James had accepted Dean's explanations easily, and he didn't know if he should be worried. After all, the guy had been sharp even as a eighty-one year old, so why would he trust him now?
There was of course the obvious explanation which sucked way more than he liked to admit because it reminded him of what he couldn't have.
This whole thing was indeed a mess.
Well. He'd just get out of here, find Langleben, make him return James to his original state (and that was another thing – he was certain that he could actually make him do it, whereas the old teacher would probably start discussing the guy's motives or something – wait, if Langleben was even in on the action – oh, who was he kidding. If there was one thing Dean Winchester had, it was good instincts, and they had told him from the first that there was something fishy about the whole thing).
He carefully studied James the whoel evening, but there was no way of telling whether he was forgetting more stuff or not. He certainly still had all the mannerisms Dean had come to know so well – the head tilt, the squint, how his eyes crinkled when he was amused.
God he was beautiful.
Dean had never thought he would miss the days when he had not yet admitted to himself that he was into guys too, when his father's words still came back to haunt him regularly. But he really could have used some reality check about now.
Technically he knew; knew he couldn't touch, he couldn't have; but the problem was that, on a different level, he could have all of this, if he only reached out –
No. He remembered their fight. James might be sorry for what he had said, but he had certainly been thinking these things for quite a while. Dean knew who he was, and there was no reason for James to be interested in him at all aside from hormones and confusion at being young again.
Still, this, spending the evening together – it was nice. It was what Dean would have imagined a real relationship to be like –
Stop it right there. He's going to be old gain soon, and it's not as if you really had a chance, not even if you wanted to.
To be honest, the mystery of why James had never got married nor had children was even farer from solved now that he had seen what he was like in his prime. Seriously, who wouldn't be into that? How had James Novak ever ended up lonely enough to befriend Dean?
He supposed it didn't matter in the end. But still...
He concentrated on finding Langleben. Best bet was the bar nearest to a casino. It shouldn't be difficult to work out where to go from there.
Of course he had to make everything uncomfortable aain while they were saying good night with staring at Cas' lips. Wasn't his fault that the kisses they had shared had been pretty unforgettable, but it was certainly wrong to still stare at the guy as if he wanted tod evour him alive.
It was with a sigh of relief that he finally walked up to Baby and gently toucher her hood.
He'd always felt better just by driving.
Not for the first time, Cas thought sadly of the Lincoln he had driven for years and finally let go when he considered himself too old for driving. Ironic, considering his current predicament.
He would have to call a taxi. With a quickness that he'd thought long lost, he remembered where he had left the calling card of one driver who'd driven him to the police station two years ago and who had quickly become his favourite, since he often worked at night and was always eager to help.
He didn't even think about how this must look like as he called, but naturally Inias gave him a strange look the second he stepped into his taxi.
"That's Mr. Novak's house."
"I'm his nephew" he lied with alarming ease, "He's in the hospital."
"Oh. Sorry to hear that. He was always so nice. So I suppose I should bring you there?"
"Yes, please" he replied quickly.
He had quickly surmised that Dean was most likely headed to the nearest casino – or rather, the places around it where one turned to forget one's losses. He might nevber have moved in the circles Langleben liked to frequent, but he was able to deduce where he would most likely be – or at least where he could find someone who knew him. And of course he knew Dean well enough to figure out that he'd tackle the nearest and then slowly work his way through town. He'd probably already made plans to explain either his failure or his success tomorrow.
Naturally, he should have headed there as well – but after Inias' question he had realized in a flash that it was best to pretend. After all, Detective Mills had already come by, and she was dreadfully smart...
Plus, he had googled (and the part of him that wasn't worried at him picking up the knowledge how so quickly was even proud of himself for it) all the addresses he needed to go to. Once he was in town, he could handle himself.
To his shame, Inias declined his fare as he got out of the car.
"Your uncle's been a good client. Tell him I hope he gets better soon, yeah?"
"I will" he promised, feeling a familiar guilt as he watched the taxi drive safely away before he crossed the street and was on his way.
Memories of many bars liked this almost overwhelmed Dean as he stepped in the first. None of them were good; most consisted of either cheating at pool or cards to win enough money to feed Sam or trying to get Dad to come home under the pitying glances of the bartender.
He swallowed and walked up to the bar.
"One whiskey, please. Make it double."
How often had he said these words later, all grown up, after Dad had sent him on his way? When he had yet felt too restless to settle?
Thank God he'd eventually convinced himself to see Sammy. He had set his head straight, and so Dean had ended up a house owner with a job he loved.
Just being here again felt wrong somehow. He reminded himself he was doing to for Cas and smiled at the bartender.
A few years ago, she would have been exactly his type. Now, he thought that her eyes were the wrong shade of blue.
"Rough night?" she asked.
Dean knew better than to pretend that he was one of the rundown creatures he could see slinking around in the shadows; he was well aware that he looked too good for that after all this time, thank God, so he just shrugged his shoulders.
"What can I say? Some you win..."
He hoped he was giving the impression he was going for, just someone who liked to relax at a game now and then. She'd be chattier if she figured he could be trusted.
"You're right there". She eyed him appreciatively and Dean gave her his best flirty grin.
"Don't see much like you around here."
"I bet".
She rolled her eyes at him. He recognized the signs; in an earlier time, she would have been going hoem with him after her shift ended.
"I meant relaxed types, you know, not having spent their last money on a game they couldn't win because they had to."
"Nah, I got better ways to spend my hard-earned money."
"I can see that."
"That doesn't sound like the right way to sell more drinks."
"As if I need to advertise. They see the lights and they come right up to the bar."
"College student?" he guessed.
"Did my cheerful attitude give me away?"
He shrugged. "Don't see much like you around here, is all."
"Nice" she chuckled.
"So, how many assorted loosers did you already serve a drink to today since you were so taken by me the second I stepped in?"
"You wish. But frankly, too many. There always is."
"Drink on me?"
Someone else stepped up to the bar. She grinned at him.
"Anytime. Could take a while, though."
"No hurry."
She might well have seen something without realizing what she was actually witnessing, and this gave him ample opportunity to check out the other patrons. He made his way to the pool table. He probably would have been better off with one of the drinkers that were hiding in the corners, but they'd probably not speak to him. He'd rather try someone who was high off a win.
Cas did his best not to look angry as he strolled into the third bar that night. He had no idea where Dean was, whether he was in danger, and of course his phone was still off.
He hadn't ecperiecned true, righteous rage since he ahd turned young. Until now. Rager fuelled by worry and... other things. His blood was pumping loudly in his ears, and he felt that, no matter who should happen to attack him now, he could easily take them down.
Sadly this also meant that most people wouldn't talk to him. The bartender of the last bar had cheerfully informed him that he should "turn that smile upside down if you want to score". That, of course, had only caused him to frown more than before.
He and Dean should have gone together. Everyone loved Dean, and Cas couldn't blame them. He was probably off charming some barmaid and getting all the information they needed...
He didn't dare examine whether he was more upset that Dean had gone off on his own or at the possibility that he was flirting with someone else right now. All that had to stay in the past.
"Fellows, mind if I join?" Dean asked cockily. One of the man who were playing looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Be my guest kid, but I'm warning you; I'm on a lucky streak."
Your first in a while, Dean thought. The guy was wearing old jeans, a threadbare t-shirt and a leather jacket that had seen better days. But most of all, there was the relentless fury of the gambler in his eyes that would throw him from this streak right into bad luck and bad again, and so on until a sad ending in a lousy motel room.
A fate that might have been Dean's if not for his brother and hsi friends.
All in all, he was exactly what Dean had been looking for. Searching his whole life for a system, knowing every trick, having tried to ebnd every rule.
Hearing everything going on in his own little world.
"We'll see, shall we?" he asked, playing it cool. If he allowed the guy to beat him, he'd just end up being loud and proud; if he taught him a lesson, he'd run away, tail between his legs.
Only a small sum it was then, and he had to draw it out long enough so that it would ultimately count as an achievement that his adversary had held out as long as he did; because someone like him would never tell anything to someone he had beaten.
Dean set to work.
Cas had finally calmed down somewhat as he stopped in front of yet another bar. He hadn't found any clues, but he might well have overlooked them. Dean was right, he had never really crossed path with men like these, aside from when he had translated for them during interrogations; what could he hope to achieve?
His shoulders sagged with relief when the first thing he saw in the bar was Dean, sitting next to a man in his mid-forties, talking animatedly.
His first impulse was to join them, but they seemed to be in the middle of a very important conversation. Dean might very well be on the something.
He did his best not to look their way as he quickly got a beer; he was discreetly searching for a place from where he could see them well when the bartender commented, "Should have known."
"What?" he asked, confused.
"All the hot ones – they're either taken or gay. Don't worry, green eyes over there hasn't done anything besides a little friendly flirting".
He blushed, looking away, his gaze landing on Dean as a matter of course; their eyes met, and the young man at least looked ashamed before concentrating back on his conversation.
Cas sighed. "It's complicated" he told the bartender.
She just shrugged.
"It usually is."