Hi everyone! So, English is not my first language (that's Italian!) but I tried to translate my works in it.
It's quite complicated for me but I'll make my best, hope you will enjoy it.
This one-shot is part of a challenge named "30 volte il primo bacio" (30 times the first kiss) and the prompt was "un bacio al sapore di whisky" (a whiskey flavored kiss), I wrote it something like 3 years ago, but posted only now (also in Italian xD).
So read it, and let me know if you liked it.
The sky is dark and foretells a storm, there's not a soul around, all you can hear is the crackling sound of an old neon sign that declares the presence of a pool bar, a place that has certainly seen better days.
A man is sitting at the counter, his gaze is sad, unfocused, he almost doesn't seem to be aware of being in a crowded bar, his eyes are raised only when he brings the glass to his lips, but they remain lost and half-closed, his only company is whiskey.
The glass is emptied - once, twice, four times - the man sighs and again raises his hand to catch the bartender's attention, again, a fresh glass of amber liquid appears in his hand and also this follows the fate of the above.
The time goes by and more alcohol enters the man's bloodstream, now he's so drunk that when he gets up from his stool he sways, struggles to maintain balance.
He doesn't know how, but he manages to get to his car, he pulls out the keys and he tries to find and open the lock, but his grip is so weak that the set escapes and falls to the ground.
He bends over to pick it up, his balance is even more precarious, reaching out he nearly touches the keys, when suddenly an unknown force is pushing him back, he catches someone lifting him up, instinctively he closes his eyes and the sensation vanishes.
He's now sitting on the floor in a filthy brick alley, his back is against the wall and his head is aching, he finally opens his eyes and observes the surroundings: the only light is emanating from the lampposts on the main street.
He gets up and staggering he tries to follows the light.
He slowly advances, his right hand on the wall to keep his balance, he feels like he's already been to that place, but he doesn't remember when, but in a flash everything is clear: he was there, in that filthy alley, years ago when he decided to make a stupid choice and paid for it with his blood.
He now remembers the words of that man, the one that made him understand what the crappy choice he was going to make, every single punch and kick, all the pain that he felt in that moment, but nothing compared to what it's tightening his heart now.
His breathing quickens, his head is spinning faster and faster, he's forced to lean his back against the wall:
He finally sees him: the man from his memories, he's slowly approaching.
-Dean - he says tilting his head one side and watching him carefully.
-Cass - the man answers, he's surprised, his voice is cracked and in his mind the only thought is that all of this must be a dream.
-Dean- repeats the other taking a step closer.
-You, you…It's not possible…- Dean mumbles putting a hand to his head, the pain increases more and more -you are dead, I saw you disappear into that lake, you can't be real- he continues, actually speaking more to himself than to the other man.
-I... - Cass tries to speak -I.. I don't understand what's going on -
Dean doesn't know what happened next, he does't give a damn about the reasons and dynamics, his lips are now on Cass, his back is propped up against the wall, - just like the other time - he would think, if his mind wasn't totally black out.
Now nothing else matters.
The kiss is not sweet: it's all lips, tongue and teeth, a struggle between rulers: neither wants to give up to the other, and they continue this ancestral clash, reversing the positions several times, until the oxygen is missing.
Dean has still his eyes closed, when again an invisible force pushes his body back, his mind can't record anymore.
When he wakes up he finds himself sitting in the cockpit of the Impala, in the driver's seat, his head is throbbing, but those are only the familiar symptoms of hangover, what he doesn't understand is how the hell he get into the car: he just remembers the keys falling and then nothing.
He tries to think but the pain is too strong he needs an aspirin and a mug of black coffee.
When he starts the car he suddenly recalls: the alley, Cass, the kiss.
He manages to convince himself that was just a dream, that he had fallen asleep drunk in his car and he had made a trip in Dream World
Is he really convinced that it was just a dream? He doesn't even know.
In another city, in another State, a man sleeps sprawled on a white couch, his sleep is deep and restless, he keeps repeating a name, "Dean", yet he doesn't wake up.
-Emmanuel- a woman comes up and shakes him lightly to wake him, a note of concern in her voice -Honey, wake up, you're just having a bad dream- she adds, her hands on his shoulders.
The man opens his eyes, his gaze is lost, he seems upset or even frightened; she hugs him -Emanuel, it was just a dream- she reassures him.
Yet he's not sure, he has to get back to reality, but now he's too upset.
He only knows that he feels a taste of whiskey on his tongue.
THE END