Twist and Shout

Chapter 10

A Few Weeks, Probably Less
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They were seated at a small, crowded, Mexican restaurant, Dean debating on what to get. He wasn't especially hungry, and nothing looked especially good. He rubbed his eye and stared at the same thing over and over, rereading the same sentence by accident.
"I'd like to tell you we dated, but I'm not sure that was really what it was," Balthazar said suddenly, throwing his menu down, disgusted. Dean put his down as well, leaning back in his seat.
"You mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all."
Dean pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, watching the blue smoke dissipate.
"I think he used me. To get over you," he said, barking a laugh. "How absurd that I should be telling you any of this."
"I appreciate it," Dean shrugged, "He can't tell me anything. Or he doesn't want to. I can't tell." He took a pull, and shook his head, exhaling rapidly. "I don't want to press him for anything anyway. Sometimes he coughs and..." He cut himself off, Balthazar fidgeting.
"I'm the one who made him go to the hospital," Balthazar said softly, "It was like one day he woke up and... I don't know. He called me at work and I came over, and he said he had thrown up and he didn't know how it happened. He was in the middle of his living room, and there was..." Balthazar stopped and took a breath, "He'd gotten sick everywhere and he was in the middle of it - I thought he was dead. I really did. Wasn't the first time I'd thought that, either."
Dean tapped his ash into the tray, his stomach clenching and twisting itself into a fist.
"He'd been getting so thin; I thought it was stress, and then they started saying things around, you know, I had heard them saying something was going around, but I just waved it off. It was just stress, or something, but then I went in, and he said he couldn't breathe and he'd fainted. They diagnosed him with an upper respiratory infection, but it wasn't just that. He was hospitalized practically overnight with pneumonia. And then it all sort of fell apart so quickly."
"Was he sick before?"
"Not for years - not like that. There was one time, a year or two after we came, but that was just the 'flu."
The waitress interrupted them but Dean ended up only ordering more coffee, and Balthazar got some kind of combo.
"You can peck off it if you like," he'd said and Dean hadn't said anything in return.
"Did they tell you? About that pneumonia he has?"
"PCP."

"PCP," Balthazar said with a small laugh, "I looked it up at the reference library. It's nearly nonexistent. It's caused by a fungus that's everywhere and from what I gleaned, it never happens. We breathe the bacteria in every day and don't know it."
Dean tried not to think about it too much.
"What happened to him?" he asked after a long silence.
Balthazar shifted in his seat, sipping his water delicately. He set the glass back down and wiped the condensation it left on the table away.
"You," he said frankly.
Dean nodded.
"That's not fair though. I don't want to give you all the credit. A lot of things happened to him, but you, you were always it."
"If I had known..."
"But you didn't, and it's happening," Balthazar snapped, shaking his head, "I shouldn't be mean to you. You weren't there. You...you didn't see it."
"Please," Dean pleaded. "I want to help him. I want to fix it."
Balthazar fixed his gaze on him.
"Do you really, though?"
Dean stared back, refusing to look away.
"I would give anything to change it."
Balthazar took another drink of water and frowned.
"I'm going to need something stronger than this," he commented, waving their waitress down, asking for a shot of tequila. She brought it promptly and Balthazar sucked it down, not batting an eyelash.
He settled himself and took a deep breath.
"I think it was '73."

Castiel had more and more trouble focusing in class. The words in his books jumbled on the page and reformed themselves every time he tried to read them, so eventually he just quit trying altogether. He would return home to an empty, dark apartment; the shades always drawn, little slivers of light leaking through onto the hardwood floor. He would make dinner for himself, sit in front of the television on the couch, watching whatever was on. 'Watching' was a loose term. It was more like avoiding Star Trek and the Twilight Zone. They were dumb shows anyway.
Sometimes he would get phone calls, and every time the phone rang, he prayed that it was Dean telling him that he was coming home. Apologizing to him over and over again, telling that he was stupid for leaving, that he was a jackass, and that he still loved Cas.
Cas was used to not getting what he wanted.
Balthazar, his friend from school, would call to check up on him. It was sporadic at first, just a casual chat to make sure that he was doing okay. Eventually, their conversations start to last, sometimes stretching on for hours, and, sometimes, Balthazar could even make him laugh. Cas would hang up the phone and realize his face ached with a smile. But it wasn't the same as when Dean made him laugh or smile. Nothing was the same. Dean had been gone for nearly a year, and everything was different.
Cas tried to quit thinking about him altogether, but it was difficult because every time that he looked around the apartment, there was another reminder ready and waiting. When he'd left, they'd changed the lease to his name; technically the apartment was his on the papers. Nearly everything belonged to him, but Cas couldn't escape the idea of him. Sometimes he would forget that he left the bedroom light on, and he would catch himself thinking that maybe Dean was back, maybe Dean was in the bedroom putting his clothes back into the closet and dresser. It always ended in disappointment though, because Dean wasn't coming back. Cas knewthat he was never coming back.
"You should move out of there."
They were at the small cafe down the street from his apartment, he and Balthazar, sitting inside and having lunch together. Cas shook his head and took a bite of his sandwich, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. He could feel Balthazar's eyes on him, and he swallowed, still shaking his head.
"I can't do that. What if he comes back and I'm not there?"
"Darling," Balthazar started, reaching across the table, fingers gently resting against his wrist. "You know he's not coming back. That place is dragging you down, you need to get out of there. Very bad vibes."
"I can't," Cas sighed, pulling his hand away and setting it in his lap, and Balthazar retracted his arm, playing with the corner of a napkin. "Where will I go?"
"You can move in with me. I've got plenty of room at my place. I've been looking for someone ever since Dylan broke up with me." Balthazar shrugged with one shoulder, and Cas considered it for a moment. Balthazar lived closer to campus, and he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his school days alone, sulking around his apartment. A roommate would be nice, someone to talk to and spend time with. He wouldn't have to eat dinner by himself, or watch television by himself. He wouldn't have to be alone anymore.
"Yes," he nodded, smiling softly. "Yes, that would be nice."
The following weekend, Balthazar was at his apartment, helping him box up his things. They listened to records as they worked, and Cas made sandwiches for them when they decided to take a break. They sat on the floor in the living room and laughed lightly about empty things, easy things. ,.
"What are you going to do with all of the furniture?"
Cas chewed on the sandwich, peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth, and he swallowed thickly. "Sell it, I guess."
"Money for new books, huh?"
"Or new records." Cas chuckled, and it was such a foreign feeling. He hadn't laughed and meant it in so long, and it was so different. He stopped and set his sandwich on the plate in his lap, pulling his glasses off to rub at his eyes.
"Cassy?"
"It's just-" he breathed, laughing wetly. "It's just so weird. I didn't think I would ever leave this place, that we would be here forever." He laughed again, and Balthazar moved forward, reaching out and pulling Cas toward him. Cas acknowledged the touch, his hand brushing over Balthazar's leg. "I just thought things wouldn't end, and here I am, packing up my things and leaving."
"It's alright," Balthazar soothed, rubbing Cas' back gently, and Cas shook his head,laughing again and rubbing his eyes.
"It's just so weird." He shrugged and swiped at his nose, smiling slightly. "Dumb though. Why am I getting all emotional? I'm moving on, right?"
Balthazar nodded and took Cas' plate from him, setting it onto the coffee table along with his own. He gently ruffled Cas' hair with a smile, and Cas leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Well, let's finish packing, hm?" he suggested softly and stood, and Castiel looked up at him, taking his hand when it was offered. Balthazar hauled him to his feet, and he smiled, adjusting his glasses.
They packed the turntable and the records last, Cas carefully putting them into boxes and placing them in the trunk of Balthazar's car.
"Darling are you ready?"
Cas stood, the box under his arm, an album in his hand - one of the first he'd ever owned.
"Just a second!" he called, staring at the Hawaiian print on Elvis Presley's shirt. He looked up, and he swore, for a moment, he could see it all the way it had been, but with a blink it was gone. He stared at the emptiness, wondering if that was how Dean had felt when he first moved in. Blank.
How could Dean have known? How could either of them have known -- He licked his lips.