Thank you to everyone who continues to read these little glimpses into Charlie's bunker life. And to klu and lewlou15 here's the consequence of the last's chapter's galactic green incident. I hope it meets expectations.

A Moment With My Brother

Freak Show

I've noticed it for a while now. Certainly the last two or three days.

Dean's just not himself.

Oh I know he just nicely had the crap kicked outta him and he's still sore and bruised and a bit wobbly from the meds but it isn't just that.

He's...

I don't know.

Just...somehow...off.

I thought it was just me at first. You know worrying unnecessarily...as I can do, but the more I watch him (not-stalker-ish at all...healthy sisterly concern and all that)...Well, there's, just something amiss.

It's kinda like someone has turned out that essential spark that lights him up and makes him...him. You know, Dean...My Dean. My brother.

Oh he still says 'I'm fine' even when I know that his shoulder hurts and he's bruised and sore all over and dressing his smashed up hand is killing him. So the words are him but the essential bristle and bravado that backs up the ridiculously unbelievable statement is somehow not quite in place. So, see that means I know he hurts, and he knows I know, but he doesn't meet my challenge of him knowing I know with his usually ballsiness.

Did that make any sense at all? It did to me but then I speak fluent 'Charlie'.

Look, simply put, he's letting me see he's...well, hurting and not just physically. Not just his actual wounds. No this goes deeper. There's a vulnerability that I've always known is there but normally he would die rather than let us see and it's out there. Written on him. Like he can't even gather the strength to crank up his braggadocio enough to try and hide it from us.

Now is that just cause he's in so much physical pain? You know from his latest big, hurty booboos? Well see, I don't think it is. Oh don't get me wrong. He must hurt like stink. I mean in average, normal, not-Batman-mega- brave-hunter, terms he must be at a 100 on a scale of 1 to 10, but for him? For Dean? Well, shoot, he's had worse, on paper and in reality and been able to maintain the facade. Keep up the stupid, pig-headed act that he's fine and can just roll with the proverbial punches.

So what's happened this time?

What the fuck is wrong with my wonderful, precious, beloved, big bro?

Gotta go think...

Back soon...

snSNsn

Ah, there you are. (Smiles and waves.)

Welcome back, I'm glad you could rejoin us and you'll be pleased to know that between us, Sam, Cas and I, we have a hypothesis on the Dean conundrum which may just hold water, complex as he is and opting out of double-blind testing you understand.

So here it is and this has taken hours of hushed conversation while Dean was safely tucked up in his memory-foam haven to come to, so hear me out before ya jump in.

We think Dean's pissed cause...

Cas painted his toe-nails galactic green.

There.

In a nutshell.

That's the reason that he's so sad. That his indomitable spirit seams a bit...you know, broken.

Cause Cas, his ex-angel, here-one-minute-gone-the-next, human-padawan friend, graffiti'd him up digitally.

No, no, don't scoff disdainfully in that manner...I said wait, didn't I? There's more to come.

I know it doesn't make real good sense at just that, so let me elaborate.

Back to our two hour chat which saw us, intrepid hunters and MoonDoor goddess that we are, assemble a biggish crock of evidence that pointed to Dean thinking we don't respect him as an equal member of the team, hunter, brother or general human being, not to put too fine a point on it or over-dramatize.

Oh, of course, he didn't come out and say that...well, hell no he didn't. This is Dean. Repressed, don't-ask-me-to-do-feelings, Winchester, so course he didn't come out and actually say any of this. No, this was a collective, Hercule Poirot job on the tiny comments, little looks, green-eyed vulnerability that has been oozing from him since...well since Cas painted his toe-nails.

We pieced together the quiet comments of 'don't worry about me' and 'it doesn't matter' and 'whatever's no trouble' and along with sad little sighs and sideways looks, well It all adds up to Dean doesn't feel valued as older brother.

Shit!

What a mess we made.

Cas is beside himself cause he really didn't mean galactic green and his quasi-human-ness to result in this and I'm kicking myself cause, dammit, I should be more sensitive and Sam? Well Sam just knows he shouldn't have even gone on the grocery run and left Dean alone. Cause alone means vulnerable and now he's gone and got hurt. Which is Sam's worst nightmare and ours too.

So we're all a disgrace.

A sad, sorry, contrite as hell, what the fuck can we do to make amends, disgrace.

And how are we ever, even gonna broach any of this with Dean to ask him?

And therefore have a chance of making it right?

Awh...Crap!

More discussion needed...

snSNsn

And...you're back in the room...and so like a bolt of (ex) celestial lightning...

Cas had the answer.

Just came out with the glaringly obvious.

God bless all angels.

Especially nerdy, trench-coat wearing, hamburger-loving, mussy haired, blue-eyed fallen ones.

snSNsn

An hour later. Dean's bedroom.

Our brother, our sleepy, (pain-meds), slightly-woozy brother is propped up in his memory-foam cocoon looking at us suspiciously as we sit, contritely like three naughty, we-pee'd-on-the-carpet, puppies, at the base of his bed and as agreed, Cas speaks on our collective behalf.

"Dean..."

Dean's face is a mixture of incomprehension, nervousness and 'get-me-the-shit-outta-here-cause-I-have-no-idea-w here-this-is-going' and I figure he'd bolt for the door if'n he wasn't too unsteady on his feet for that but I think he's silently mouthing the Rituale Romanum - "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus...", under his breath.

"Un, huh?"

He manages to squeeze out as we all smile smiles at him that freak him out even more..."Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio...".

"We wish to know..."

Cas nods to Sam and I...

"That if by painting your nails you feel we emasculated you and rendered your position as leader of our..."

The ex-celestial wavelength pauses here, tilting his head, pug-like, to the side as he searches for the right word.

"Tribe...untenable?"

Oh well hellfire and damnation, Cas! What happened to 'be subtle', and 'build up to it slowly'. Oh and I also remember 'don't freak him out' featuring in there.

I risk a glance at Sam and he's paler than Dean and that's saying something cause Dean looks like he's trying to blend into the snow-white of his pillow. Anything to get away from the awful, terrifying, in-human directness of the ham-fisted once-angel.

Okaaaaayyyyy!

Wheel out the UN Peacekeepers.

Charlie to the rescue.

Feminine diplomacy and tact called for here if we are to retrieve the situation..

"What Cas is trying to say, Dean..."

But Dean's bandaged, slightly shaking right hand raises up in front of me and stills that thought on my guilt-ridden lips as he speaks.

"Emasculate, Cas, is not a word I want to hear from you ever again...at least not in association with me. Got that?"

Dean's voice is a bass, deep in his chest, beware-you-are-on-quicksand-sorta growl and, to give him his credit, Cas does the correct thing in this circumstance and just lowers his eyes and nods humbly as Dean continues.

"But if you're asking if making me up, while I was asleep and unable to resist, like a sparkly-polished, big-fucking girl hurt my feelings..."

We all wince, perhaps audibly.

"Then, yeah...it kinda did."

Ouch, ouch and fucking ouch. That stings!

Well, naturally we, Sam, Cas and I go leaping into apology meltdown, all hovering closer to a shrinking-back Dean and babbling in cacophonous unison. And it's too much and Dean pulls the covers up to his chin, wincing at the pain the sudden movement delivers. And crap if that don't make us feel all the more brutish and callous so I step us down, pull us back and we re-group, silent and pitiful at the foot of his bed.

"What can we do to say sorry?"

I ask softly cause the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt Dean and I know this has and I /we /Sam, Cas and I feel like terrible, insensitive jerks and he looks at us, all wide, damp green eyes in his pale, wan, vulnerable face and smiles sadly for us.

"It doesn't matter."

He whispers and oh god, I feel like the heel of the century and Cas is hyperventilating and Sam...well you can imagine and he wasn't even actually there for the whole actual galactic-greening!

"It does...It does matter. It matters to us all a whole hell of a lot."

I say vehemently and the boys nods say it too but Dean just shrugs and pulls the blanket closer and damn, if my heart isn't breaking.

And then Cas speaks. In his no-beating-about-the-bush, I-really-am-winging-(Freudian!)-it way but it's okay this time cause it's what's needed. No crap, just direct and honest.

"I'm sorry Dean."

His big blue eyes search Dean's and thank god, they don't get shoved away.

"We're all sorry. We were insensitive. We did not realize how this ill thought through action would impact on you."

Dean shrugs again but it's a bit less down-trodden, less unworthy and I feel my self induced and hateful DefCon status ratch down one notch.

"'S'okay, Cas."

And there's a softness, that fond, ever-forgiving lilt in Dean's words and suddenly we all three know it'll be alright. That we'll learn our lesson and because Dean is Dean, it'll be alright.

So I'm kinda surprised when Cas says...and this isn't something we rehearsed in our 'how-the-freak-do-we-handle-this' earlier planning session but Sam and I go with it.

"You are generous in your forgiveness, Dean and we appreciate your magnanimity..."

Collective nods...

"But I feel we should do some penance to make amends..."

Ohh-oh!

But the once-angel's on a roll that's unstoppable.

"So I propose that we subject ourselves to the same role reversal scenario that we forced upon you so we may fully feel how disquieting it was."

He looks at Sam and I, and Sam nods earnestly as do I.

"So I will paint my nails, Dean and you make select the colour."

Dean narrows his eyes a little, thinking only momentarily before responding.

"Black."

Cas nods and Dean's mouth pulls up just ever so slightly at the corners.

"And me?"

I wave my already painted nails toward Dean but before he can answer Cas cuts in.

"No Charlie, If this is to be properly educational it must be a reversal of role lesson therefore we should craft for you a male persona."

Cas glances from me to Dean who is a little wide-eyed but affirms the new-human's position.

"Stubble and Sam's clothes."

The ex-wavelength muses firmly and I defer, somewhat relieved, to his lead.

"And me?"

Sam squeaks, more than a trace of nervousness shoving his voice up an octave.

Cas ponders, weighing up the tall, super-butch dollop of a hunter for a few moments.

"Braid your hair with ribbons I think."

The solitary squeak becomes a rodent concerto and Dean's face falls and a 'No, it's okay. Doesn't matter' is just about to whisper out and we all know that means 'I don't matter' is re-asserting itself in our brother's generous, ever-giving heart so Sam slams in and saves the day.

"Ribbons it is."

And we move with shared and grateful haste to gain the provisions we need to right the heinous wrong we have be gracefully forgiven for.

snSNsn

And so it is, sixty short minutes later that we stand in the bunker lounge, by the sofa that Dean has felt strong enough to shift to and parade our contrition.

Cas has black finger and toe-nails, his thumb nails sporting tiny white angel wings. Darn if they weren't fiddly to paint! and Dean smiles his approval.

I am rocking a very convincing 5 o'clock shadow, courtesy of Sam's shaved arm and some spirit gum. Gee, these Men of Letters kept a well stocked bunker! The look is completed with a pair of Sam's oldest jeans with about a foot rolled up at the ankle and a t-shirt / plaid combo that hangs to my knees.

I feel back-woods-man-ish and have to resist the urge to scratch and spit and shoot something and again, Dean nods and allows a hint of a smile.

And Sam?

Ah Sam.

The younger, huge, powerful, manly Winchester has his shoulder length chestnut hair braided in two pony tails, tied at the ends with pink and white checked gingham ribbons. (Cas just happened to have seen them, sitting waiting for a purpose on one of his forays into the bunker's big provisions store on the basement floor. Handy huh?)

And he's a picture. Sweet and pretty and a credit to the family. The vision of femininity that John and Mary would have wanted in a daughter.

But the best bit is that Dean smiles. That smile that isn't 'for the public' or the one that holds back the pain within him but the smile that is rare and beautiful. That lights his face with joy and warmth and makes him Dean.

"Thanks, guys."

He casts his eyes over us, his motley band of transgendered, cross-specie'd, rainbow unicorns and we grin, pleased to have regained the ground we had lost with such relative ease and we move to join him on the couch.

Only to have him stop us.

"Oh no..."

He laughs, a wicked light dancing in his golden-green gaze.

"You don't get away that easy..."

I swallow hard, in chorus with my fellow penitents as the boss, our tribe leader, Dean points towards the door.

"Go start the car, Sam. I think we should all go do the grocery run. Let's take this freak show on the road!"

Oh hell ain't payback a wonderful bitch!

ends