Dean went through a knight phase for a few months. He played at being a knight, making a wooden sword and even asking me to design him a crest to wear. I never did, I thought his play was stupid. I guess I should mention, for the sake of the telling, that I wasn't in the best foster home ever at the time. It made me more moody and withdrawn than I usually got with Dean. He didn't press because he knew that I'd shut him out even further, but I could see his anxiety grow as weeks passed and my behavior didn't improve.
One day in the playground Dean was practicing brandishing about his sword and I was doing my homework at an attempt to ignore the world. Dean kept trying to get my attention but I was ignoring him as best I could. But Dean was persistent. I was his only friend in the entire world and his only tether to sanity, so he needed me. But I was in pain so I couldn't see it.
"May I beg a token from my lady, so that I may wear it in battle to strengthen my courage?"
I closed my eyes tightly and resisted the urge to immediately leave. Dean wouldn't have understood; to him leaving was worse than fighting or yelling. "I'm not your lady Dean, nor am I any sort of 'lady' at all."
"You would deny me your love upon the battlefield?" Dean asked in mock hurt.
I placed my homework on the deck and pulled my knees up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs, pointedly ignoring his question. Most of the time Dean knew my signals as well as his own. But whether he pretended not to see or he somehow missed it this time he inched toward where I was sitting on the deck, a shy smile on his face. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Perhaps the Lady Francesca would bestow a kiss-"
Dean didn't get farther than that. Anxiety and anger battled it out in my gut, sending a painful tingle up my neck at the combination of the touch and the request, and the use of that name. I whirled and punched him straight in the nose. Not strong enough to make him bleed but enough to send him reeling back with a yelp of pain. There was real hurt on his face now. His hazel eyes were wide with shock.
"You are so fucking obsessed with that era, but neither of us would be what you talk about us being. I'm about as much a lady as a dog and you're no knight. You know what we would have been? Street urchins. Abandoned street urchins. Because that's basically what we are today. We steal, we run amok, we only spend as much time indoors as is required of us. And people treat us like-" I bit down hard on my lip to stop the things- the things I didn't acknowledge- from pouring out of my mouth. Dean was frozen in horror as I lashed out.
I wasn't supposed to lash out. NotatmyDean. Anyone but him was a fair target. But I owed Dean everything and he deserved exactly none of my rage. But I knew he was a safe target. He wouldn't hit me (hard), he wouldn't hate me, he loved me so unconditionally that I could do just about anything to him and he would take it with a blank face and without a sound.
And that's exactly what he did that day. He stood, grabbed his backpack and left without a word. His fake sword was abandoned on the deck. I started to cry, but not from guilt. I was just furious at everything. I didn't feel guilty until hours later. On the pirate ship all I felt was anger. Dean wasn't making it better for me. That was his damn job. He was failing me. It was only later I realized that Dean never failed me. He tried to be exactly what I needed, when I needed it. But he couldn't do it all the time, especially when I was closing myself to him.
When I left an hour later I picked up Dean's sword and threw it in the nearest trash bin.
Dean never mentioned it. And his knight faze abruptly ended.