"Yeah, well, what can you do?" Dean asked rhetorically. He wasn't in the best mood and Levi with his call didn't make it any better. Dean continued, failing to sound enthusiastically, "All right. I'll figure it out . . . No, I'll find somebody else to go there with . . . I know, I know," he said, nodding although he knew Levi could not see him. "Sure, next time . . . Don't worry," Dean mumbled. He sounded more and more phlegmatic, even apathetic. How could he be happy when Levi just scrapped their plans, or at least erased himself out of them. "Bye." He hanged up.
So there were two tickets in the first drawer of the night table next to Dean's bed in Las Vegas and the person who got them to Dean suddenly couldn't make it to the race. That left Dean with yet another decision to make. Hopefully this one wouldn't be so far-reaching. If . . .
Yes, the first person who came up in Dean's mind as a substitute for Levi was Cassie. It was understandable; she lived in Vegas, she was a big fan of basically any sport, the more adrenaline the better. They went to see a race before, Cassie and Dean, a couple of times. She knew a few riders and so did he. Of course she would be a logical replacement of her brother. Dean knew how much she would love going. He himself didn't have anything against inviting her. It was nothing new; they've done it before and they would very likely do it again. Maybe . . . maybe he could ask her . . .
The phone was still in his hand; he dialed her number without really thinking about it. But he stopped the call shortly after it started ringing, before she had a chance to pick it up. Why? There wasn't really a reason, just . . . He held a page in his left hand. A page that he had forgotten about. It was in a pocket of his jeans, folded several times. It wasn't in best condition, but he identified it quickly, without too much effort. He hadn't seen it in months, and he never really read it. He stretched it out to read it; maybe now was the right time.
There was no title and the text started in the middle of a sentence. At the top left corner there was a drawing of a rose, closed. At the top right corner the rose was in bloom. Both roses had thorns. But those pictures were unrelated to the text. By reading it he wouldn't know what it was; but he remembered what it was by seeing it. He smiled when he realized it was the page Cassie tear from the book she was reading in that Denver bar. The one that got her mad for, well, Dean didn't know why. He didn't remember that, something seemingly so unimportant. He could recall what she looked like that night, he could say what she acted like. And even though he was pretty drunk at that moment, he still remembered, he could even still feel her licking chocolate off his almost naked body. The tickling, the excitement, the arousal. All those feelings were coming back. Her happiness, her chocolate smile, the chocolate taste of her tongue . . .
That was the reason why he couldn't go to that car show with her. That was why he couldn't come with her to a wedding. Seth was right. Not with The Shield, not with his being an architect of the group giving him the right to destroy it. He was right when he said that hanging out with your ex was dangerous. Those feelings that once existed couldn't be safely kept locked somewhere deep beneath the surface. Dean believed he had it all under control, but maybe he was terribly wrong and at any moment it would all fall apart and the real terror would start. It all started with a question what if; once there was curiosity, threat existed. And Dean couldn't swear he wasn't curious. He was fascinated by the idea of recreating the moments that were still alive in his mind.
Maybe in this moment Dean would need to have Seth, the voice of reason, although overly affectionate, beside him to tell him strictly "No!" They could have been enemies on screen right now but that didn't mean they weren't still buddies in real life. And so was Roman. They all kept hanging out although The Shield became a stable of the past. Now it all became good old times. Whatever. Dean's mind was taking a dangerous road, and Seth could divert him from doing something stupid. He felt he needed to be hit with reason; but much more likely he would get hit by a chair, a table, or stairs.
The phone started ringing. She had to notice he had called her. Now she wants to know why. Why? Right, the page. Dean didn't have the courage to read it. Now it certainly wasn't a good time. He felt weak and vulnerable. Not really in a way most people do, he was still strong, but he was aware of a higher risk, chance to be affected by hearing her voice. Or even reading her handwriting on that page. Looking at her artistic waste of time, her various drawings. No, in no way he could answer the phone. He kept it in his pocket; he didn't decline the call either.
Instead he tried to escape. Even though he still had his phone on him, he left the room and walked far. He didn't like being alone with his thoughts. He crossed several halls, walking surely, confidently. Did he have a goal? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he just liked keeping a steady pace. Or he wanted to go outside. One thing was sure. He'd like to exchange the solitude for being in a presence of other person. Who it would be didn't matter that much.
No, he realized, he didn't have a goal but there was something heading him in a certain direction. He knew where he was going although that information didn't reach his brain. Something led him and he didn't hesitate to follow. By like a magnetic attraction he found himself standing in front of a door. He knew that door. He knew the room behind that door was full of people. He'd know all of them but just a crowd wasn't the reason he found himself there. Renee was inside too. It made sense . . .
Dean laughed. He felt his consciousness was awake again. It made sense? Really? Something "magically" brought him right in front of the room in which his girlfriend was . . . Yeah, like he was gonna believe that bullshit. Yes, there was a reason he came there. No, it wasn't magic. It was guilt. He felt guilty because he lost the control and his brain started picturing his ex-girlfriend. And those pictures were pretty vivid. And it wasn't only guilt that caused his coming specifically there. There was curiosity. And judgment. And forgetfulness. He forgot what it felt like being with Renee. It was hard to explain, even to himself. He knew what it was like, theoretically and practically too, but he couldn't recall the sensation. Judgment. Was Renee a comparable match to Cassie? He enjoyed every second he spent with her. Maybe because even seconds mattered when the opportunities of being with her were rare. Now that he thought about it, recently, consciously or subconsciously, he avoided Renee. He didn't spend with her as much time as he should. Was there a reason? There could be. Forgetfulness. Did he really enjoy every second spent with Cassie? Or was it an illusion? Did he forget what it was like with her back in times when she was his girlfriend and did he mix the image with the moments he spent with her these days? Now he knew her. Back then he didn't really. Now he loved being around her. Was it the same a couple of months ago? Curiosity. Now he knew Cassie. And there wasn't a single thing – was there? – that he couldn't stand about her. When they broke up they didn't have a crisis or anything. They didn't fight. Not once. Considering all of this, minus the fact he already was in a relationship, there didn't seem to be a single reason why they wouldn't work as a couple. And that was a dangerous thought.