Rumble
He first saw him on Friday the 13th.
"Come on, Cas! All you do is freakin' study and I'm tired okay! I'm freakin tired, of-of sitting here with you, when everyone else is out there having fun! We said we'd go to college together, not tape our asses to each other!" –Dean screamed at his best friend, losing control after a whole hour of arguing over a stupid party.
"I don't mind a party, Dean. I mind that particular party. You know that Gordon will be there, and last time you saw him I had to sew in your gut! I'm saying this for your own good!-"
"No! No-no-no-no! You do not get to pull that 'for your own good' crap, Castiel! I haven't seen you once go to a party, unless you count those 'study sessions' that last hours long in the freakin' library!" –Dean's voice rose above to rival the steady coldness of Castiel's words.
His roommate gave him a steel gaze that reeked of defiance, but he kept his lips shut.
"Fine. Go to your party, and hope you get a steel beam stuck in that stubborn head of yours."
"I will." –And with those last words, and not a glance behind to Castiel, Dean picked up his leather jacket and stormed out, missing the look of sadness in blue eyes.
-/-
For just a moment, in between the dizziness of alcohol and the lust filled urge to bed the nearest frat boy, a thought that he should have listened to Castiel raced through his mind, and like a subliminal message, the next moment it was gone.
No, no, no. Dean shook his head in a drunken stupor as he made his way through the overcrowded house.
He was having a damn good time. The beer was flowing, the music was booming, the guys were cute, and no Gordon was to be seen!
Cheers to freakin' that...
He finally laid himself on the dark cold of the parking lot, not really feeling like walking. His breath heaved and even though he wore just a plain old AC/DC t-shirt topped off with his favorite jacket and ratty jeans, he felt like he was melting. Everything was just too hot, his clothes felt drenched with sweat, and the air felt heavy with warmth, declining him a breath of fresh air.
He panted and breathed heavily loving the feeling of the cold cement on his back, splaying his arms and legs wider to the touch.
And where the fuck was everyone that cheered him on while he was chugging on that keg? Did his fame suddenly drop? Why wasn't anyone concerned about him?
And where the fuck was Cas? At least, he would care. He would know what to do. He'd lay beside him on the parking lot...
Yeah, Cas was awesome.
And that star, right above him, what did Cas call it? Something about early and breakfast... Morning star, that's it! And yeah, Cas, when they were little, he said something about the star, something like it's always the brightest, always shows the way and whatnot... And, he'd said that it looked like Cas' eyes...
Pretty eyes that guy had...
"Hey, Winchester!" –And who the fuck was ruining his little trippy episode? Voice sounds familiar... Like that moment before sleep and you hear the faint flutter of a mosquito, but you ignore it in hope that it was just your imagination and you will just go calmly the fuck to sleep...
"Talkin' to you redneck!" –Ooooh, burn, never heard that one before, no sire, not when he was a proud Kansas boy with the cowboy boots and everything in the first week or so of college. He'd thought it would be funny at the time, even though Cas warned him and... That guy was always right.
"Whadja wana?" –He slurred limblessly, feeling too comfortable to move. God, he really shouldn't have drank that much. The 5 minute spotlight really wasn't worth it.
"Ahahaha, he's fucking drunk, that trailer trash!" –And another set of guffaws from multiple voices accompanied it. Yeah, another original one.
"Ah never lived in a traleeeeer..." –Dean furrowed his brows in thought, trying to make the words and his throat work together.
"Hey, hey, cowboy, remember me?" –The voice was suddenly right in freakin' front of him, it was so fucking loud, why couldn't people just chill for a fucking second... And fuck, yeah, that face? It was suddenly clear as daylight.
Freakin' Gordon and his smarmy face.
"Fuck you wan'?" –Was the best Dean could come up with.
"I want you out of campus! And you wanna know how I'll do that? I'm gonna beat your face in, you fag!"- Dean could have used some time to fully grasp the meaning behind Gordon's words if it weren't for the swift kick to his ribs.
Yeah, he got the meaning.
He coughed in pain as the kick and swift feet came knocking down on him, and really was he seeing double or were there a bunch of other guys with him? And what did he ever do to the guy? He just tried hitting on him once, drunk out of his freakin' mind. And Gordon was even nice, until Dean said he was gay. Ya know, a simple 'I don't go that way' would have been sufficient enough! But, noooo, the guy had to go and make a big ass scene, how he was not, definitely not, one hundred percent, girl-fucking-raw-meat-eating-bear-killing-macho-as-fuck straight!
Dean learned his boundaries, but this guy obviously didn't know when to stop.
And the feet were soon replaced by fists, and instead of kicks it was outright stomping. And through the haze of blood and breathless lungs, only one coherent thought passed his mind.
'Cas will be super pissed when he sees me. If he ever does.'
Suddenly, the morning star seemed to be burning even brighter than before. And instead of up in the sky, it had moved beside Dean on the floor. And it was growing bigger, and bigger, and freakin' bigger, and it started making a noise, like a wheels turning kind of noise.
And Dean felt himself smile through the mind numbing pain, his white teeth glistened with blood.
This was it then. The angel Cas' said was the star came for him. And he'd die being fag-bashed.
His only regret was not seeing Cas. Tell him a couple of things... Some words left unsaid...
"Fuck is this guy doing..."
"Is he..."
"He's coming towards us..."
"Can't be..."
"He is!"
"Fuck!"
"Run!"
Rufus and friends ran off, living his body boneless and hurt, and just before they made their escape, the star ran right in front of him.
Which turned out to be a motorcycle.
The last thing he remembers is the guys cussing and running away stumbling, the motorcycle guy flashing his light in their direction giving his bike a threatening rumble, and then...
Then a white helmet was bent down his face, and Dean managed a crooked smile.
"Angel..."
Writing has been going slow, and I don't want to submit a chapter until I'm fully satisfied with it. The fourth chapter of stuttering!dean is almost done, and the Stomp is coming along. I just needed to get this one outta my chest. I'm feeling kind of love for this story. I'm thinking it's gonna be like a friendzoned!Cas who is secretly an underground-famous bike rider while is a bookworm/nobody in his regular life. So we're gonna see how it works out, I'm guessing you can see where this is going. :)
If you liked it and wish me to continue it review and tell me so, really brightens up my day. :)