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When Charlie got her hands on the Supernatural books, the last thing she expected was to find out that Dean Winchester was queer. She had wondered, fleetingly, if he was maybe less than straight— he did have like, a vibe — but really, she didn’t know much about the guy except that he was macho and a huge dork and kind of a sweetheart and good at saving the world.
But there it was, right on the page. Not kissing or anything, and nothing like the godawful sex scenes Charlie had read peering through her fingers, muttering “ew, ew, ew.” But Charlie Bradbury knew her subtext, and this was some high-quality barely-sub text if she’d ever seen it.
She tried to poke Dean about it after he shot down her fashion montage and forced her to purchase the least cute fake FBI agent outfit ever.
“What about, uh, Castiel?” she said, all casual. “He seems helpful, and dreamy.”
But Dean didn’t really take the bait. Charlie figured it was a sore spot. Dean’s angel without a sense of personal space didn’t seem to be around, and there was a tension in the air that made her think he wasn’t just out buying groceries. Maybe it had something to do with why Sam was walking around like death warmed over.
Whatever— Charlie’s thing with Dean and Sam wasn’t a bare your soul kind of friendship. They popped into each other’s lives, made trouble, cracked a few jokes, and skipped town. It wasn’t like Dean and Sam knew everything about Charlie anyway. They didn’t even know why she was in Kansas, and she had no plans to tell them.
They wouldn’t have found out, either, if it hadn’t been for that freakin’ Djinn. There she was, fighting over and over to save her mother, in a dream she knew all too well. Then Dean popped in out of nowhere in a tight little military getup his brain must have conjured all on its own, and Charlie had a moment to think yup, definitely queer before they were fighting for their lives.
She wasn’t sure there was anyone else in the world who could have convinced her to put down her gun with her mother and Sam lying in those hospital beds. And she probably wouldn’t have ever been able to look Dean in the eye again once they woke up, except that she’d seen his fear too. They were even.
When Dean hugged Charlie outside the bunker, she felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. When was the last time someone held her like that? It was so gentle. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to squirm away or never let go. It wasn’t like she didn’t have friends. She totally did. Her LARPing buddies all practically fawned over her. She held court over Moondor and over their weekly happy hours. But it had been years since anyone saw her cry. Since someone thought she needed taking care of— or was worth it.
“Hey,” she said when they pulled apart. “Do you want to go somewhere? Something about getting ready to pull the plug on my mom is really making me want a drink.”
Dean hesitated, his eyes darting back to the bunker, and Charlie knew he was thinking about Sam.
“He’s a big boy,” she said. “You can leave him alone for an hour.”
Dean studied her face for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally, sticking his hands in his pockets and pursing his lips in a way that totally made him seem more manly and not at all like he was auditioning for Abercrombie Model: The Musical.
He insisted on driving, of course, but Charlie bullied him into letting her choose the place. She had a habit of scoping out gay bars in any town she went to. She liked knowing there was somewhere she could escape to if she needed it. She was lucky Lebanon even had one. It was pretty underground, no online presence at all— she’d learned about it from chatting up a butch gas station attendant. Apparently it didn’t attract a lot of lesbians, but that was okay. She just needed somewhere to talk to Dean where they could both relax.
Charlie gave Dean directions, and he gave her a skeptical look when he pulled up on the side street outside of the bar.
“You sure this place is open?”
“Yup,” Charlie said, hopping out of the Impala and slamming the door. The bar was almost literally a hole in the wall, and the sign over the door just said “bar.” The sky was still light, so Charlie figured it would be quiet. Perfect for a few drinks and a chat.
She led the way into the dim interior. The bartender was blatantly on his phone, and the only other patron was an older guy drinking alone at the bar. Nothing about the place screamed gay, but she shared a small nod with the bartender when he looked up and immediately felt more at ease. It wasn’t like Charlie went around hiding she was a lesbian, but there was a part of her that tensed up each time she said it to a new person, waiting for the time it would be a mistake. There was the part of her that wondered, constantly, who could tell. She worried everyone knew, and worried no one did. Here, it wasn’t an issue.
Charlie sent Dean to one of the tables by the back wall and ordered beers for them both. When she joined him, they clinked bottles and shared a rueful smile.
“Bet you wish you’d actually been here for a fan convention,” Dean said.
“Nah, this was way more fun.” Charlie heard her voice falter, but Dean was nice enough not to mention it. They both took a long sip of their drinks. “So,” Charlie said, eager to change the subject. “Did you really get abducted by aliens that were actually fairies?”
Dean’s expression soured. “I’m going to kill Chuck.”
“Oh, come on, you should be thanking him. Those books are pretty flattering if you ask me. Your eyes aren’t that green.”
“Shut up. I don’t even know what color my eyes are.” Dean blushed, though, and Charlie snorted.
“How much did he get right? Is there stuff missing?”
Dean shrugged. “I haven’t read them. I mean, just parts of them. Freaked me out too much.” He rubbed his thumb through the condensation on the side of his beer. “I don’t think he wrote down everything, though. Not everything going on inside my head.”
Ah, hence the subtext. Charlie wondered if this Carver Edlund guy— Chuck— knew that Dean was into guys and just chose not to include it. Maybe he was homophobic. Maybe he was protecting Dean.
“Well, now that I know all your embarrassing stories, it’s only fair that you get some dirt on me. So go ahead. Ask me anything.”
Dean laughed.
“No, I’m serious. I will be one hundred percent honest, I swear.”
Charlie held out her pinky. Dean, apparently, did not do pinky swears— he swatted it away.
“Okay,” he said. “What’s the worst you’ve ever struck out with a girl?”
“Come on, that’s the best you can come up with? That’s bush league.”
“Hey, answer the question.”
Charlie sighed. “Well, first of all, I don’t strike out. I am occasionally rejected, but women are not a sport and I’m not throwing baseballs at them.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Quit stalling.”
“Fine. Okay. So, there was this woman of unparalleled beauty at a Star Trek convention in Milwaukee…”
Charlie launched into her tale, embellishing wherever she could. Basically all that happened was that she got really drunk at a hotel bar and flirted with an Uhura cosplayer who tried to turn her down gently but then had to spend half an hour helping Charlie find her key card, which turned out to be in Charlie’s pocket the whole time. But Charlie was nothing if not a storyteller, and by the end she had literal tears of laughter streaming down Dean’s face.
The conversation flowed pretty easy from there. It turned out Dean was a bit of a Star Trek fan too— not quite on Charlie’s level, but a few notches past casual. Once Charlie got him going, he lit up like a kid on geek Christmas.
They were both so absorbed in the conversation that neither of them noticed as the bar began to get more crowded. At least, neither of them noticed until a group of guys passed right by their table, laughing loudly. Charlie looked up, saw a couple getting pretty cozy at the bar. The laughing group settled at a table not too far from theirs. They were dressed for a night out in tight jeans and lots of color. One guy wore earrings.
Smiling to herself, Charlie took a sip of beer and caught sight of Dean. He looked a little seasick.
“Uh, Charlie? Is this...a gay bar?” He lowered his voice like he was discussing an embarrassing medical condition.
Charlie slapped a hand to her forehead. “Did I not even say that? Well that defeats the whole purpose.”
Dean frowned. “The purpose?”
“Yeah, I figured you could use a chance to relax. Let your guard down.”
“Let my guard down,” Dean repeated in a flat tone.
“Or I could be your wingman if you want. I’m a real hit with gay guys.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“You want to be my wingman in a gay bar.” Dean was still speaking in that weird flat tone. “Charlie, I’m not gay.”
“Okay, you swing both ways.”
“No, I’m not— any of that. I’m straight.” He was whispering pretty aggressively now.
Charlie laughed, but stopped abruptly at the look on Dean’s face. “Oh.” She took in Dean’s hunched posture, so different from the way he had sprawled in his chair earlier. “ Oh .”
For a moment, she considered the fact that she might be wrong. Was Dean actually 100% heterosexual? She dismissed the thought almost immediately. Charlie’s gaydar was never wrong. Besides, the way Dean was bristling— he seemed more scared than angry.
Immediately, Charlie felt awful. She wished he was actually straight. That would be awkward, and she’d probably have to fight him over how defensive he was being. But it wouldn’t do any real harm.
But this— Charlie knew what it was like to be spotted when you weren’t ready to be seen. For someone like Dean, this could send him reeling even deeper into the closet. It could hurt.
“I guess I had it wrong,” she said, trying to keep it casual. “Sometimes if someone seems super straight, I just assume it circles back around into being gay. It’s a problem. Gotten my heart broken too many times that way. But hey, what can I say. I’m an optimist.”
Dean huffed and downed the rest of his beer. “Uh, maybe we should head out.”
“Dean,” Charlie said, cajoling. “I haven’t even finished my drink.”
Dean’s eyes darted to the door. He looked cornered, and Charlie almost relented. But she knew as soon as she relented Dean would drive her back to her car, and then she would have no choice but to drive to Topeka. And what waited for her in Topeka…
“If you spend one more hour here, I’ll find a way to get those Supernatural books off the internet.”
Dean’s eyebrows lifted. “Can you even do that?”
Charlie scoffed. “I basically took down Dick Roman for you, dude. Don’t insult me.”
Dean seemed to mull this over. He glanced back at the boisterous table behind them, then at Charlie’s half-empty beer. “Okay,” he said. “One hour. And you’re buying another round.”
“Sure. I’ll just put it on one of my many completely legal credit cards.”
Dean made a face, and Charlie grinned back. Maybe she felt a little guilty, but the relief was way stronger.
Charlie went to the bar to grab another couple of beers. She launched a new topic of conversation as soon as she returned, trying to keep things light. Safe.
“If you had to choose one supernatural thing to be, what would you pick?”
Dean looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “Dude. I kill monsters. Why would I want to be one?”
“I didn’t say monster , I said supernatural thing . And don’t even tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
“Have you?” Dean grunted.
“Duh. I mean, before I knew all this was real, I totally wanted to be an elf. I know it’s kind of basic, but I was a total Tolkien bitch in high school.”
“Elves aren’t real.”
Charlie tilted her beer towards him with a wink. “That you know of.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “And now that you’ve gotten up close and personal with things that go bump in the night, you still want to be one?”
“It’s called escapism. Everyone’s gotta daydream about something.”
“Yeah, well, your escapism is my day job.”
Charlie sighed. “You’re holding out on me, Dean. I know about your passion for Star Trek now, and don’t even pretend you’re not excited for the next Moondor battle.”
Dean glowered, but he was blushing a little. “Yeah, maybe I like to forget about things every now and then. Who doesn’t?”
“My point exactly. So just tell me— what would it be? Vampire?”
Dean shook his head vehemently.
“Maybe a dragon.”
He made a disgusted face.
“Oh— I know!” Charlie slapped her hands on the table. “You could be an angel. All that super-strength and badass flashy powers!”
To Charlie’s surprise, Dean’s blush deepened. “No,” he said gruffly. “Every angel I know has a major stick up their ass. I don’t need any of that ‘orders from on high’ crap. I know what matters, and I stick with the people I trust.”
Charlie blinked. “O-okay. No angels then.”
Dean took a drink and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Yeah. No fucking angels.”
“I feel like maybe I stepped in the middle of something there,” Charlie said. “This isn’t about Castiel, is it?”
Dean glared at her, and Charlie felt a brief moment of kinship with all the ghosts and werewolves who had this as their last vision before they died. She wasn’t sure why she kept sticking her head in the lion’s mouth here, but it probably had something to do with the fact that when she was scared of something in her own life, she did her best to make trouble for other people. Or the fact that Dean didn’t actually scare her.
“It’s not about Cas,” Dean said gruffly. “Cas can do whatever the hell he wants. He always has.”
“Yeah, that whole ‘inventing free will’ thing was pretty badass,” Charlie said. “I mean The Man Who Would Be King was kind of boring overall, but those last couple chapters when it switched to Castiel’s perspective?” She whistled. “I couldn’t put it down. Probably sucked for you though. When you felt all betrayed and then he died.”
“ Felt betrayed?” Dean said. “He betrayed us. He was working with—” Dean clamped his mouth shut, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “You know what? I’m not arguing this with you. You weren’t there.”
“Totally fair.” Charlie bobbed her head. “I guess I’m just a little jealous. If I had a hot superpowered angel who liked me enough to literally turn his back on everything he ever knew and follow me around helping with minor problems, I’d pretty much be set for life. Might even consider going bicurious for him.” She grinned. “For legal reasons, that is a joke.”
Dean stared at her, looking like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to slap her or not. He glanced away, throat working. “Yeah, well, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. The amount of times—” He stopped.
Charlie felt herself deflating, the energy she’d gotten from needling Dean draining out of her. It was like kicking a puppy.
“For what it’s worth, those books made it seem like he was always trying to be a good friend.”
Dean let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Trying doesn’t always cut it. But I ain’t always been the best to him either, so…”
Charlie watched his eyes travel across the bar, following a man in a tight leather jacket as he approached the bar and greeted a friend with a kiss on the cheek. She knew she was flirting with danger here, but she was feeling reckless and lonely and affectionate and maybe a little buzzed.
“Dean,” she said. “You know if you weren’t straight, you could tell me, right? I’m good with secrets. I’ve already got about twenty that I’m taking to the grave.”
She waited for an outburst, or sputtering denial. Instead, Dean turned slowly to face her. When their eyes met, his gaze was heavy. Heavy with a weight that Charlie, even with everything weighing on her, wished she could shoulder just a bit.
“I know,” he said. He opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He took a sip of his beer.
Charlie realized she was smiling. There was a sting behind her eyes, but she ignored it. There was no doubt in her mind what Dean was saying, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t say it, because in that moment she knew he was trusting her with something he couldn’t trust to anyone else.
“You know, I lied before,” Charlie said. “When you asked about the worst time I struck out with a girl.”
“You mean you made up that whole key card thing?” Dean sounded affronted.
“No, that happened. But it wasn’t the worst.” Charlie swallowed. “The worst was when I fell in love with a girl in high school. We were both total nerds. Her family was poor, I was the tragic foster care kid. Everyone else made fun of us, but we stuck together. She was kind of all I had. Then junior year I tried to kiss her. It didn’t go well.”
Her name was Isabel. She had been Charlie’s person, her only constant when everything else just...sucked. She’d recoiled instantly when Charlie leaned in and run away from Charlie’s frantic apologies. The worst, though, was when she told her parents. They got Charlie’s foster family involved, and Charlie was just lucky they were more indifferent than angry. After that, she was humiliated and ashamed and so, so alone.
Dean sucked in a breath that sounded an awful lot like recognition. “Shit, Charlie.”
Charlie shrugged, instantly uncomfortable with the attention. “It was just kid stuff. But, uh, I think we’re even now.”
Dean clinked his beer against the side of Charlie’s. It made a sad, hollow sound. “Even Steven.”
They finished their beers in silence. After a while, Dean said,
“Has it been an hour?”
Charlie checked her watch. It had been an hour and a half. Part of her wanted to lie and said it wasn’t time. But another part of her knew she couldn’t stall forever. If Dean had taught her anything, it was that sometimes you just had to face the music.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
They paid up and headed outside, where it was fully dark. Dean drove them back to the Bunker, radio turned up just loud enough to make it hard to talk.
“You sure you don’t want to spend another night?” he asked when they pulled up outside, his voice sweetly hopeful. Charlie’s chest tightened.
“Nah, I think I’ve got to go,” she said. She knew Dean understood.
They got out of the car together, and Dean pulled her into another hug. “Thank you,” he murmured, just loud enough for Charlie to hear, but so quiet that if anyone else had been near or watching from on high, they wouldn’t have been able to make it out. Charlie sniffed into his weird stiff jacket.
They pulled apart, and Charlie made for her car, digging the keys from her pocket. She was already planning where she’d stop for gas, debating which brand of energy drink she’d buy to get her through the drive and what came next.
“Hey, Charlie?” Dean called after her.
Charlie turned back to him, shielding her eyes against the Impala’s headlights.
“Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
Charlie grinned, imagining how it could be. Maybe next time Dean really would relax, let down his armor. “Oh, we definitely will.”
With one last jaunty wave, she climbed into her car and set her eyes on the road ahead, Dean a long figure dwindling in her rearview mirror.