A/N: This is my first fanfiction that I'm publishing, so I hope you like. It's based off of my favourite song: Your Ex-Lover is Dead by Stars. They're amazing. I got the idea for this one in the shower, and it wouldn't leave me alone. It's unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. And if any of them are distracting, just let me know and I'll fix it. -Pyx
This is strange. I honestly thought I'd never see you again. But as my semi-acquainted friend-of-a-friend introduces us, I force myself to act normal.
"Dean, this is Castiel. Castiel, Dean."
"Yes, I think we've met before." I take your hand and smile. You honestly look absolutely bewildered. I can't say I don't blame you, considering how many years it's been.
Rain starts pouring and we take refuge underneath an awning outside of the coffee house that we had all decided to meet at. Your eyes are still the same now that I take a closer look at you. You're still just as beautiful as you've always been... But you just look so...sad.
"So, Cassie." Balthazar shocks me back to the present and I force myself to look away from you. "You wanna hail us down a taxi, or shall I do it?" Those blue eyes glint as he smirks at me, and I know that I probably would have gone for him if you weren't here. Your very presence just sets me off ease.
"You can do it. I'll watch." I force a smile, earning myself a small nudge from Balthazar. I try hard not to look at you, but I can still feel your eyes on me, burning into the side of my head. Under your scrutiny, I feel a small rise of irritation. Of all the places that I had decided to leave Lawrence for, you show up in Montreal too. There are so many other places in the world that you could have left, but no, you decided to come to the same place as me.
I sigh externally as Balthazar manages to capture a taxi. We crowd in; I'm sandwiched in the middle, my shoulder pressing against yours. All those times in the past that we would bump shoulders and I would blush rush back to my head as well as some suppressed memories. I turn my attention back to you after we've crossed over Pont Champlain in silence and force myself to say your name for the first time in years.
"Dean." You turn your attention from the window and you stare at me with those wide, green eyes. "Everything okay?"
You manage to nod. "Yeah, man. I'm fine. This rain though..." You trail off and then look back out the window. The taxi falls silent again, and I'm rather thankful for it; it gives me a chance to think. Well, I would be doing some thinking if we weren't pressed up against each other. Balthazar is pressing in on me from the other side, and I just want to pull away from both of you.
We're out of Greater Montreal now and in the actual city. Balthazar pays off the driver and we get out. He checks the time and shakes his head. "You know, I actually just remembered that there's something I have to do while we're here. I'll call one of you in an hour. Do you think you could be civil towards each other?" His words are spoken in jest, but there's a sort of underlined malice directed at you, but I feign innocence until he leaves.
I turn to you and you stare at me, not taking your eyes off of me even when I look away. I know that look. You wore one similar when we had first gotten together. I remember how you would tell me that you weren't gay for anyone but me and how you would say that you always wondered how things would have been different if I were female. But even through all of that, I would send you random little postcards and letters telling you about my day. Always signed, 'Love, Cas'.
"So...he just kinda left us here." I jump at your sudden words.
"Yes, I've heard that he does this frequently."
"Sounds familiar." You mumble, barely audible, but I still hear you.
My eyes narrow and I tilt my head to the side. You used to call this 'cute', but that is the last adjective on my mind. I'm not here for nostalgic purposes. I'm here because I needed to be a stand-in for a friend of mine. You were the last person I wanted to see. I'm about to open my mouth to retort, but I force myself to calm down. Live through this, and you won't look back, I tell myself. Just an hour more and Balthazar will be back, we can go do whatever the hell I'm here to do and then I can go home back to my kitten and my cozy condo and watch Casablanca. The thought soothes me for a moment until you look up at me again.
"So, Castiel." You use my full name to make our conversation more impersonal. I know exactly what you're doing. You've done it before, but I'm just gonna let you. For now. "While we're waiting, are we just going to stand here while it rains? Or are we actually gonna go somewhere?"
Screw whatever Anna wanted me to do for Balthazar. I'll call her later. I force myself to look at Dean through the rain.
"There's something I want to say to you, Dean." It's been years, and he's still harbouring contempt for me. I pull together every ounce of bravery that I have within me to say this one thing. You look at me expectantly with a slight jeer in your eyes. "Once upon a time, you were exactly what I wanted. And if you didn't like what I gave to you-for you-then fine, it's over. And you know what? Even through everything we went through in the end, I'm not sorry I met you. I'm not sorry it's over. And I'm not sorry there's nothing to save." My voice cracks somewhere in the middle, but comes back and remains level.
You look at with those same downcast eyes that you had when you ended it. "I'm not sorry there's nothing to save." You echo, and you mean it, no matter how quiet it is.
We had been in love. Painfully, helplessly, happily, and I might as well add hopelessly, in love with each other. But that was in the beginning when we couldn't take our hands off of each other and when we would feed each other strawberries in the light of the television in the depths of the night. That was when we would be completely content just sitting on the sofa, curled up together, remaining in total silence.
But then, as with all couples, the honeymoon period ends, and we're forced to face the realities of life. And we managed to for a few years. We had even moved in together. But you were fed up with not having the choice of having children and the looks that we would get from outsiders. And I would have to work late and it just stopped working. And I'm not sorry that we split up. And one day, you just said it was over. Made me pack up my things and leave. So I did; I left for Canada. And five years later, here we are again.
I can't tell if there are tears on my cheeks, or if it's the rain. They must be tears, because you reach out to hold me by the elbow. I pull away and look at you in confusion. Why would you touch me? You're the one who shut me out. It all becomes too much to handle. "I'm leaving now. I'll call Balthazar later and tell him I'm sick." You look ready to protest. "Goodbye, Dean."
Before I turn away, I'm vaguely aware of the fact that you were staring at my lips. I've moved on, Dean. I was fine until you popped up again. I'm not going to allow you to haunt my thoughts anymore. Live through this and you won't look back.