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Seagrass Apartments, Unit 110
Wednesday, 5th August, 1998
Dean’s period is late.
This...hasn’t happened in a while. Not since Sammy popped his knot and started having a cycle of rut and torpor for Dean to sync up to. But here they are, with Sam deep into a cycle of torpor and snoring away on the couch...and Dean doesn’t even have a single symptom of PMS.
No bloating, no cramps, no nausea or crankiness. And most of all, no bleeding.
He didn’t think about it much until last night when he had that bad dizzy spell while stocking shelves during his shift at Ames. Jules, his co-worker that he’s normally friendly with had caught Dean before he’d toppled over into a display of paper towels and said, all causal and joking, “Whoa sugar, you havin’ a pregnancy swoon?”
Dean had punched him in the arm for that little bit of lip. He didn’t pull the punch either and Dean knew it hurt because Jules had yelped and spent the rest of the night rubbing it.
The damage was done, however, and Dean spent the rest of the night paranoid about the fact that his period never showed up.
Dean’s not a slut.
He’s not.
Okay,...maybe a little. But then again, who isn’t? Yes. He likes sex. A lot. With alphas.
Alphas are exciting and sexy. They smell good and their knots tend to hit all the right places. And Dean doesn’t care if they’re male or female, if they’re tall or short, if they’re older or younger. As long as they’re not, you know, underage.
They just have to smell good, treat Dean well, and only take what he’s willing to give.
The thought kept ratting around in his head though. Pregnancy. His non-existent period. His nerves furled up tighter and tighter as every hour passed. Finally, when his shift was over, he sidled into the pharmacy section and looked at the display of home pregnancy tests.
The different brands all basically said the same thing and they all showed a smiling happy omega looking out at him. He didn’t know about these things, so he just grabbed up the closest one and stomped up to the counter and slapped it down.
The pharmacist's assistant looked at the box, then at Dean, one eyebrow lifting up judgmentally. She opened her mouth to say, ...something, but Dean scowled.
“I know...shut up.”
She snorted, but didn’t say a word as she rang up the box and stuffed it into a plastic bag. Dean paid with a deep worried frown, and turned to leave.
“Good luck.”
Her voice didn’t have any amusement in it, so Dean didn’t turn and scream at her. He just looked back over his shoulder, nodded once, and turned back to continue on his way.
Now here he was, back home and standing in the bathroom of their shitty rat-hole apartment and trying not to have a fuckin’ breakdown while waiting for the EPT test to tell him if his life was over. Because if he was pregnant, dad would kill him.
Seriously.
Dean wasn’t one for praying, but the word ...please... kept playing over and over in his head. And really, if God or whoever, would help him out and make sure he wasn’t pregnant, Dean would switch over to omegas from now on. No worries about pregnancy then, right?
Yeah. Dean could do that. He’s dated a few omegas...taken a few others to bed. It was good. Fun. He could do that no problem.
Plus, lesbians loved him. He was hit on by lesbians all the time. Mostly because he looked like one, always dressed in alpha style clothes and borrowing his dad’s alpha cologne. He dressed alpha, he walked alpha, he talked alpha. Yeah...he was one of the butchest omegas in every town they moved to.
Might as well make the switch.
There was this one omega about three months ago. He was this shy, petite little thing. Maybe all of 5’4” and thin. He kept his curly hair long and wore linen capri pants or knee length cotton skirts with sandals showing off his polished toenails. He had a soft voice, soft hands, and soft lips. He hid behind Dean whenever an alpha got too close.
Dean never asked, because he didn’t want to know. He figured that if he ever found out why, it would lead to murder and that shit’s still illegal, so...
They could have made it work. For real. But then dad blew back into town and it was a rush for him and Sam to pack everything up and into the Impala. Dean never even got to say goodbye.
So, yeah.
Dean can make the switch. Maybe even permanently. For the right omega.
The egg timer went off and Dean flinched.
Taking a deep breath, then another, Dean leaned over the counter and looked. It was a minus sign. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Still minus.
He wasn’t pregnant.
For half a second, he was heartbroken. Then his brain kicked in and he felt nothing but overwhelming relief. He wasn’t pregnant!
Dean slumped against the bathroom sink and laughed until he cried.
END