Dean cracked his knuckles in the Impala before starting the engine. "Well, guess I'll give this tape a shot. I'm not expecting much. Harps, maybe." Dean was excited to see what Castiel thought he would like, although he was a little afraid he'd have to let him down gently that the music wasn't quite Dean's tastes. However, Castiel had seemed so confident that his curiosity was killing him.
"So, what's on the agenda today?" Dean asked after stuffing the tape into the cassette deck.
"You have a date with Maxine Kline for dinner. Wining and dining a potential client."
"And what do you get to do?" Dean put the car into drive and listened, both for the music to start and for Sam's answer.
"Marketing. Jazz up Dad's website a bit, put some flyers around town."
Dean wanted to say that Sam should be the one wining and dining the female clients. But they both knew that Dean was able to sweet talk the women with greater ease than Sam. Sam's conscience would get the best of him if the woman looked like she was losing interest, while Dean would just tug harder, determined to win that sale.
But that didn't stop Dean from wishing Sam could do it as well as Dean. Sometimes he found the experience very tiresome, a big act. His dad used to be the one throwing the sales pitch. Dean mysteriously inherited John's ability to strike gold with the women clients, even though Dean was so much more interested in men.
The music had started somewhat softly but was now pounding rhythmic beats out of Dean's speakers. It was a rock song Dean didn't recognize. It was sounded awesome, though. Then one of his favorite singers started bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"Hey! I thought I had heard all his stuff!" Dean said.
"You certainly own all his tapes," Sam agreed. "I've had to endure them thousands of times."
Dean shrugged. "Who knows, maybe Cas got a hold of something that was never actually recorded. How cool is that?"
Dean moved his head to the beat, and Sam rolled his eyes. Dean started daydreaming, being led by the music that reminded him so much of his high school days. That was when he realized he liked guys a heck of a lot more than girls.
Ted Hensley came to mind. When all of Dean's friends were scoping out who to score for study partners (because Friday and Saturday night dates just weren't enough when it came to opportunities to hang out with pretty girls) Dean was also randomly asking girls to meet up and study. He didn't really have a favorite, and would ask a girl based on both her physical features and her personality. However, he was subconsciously aware that he really wished he could study with Ted Hensley instead.
Ted Hensely was handsome, had a dimple, had perfect white teeth, had really nice pecs…Dean kept reminding himself about these features when he was looking through the cafeteria at the girls, trying to decide who to ask for a study date. And even though Ted Hensley looked like he could be a football player, he wasn't. He was an ordinary guy, except he was probably smarter than the bulk of the student population when it came to biology – so Dean wormed his way into an excuse to ask Ted if he'd study with him for one night.
Dean was so much more nervous about this than he'd ever been asking girls. He knew his friends got nervous asking a pretty girl, but he never did – he just picked one and asked. If she said no, usually because she was too busy, he shrugged and moved on to another selection. With the same amount of emotional investment as picking out ala carte in the lunch line.
But Ted. He really wanted Ted to say yes. He approached him one day after school – Ted was known to sit out in the front yard of the high school campus when class was out. The fact that he was always surrounded by his buddies made the whole situation more nerve-wracking for Dean, but he was determined to at least try. What really made him nervous though, was he didn't speak to Ted often, so it would look strange for Dean to be asking him to study out of the blue.
Dean cleared his throat when he was finally ready to ask. He'd prepared by having his biology text on top of the pile, and purposely not studied biology all week so he could look like a dufus if he scored.
"Hey, Ted, my name's Dean. I heard you were really good in biology, and was wondering if you'd study with me sometime really soon. I could really use the help."
A few seconds passed, excruciatingly long seconds, and then Ted smiled and said "Sure, Dean." They exchanged phone numbers and picked a time for the next day. Dean felt like whistling as he walked away.
Nothing became of Dean's attraction to Ted other than it helped him become aware he had a full-blown crush on a guy. The music Dean was listening to right now reminded him of this in full force, it sounded like a song he would have listened to while daydreaming about Ted. In fact, it almost felt like it was a song that he listened to while daydreaming about Ted.
But, those memories were pretty faint and Dean really wanted to daydream about Castiel instead. The image of Castiel's face was still loud and clear in Dean's mind, and the longing he felt was sharp. He'd give anything to have Castiel near him right now.
He had to settle for daydreaming about him while listening to the tape. A new song started, a softer, ballad type, still rock, but with a romantic feel. He didn't recognize it, but knew which band was singing as soon as the vocals started. "Strange." He said to his brother. "I hadn't heard this one either."
Castiel's perfect eyebrows, the look of innocence and candor in his eyes, not to mention his look of hope and gratitude when he and Dean exchanged a glance, filled Dean's mind and made a mini-music video in his head to the music. He found himself wondering when he would see Castiel again, and remembered it would probably be short, and the disappointment burned in his stomach like a bad meal. Still, Castiel was the most entertaining thing he could think of so he continued to wonder about him as he drove down the road.
/
Dean is longing for me.
I can feel it, he's thought of me directly, so directly it is like a prayer and I can hear it, feel it and see it. I am amused that I am being compared to some young man with which he had a fascination with in his school days.
I only enjoy his thoughts briefly; it feels like an invasion of privacy because he cannot read my thoughts about him. However, since I now have a feel for them, I can compare them to my own thoughts about Dean.
Dean is not only fascinated with my face, but projects images of wanting to feel my skin. Underneath my clothes. This bothers me. The most he could see and feel underneath my clothes would be my chest and arms. My visage does not have the equipment he is daydreaming of touching and – seducing. Several of his thoughts of me are seductive and I wonder intensely how it would feel if he touched me in that way. But I will never know.
I'm more upset about how I can't – don't want to use the word oblige anymore – satisfy Dean in the way he would like. My fear of his disappointment when he learns the truth and my regret is coloring my thoughts. But I do not want to think of our limits. It as if I have pondered Gabriel's words of wisdom and find myself wondering if I can find a way for a new path to be made, in the history of human and angel relations.
I'm frustrated too with our inability to meet often or properly. The most I can give him is a half hour every few weeks, or a few times a week, if I only see him very briefly. Then I have a thought. I could write him a letter and leave it for him. This could help with the gap between time, and unlike a human, for me to write a letter takes no energy or time at all. I can make it materialize instantaneously, every thought I wished to convey to him written and not missed.
So I create a short letter. I do not want to bore him. I want him to know I am thinking about him, and satisfy his curiosity about the tape. Anything I can do to satisfy him on any level, I feel such rushing eagerness.
Dear Dean,
I want you to know that even though I cannot be with you, you are on my mind daily. Actually, you are on my mind by the minute, but 'minutely' is not a word, not in that context, anymore.
I wish to give you something so you do not feel my absence so strongly. I think this will help me as well, because your absence to me is a gaping hole I find challenging to live with, but it does not stop me from wanting to think of you and see you, quite the opposite.
I am glad you are enjoying the tape I gave you. I know you are curious why it has songs by some of your favorite singers, yet you have never heard them before. I asked the muse, Euterpe to put it together for me. They are all lost songs. They were meant to be, but for different reasons, did not come to fruition. In one instance, for the first song on the tape, called Stained Highways, the song was going to be created, was already in the artist's head, but then a major disappointment in his life steered him away from it. Often, this helps the creative process – loss and suffering, but in this case, it kept it from being born into the world.
You and Sam are the only ones who will ever hear that music. I had to promise Euterpe that no one else would hear it – it is past the time for all those songs to be destined. If you play the tape to anyone else, they will hear a blank tape. This is my gift to you, Dean, music for no one else's ears, other than your brother.
I miss you. I said that already, in another way – I hope you don't mind my repetition. You are probably wondering how I discovered you. I was working with one of my charges, that is, a human that I helped, and saw you come out of a grocery store with your brother.
It was afternoon, and the sun was in your eyes as soon as you walked out of the automatic doors. You put up a hand to shield your eyes briefly. The sunlight made your hair glow golden and once your hand was back down in your pocket, I could see your face and I was struck with your beauty. I was literally flustered for a moment and needed to collect myself. Not just over your attractiveness – but the way your soul felt. It felt like I had come home to a place more divine than my heavenly home. I am capable of writing this note in a moment, all of my thoughts clear, but as of now, I am not able to convey to you how your soul felt next to my being, other than I felt I had come home.
I am afraid that as an angel, I have an advantage over you, a human being, in this relationship. That is another reason I write this letter, to give you some scope of what it is to be me. I will write you another letter soon, explaining more about my angelhood, because I know you are curious about it, and still a little stupefied that I really am an angel.
Until then, Dean, I thank you for allowing me to be in your life. It is a gift of utmost importance to me.
With fondness,
Castiel
