Dean is a very confusing human being at times. I think of him in the highest regards; his intelligence of various facts is astounding. But I find that he does not pick up on certain cues. Either that or I am not giving the right cues, thus condemning myself to suffer through Dean's utter lack of sight. Dean is not physically blind. However, I have found that he is "blind" to his own value and worth among… other things. I wish to tell him this tonight in these last hours but am unaware as to how a conversation like that is supposed to start?
"Well. Last night on earth. What, uh, what are your plans?" Dean's question echoes the thoughts I am having.
"I just thought I'd sit here quietly." I tell him, stopping myself from mentioning how much I value his loyalty to me. Dean has made it infinitely clear that he does not care to discuss feelings because they are "chick flick moments." Whatever those are.
Dean's face looks confused and taken aback upon hearing my answer. "Come on, anything? Booze, women?"
I look up at Dean then let my eyes flit away, feeling suddenly... I feel somewhat… uneasy? No. Uncomfortable and nervous with that question. First off, celestial beings do not often partake in the needless consumption of alcohol—or "booze" as Dean would say. Second, I do not feel physically attracted to women. There were times in the past when my vessel was attracted to his wife, so I know what it feels like for one to be attracted to another, to someone they care deeply for and have a longing for. But those days of feeling anything for women such as Mrs. Novak are long over. I understand Jimmy, though, because I have the same strong feelings towards—
"You have been with women before. Right? Or an angel, at least?" Dean snaps me out of my train of thought and I swallow deeply and rub the back of my neck nervously before averting my face. I cannot bring myself to look upon Dean's face at this moment. "Butterfllies" may be what humans call this feeling I get in my stomach every time I get this close to Dean. It feels nothing like butterflies. It feels as though I am going to vomit.
"You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?"
"I've never had occasion, okay?" I snap back. I don't mean to sound as defensive as I wind up sounding. I just don't want Dean to think any less of me than he already does.
"Alright." Dean walks before me and grabs his jacket. As he threads his muscular arms through the jacket's sleeves, he says to me, "Let me tell you something. There are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch. Let's go."
I do not know who either Bert or Ernie are. And I feel that I may die a virgin because the person I want to be with is too blind and heterosexual to be with me. Technically, angels such as I do not have genders. But there will be no explaining this tidbit of information to Dean; I feel he will only be concerned with my vessel and its gender. Sometimes, though, I think that Dean may feel the same way about me whenever our eyes meet and his spark a little… But on days we get close like that, he usually winds up with a woman in his bed that night. I follow Dean out and try not to imagine how nice it would be if he were taking me to a bar just so we could sit together and converse.
Dean is watching me from across the booth. This area is dimly lit and the music is unsettling. I feel uncomfortable here. I feel uncomfortable with him watching me so closely. At first, I try to look interested in one of the scantily-dressed women, but my face contorts into something looking like "a kid being offered a plate of spinach" is what Dean told me.
"This is a den of iniquity. I should not be here." I tell Dean. It is a weak attempt to get Dean to allow me to depart. I know that it won't work, but I have to try.
"Dude, you full-on rebelled against heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks."
I am growing frustrated with Dean's insensitivity to my feelings and I feel a slight wetness in my eyes? Before I get a chance to ask Dean about this flaw with my vessel, I spot a woman approaching. Oddly, she is wearing all white underclothes—a color that is supposed to be pure. I highly doubt she is doing pure things here.
Dean notices her approach as well, takes a swig of his beer—from my sip earlier I can tell you that this beverage does not taste at all pleasant—and mutters, "Showtime!"
"Hi. What's your name?" the woman asks me in a low purr.
I try not to look at her for that would be taken as me objectifying her and I do not wish to offend anyone. I do however look up at the amazon-like blonde beside me and a wave of fear crashes over me because I know that she wants me to come to the back with her to do unspeakable things because she needs my money—she has somehow got it in her mind that I am somewhat wealthy from my attire. I know she wants me to want her and Dean wants me to want her. But I don't want her. I wish to scream that I don't want her! I want Dean! But the words don't leave my lips so I just stare up at her with a look of horror.
"Cas." Dean's gruff voice startles me as he says my name. He takes hold of the situation momentarily by introducing me, "His name is Cas. What's your name?"
"Chastity." I know for a fact her name is Sheila Hutton.
"Chastity?" Dean asks, buying her lie. His eyebrows shoot up.
My alcoholic beverage is suddenly very satisfactory to my tastes.
"Wow. Is that kismet or what, buddy?" Dean asks with a laugh. I down my drink, keeping my eyes on him, trying to convey to him that I do not desire to be here. "Well, he likes you, you like him, so dayenu."
"Chastity" tugs me up by my arm and I shoot Dean one last, pleading look. What is this wetness in my eyes? I fear my vessel is faulty. I wonder if they have anything to do with these feelings that are rolling through my body.
"Come on, baby," the hooker says in her sultry voice and all I want to do is disappear. Fly away.
Dean suddenly reaches out and catches me on the way past. Has he changed his mind? Is he rethinking this? I wonder these things and feel a small ray of hope beaming in my eyes.
"Hey, listen. Take this."
I look down and see Dean is holding out a handful of money.
If Dean saw the brief flash of disappointment on my face, he doesn't acknowledge it and continues telling me how to "score" with the woman. "If she asks for a credit card, no. Now just stick to the basics, okay? Do not order off the menu. Go get her, tiger."
I stand still, looking from the money back to Dean.
"Don't make me push you." His deep voice teases and as I take the money and begin to turn to follow Sheila/Chastity, I think I see a flash of something in Dean's eyes. I blink and it's gone. I probably just imagined it, anyway.
I do not wish to be in Sheila's lair of sin. Or Chastity's. Or whatever this woman's name is. I only wish for this to be over. Maybe I can talk to her? Maybe if we talk long enough, I can slip out and Dean will assume I have forfeited my virginity, thus fulfilling this heinous task of initiation to manhood. I peer into Sheila's mind, something I never do with Dean or Sam because they are my friends and Dean has told me that "some things are meant to be private." Fortunately, I am able to locate a thought bouncing around in her brain about an absent father as she is pawing at my trenchcoat. Surely it will help ease her abandonment issues when I reveal the truth of the matter. We may even become friends.
Or not.
She screams and my eyebrows shoot up in confusion. "Is something wrong?" I ask as she shoves me out of her room and into the hallway. I am confused, but relieved that I no longer have to complete this mission. She screams at me to "get out of her face" and that I should "leave her alone." I see Dean approaching—thank goodness, I have no idea how to handle this woman—as she throws a plastic bottle of lotion at me. I deflect it easily.
"Bastard! Screw you, jerk! I'll kill you!" she wails at me. I am not scared of her threats for I doubt she or the tall, muscular men she is going to get have access to an angel blade of any sort.
"Screw you, too!" she shouts in Dean's face as she marches off, heels pounding the floor.
Dean frowns at me, asking, "What the hell did you do?"
I shrug my shoulders, still in shock from the unfolding of events. "I don't know. I just looked her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault that her father Gene ran off. It was because he hated his job at the post office." I honestly reply, glad that I do not have to lie to Dean.
Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head largely. "Oh no, man!"
"What?" I ask with a head tilt.
"This whole industry runs on absent fathers! It's the natural order," he looks more amused than annoyed now. I take that as a good sign. He releases a breathy chuckle before following my gaze to look over his shoulder. The two, muscular men Sheila had been thinking of had stepped into this back area and are scanning the hallway for us. "We should go." Dean says hurriedly upon seeing them.
I don't have time to ask why or to suggest we reason with the men. Dean grabs me by the arm and drags me out the back door as the men approach us angrily. Unfortunately, the door does not lead directly out. Dean keeps his hand clasped around my wrist as he leads me down a damp, musty staircase. I hear one of the burly men thunder, "Hey! Get back here!" Dean quickens his pace and we turn right when the stairs end. He is laughing as we fly through a room that appears to have been under construction years ago, but was now a forgotten project. I feel the beginnings of a smile working its way onto my lips as Dean's laughter echoes all around us. We tear through a hanging sheet and tumble down a small set of stairs where we break apart to fit in the small hallway. I exit before Dean, stepping into the cold night.
As we trip outside the building, Dean bends over and gazes up at the building, still laughing. He claps his hands before resting them on his knees. I take in the scene, glad that he is having such a grand time. But I'm confused. "What's so funny?" I ask him.
He looks me in the eyes and then pats my back once before wrapping his arm around my shoulders. It feels right. I smile faintly as he leads me over to the Impala. I feel as though electricity is flowing from Dean's touch into me. "It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard," he confides in me. We reach the car and, with another pat on the shoulder, Dean's touch is removed from me. My shoulder feels cold and I miss his touch already. I wish to say "you're welcome" or ask him about these strange feelings I am having, but then…
"It's been more than a long time… Years." Dean says, the joy somewhat disappearing from his voice.
And I know that I should help Dean talk about the issue of his brother. Not my feelings. Not my love. I need to help Dean any way I can. And right now I assume he does not need my confessions of butterflies and electricity. I imagine that all Dean will need me to listen quietly and offer insight on his inner turmoil regarding his little brother during the car ride back.
So, that's what I do.