Chapter 2
Once Dean left, Cas turned off the TV and just sat quietly for a few minutes. He knew something wasn't right. He had suspected something was going on for a few weeks now, as Dean became more distant, but he wasn't sure exactly how to approach the subject. Dean was always either exhausted, sick, or drunk, and when Cas asked if he was alright, Dean brushed him off. Cas tried telling himself things weren't getting worse, but at this point he couldn't deny it to himself anymore. He went into the bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet. The DayQuil was untouched, still sealed.
He plopped back down on the couch and pulled out his phone. An attempt to reach Dean rang until voicemail picked up. "This is Dean. Leave-"
Cas hung up. Something was going on with Dean and he was going to find out what. For now, though, since he couldn't reach Dean, he decided to go for a walk. He headed into his bedroom and opened the top drawer to reveal an ounce of weed, a bowl, and some rolling papers. He pulled out his chair, sat down, and started breaking up some weed.
He rolled a nice joint, put his bag away, and closed the drawer. Just as he was about to get up, his eye caught a photo on the wall above his desk. It was him and Dean when they were fifteen, taken by Sam, while they were all hanging out in the woods smoking (sans Sam). It was one of Cas' favorite spots, so he decided heading there to smoke his joint was only appropriate. He smiled at a fifteen-year-old stoned Dean. They were both looking up at the camera and smiling. Dean's left arm was around Cas' shoulder, and he held a blunt in his right hand. While he looked younger, and happier, Cas knew that even then, there was pain behind that smile. He just wished Dean would share it with him so that he could help.
He turned away from the photo, headed back to the living room, and shrugged into his trench coat.
As he walked down the sidewalk, he couldn't get Dean off his mind. He wished so badly he could help him, but Dean just wouldn't let him- or anybody- in. He lit the joint and inhaled deeply, contemplating telling Dean how he really felt. It could go one of two ways... He could begin to open up to Cas, or it would make him extremely uncomfortable and it would change their friendship forever. The latter was the last thing Cas wanted, yet he was terrified that would be the outcome, considering Dean was completely straight. He'd never given Cas a reason to believe he was homophobic- Cas was his best friend and openly gay, for fuck's sake- but he did seem to get somewhat uncomfortable whenever the subject came up.
As he approached the mouth of the dirt road, he still couldn't make up his mind. He took a few puffs off of the joint and turned into the woods, feeling everything begin to slow as the weed took effect. As he headed further down the trail, the main road behind him grew smaller and smaller, until he followed the first major curve in the dirt road. He took one last long hit off his joint before tossing the clip to the ground.
He was just about to light a cigarette when he looked up to see the Impala sitting in the middle of the trail. Confused, he quickened his pace, feeling beads of sweat finally forming on his skin. When he reached the car, he knocked on the driver side window.
There was no response from Dean. He was slumped over across the bench seat, mouth agape.
Obviously, Cas panicked. To him it looked like Dean was dead. "Dean?" He knocked louder and when there was still no response, he yanked the door open and grabbed Dean by the front of his jacket, shaking him violently. "Dean!" he yelled. "Dean!"
Dean's eyes fluttered open to Cas shaking him like crazy. He stared at Cas, not really looking at him, and mumbled, "What are you... I'm- I'm fine dude... I'm good." He slowly reached up to rub his face with his hand.
Cas' brows furrowed in anger, and he let go of Dean's jacket and took a step back. "You are most certainly not fine! Is this what has been going on with you lately? You're seriously nodding out in your car?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You only left my house thirty minutes ago... Flu my ass. I knew something was up with you."
Dean continued to stare in Cas' direction, even though it was more like he was looking through him. "I... I know man, and I'm... sorry..." He couldn't even keep his eyes open yet, as he was mid-high when Cas stumbled upon him.
"Move over," Cas ordered.
"W...what?"
Cas rolled his eyes and pushed Dean across the bench seat and positioned himself behind the wheel. Turning the key in the ignition, he blasted the A/C and let the radio play. "You need to come back down to earth, Dean." He reached into one of the many pockets of his trench coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Here." He lit one and held it out to Dean. "Nicotine. Stimulant."
Dean reached out to grab the cigarette but his hand kind of just went around it. Finally he paused and Cas put it in-between his fingers. "SMOKE," Cas ordered.
Dean took a long drag, and exhaled as slow as possible.
About five minutes had gone by, and Cas had remained silent. Finally, flicking the cigarette butt out the window, Dean spoke. "Cas... for what it's worth, I... I'm sorry."
"What is going on with you Dean? And tell me the truth." Cas narrowed his eyes. He had first realized Dean was drinking when they were fourteen, and he knew he was drinking heavily by sixteen. Now this?
Dean shook his head and let out a small, sad laugh. "I don't know man, I really don't. I guess I'm just always looking for that next high to help me forget shit."
"Forget what, Dean?"
Dean stared out the window, already feeling like he'd said too much. "It's not important."
"Yes, it is, Dean," Cas protested. "If it's bothering you it's clearly important. Please Dean, I only want to help," he pleaded. "We have been friends for six years, you have to know by now that you can tell me anything!"
Dean hesitated. "Listen man, I'm still pretty fucked up... Could you just... take me home? Please? I just... seriously can't talk about any of this right now..." He leaned forward and rubbed his face vigorously with his hands. He didn't want Cas to see that he was about to cry.
"Yeah, sure," Cas said quietly, and he put the car in reverse and started backing down the road.
Five minutes later, they pulled into Dean's driveway. Cas turned off the car, locked her up, and held out the keys. He would've tossed them, but Dean's reflexes weren't exactly the best right now... He dropped them into Dean's hands and took a step forward, towards Dean. "Dean, can we talk tomorrow?" he asked somberly.
Dean swallowed and shoved his keys in his pocket. "Yeah."
"Okay... I'll see you tomorrow." And with that he turned and marched off down the sidewalk.
Dean headed up to his room and flopped down onto the bed. While he was still pretty messed up, thoughts of Cas flew around in his head. He felt like such a piece of shit for avoiding him, avoiding his questions... This hadn't been the first time Cas brought it up. He knew Cas only cared, wanted to help him through it, but he just wasn't ready to tell him- or anyone- his life story. Still nodding off a bit, his thoughts went to picturing what he remembered of Cas being in the car with him. He had gotten in the car, then what happened before he gave Dean that cigarette? He hated these gaps in his memory when he used, but in his opinion it was worth it to bury the other memories. He tried picturing them sitting in the Impala in his head... Cas got in the car, and then what?
"Cas, I'm still so fucked up, can you take me home?"
"Are you sure you don't want to stay here?" Cas asked playfully.
"Wha-?"
Before he knew what was happening, Cas had reached over and was unbuckling his belt.
Dean jerked out of his nod with a gasp. Did that really happen? No, of course not... So then why was he imagining it? He reached down to scratch himself only to realize he was hard. Flopping his head back against the pillow, only a single word escaped his lips before he passed out. "Fuck."
