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"Dean, you're on in five minutes," his agent, Chuck Shurley, said as he poked his head around the dressing room door.
Dean dismissed Chuck with a simple wave of his hand. He wished he could just melt into the leather love seat of his comfortable, yet too flashy for his taste, dressing room. He was in Vegas, which any person (famous or not) would be thrilled about, but not Dean. This was the second-to-last venue on his national tour. He'd been on the road almost nonstop for the last five years, only taking periodic two-month breaks, which weren't really breaks at all considering he would crank out new albums during that time. He always felt this way when a tour was ending, always unsure if he had another album in him. He liked to keep himself busy, mostly because when he wasn't, his mind would wander back to El Paso and...
No. Dean was not going to think about him right now. He had a show to do, and he's sure his fans wouldn't be too pleased with him if he went on stage sobbing like a thirteen-year-old girl. Standing from the love seat, Dean walked to stand in front of the mirror that was lined with old-fashioned light bulbs for a quick once-over. This was Vegas, so he shrugged on his rhinestoned, Grand Ole Opry-esque blazer over his black button-down. Normally, he'd moan and groan about having to wear anything sparkly, but Chuck insisted it was "just this once," as he said every time they rolled into Sin City.
Dean brushed his fingers over the picture taped to the mirror of him, his mother, Mary, and his not-so-little brother, Sammy, in front of the Roadhouse as he did before every show. He tried not to remember the bright blue eyes that stood behind the lens or the sound of that gravely voice that said, "Everyone say 'Conway Twitty'!" in attempt to make them laugh. Dean threw his head back with a bellowing laugh at Castiel's joke; Conway Twitty was their safeword. That picture was one of the last times he felt truly, honest-to-God happy. Not even a year after that picture was taken, Mary suffered a massive stroke and died. A few months after that, Dean took a gig in Dallas, which caught the attention of the one and only Mr. Cowley, who signed Dean right then and there, and that's when everything else completely fell to pieces.
"C'mon, Dean," Chuck rapped on the door. "Everyone's waiting on you."
"I'm comin', Chuck, hold your damn horses. This ain't the Kentucky Derby," he attempted to cover his sadness with humor, as always. He grabbed his old Martin guitar on his way out, strapping it around himself as he walked down the hall to the stage where the sounds of screams and whistles crescendo-ed.
"Did you even hear a word I said?"
Castiel looked up only to meet his big brother's sincerely pissed off expression. "No," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry. What?"
Gabriel rolled his eyes, sighed, and ripped an end off a Twizzler before continuing. "I said I got you a date."
"You what?" Castiel growled. Who the hell does Gabriel think he is?
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Grandma. I just think you need to get out some is all."
Not this shit again, Castiel thought. "I'm fine."
"Castiel..."
"No. Don't. Just... don't," Castiel sighed and let his gaze drop to the beer nestled between his hands.
"He's not coming back," Gabriel spoke softly.
It was a damn shame how Castiel couldn't even so much as say Dean's name without feeling that achy, hollow feeling in his chest. He and Gabriel had decided after the breakup that they would never speak his name again. He was actually surprised that Gabriel held up his end of the bargain instead of teasing him at any chance he got. That really shows what a number Dean Winchester had done on Castiel, that even his trickster of a brother dared not joke about it.
"I know, but-"
"'But' what? Remember back before you met... him, and I told you that you couldn't let Balthazar control your life anymore? Well, if the shoe fits, little bro, you wear the fuck out of it."
"He doesn't control my life anymore, Gabe. I moved out of our apartment in El Paso, didn't I? I've even dated a little bit, so I don't understand why that isn't sufficient enough for you."
After much hesitation because of some ludicrious shred of hope Castiel held onto that someday Dean would return, he finally moved out and went to Los Angeles with his brother. Castiel and Gabriel managed a showbiz agency in downtown that specialized in Indie films. Castiel mostly just managed the books while his brother and other employees held auditions and went out scouting. Eventually, Castiel saved up enough money to move out of Gabriel's apartment into one of his own. After a year, he was totally settled and even adopted a cat, but something was always missing, and he knew exactly what (or who) it was.
"Let's cut the bullshit. You're not happy, Cas," Gabriel said as he reached his hand across the table and wrapped his fingers around Castiel's wrist. "I can tell, man. I know you better than anyone."
"You don't think I want to be happy?"
"No, I think you want him to make you happy."
If Gabriel tried to have this talk with him a few years ago, Castiel would've gladly punched him square in the face, but he knew his brother was right. Even though he'd moved out of El Paso, his heart was still there waiting for Dean. Although they had only been together for about a year, it felt like much longer. They moved in together within two months since the Roadhouse incident, and Mary and Sam had sworn they heard wedding bells in Dean and Castiel's future, but everything changed after Mary died.
While they were dating, Dean still played at the Roadhouse and would occasionally book gigs at private parties or community events. Prior to Mary's death, he had been offered bigger and better gigs but always declined because - despite how modest he was - he knew he could make it big if he really wanted to, and that scared the hell out of him. He knew that with fame came great responsibility and often caused more trouble than it was worth, so he was content with playing small, local gigs; places he knew he could perform and still come home to Castiel that same night.
Mary's stroke came as a shock to the whole family, Castiel included. He didn't understand why something like that would happen to someone as good and loving as Mary Winchester, but death was selfish in that way and always seemed to take those kinds of people far too soon. Castiel tried his best to console Dean, but he could barely get through to him considering he was drunk most of the time. The one negative trait Dean Winchester inherited from his father was his alcoholism and the explosive anger that came along with it.
5 Years Ago
"Hey, babe," Castiel called from the kitchen when he heard the front door of his and Dean's apartment close.
"Hey," Dean said as he sauntered up behind Castiel as he did the dishes. His hands clumsily grabbed at Castiel's waist, pulling his ass back onto Dean's hardness.
Castiel could smell alcohol on Dean's breath. Furious, he spun around to meet Dean's glassy eyes and smug expression. He looked even worse than he smelled.
"You drove here?!"
"Mhm," Dean replied and tried to plant a sloppy kiss on Castiel's mouth, to which he avoided. "Aw, what'sa matter, baby? Don'tcha wan' fool aroun'?"
Castiel tore Dean's hands from his hips and planted them down by his sides. "No, not right after you just told me you drove here. You're heavily intoxicated, Dean! You could've gotten into an accident and seriously hurt yourself or someone else, or worse!"
"I though' you were al'ways in th' mood to fool aroun'. Fuckin' cockslut like you," Dean slurred and hiccuped.
"Dean..." Castiel exhaled and grabbed the other man's face between his hands. "This is getting way out of control. If you would just talk about it with me or go get help-"
"No!" Dean shouted and shoved Castiel so hard against the counter, his head flew back and hit the handle on the cabinet. Castiel reached his hand behind his head to inspect the area. He was bleeding. He started to cry, but not because of his head injury. Dean had pushed him. Dean, who had not even a month prior made love to him in the pale early morning light, kissing and worshiping every square-inch of his body as if Castiel were the most precious thing on Earth. That was Dean, but this most certainly wasn't.
Once Dean saw the blood on Castiel's hand, a brief flash of the real Dean shone through. Panicked concern flickered in his eyes.
"Cas... I'm-" he attempted to apologize as he wobbled towards Castiel, arms outstretched.
"Don't touch me," Castiel glowered.
Dean drew back as if someone had electrocuted him, his jaw tensing as he did so. Drunken anger quickly replaced his worry.
"Fuck!" he shouted as he turned away from Castiel and stormed over to the front door, knocking things over and throwing them in his wake.
Castiel jumped when he heard the front door slam. He didn't cry until he knew he was alone. Dean was gone in every sense of the word, and yet, Castiel still loved him.
A few days after that, Dean left to do a show in Dallas. He never came back.
. . .
Castiel didn't keep tabs on Dean, for reading his name next to one city after another did nothing but twist the knife deeper. The ghost of Dean lingered in the apartment for years. Castiel left Dean's belongings just has he had left them, afraid that the reality of his abandonment would fully sink in if he packed up his stuff or changed anything. It was unhealthy, he knew that, but he didn't care. He hardly cared about anything. After four years of masochism, Castiel packed up all of Dean's stuff, dropped it off at Ellen's, and left for L.A. with Gabriel.
. . .
"So, what do ya say? I'm tellin' you, he's a good friend of mine and a really great guy. You should give him a shot," Gabriel's voice shred through Castiel's thoughts. Gabriel wouldn't set Castiel up on a date if he didn't think highly of the guy, right?
"Fine," he sighed. "I'll go."
Castiel showed up at the Blue Rose at 7 o'clock sharp. The bar/restaurant was one of the swankier joints that Gabriel frequented. He placed reservations for his little bro's blind date about five minutes after Castiel agreed to it.
"Reservation for Novak?" Castiel asked the hostess.
"Yes, Mr. Novak, right this way. Your guest has already arrived."
Castiel swallowed the nervous lump in his throat before he following the hostess to his table. A jazz quartet was playing a soothing melody on the vintage-inspired cherry wood stage. The tables in front of the stage were draped with black cloths. A single, tiny lamp with a blue lampshade was placed in the center of every table. That, and the overall dim lighting of the place, gave off a very intimate vibe.
Castiel was thankful he took Gabriel's advice and decided to wear his navy blue button-down, leaving the two top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His slim-cut, dark gray trousers hugged his hips and the swell of his ass perfectly. He looked damn good, and for the first time in a long time, he was genuinely excited.
Here goes nothing, he thought as his eyes landed upon his date's silhouette.
As Gabriel assured, Matthew was a real gentleman and handsome, too, but he was no Dean. Castiel had a horrible habit of subconsciously comparing every attractive guy he met to Dean, who would always win, no contest.
Thankfully, Matthew looked nothing like Dean, so it was easier for Castiel to put his thoughts aside. Matthew had dark features, undoubtedly from Italian ancestry. His medium-length, curly hair contrasted against the sharp angles of his stubbled jaw and olive skin. In a way, he almost looked like James Franco, who Castiel admittedly had a huge celebrity crush on.
After Castiel and Matthew knocked back a couple of drinks, Castiel loosened up and the thoughts of Dean soon dissipated. They spent the next house discussing literature, politics, and travel with a few corny jokes thrown in here and there. Surprisingly, Castiel was thoroughly enjoying himself, that is, until a red-headed woman cut off the jazz quartet and approached the microphone.
"Good evening, everyone," she said as the crowd silenced to listen. "In lieu of our admirable co-owner making a surprise appearance tonight, we have a very special guest backstage. Please put your hands together for the Dallas Cowboy, Dean Winchester!"
The crowd applauded and awaited his presence. Castiel could feel the blood drain from his face and his body stiffen. Was the universe seriously out to get him? Just when he thought things were looking up, this had to happen. Gabriel loathed Dean, so why would he set him up like this? No, there's no way Gabriel would've done this on purpose. After all, the woman said this was a surprise appearance. The universe really must be fucking with him then.
Castiel wanted to run. Run as far away from that damned stage as possible, but he couldn't find it in himself to move. Matthew tried to break him from his trance, but Castiel couldn't even speak, especially not when a cowboy-hatted figure emerged from the velvet curtain.
Technically, Vegas was the last leg of Dean's country-wide tour, but Crowley offered him a ridiculous amount of money to perform at one of his restaurant ventures in L.A., the Blue Rose. It was somewhat of a private gig, at least it felt like it was. Most of the venues Dean played at could hold thousands of people, but the maximum occupancy of this place was a scant 216.
Dean didn't know why he was so nervous, considering he had played in front of a hell of a lot more people over the years. Perhaps it was the intimacy of the place, but that wasn't it. It was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Whatever it was, Dean made quick work of repressing it. Because the Blue Rose was a smaller venue, he decided it couldn't hurt to try out a new song he had been working on. If it was a flop, at least only a couple hundred people would be there to hear it, but he just couldn't hold this song in any longer.
Dean stood behind the heavy curtain, looking down at the picture of Mary, Sammy, and him as a woman introduced him onstage. He wished he still had the picture of Castiel leaning against the Impala, smiling at him before they drove to Mexico for Cinco de Mayo all those years ago. With a long, exasperated sigh, Dean tucked the picture into the back pocket of his dark-wash jeans.
"Please put your hands together for the Dallas Cowboy, Dean Winchester!"
Showtime.
Castiel's heart skipped a beat when Dean fully emerged from backstage. He thanked God that the sitting area was probably too dark for Dean to be able to spot him. It had been five years; five years without so much as even seeing Dean, and now Castiel was about to hear that warm honey voice that he initially fell in love with once again. He didn't know whether to cry or puke.
The view was all too reminiscent of the first time Castiel laid eyes on Dean in the Roadhouse. Much like before, Dean wore a black cowboy hat, a black button-down shirt rolled to the elbows, and a pair of jeans with his infamous KAZ 2Y5 belt buckle. Time had been kind to him; tanned skin still taut over muscular arms and a face that could make an old woman blush.
The nostalgia flooded through Castiel as Dean approached the microphone and strummed a few strings on his beloved Martin guitar. Castiel remembered hearing that same sound flood through his and Dean's little apartment. Dean would play and sing for him (usually naked) on lazy Sunday mornings, which never failed to make Castiel's heart swell with pure love and honest adoration.
"Hey, y'all," Dean looked up and out into the dark crowd, his slight southern drawl brought Castiel back to the Roadhouse. "I'm glad to be here tonight, and I'd like to play somethin' brand new. Let me know how ya like it."
Castiel was sitting close enough that he could see Dean's eyes beneath the brim of his hat. They were still that brilliant shade of green that he remembered but seemed far away and distant, vacant even. As always, Castiel was mesmerized by the natural way Dean's body moved as he strummed his guitar, like he was somehow fused to it. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until Dean began to sing.
Fare to midland is all that I need
If I had fare to midland
I'd take the first seat
On a fast train, bus, or plane
Whichever proved the quickest way for me
Dean lifted his head up towards the spotlight as if he was confessing or searching for answers from some higher power. In the light, Castiel could see Dean's eyes glisten with tears, but he didn't allow a single one to fall.
I left him in midland
Near one less promise I couldn't keep
To chase a future paved with fools'
Small county roads don't ever reach
But for every cloudless mile, the sun has shone
There's been hundred nights alone at least
The shame is how it took so long
To figure out fare to Midland don't come cheap
He was singing about Castiel, and Castiel knew it wholeheartedly. This song was a proclamation of love, loss, and regret. Dean had left him, and this was his apology. Dean didn't even care if some of the listeners caught onto the whole "him" thing and put two-and-two together; it was only 216 people. Hell, he'd sing this song in front of thousands, homophobes be damned. The best part is Dean had no idea that Castiel was there, so it's not as if he decided to sing this song just to win Castiel back. He missed Castiel with every fiber of his being, and this song explained it all.
My eyes keep lonely thoughts reminding me
With every dusty truck that I see
I'm only closer to how far away can be
And all the time that's left is an eternity
A single tear rolled down Castiel's cheek to his lips. It was salty and filled with a strange mixture of happiness and longing.
To make myself west Texas bound
The fare to midland is all I need
Castiel involuntarily stood from his chair, unsure if his brain was even capable of performing the synaptic impulses needed for walking. Several faces turned towards him, confused as to why he was standing.
Fare to midland is all that I need
If I had fare to midland
I'd take the first seat
The final chord Dean strummed hung in the air and weighed on Castiel's heart. He needed to talk to Dean just one more time. The crowd stood and applauded Dean, who simply tipped his hat and returned backstage. Castiel had to get back there, he had to, but he didn't want to risk getting tossed out by security.
Wait... After they first met, Castiel went to every single one of Dean's performances and they would always meet in the back or side alley after for a steamy make-out session. Maybe he would be out there? It wouldn't hurt to try.
"I'm sorry, Matthew, I have to-"
"I know," he said. Confused, Castiel drew his eyebrows together and tilted his head to the side before Matthew continued. "Gabriel told me about Dean, and I understand, Castiel. Go to him."
Castiel gave Matthew a soft smile. At first, he wanted to punch Gabriel in the face for coincidentally picking this place, but he was suddenly grateful for it. Matthew really was a nice guy and whoever bagged him should consider themselves lucky.
"Thank you," Castiel said before practically running out of the Blue Rose. Aside from a few pedestrians, the street was fairly deserted. Castiel found a side alley to the left of the building.
Nothing. No one.
Disappointed, but not surprised, Castiel stood there for a few more minutes, reminiscing and reveling in the feeling of his and Dean's alleyway adventures. In fact, the side of the Roadhouse is where Dean first told Castiel he loved him. His heart ached from the memory, and he placed his hand over it before turning back towards the street.
"C-Cas?"
Castiel froze. He thought he'd never hear that voice say his name ever again. The heavy backstage door Dean emerged from slammed shut, making Castiel jump and whirl around only to be greeted by the Dallas Cowboy, Dean Winchester, who stood just a mere ten feet away without his hat. Another memory of carding his fingers through Dean's short, light brown hair coming to him.
"Dean..."
They stood there in silence for what could've been years. What do you say to someone you abandoned or to someone who left you after so much time has passed? Dean's eyes raked over Castiel's body, remembering every little detail, just as Castiel studied Dean's form. Suddenly, they were both moving towards one another, five steps each; one step for every lost year between them and for every year they should've been together. Crashing into each other, Dean firmly wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist and Castiel wound his around Dean's neck. They held each other tight until their muscles ached, the heat between them too addicting to ever want to stop.
Dean lightly ran his nose and lips over the shorter man's neck. "Cas... I'm so sorry," he whispered against his throat, cjoking back a sob as he did so.
"I know, Dean. I've missed you..."
Dean loosened his grip and pulled away slightly so he could look directly into those cobalt eyes that have plagued his mind every day since he left. They stood there for a moment, adoringly examining the other's face and the changes they had gone through over the past five years. Again, Dean's eyes filled with tears as he placed both hands on either side of Castiel's face, thumbs gently rubbing his cheeks. Without a second thought, Dean cocked his head slighty to the right as he leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss to Castiel's quivering, slightly chapped lips.
After five years of being absolutely miserable, they were finally home. Together.