hey buddy."
He gets a pat on the shoulder. "Hi, dad," he responds.
"You're in time to see what Dean got me for Mother's Day," Sam says, all smiles already, happy energy oozing off of him. "I was just about to unwrap it."
"Let's see. Not more books, huh Dean?" Castiel asks.
"What? And listen to mom read them out loud for the whole house? No way, learned my lesson, dude."
"Hey, they're educational!" Sam protests as Cas begins, "don't dude me, kiddo!" They both continue speaking over each other, tumbling through their words like they often do. It reminds Dean of when he was younger. "You'll thank me when you're in high school, acing history exams," Sam says. "I'm your dad. If you were born a decade earlier, you'd be calling me sir," Cas adds, half-serious of course. Yeah, right. Sir . Castiel is not that kind of dad, period, not now or three centuries earlier. He's a cool dad , Dean admits in his head.
"Woah!" Dean chuckles at how they're speaking over each other. "Whatever, just open it, mom."
Sam does. The surprise on his parents faces is fleeting; Sam's is immediately replaced with confusion. Castiel looks cautiously entertained. Looks like the subject of dresses has been broached before, Dean theorizes in his head, and been shot down if mommy's very manly wardrobe is any indication.
Sam unfolds the dress and holds it away to take a good look at it. He clears his throat. "It's an interesting choice, Dean." He doesn't comment on it further, and Dean while senses Sam might now be flustered, his mommy is mostly unreadable.
"Well, good luck getting him to wear that," Castiel says with a shadow of a smirk. Sam glares at him, outright glares at him. Not good. This totally throws Dean off.
In truth, he expected Sam to laugh out loud, then, after some face-saving banter and some struggling, agree to wear it, because it's Dean's gift and he loves Dean.
He was even prepared for a little rebellion, after which he was ready to playfully challenge Sammy to wear it, "To prove you're confident in your masculinity, mom!" Sam always rises up to challenges; it's how his mommy's built.
At least Dean was praying for either of these scenarios. He was practically dying to see his mommy all dolled up in this dress.
But the situation, though initially cheerful, is gaining this strange intensity, fast.
"You don't like it?" Dean asks, now pouting a little.
He doesn't get an answer immediately, so he adds: "I can return it and get you something else." There's a too-sullen edge to his words. Be cool, Dean, a voice in his head says.
But this is going sideways on Dean, very quickly. He's not amused.
The pout yields the desired effect, since Sam sighs and backtracks to his happy-self, mostly. "Sweetheart, I didn't say I don't like it. I-I do."
"Of course you do," Dean says, still sullen and prickly around the edges. It's clear that Sam doesn't like the gift.
Sam sighs again.
"It's just, it's not me, Dean. You know your mom. I never wear dresses. I'm not going to start now."
"Why not?" Dean shoots back.
"It's not who I am."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not fond of them," Sam says, choosing his words carefully.
"What's wrong with dresses?"
Castiel, who has so far been on the sidelines, interjects. "There's nothing wrong with them, De. It's just that your mom isn't comfortable wearing them. And believe me, Sam and I have discussed it before."
"Mom's an omega," Dean says with a hint of a growl, like Sam's challenging him by arguing his choice of gift, like Dean's being rejected, not the dress. Like Sam rejects both him, and his own omega status. Why can't he just own up to it and act like a regular omega? Now that he thinks of it, his mommy - thanks to Castiel's lax discipline - is very beta . The realisation hits Dean and it annoys him something bad.
Also, if Sam once discussed dresses openly with his dad, he can discuss it with Dean. He's not a child. He can have a proper conversation about this like the adult that he is. But for this conversation to happen, Sam has to be open about it, not clam up like he's doing now ... like Dean's a stranger. It's insulting, Dean thinks.
"A lot of omega men wear dresses!" he adds, for emphasis.
Now this comment seems to irk Sam. "Well, Dean, I'm not like a lot of Omega men," Sam responds sharply, his voice getting louder, a vein in his neck throbbing and the tone makes Dean flinch.
Silence.
Sam shakes his head, like he's quickly reprimanding himself for the small near-outburst. He takes a deep breath again, and a small smile quirks his lips. "Hey, Dean sweetie, you didn't know I hat'em. And it's a lovely gift, if it weren't for me." Shit, Sam thinks, I'm making it worse. Pull yourself together Sam. He quickly adds, "We're not returning it. Even if I know I'm not gonna wear it, I'm keeping it if it means so much to you."
Who said anything about it meaning so much to me, Dean thinks stubbornly. Deep inside, he knows he's just furious he got figured out. He's fuming now, burning hot inside, but as per Dean, manages to project a different veneer and turn cold on the outside. "Keep it or don't. I don't care," he says
"For a child-bearing omega," He might as well. In for a penny ... "who breastfeeds, whose kids call mommy," who gets dripping wet between his legs in heat, who gets fucked on his back, who moans pretty like a girl ... He thinks it but doesn't say it, if only for Castiel's benefit. "You sure as hell are picky about what to wear." If Sam's in denial of his own nature, Dean's not. He knows well what his mom is.
Dean pushes away from the counter he was leaning on and starts walking away.
"Dean," Castiel calls firmly. His voice takes on a much darker shade now, all earlier amusement gone. Dean stops and turns, slowly, staring back steadily at his dad, and barely masking his displeasure.
"Behave, or I'll make you." He steps forwards, seeming to loom over Dean, "Why are you taking this so close to heart? This is your mother's choice. You should respect it. I do, and I'm the husband between us. The Alpha here."
"Yeah," Dean says, looking away. You are . He just wants them both out of his sight right now.
More silence. Castiel shifts back on his feet a little, as if remembering Dean's only thirteen and still a kid.
"Come on, De," Castiel huffs.
"Don't call me that," he hisses back.
"You're being childish," Castiel says, recognizing all the signs that his son is erecting walls around himself, clamming up.
Dean gaze turns colder, if possible, and he just stands there, waiting to be dismissed.
"Okay," Castiel says, a moment later, scrubbing a hand across his face. When Dean's like this, it's a lost cause. "You're not off the hook. We'll discuss your behaviour later. I have some work to finish."
At 13, his kid is too old for spanking, and Cas doesn't enjoy giving it but if he has to, he'll do it; but not now, maybe tonight. He'll talk to Sam first. He normally knows better than to consult Sam on corporal punishment for discipline, but, knowing his wife, Sam might be more hurt that he's letting on at the moment, and so might green light it afterall.
Sam will have the final word on this, Cas decides, only this time.
This alpha-omega talk has made Sam's head spin. It's always been his least favorite subject, and he won't lie, it hurts to be referred by his son as an omega with such disdain . Like he's a thing. Like his choices and likes and whims should be dictated by his biology, not who he is beyond that. Sam has lived most of his life fighting the notion that he's a label, a shell, and that's why he chose Castiel as his mate, besides love, of course. Cas respects his choices.
But Dean? His son is way too young to understand the complexities of it all – the emotional baggage that comes with being an omega. He was just making a gesture, and according to Castiel, Dean has refused to pick a gift together this year, or to take extra money for one, which means this was special for Dean. Cas spilled the beans on Dean's gift hunt only this morning, out of pride; he wanted Sam to know Dean is making an effort. Of course, Castiel didn't know what Dean was particularly looking for. He just knew the boy wanted to make his own pick, that he's putting some extra thought into it. And judging from how much he's offended, Sam is sure Dean put a lot of thought into this one.
"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm reacting badly. I shouldn't," Sam finally says, moving towards his son, extending an arm to pull him into a hug. "You meant well, and that's all that matters," he says as he holds Dean. "Thank you, sweetie."
Dean doesn't hug back, just stands there passively. "You're not gonna hug mommy back?" Sammy asks sweetly. Sam's gotten used to the growing intimacy between them.
Dean, however, tenses his shoulder, doesn't move.
"Are you done?" Dean asks coolly a moment later from where he's bundled up in Sam's arms. It's Sam's turn to flinch. He pulls back and whispers, "Yeah," letting his son go. He watches with sad eyes as Dean climb the stairs of their two-story house, probably to hole up in his room.
His son has shut down.
Dean avoids looking back as he withdraws from what he's sure are a pair of misty eyes. He leaves his parents behind. Even he doesn't know how it all went wrong so quickly, but the curling in his gut tells him he's glad to have them out of his sight for now.