Cas dreamed in song. It was a night filled with power ballads from the '90s and he was rocking them all. He was doing his best Bon Jovi impersonation. There was the near squeal as he sang out the words, 'I'm wanted, dead or alive…" He stood at the edge of the stage throwing back his head as he sang. His hips pointing out to the crowd along with his arm. He seemed to to be scanning the crowd, moving his hand out over their faceless bodies until he got to the one that he was looking for. His sun-lightened brown hair a beacon in the dark bar. He directed his songs to him. He made his way down from the stage. Angling closer to him.
When the song ended he was at the side of the table. The room was silent, but only because the faceless masses didn't count. The only one that counted was staring at him with such intensity that he couldn't move. They stayed that way until Dean winked and said, 'See you Friday.'
He woke with a start and felt like he just wanted to pull the covers over his face, savor the last dregs of the dream before they completely flew away. He still didn't know what Friday would hold for him, and he was starting to not care. He knew that Dean would show up and that was enough. He wasn't sure even what the arrangement would entail. I'm really okay with that. I am totally comfortable with mysteries.
He wasn't. He was much more interested in the predictable, the orderly. This whole situation was one of the most uncomfortable things he had ever experienced. And the most stimulating thing he had experienced in some time. He closed his eyes again beneath the blanket and tried to conjure up Dean's face. He wondered what his cheek would feel like against his own. He wondered about his shaving regime. Yeah, I'm not odd at all. He wondered just how smooth his skin became after a shave. He thought about his hands. He was willing to bet that they were rough, calloused even. He wondered how long he would have to wait to touch them.
Could he find an excuse to accidentally touch his hands? Not likely. Oh, excuse me, my hand just fell into your hand completely by accident and it can't be moved. Yeah, too much danger in moving it. You'll just have to hold it. He actually laughed at this point and threw the covers off of his face. When did you become a teenage girl, Cas?
Today was going to be spent in the courthouse. At least that would provide sufficient distractions from his teenage dreams. Ha, he had to laugh a little. It sure didn't take him long to fall into an obsession. He remembered meeting Charles back when he was at the university. He was at a coffee house, doing a poetry reading. Poetry wasn't really Cas' thing, but coffee was, so he found himself sitting there listening and sipping pleasantly.
Charles had taken the stage and sat on a tall stool. The moment was every stereotype of a coffee house poetry read, that is, until he spoke. His voice was warm and luminous, and a touch sardonic. Cas was interested. He saw his mop of dusty brown hair and lean face as inviting. His eyes were a deep brown that could be described as puppy dog eyes, but that seemed too sappy. They were definitely melancholy.
The readings before were forgettable. Cas leaned forward as Charles spoke. He started with the words, "I need a redo…" and he continued with descriptions of his myriad falls into miserable situation after miserable situation. Then he looked up and smirked. "Fuck that, I need a redo."
It was possibly cliched, but he didn't care. Cas was hooked. He needed a redo too. Somehow it had been easy that night. Charles had joined his table when Cas beckoned him over. When they parted ways it was with a clear understanding that they would see each other again. Numbers were exchanged. Confidence was felt, and the fluttering nervousness in his gut had been from the thought of all that potential that comes from new relationships. It was not completely unlike what he was feeling now at the thought of Dean, but…
This was different, and maybe that was good. Charles didn't stay uncomplicated. The alcohol took care of that. The alcohol and time. One day he was just changed. He wasn't a face your demons kind of guy. He was a bury your demons kind of guy. He would write his poetry and his so called "fiction," and call that "dealing." One night they had fought. He could not even remember what it had been about. Something stupid, likely. Something to mask what they really needed to talk about. Charles had already consumed more than he should. When he had thrown the bottle across the room. Cas had just stood there. Charles wasn't a violent alcoholic. This was new. Charles stalked toward him, looming and glaring evenly into Cas' eyes. Then he left.
In hindsight, Cas knew that he should have stopped him. He had been too tightly wound in that moment though to react. He felt responsible. He let it happen. Charles took the motorcycle. It was a gorgeous creature. It was a 1950's Triumph Blackbird, modeled after the ride that Marlon Brando used in the film The Wild Ones. Charles bought it on a whim. He was not a skilled rider when he was sober.
He didn't come home that night. Cas had gotten a call instead. Charles had been in an accident. It would have been bad enough if he had been the only one involved, but there had been a car too. It had swerved to miss him and that was all that it took. The man driving the car had been in critical condition. It was only by some miracle that he had survived.
It was still a felony. Charles accepted it. He plead guilty and told Cas not to wait for him. He told him that when he got out, he would just disappear. Cas didn't fight him at first. He was still too angry. He tried to visit him once after he had been incarcerated, but Charles denied him. He tried letters and phone calls, but Charles made good on his promise to just disappear. The funny thing was that he didn't wait until he got out of prison to do it.
Cas decided then that maybe it was time for a redo for himself too. He had to move on. He didn't know if there could be anything with Dean. They had only exchanged a bare handful of words, yet it was enough to give him hope. There could be something out there. Maybe it wouldn't be Dean, who knows, but he hoped that there could be something-something that would make him not want to keep looking back. With those thoughts in mind, and Dean's face shining out in the dark bar, Cas drifted back to sleep.
I plan to have more Dean and Cas in the next chapter. It might be a tad longer than the usual chapters. Also, I am playing around with chapter titles. I want them to connect with song lyrics and song titles. I'm trying to pick ones that are significant in some way. Picking songs for Cas' karaoke experiences has been a little tough. Hope you are enjoying it. Thanks for reading. Fav, Follow, Review.