2: Constarches and the End of All Good Things

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it, and it darts away.
- Dorothy Parker

Dean was thinking about moving.

A day had passed, yet no one was screaming "Carry!" or throwing stones at him. Which was a good sign, he supposed, but he remembered what had happened the last time; this small town really knew how to ostracize people.

So, rather than waiting in fear, he just might as well move away from Stars Hollow. Never mind his father's business was here, his mother loved this small town like her second home, and his sister would kill him first if he mentioned anything that remotely resembled 'moving outta town' possibility. He really wanted to get the hell away from this place. Actually, he now believed they should never have come here in the first place. Then he would never have to have experienced this painful sinking feeling in his chest. This whole stupidity would never have occurred. He would never have met Rory.

Today, the work in the market was going slow with almost no customers, which distracted his mind even more. His hands were slowly and automatically moving to stack cornstarch cans. Cornstarch. He had kissed her here. In this aisle.

Just one more reason to get out of here.

"Dean!"

He turned to the source of the voice, and almost dropped the cans he was holding. Of course, the first one to come to him yielding an ax had to be the mad, raging mother. He braced himself for what was to come. "Lorelai," he cringed.

"Heya!" she gave him a broad smile that lit her entire face, "Up for tonight? The Princess Bride, the wonder of the modern cinema, is impatiently waiting for us."

Dean stared with a bit of amazement as Lorelai stood in front of him, bouncing with energy and waving a case of video. At her foot was a basket full of chocolate and disgusting amount of chips.

"What?" Dean asked finally, shell-shocked.

Lorelai waved her index finger. "Hello? Friday movie night? Don't look so surprised. I mean, it's not like I need to get the water changed or anything..." she took one look at him, and sighed dramatically, "So what if I need to get the water bottle changed? It's just a tiny little favor that I know a big-hearted boy like you would not mind at all. Think of it as taxes. You date my daughter, and I tax your labor. And I'll have you know that Rory's worth much more than water-change action. Actually, there's a leak somewhere in the house... Dean?"

"Rory hasn't told you yet, has she?" Of course. That explained many, many things.

"Told me what?" Lorelai, in her cheery self.

This was just great. How was he supposed to tell her this? "Lorelai, I don't think I'll be going to your house any time soon."

"Why?" she smirked, "Did you guys fight for the niceness that is in the make up smooches?"

"Actually--"

"Oh wow, two serious fights in two days? A breaking-record, indeed. I know you two love taking teenager angst to Shakespearean stage, but this is reaching Dante's scope of torture and darkness."

He restrained the urge to grab her shoulders and shake them hard, "Lorelai!"

"What? Oh, hey, did Rory tell you you're kinda scary when you're all frowning and towering and all in the likeness of Mad Josh Hartnett?"

"Lorelai..." God, this was difficult. "Rory and I...well, we're not together any more. So, I think that's going to make joining the movie night with you and Rory a tad bit more difficult from now on."

"Why? Wait, WHAT? What...why? WHAT?"

Confusion and shock were never a good mixture on Lorelai. "I think," he swallowed, wanting to turn away from her ashen face, "I think you know why."

Understanding immediately dawned on her face. "Oh god, Dean..."

He smiled wearily, "What, no 'You hurt my daughter, jackass!' rampage? I thought you'd come after me with an ax."

She shook her head, and he shuffled his foot. Silence settled between them.

"I'm sorry," he began quietly, "I know I promised you I'd never hurt her, but...it's better this way, trust me. Anyway, uh," he motioned at Taylor, who was watching them like a hawk. "I better get back to work. I think I'm about to get fired."

"Well, it's...I mean," Lorelai frowned. "I don't know what to say."

He had wondered before if he would ever see Lorelai speechless. Well, he didn't have to wonder now. "It's all right. People fall out of love all the time, don't they?"

The same weary smile was on her face now. "Wow, since when are you a cynic?"

"Since yesterday." She was watching his face intently, so he turned away. "You can always ask Jess to change the water from now on, so there won't be a problem for you." So what if he sounded bitter and petty? He had a right to be, dammit.

"Hey, I don't just let anyone change my water, you know," there was a soft sympathy in her voice that touched his heart. She gently squeezed his shoulder. "You know I like you, right?"

He looked down, because there was a hot lump in his throat and he couldn't meet her eyes. They had come a long way. He remembered the way Lorelai had made a warning/disclaimer when he'd first joined the mother-daughter movie night; she practically threatened to beat him with a shovel if he ever hurt Rory. Then, amazingly, they had become like a family. "Yeah, I know."

"And it's not because you made my daughter the happiest girl in the world on several occasions."

He swallowed the lump. "I wonder."

"Well. ...Well."

What else was there to say? No need to tell her to take care of Rory, because he knew she would. He didn't want the last thing he told Lorelai to be a goodbye. "See you around, then."

"Yeah." She hesitated for a moment, then turned around.

He watched after her for a second before resuming to unpack the boxes. One, two, three, four. The cornstarch suddenly felt heavy in his hands. His throat was dry.

"Lorelai!"

She immediately whirled around. "Yeah?"

"I'll miss you, too."

She looked stunned for a second, then smiled. "You're always welcome to change my water."

He shook his head. "Rory won't like it."

"She'll just have to deal. Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"If you need to talk--"

A year ago, talking to Lorelai Gilmore, the coolest mother alive, about his problems would've been a laughable idea. Now? "Thanks," he said, and he meant it.

Then she was gone.

Leaving him alone with many cornstarches, and more memories.

Dean had thought, secretly, that Rory may come to talk to him out of the break-up. He had thought that he would be worth at least another try, that he would matter to her at least that much. He had thought, if that ever happened, he would probably say yes and go back to her in an instant, that there would be no stopping him.

It didn't happen.

Exactly a week later, he saw them together standing on the street. They weren't standing close enough to touch, but close enough to look into each other's eyes. There was a tiny smile on her face that had once been reserved only for him. Then she saw Dean. As if she was burned, she jumped away from Jess, her face red, her eyes almost ready to break into tears.

He clenched his teeth, and with stiff body and even more stiff grin walked through the street without turning around his head toward her or beat the crap out of Jess.

You're doing fine, he told himself.

You're doing just fine.

Next day he told Amanda he would accompany her to the dance. She asked if it was going to be a date, already knowing what happened with him and Rory. And he said yes, not without hesitation, but with a slight feeling of malice.

Of course, by the end of the afternoon the whole school knew about it, and by the end of the day, he was sure, everyone in town would know. He decided he didn't care.

Lane came looking for him in the chem lab in her cheerleader outfit, her face red from running. She must've gotten here as soon as she'd heard, he thought.

Dean felt more than tired. "Lane, I swear to God, if you're here to lecture me on the punishment for infidelity, save it, because--"

Lane interrupted him, blushing furiously, "No, Dean. I...well, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened."

Crap. He closed his eyes briefly. "Me, too."

Her eyes searched something in his face, "She's devastated, you know."

He desperately wanted to believe that, but he knew better. "No, she isn't."

Lane looked stricken. "Dean--"

Really, he didn't need Rory's Mom or Rory's best friend trying to make him feel better. He forced a light voice, "People fall out of love all the time. These things happen, don't they?" Although, in his case, he was never going to be certain whether or not she was ever really in love with him.

Always chatty Lane seemed to have lost her voice. She looked down at her feet, and he at his own. Silence settled in and began to suffocate him yet again.

"You coming to dance?" he finally said, looking for something to say.

Lane shook her head wearily, "Me? Going to a dance? Mom's decided that dance equates booze, drugs, and all the vermin of the world."

"At a school dance?"

"Unfortunately, the first American movies she watched were the teenager prom movies where spiking the punch led to devastating results."

She gave him a small grin, and he returned the sentiment.

"Lane."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry things didn't work out with Henry."

A slight tremble in her voice and concealed pain behind a forced smile. "Me, too."

He wondered if he had looked just like Lane when he'd said the same thing a minute ago.

That night at the dance, everyone looked at Dean with envy, and Amanda with jealousy. He and Amanda were, to his surprise, crowned as the best couple. For some strange reason, no one seemed to remember that he just broke up with Rory, the town's favorite bella.

He walked Amanda home from the dance. She kissed him on the porch, so he kissed her back.

Then he promptly apologized.

He came to his garage yard rather than home, feeling ill in his throat. He watched the car he had been working on for the last few weeks; he had hoped to build a better one, maybe to impress Rory's Grandfather. He stayed sitting for thirty minutes, staring at the car.

Then he grabbed a baseball bat and knocked down every piece of it.

Dean thought the life was going to continue this way. Just as dull as it was painfully bleak. So, with no more car to break into pieces, driving out of the town in the middle of the night with no particular destination on mind seemed to be an easy substitute, a cheaper substitute from breaking, let say, his CD player.

Everything was silent, and dark. His was the only car on the road. He was alone in the world for all he knew. In the darkness of the night, he was alone. He liked that. Way too much.

When he was about to contemplate on exactly why he had to enjoy solitude all of a sudden, he saw a spot of light moving close to his direction. It became larger and larger, until Dean could recognize the shape of a car parked at the side, and a man who was in elbow-deep under the open hood. It didn't seem like the man was having much luck.

He checked the watch. 1:25. The man was in trouble. Stars Hollow was the only town in fifty-mile radius, and still it was miles away. Dean stopped his car and got out, taking out a flashlight in his hand.

"Hey man, you need help?"

"God, yes, I so do--"

When Dean saw the man's face under the hazy light of the flashlight, he doubted his eyes. But then, the man, too, froze, recognition obvious on his face.

Oh, damn freaking luck. Should've known this midnight drive thing was a mistake.

They were both silent for a moment at this incredible coincidence, and finally Dean said, trying to keep annoyance in this voice to minimal, "Aren't you supposed to be at a military school or something? What the hell are you doing here?"

Tristan, with shorter hair and taller height than Dean remembered, took a long look at his own car, himself, and Dean. Probably deciding he should might as well talk to the only other person in ten-mile radius, Tristan said, "Yes, well, I took a wrong turn at the wrong place."

"Where were you heading?"

"Hawaii."

Despite himself, Dean almost grinned. Oh well, he thought, might as well. He went around Tristan to take a look under the hood of the car.

Tristan squinted his eyes doubtfully at him. "Think you can fix this?"

"I'm a poor barnboy, remember? I grew up fixing these things when you were feeding on caviar. Here," Dean said, handing him the flashlight, "Hold this here."

Dean thought he'd just leave him here if Tristian made any kind of protest gesture, but Tristan complied in silence. Being Samaritan was supposed to be a good thing, right? Damn karma.

A long moment of fruitless search and smudged shirtsleeves later, Dean gave in. "I don't know where you rented this, but this car," he declared, "is a piece of crap."

Tristan seemed ready to throw punches at anything that was near. However, he also seemed to be smart enough to figure out immediately that a) they both hated each other's guts with passion, b) his car was never going to work, c) it was the middle of the night in nowhere town, and d) Dean had the only working car.

"Okay," Tristan said, dislike obvious in his voice. "Now what?"

Dean stared back. He still hated Tristan. He still hated him, right?

Oh hell.

Dean whirled around and got into his car without a word. Tristan only watched, his hands in his jacket pockets, standing as if he was cruising the streets of New York. Dean turned on the ignition. Tristan still just watched.

"C'mon," Dean shouted with irritation. "You gonna just stand there all night?"

There was nothing on Tristan's face for a moment, then his lips twisted into a grin. Silently, Tristan slipped into the passenger seat.

"Let's make one thing clear," Dean said as soon as Tristan got in, "There will be no conversation whatsoever. I'll give you a ride, but that's it. You'll keep your mouth shut, and we will not talk. We're not pals, we were never pals, and we'll never become pals, clear enough?"

Tristan's lips twitched again. "Crystal."

Oh hell, Dean thought.