Dean and his mom's routine of non-communication has left Dean feeling isolated and
withdrawn. His mother's earlier prudent hesitation—which Dean had honestly thought they were over and done with—had suddenly transformed into flat-out rejection, bending Dean out of shape and dashing his hopes to smithereens. This time, his mom is not insisting on a resolution to their stand-off, and Dean's stubbornly not eager for one if it means agreeing to being just mother and son.
Vexed, he tries to spend as much time away from home, but his pent-up frustration is doggedly keeping up with him and he ends up carrying it everywhere. Even boxing practice fails to take the edge off. Whatever thoughts occupy his mind during the day, it's Sam that he ends up thinking about before he falls asleep at night.
He doesn't know if he's more angry or anguished about the separation from his mom, and in a first, Dean wishes he had a close girlfriend to vent to.
It's not like he can share with Benny. The way Benny talks about sex, lovers, omegas, girls, is crass and slightly perverted, and his relationship with his mom is not a matter of prurient interest. Ash is the last person to talk to about matters of the heart, being the standard nerd that he is. Dean and him are not that close anyway. Charlie, a typical beta and a proper girl, would never get it. He never speaks to her about his regular sex life for starters, for fear of scandalising her.
Save for Rhonda, he never disclosed this part of his 'love life' to another soul, so he wouldn't even know where to begin. Can he even trust anyone with what's transpired between him and his mom?
Dean has always been jealously private, specifically about his home, and especially ever since he realised having a male omega for a mom is considered a little exotic.
He remembers how some parents would stare at Sammy when his mother would drop him off to school. Some, particularly the male alphas, would be a little too eager to strike conversation. As a
child, Dean didn't realise where the feverish interest, verging on fixation, was coming from. As he grew older, he became amorphously aware of how most alphas are obsessed with male omegas; how it's almost like a fetish. As if, unlike the rest of the population, omega men hail from some far outlandish places that everyone is deadly curious about. His friends are mildly curious too, except for Charlie who has a male omega for a cousin.
Dean never wants to give his friends cause for murmuring about him, his mom or his family's slightly avant-garde lifestyle—and telling anyone he's got the hots for mommy is not only fodder for gossip but also kindling for scandal.
It's not pushing the envelope, it's smashing it altogether. Bumping uglies with family members is not unheard of, but Dean knows that in this day and age, only radical, far-right traditionalists would approve.
Dean is experiencing other problems too. While his lust for Sammy is in overdrive—he knows his mom still feels something if what he witnessed in the shower is anything to tell by—Dean has been experiencing a chronic case of 'dead sex drive' towards all his usual outlets.
Emotionally, he feels raw. Physically, he doesn't feel like smashing hips with anyone.
When Dean had broken it off with Rhonda, Benny took his contemplative silence for sadness. Back then, he nudged him painfully with his elbow saying that the best way to get over someone is get under someone else. "Nuff, brooding. Find yourself a juicy omega fucktoy, brother, and take some hot revenge on Rhonda," he said. Dean had never actually corrected Benny's presumptions about his feelings for Rhonda or of how things ended, although his best friend was wildly off mark.
As practical as the advice is (it's tired but tried), Dean doesn't feel like jumping into bed with anyone else but Sammy right now.
His weak appetite for pleasure-seeking has extended to food. Dean used to pig out during meals, especially post workout (his training routine is quite punishing). Ever since Sam cut him loose, everything feels tasteless and he often has trouble finishing a meal; he's lost about five pounds in a couple of weeks.
Inconveniently, he bumps right into Rhonda (of all people) on his way out of school one day. He murmurs an apology that lands like a sneer when he realises who he'd accidentally slammed into. Dean feels like running off in the opposite direction when Rhonda's eyes meet his (really, he has zero tolerance for sass right now, so he hopes she doesn't even try). But his 'ex' has other ideas.
"Hey Dean, been a while," she begins, as she continues to block his way. "What's up with you? You don't look so good," she says, but there's no malice in her voice.
Dean really wants to be civilised here, so he tries even though he's at the end of his rope. He shrugs, glossing over her remark about him not looking "so good".
"It's nothin'. All's going well with you?" he says, fake-casually, and he wants to be anywhere but here right now. She's still standing in his way.
"It's going. How's your boyfriend?" she asks, seemingly nonchalant, and it feels like a challenge. Dean picks up the gauntlet by lying through his teeth.
"He's good. Thanks for checking." "You're not together, are you?"
"Why do you care? We're fucking peachy."
"As if," she says, shaking her head slowly.
"Fuck off, Rhonda," he spits.
"I knew it," she says under her breath. The conversation has taken a sharp detour and he's steaming. So Dean squeezes past her, their shoulders unavoidably bumping.
Unexpectedly, Rhonda hurries after him and grabs his arm to slow him down. "Hey, hey, I didn't mean to piss you off," she says, genuinely apologetic. He turns, slipping his arm from her hand and giving her a dirty look.
"Jeez Dean, you've always had a short fuse," she says but her tone sounds endearing. "I'm sorry. I really just wanted to know how you are. I care about you, you know."
Dean huffs impatiently.
"Look, Dean. I've been meaning to text you. I'm not mad about you leaving, before. It's cool."
"Okay," he says, unconvinced.
"I mean it, Dean. I want us to at least be able to talk to each other. Dude, it doesn't have to be all or nothing."
Dean doesn't say anything. He nods instead, the gesture non-committal. "We did have fun," Rhonda adds.
"I guess," he says, after a moment of silence. She's not wrong.
"We cool then?"
Dean is reluctant to sweep it all under the carpet, remembering how she got all torqued about the breakup. But he's too tired to stir any more drama so he sighs, his shoulders sagging, and mumbles, "Sure."
She doesn't relinquish the conversation.
"Cool," she says, quickly adding, "Do you wanna hangout sometime? You know, as friends." "I don't know, Rhonda," Dean says, with a doubtful expression. Pause. "Maybe."
"Well, you have my number."
They part and Dean thinks it actually went better than he thought it would.
In fact, an hour or so after their encounter, Dean starts thinking that her offer to chill out is not a bad one. Then again, she's the only other person who knows about Sam, sort of. Perhaps it's his chance to get some things off his chest without revealing too much. With Rhonda, the stakes are low.
It's not until a couple of days later that Dean, skin burning with rage that Sammy is now apparently avoiding him altogether, texts Rhonda and takes her up on her offer.
They meet at a greasy spoon. They talk and it's mostly casual; no one initiates any deep conversation. As the evening wears on, they both spend some time skirting around the subjects of
their breakup or 'his boy' as Rhonda calls Sammy, being blissfully ignorant of his real identity. It seems that Rhonda is willing to act that neither is a big deal.
She, however, furrows her eyebrows mid conversation, and mentions that something still seems up with Dean. "I'm a little worried. Are you really alright?" If he wants to vent, it's his opening, Dean thinks. It's also a risk; she can razz him about it. But he'll bite.
He finally swallows thickly and confides to her that things went south with 'his boy', that she was right and that it hurts something bad.
Instead of the much-feared ridicule, Rhonda extends a hand across the table, laces their fingers together and tells him that she's "sorry"—and it feels like "I told you so" laced with real compassion, which Dean finds a little unbearable.
Why? Because it feels like it's final, like he's lost Sam for good and he's being consoled. He doesn't want to ever think of it this way. He wants to be close again with 'his boy', he wants to fuse together.
A part of him, however, is glad that he can at least talk about it after weeks of nearly going out of his mind.
Physically, he can't stand the intimacy of his skin being touched right now, or the troubling weight of a hand in his. He feels like snatching it away, disentangling his hand from Rhonda's soft but prying fingers, but he doesn't. He ends up letting it happen despite feeling distantly conscious of Rhonda's feelings for him. If this situation ends up reviving hope that they can rekindle their 'romance', he's not responsible for it.
She's here and solid, and the knowledge that he's in love with someone he can't or shouldn't have is like a secret bond tying them together. Dean has to admit that he's been craving some companionship too. It's friggin' Rhonda, he knows. The school slut, as some call her. But maybe this will do.
After a short moment, she quirks an eyebrow and says, "Wanna sweep some beers from home?"
"Always," Dean says, the thought of returning his home with beer on his breath and getting a rise out of mommy is suddenly very appealing.
They take off and Dean thinks: Maybe—and it's a much smaller, frailer, maybe—they can be friends after all.