Chapter Text
On the morning of his twenty-ninth birthday, Dean Winchester woke up to the sound of rain. Considering that it was mid-May, this wasn't particularly surprising, but that didn't mean that Dean had to be happy about it. He didn’t feel any older than he had the night before, and would have been perfectly happy to let his birthday pass without celebration. It was, after all, just another reminder of how far he was from the life he wanted for himself.
It wasn’t so much his age that bothered him. It was more the fact that he was now twenty-nine, and still living in the family home with his mother, his aunt Ellen, and his cousin Jo. Even that would have been acceptable, if it had felt more like his choice.
Dean had hoped that he would be married by twenty-nine. Starting a life with someone he loved. Or that he had at least started down that path, even if it hadn’t worked out. He would never want to settle for a less-than-happy marriage. He could deal with being unmarried.
But to be unmarried because he was unwanted…
It didn’t encourage him to be enthusiastic about the passing of the years.
Dean sighed and got out of bed. There was no point trying to hide from the world. It would intrude on him like it always did. Aunt Ellen would come by shortly to knock on his door and make sure he was awake. He figured he would save her the trip.
He nearly crashed into his cousin Jo, who was standing outside his door, hand raised to knock. “Good morning,” Dean said. “Were you trying to sneak in and birthday attack me or what?”
Jo scowled at him. “Yes,” she said. “Way to ruin my fun. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks, Jo,” Dean said, pulling her in for a quick hug. His situation could be a lot worse. His family could be a lot worse. They were meddlesome and over-dramatic and there were far too many of them, but they cared about Dean. They wanted what was best for him. They just thought they were always the ones who knew what the best was.
The cousins made their way to the kitchen, where their mothers were busy preparing an elaborate birthday breakfast. Dean absent-mindedly rubbed at his chest. He had noticed these odd little twinges lately. Probably just getting older, he thought, and dismissed them from his mind.
Ellen Harvelle and Mary Winchester made a good team, moving around the kitchen in perfect sync with one another. Both had lost their husbands when their children were very young, so it had made sense for them to move into the old Campbell house they had grown up in and raise the kids together. Mary was taller and lighter-haired than her younger sister, but they shared a steely determination, a rowdy sense of humour, and a fiercely protective nature. Dean loved them both, but some days they could be a bit much, especially when combined with Jo’s snark.
“Happy birthday, Dean!” Mary said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. There were smudges of flour on her face. “Breakfast is almost ready, why don’t you and Jo go sit down and we’ll bring everything in shortly.”
“Happy birthday, Dean,” Ellen echoed from the other side of the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Dean replied. “You didn’t have to make all this, though. It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course it is,” Mary said. “My baby’s turning twenty-nine today. We can’t let that go unnoticed.”
Dean really wished they would have. He knew exactly how the conversation at breakfast was going to go- the same way it did every year. And he was right. Once the four of them were seated at the dining room table, Mary launched into her usual line of questioning.
“So, Dean,” she said, helping herself to the bacon, “have you met anyone new recently?”
“We don’t get many new people around here, Mom,” Dean said wearily. “My dating options are pretty limited.”
“I just thought maybe someone had stopped by the garage. Out-of-towners get car trouble sometimes, you never know what could happen.”
“It would have to be an out-of-towner to take a chance on me, right?” Dean said bitterly.
“Don’t be like that, Dean,” Ellen scolded him. “It’s not your mother’s fault that the folk around here are so narrow-minded.”
“Screw ‘em,” Jo said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “You don’t need anyone.”
In some ways, Jo was right. Dean didn’t need anyone. But he wanted someone.
“Yeah, well,” he said, “Maybe romance just isn’t in the cards for me.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Mary said. “You’re a handsome, charming, capable young man. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
Jo raised an eyebrow at Mary’s choice of words. “Not any woman. Anyone,” she corrected.
“Of course,” Mary said hastily. “Anyone.”
“Except that’s the problem. You’d think being open to dating people of varying genders would increase your options, not eliminate them entirely. Just not in Port Lawrence, I guess,” Dean said.
“So Bela broke up with you because she thought you would cheat on her with another man,” Jo said bluntly. “That doesn’t mean every other girl here thinks the same way.”
“Then why won’t any of them ever say yes when I ask them to dinner?” Dean challenged. “They all get the same look on their face, and they say sorry like they mean it. Like, sorry Dean, you’re a great guy, but you refuse to be ashamed of your bisexuality, and my small-town prejudices run deep, so I don’t think I can handle the whispers that would start up if we were together.”
“Is this really an appropriate breakfast conversation?” Ellen asked.
Dean rounded on her. “What, you got a problem with the word ‘bisexuality’ too, Aunt Ellen?”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, boy,” Ellen snapped. “You know I don’t give a damn who catches your eye. None of us here do, and we hate that other people can’t look past that enough to see how incredible you are. I just meant that maybe, seeing as it’s your birthday and all, we should talk about something a bit happier than how backwards most of the folks around here are.”
“Oh,” Dean said, embarrassed. “Sorry, Aunt Ellen. Got a bit carried away there.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Ellen said.
They ate in uncomfortable silence for a few moments after that, and as Dean was trying to come up with something to say, they were interrupted by his phone ringing. He glanced down and saw his brother’s name on the screen.
“It’s Sam,” he said.
“Go ahead and take it,” Mary said. “Say hello for me.”
Dean stood up from the table and went to the small parlour at the front of the house to answer to call without being overheard.
“Hey, Sammy,” he said.
“Happy birthday, Dean!” his brother said cheerfully. “Sorry, did I interrupt breakfast? I knew I probably would, but there’s a big case going down today, and I won’t get another chance to give you a call. Didn’t want to miss it.
“No worries,” Dean said. “It’s just good to hear from you. How’s Sarah?”
“She’s great,” Sam replied. “She’s got an auction on today as well, otherwise we both would have driven up for the day. Hopefully we can all get together soon, though. It’s been too long since we’ve all been in the same place.”
Dean knew that his brother meant well, but it was always a bit difficult to hear how busy and important his life was. Sam had just finished law school and was working with a prestigious firm in Bracebridge, about an hour away. His fiancee Sarah Blake was an art dealer, so it made sense for them to live in a bigger city. Sam was four years younger than Dean, and he made it all look so easy. He had the career, the long-term partner, the big house, the dog… and there would probably be kids soon enough, too. Dean loved his brother, he really did, and he was incredibly proud of him. It was hard not to resent him sometimes, though, when Sam had everything that Dean wanted and couldn’t seem to have for himself.
“So, got any big plans for the day?” Sam asked.
“Nah, Bobby told me to take the day off, so I’ll probably just go into town, maybe see if there’s anything new at the bookstore, the usual,” Dean said.
“Sounds nice,” Sam said wistfully. “I could use a day like that. Listen, Dean, I’m sorry I can’t talk longer, but they’re calling me in. I’ve gotta go. Happy birthday, again.”
“No problem, Sam. Thanks.”
Dean hung up the phone. He pressed his hand against his chest. It was kind of painful again. Maybe he should go to the doctor when he was in town. He took another minute to enjoy the quiet, then went back to finish his breakfast.
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The rain had slowed by the time Dean was ready to head into town. He climbed into his car, the 1967 Impala that had belonged to his father, and roared off towards the tiny downtown area, following the roads that were as familiar to him as the back of his hand. Dean had lived in Port Lawrence his whole life. It was home. He didn’t want to leave it behind, and that was part of the reason several of his previous relationships hadn’t worked out. His high-school girlfriend Robin had left to study music in Europe. Cassie, who he dated shortly after graduating, ended up going to college for journalism and probably lived somewhere with actual news to cover now. Aaron had wanted to live somewhere with a thriving nightlife, where his sexuality wouldn’t be an issue.
Dean could have left with any of them. It might not have lasted forever, but he could have taken that chance. Yet something always held him back. He didn’t want to leave. He had always figured that he wouldn’t have to choose, that he could find someone to be happy with without having to leave the town he loved. Recently, however, he was starting to wonder if he had been too optimistic. He still didn’t want to leave Port Lawrence, but maybe it would be for the best. He could always come back to visit.
He stopped by the doctor’s office first to see if they could squeeze him in despite the late notice. It turned out there had been a cancellation, so there was an opening in an hour. Dean confirmed that he would be back then, and made his way down the block to the small second-hand bookstore run by his good friend Charlie.
She was behind the counter organizing a display when Dean walked in, the bells above the door jangling to announce his entrance. “Hey Dean!” she exclaimed. “Happy birthday!”
“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, coming to lean on the counter across from her. “Did you happen to get in anything good I can buy myself as a present?”
“Sort of,” Charlie said mysteriously, rummaging around for something beside her. She came up with a thick hardcover and slid it across the counter to Dean. “It’s a present from me to you, though. No buying necessary.”
Dean looked at what she had picked out for him. “The Route of Flowers,” he read. “A nature book? Cool, but I’m usually more of a sci-fi kind of guy.”
Charlie gave him a look. “Sure you are,” she said. “I know all about that nature blog you’re obsessed with, Dean. What’s it called, something about bees? Anyways, this one came in and it sounded similar, so I put it aside for you.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” Dean said.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t really the content of Following the Honeybees that kept him reading it. It was more the language and the emotion in every post. Dean had stumbled across the blog a few years ago and been a devoted reader ever since. He was pretty sure the author lived somewhere nearby, based on some of the photographs posted to the site. The posts were all anonymous, though, so Dean knew nothing about the blogger other than the fact that they were an incredibly skilled writer. Dean had never been interested in trees and insects and flowers until he found that blog. Still, maybe he would learn something from this book, and he could leave a comment on the next post, showing off what he had learned.
“So, what else have you got planned for the day? Not working, I see,” Charlie said.
“Nah, just killing some time, really,” Dean replied. “Mom and Aunt Ellen made a big breakfast this morning but it turned into the usual “when are you going to settle down” conversation, so I don’t really feel like being around for more of that.”
Charlie smiled at him sympathetically. “You know they just want you to be happy, right?”
“I know,” Dean said, “and that’s why it’s so frustrating. The more they nag me about it, the more I feel like a disappointment. Like I’ve made things harder for myself, and now I’m letting them down.”
“Don’t say that,” Charlie said sternly. “You’re not a disappointment for being honest about who you are, Dean. I know a thing or two about hiding yourself away, and it might be the safest thing in certain circumstances, but it’s not going to make you happy in the long-run.”
“Nobody’s been giving you any trouble lately, have they?” Dean asked, his protective nature kicking in. It was definitely a family thing, reinforced by his mother and his aunt. Charlie was like a younger sister to him, and the thought of anyone messing with her made Dean furious.
“Oh, no,” Charlie assured him. “It’s weird, isn’t it? I move here, put a little Pride sticker in my store’s window, and tell everyone I’m into girls when they try to set me up with their sons, and they just get a bit confused and apologetic and move on. And you spend your whole life here, and you date one dude like eight years ago, everyone finds out, you don't hesitate to call yourself bisexual, and all of a sudden no women here want to be in a relationship with you? If everyone was just flat-out hateful it would be easier to understand.”
“Right?” Dean said. “I don’t fucking get it. Nobody calls me names on the street. They don’t boycott the shop. They still invite me to their parties. But when I asked Jamie to dinner, she said she didn’t think it was a good idea, because it was just too much drama waiting to happen.”
Charlie shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she said.
“Yeah, me too,” he said. “Listen, thanks for the book, and the moral support. I gotta get going, though.”
“Okay. See you soon, I hope,” Charlie said, waving goodbye.
Dean left the bookstore and went back to the doctor’s office. He had been going to see Dr. Devereaux since he was a kid. The office hadn’t changed much in that time, just like the rest of the town. He only waited a few more minutes before the receptionist, Layla, told him the doctor was ready to see him.
“Dean,” Dr. Devereaux said, waving him into the examination room. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today. What’s the problem?”
Dean explained the chest pains he’d been feeling, and sat patiently while the doctor prodded at him and asked a number of questions, many of which didn’t seem related to his complaint at all. Dr. Devereaux made notes as he listened, and Dean tried to read over his shoulder, but didn’t have much luck.
“Well, there’s not much I can tell you today,” Dr. Devereaux said. “The office will call you when we have more conclusive results.”
“So what, just sit tight until then?” Dean asked.
“If it gets worse, come back. If not, wait until you hear from us,” the doctor said. “I don’t have all the answers, Dean. It’s never that easy.”
“I thought your job was to have the answers,” Dean grumbled.
Dr. Devereaux gave him an unimpressed look. “Goodbye, Dean,” he said, shooing him out the door.
Dean shook his head and left the room. He grabbed his coat from the waiting room and headed back to his car. He had hoped to get some kind of answer from the doctor that day, but apparently he would have to wait a bit longer. The doc hadn’t seemed too concerned, though, so it was probably nothing serious. Maybe he should ease back on the cheeseburgers in the meantime, though, just in case.
He considered just driving around aimlessly for awhile, but the weather still wasn’t great, so Dean made the short drive back to his house. It was quiet when he entered. Jo and Ellen were at work, he knew, but that didn’t explain where his mother was. Her car wasn’t in the driveway, so she must have gone out somewhere. Dean shrugged and went to make himself a cup of coffee. It was rare that he got to enjoy an empty house. Once his coffee was ready, he took it upstairs to his room, where he settled in with his computer to read over some of his favourite posts on Following the Honeybees.
Dean never would have guessed that he would be so obsessed with a nature blog. He liked reading, especially science fiction and fantasy, but he’d never had much interest in non-fiction. He always wanted the escape, the thrill of new places that you got from speculative fiction. But somehow, the writer behind this blog made nature feel like an escape of its own. Dean used to spend more time in the woods as a kid, but as he got older he’d found less and less time for it. Now he read about it, but still didn’t experience it much. That was something to work on. He lived in one of the most beautiful areas of the country, he knew. Lake Muskoka was iconic. Millionaires bought summer homes not far away from his tiny town, just to enjoy the forests and the lake.
Dean found the post he wanted, about the way the world changed every spring, and lost himself in the beauty of the writing. Here, there was no worry about when he would get married. No pressure to change or downplay any aspect of himself. Here, Dean was at peace.