Mr. Rock and Roll
The stage stood empty and dark. Echoes of frenzied screams still sounded off the plastic chairs, rustling the garbage left behind from the concert's high. And though the crowd had long since abandoned the Rose Quarter, the star of the show remained riveted to the platform, staring at a man in the front row, whose untidy black hair waved like rushes in the night breeze. His expression did not display awe or euphoria. Rather, anger lit his blue eyes. He glared up at the freckled face above him, fists clenched. "I can't believe you, Dean," he said, his voice soft and strained. "I can't believe I believed you in the first place."
"Cas, I didn't mean to hurt you," Dean insisted, stepping forward with his hands up in a gesture of supplication. "You know I would never—"
"Would you, though?" Cas interrupted, not raising his voice. "I guess you'd rather be stuck in that insanity." The hurt in his tone wounded Dean even more than his words.
Dean glanced at his guitar, resting stage left, still humming the solos it had boasted not long ago. Its red sheen represented the crazy routine of an alcoholic musician whose only consistency was the inconsistency of hectic schedules and constant chaos. His attention returned to Cas. He wanted to assure Cas that it had been a misunderstanding— he'd had nothing to do with the two girls from Memphis. But the truth was, he'd promised to do dinner with Cas after the performance, and he'd stood him up. He'd managed to snub the one guy who'd supported him all the way, his number one fan. Seeing Cas' anger, having Cas confront him like this… he'd fucked up. He always did. Maybe that's why he chose this life. Moving, avoiding anything permanent, appealing to many strangers instead of one friend, because he wouldn't have to deal with consequences or commitment. If he fucked up, he could run away. Always.
But a year ago, a smiling face with a backstage pass took a rock hammer to the cement wall. Something about Cas Novak told Dean that he was better than the cocaine and the booze and adrenaline. For that year, his music had meaning. Reviews in magazines across the world lauded his artistic transformation. But that public praise paled next to the soulful smile that blessed him after every show.
It was a fast friendship… more than friendship. Dean found himself attracted to Cas; he observed Cas' every idiosyncrasy from the way Cas brushed his bottom teeth first to his inability to correctly tie his tie. And… Cas knew Dean, could read his mind and body, loved Dean better than anyone ever had. So why, why had it been so easy to betray him? It should have taken more than a little bit of tequila and massive cleavage to convince Dean that those women were a good idea. He'd fucked up again, and now, because of that, he'd destroyed the one person who never left his side. He couldn't even give Cas the sugary lies he used on everyone else. He merely opened his mouth a few times, and slumped his shoulders. He saw Cas step back, and automatically tried to grasp him even though Cas was beyond his reach.
"I don't want your lies, Dean," Cas finished. "Good luck in Seattle, Mr. Rock and Roll." With that, Dean's one and only friend exited stage right and walked away, leaving the "Future of Rock" standing alone in silence.
