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dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy · 7 days ago

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Rearview - Chapter 2 - Collision Course

Summary: A slight accident on the way back from class might lead to a few interesting conversations with Cas' friend, Dean, from the party. Jo confides in you about her own perception of her relationship evolutions, leaving you to question your morals.

Characters: Dean, Jo, others mentioned

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: cursing, suicidal ideation, talk of sex, improper view of relationships, hatred of Shakespeare, mentions of panic attack-like symptoms, abuse

Author's Note: the drama is ensuing !!! leave comments if you like it or if you hate it LOL

Song: Save Yourself by Milo Greene

Series Masterlist - Chapter 3

As an English teacher-to-be, you certainly despise Shakespeare. While booking it out of the lecture, down the stairs, and into the mid-noon sun, you shake your head to yourself, wondering how the hell you’ll be able to teach it to kids who are in the same boat as you. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the Shakespearean dialect (even though you found it to be rather cerebrally demanding), it was that you often wonder why you have to understand it. I mean, you’re reading fabricated old English that you will have to comprehend and translate into real, modern English, with obsessive, archaic vocabulary and hyperbolically plagued dialogue.

And in that moment, you curse yourself. Only Shakespeare could make you use this kind of strong, articulated diction. Damn yond Shakespeare.

Your classes this year are all starting off fairly in-depth. Granted, you finished all of your prerequisites, so now all that was left for these last few semesters were the "big girl" stuff and internships. Shakespearean Literature, Classroom Management, and Advanced Composition, all while you begin to prepare to go to an actual classroom and finally dip your feet into the oceans of high school education. And honestly, even with all these classes and your work schedule on top of that, you couldn't complain.

You're doing ten times better than you were at this time last year. Now, you still have your good and bad days, but it's an improvement from last year. Hell, you could tack on another two classes to your schedule and still have better mental stability than you did last year.

It's amazing what a little avoidance of your trauma distraction could do.

Although, it couldn't do everything. Separating yourself from the problem was proving to be the easy part, and that had been a stressful journey for yourself and others. It's the constant reminders and echoes of the past that seem to jump out on you on even your greatest days. The nightmares won't even go away completely. You assume it's this lingering fear that is permanently glued to the back burner, but your brain can't ever turn it off. And it's not like you rock back and forth in the corner with wild eyes that refuse to close. You just didn’t know how to feel safe again. Time heals, you convince yourself with pathetic naiveté. You’ll meditate, read a self-help book, and things will start to miraculously look up, right?

As. Fucking. If.

Even right now, as you walk the familiar route from your class to the populated coffee shop a few blocks down, there is an impossibly relentless anxiety in your stomach. The most frustrating part is that you don’t know why it's still there. You’ve relocated, and you have two safety-conscious girl roommates and an overprotective anthropology major three blocks away from your apartment- who insists on texting him when you make it to class or your place when you're by yourself. You’ve surrounded yourself in a completely new environment, void of any prior attachments of the past, aside from being in the same city. So why does it still feel like Nick is everywhere? Sure, he lives in the vicinity of the metropolitan area, but it’s miles away. All you can do is repeat the mantra, shoving your panic down beneath the surface:

You’re safe.

You’re safe someone’swatchingyou.

Out of instinctual precaution, you glance behind you.

You’re sa-

“Oh- shit!”

You curse as you collide with someone coming from your immediate right, and you turn your head back and stand face-to-leather jacket with the victim of your paranoia. “Christ, I’m so sorry-”

“Woah, hey, don’t sweat it.” A familiar voice assures, and you’ll be damned, that it so happens to be Dean. He steps back as he meets your eyes and smiles warmly upon the recognition of your face. “Oh, hey…” He says your name almost instantly like he’s been hopeful to say it again.

You pinch your eyes shut slightly out of embarrassment and shake your head, “Shit, I’m sorry, Dean- I was so not paying attention-”

“No, no, I wasn’t either, it was my fault, too.”

You huff an embarrassed laugh. “Wow, our insurance companies would hate to see us coming.”

“Good thing I’ve got collision coverage.” He snorts, a smirk remains.

“Your rate must be insane.”

Dean scoffs, “Oh, please. I’m practically uninsurable at this point. High-risk driver, multiple prior accidents on the record…”

“Off the record?”

“You don’t even want to know.”

“That’s okay, I'm pretty sure my 'check engine lights' have been on for years..”

“You should have that checked out.”

“I should.” You finally relent (after running out of other ways to make this situation applicable to people and car crashes).

Dean raises his lips in a lop-sided grin cleverly, “You know, I know a good mechanic.”

You close your eyelids, scoffing to yourself as you remember his major. “Right. I bet you do... Maybe I oughta make an appointment sometime.”

"First-time customers are on the house." His gleam compliments his convictive demeanor.

Flirtatious. You ponder if this was a 'Dean' thing or a 'Dean with you' thing. Although, you're sure he's had plenty of practice before. Those enticing, emerald green eyes that just hook onto your soul, paired with his nonchalance, "sweetheart" this and his masculine charm that. It would be a damned waste if he hadn’t used his own allure. You’re pretty sure he could get anyone he wanted with the wink of an eye. That begs the question, what the hell was he doing with you?

"I'll keep that in mind..." Your gazes linger, before you add, “Well- uh, I don’t wanna make you late for class.”

Dean swings his car keys in his fingers absentmindedly, “Actually, my class ended at 1:45. I'm not holding you up, am I?”

You hesitate, unsure of how you should answer. On one hand, you could say, "Yeah, I got class in a few-" Four hours from now, "But I'll see you 'round!" You can pretend that you don't want to get to know him and figure out his quirks and his interests. You can pretend that you wouldn't find it fun to imagine what he's like romantically, if he's physically affectionate, or maybe he tells you that you look beautiful when you wake up every morning- of course after you find yourself engulfed in his arms, peppered with gentle, airy kisses on your temple. Ain't it fun to not pretend any of that.

But you know that it doesn't exist. You know it doesn't happen.

He's fucking Jo. He probably just wants another notch on his belt. Another body to the count. Same song, different dance. He'll flirt, and you'll tease, which leads to him dreaming up your futures only to be together for one night, and he's gone after he's chased his high.

But then you think to yourself, Cas would never introduce me to someone of that nature, he's well aware of my past and my stances on those particular men, or boys, more so.

Which made option two a whole lot easier.

"No, I just got out of my class. Was headed to get gas," You point to Garth's- Coffee and Tea that was across the street and a congested traffic light or two away.

Dean's body follows your direction and he glances back at you with the corner of his mouth lifted with a bit of skepticism. "You know, I hear caffeine after 2PM can disrupt your sleep by three hours a night."

Funny, you're lucky to get three hours of sleep, period.

"Please, does anyone actually sleep anymore after freshman year?" You challenge him.

His eyes look up, searching in his head for an answer, maybe, until he purses his lips, "Fair point." He draws his teeth onto his bottom lip, his face morphing into a questioning gaze, with a dash of concern, as he watches closely for your reaction, "You want somebody to walk with?"

Score.

"That'd be great, who did you have in mind?"

Shaking his head with a playfully dismissive smirk, he avoids your amused stare for a moment, "You know, you're going into the wrong field here. You're quite the regular comedian."

You gesture with a slight flick of your head for Dean to follow you, now heading in the direction of the coffee shop. "I'd probably make more money."

Dean makes his way to your side, keeping by the curb, "Ain't that sad."

He swallows, he lets a brief quiet fall between you two before he licks his lips and mentions, "I'm glad I got to run into you, uh... you took off rather quickly at the party." He contorts his face into a mild concern. "I didn’t know if I had said something…"

You hit yourself internally, forgetting about your little Irish goodbye, not to mention the last time you spoke that night was when the conversation revolved around his “relationship” with Jo. When things got awkward. Way to go on that one. "No, no, I just- uh...I was starting to feel a little sick off that punch, so I just went home."

He throws his hands up, palms open, in a "no shame" motion. “Well, hey- a valid reason to disappear."

"I certainly thought so."

“Though certainly unfortunate. You left without a way for me to find you again.” He ventures, faking offense.

You couldn’t hold back the confusion that ran through you at his numerous flirts, “Not to be rude or anything, but…don’t you and Jo kind of have a thing together?”

Dean rolls his eyes at the definitive term you give for the situation. It looks like he hardly liked it to be recognized at all. “It’s hardly a ‘thing’. It’s not serious.”

That answer never fills you with confidence, from any guy. What exactly isn’t serious? How he feels when he’s inside her? The look he gives her when she’s just quenched his sexual thirst? What’s not serious? The shared noncommittal rush of pleasure when she does the thing he goes crazy for- that brings him back to her? The no-strings intimacy mystique, leaving them both driving each other crazy for more, more, more?

Or did he mean it…was it really mindless, boring, right-place-right-time sex?

You didn’t understand it to begin with. You didn’t care to engage in that kind of sex, anyway. Not that you have standards that are above it, but you just think it dims the meaning of physical connection, which you did value. Not to mention, you had all the mindless sex when you were with Nick. You’re pretty sure you checked out after doing it enough, once it became more of a condition, than an act of love.

“But what does that mean to you?”

“It’s really just friends with benefits. And we hardly really do anything outside of…the benefits. We’re just each other’s entertainment sometimes, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all.” You say, almost as if you don’t want to believe that it’s true.

He holds his hands out in defense. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Listen, I’m not judging. Really, truly, I’m not.” You preface sincerely before continuing, “But I’m not trying to get in between that.”

“Jo and I aren’t dating.”

“I know you know what guy-code is,” You give him a pointed look, “Girls have a similar code.”

“So what, I can’t be interested in you?” He looks down at you with a grin, but his eyes are tinged with disappointed confusion.

You scoff, “Not while you and Jo are…doing whatever it is you guys still do.”

“And if we weren’t…”

You pause, stumbling in your thoughts. “I guess I wouldn’t be disinterested.”

“So there is an interest of sorts…?” His grin gets wider.

You run a hand through your hair, struggling to come up with an answer that wasn't quite alluding to an eventual dismantling of his and Jo’s “hardly thing”.

“It’s more complicated than that. I won’t make promises, but I’ll say I’m not disinterested.”

“‘Not disinterested’.” He repeats, satisfied. “A niche answer.”

“I think it’s necessary for this circumstance.” You shrug, becoming more certain of your reply.

Once you both reach the coffee shop, light conversation bounces between the two of you. Nothing too deep, mostly just the classes you came from and the professors you have this year. You notice his eye contact as he talks to you, how his attention is solely on you, and you feel like you're the only person in the world. It’s honestly distracting- you need a map when you look into his eyes. You have to focus ten times harder to finish a thought around him. You find yourself stuttering if he smiles while you talk.

Coffees are ordered and you give him a sly, contained smile at his Americano order, and he responds with a brag at himself,“What- never seen a guy with taste before?” You figure he might be trying to impress you, rather than order a plain, black coffee as most guys did. You turn your lips into an upside-down smile and tease him with a stereotype, which makes his face fall with a reactive scowl. But, you belly laugh at his reaction, and you swear that you can see him faintly watch with suppressed adoration, as you cover your mouth with a hand to conceal the volume of the giggle. He can’t even pretend to be annoyed with that laugh.

Conversations mold into new topics. You learn a little bit about his brother, Sammy, who just recently got into Stanford University for Pre-Law. You take note of the sad smile he has when you comment on how proud his parents must be. He asks about your home life before college, recalling your parents’ divorce when you were in high school. It wasn’t a tough subject for you, all you really tell him is that it was an adjustment. Your parents did the best they could, though. That doesn’t mean your dad was Danny Tanner, or that your mom was Carol Brady…but you can recognize that your life definitely could’ve been worse. Especially after witnessing the effects of negligent parents, Nick’s parents. Mom left, and Dad was hands-off.

Yeah, you turned out alright for the most part.

“So with a mechanic dad, and you being an Automotive Engineer major, you have to have a favorite car then.” You prompt as Dean holds the door open for you, as the both of you exit Garth’s.

“Oh, of course.” He articulates with eyes that say “Obviously!”

“So, what is it?” You implore impatiently.

He chuckles with a knowing grin, “The one I have now.”

Grumbling, toyful resignation in your tone, “I’m not gonna ask a third time.”

“1967 Chevy Impala.”

You halt, not stepping any farther as you narrow your eyes in disbelief, “Yeah, right. You have an old, classic muscle car.”

“I do,” Dean verifies with an assured smirk.

For a stunned couple of seconds, you read him to see if he was shitting you, but you believe him. “Well, you know what, mark me impressed then. That’s pre-tty fucking awesome.”

He sticks a hand in his pocket with the other hand holding his coffee out to point down the street, “I’m parked pretty close to the garage down the street. I can drive you home if you want to see her-”

“No-” You blurt out sharply, surprising yourself and Dean. The blood leaves your face for a second, reeling you into a confined panic.

You haven’t let anyone drive you in months. Not since the accident, not since Nick-

Damn it. This had been one of the few impressions Nick left that actually manifested into a foreseeable problem. It’s why you walked everywhere. From the apartment to class, to the store, to Garth’s, to everywhere. Just the thought of being in another car with someone driving you made your heart race. Trapped in a confined space, in the hands of someone else who had the power of your life in their hands, in more ways than one. You refused kindly anytime Cas offered to drive you, even to Charlie. Although, Cas had practically forced you that night to let him drive you, for the sake of your own safety and escape, even then you were griefed with fear and had nearly hyperventilated in the car. You felt guilty, allowing this stupid, barely rational fear to dictate your life, but they accepted your refusal with just a concerned afterthought. And worse, now Dean had no clue why you just denied him of showing you his pride and joy.

Blinking your eyes back into the present, you apologetically shake your head at his fallen expression, “Sorry- I don’t really do well… with people driving me. Anyone…it’s a- thing…” You lamely excuse yourself.

“Okay… no worries. Uh, maybe I can still show her to you one day.” Dean leniently suggests, his face still pinched with perplexion and a hint of worry.

“For sure,” You assure with a pleading tone, “But, don’t let me hold you up from getting back. I have to walk to my apartment in the other direction, so…” The pleading trails off into one of a shamed acceptance.

“You’re not holding me up,” He says your name with a soothed promise, “I’ll walk with you. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“Dean, you definitely don’t have to-”

“I want to,” He lifts his head, asserting a masculine, but gentle attestment.

You relentingly exhale, face gleaming with a grateful glow, “Well then. Who am I to stop you from getting the things you want?”

He says something like “Damn right,” before matching your pace down another street as you make your way to your apartment complex.

“So, am I allowed to ask? Or is it off limits?” Dean raises a cautious eyebrow.

Staring straight ahead, you bite your lip, “Oh, the uh- the car thing?”

He treads carefully. “Yeah, the car thing.”

You rub your unoccupied hand at your neck, tensing your shoulders slightly, but ultimately offering, “I mean, it’s not interesting, but it’s not…off limits.”

Dean doesn’t look quite convinced, but his curiosity gets the better of him, and he queries, “It doesn’t have to be interesting…just wondering.”

Blowing an exaggerated breath of air, you shake your head, “I mean, I was involved in an accident a couple months ago. Someone was driving my car…totaled it. So, I don’t have a car, but I’m definitely not ready to drop that kind of cash, yet.”

You can’t see him while you kick your feet in front of you, avoiding his gaze purposefully, but his jaw is clenched as you tell him. “Someone else totaled your car? That’s all kind of fucked-up. Did they at least give you reparations for it?”

You take a bit too long to answer, and Dean’s eyes snap open wider after he blinks, “You’re kidding.”

“It’s a long, long story,” You justify, not giving him much more of an explanation, “But, I don’t mind walking. I like it, actually.”

Dean shakes his head in anger, although not directed at you. He was livid for you, “It doesn’t matter- that was your car. The words I would have…” He stops himself, attempting to control his reaction.

“Honestly, I’m just lucky to be alive.” Some days you find that statement debatable.

“That’s about the only good that came out of that situation.” He remarks protectively.

“That and the fact that I have killer calves now.”

He snorts at that, transitioning the mood slightly with your joke, “I won’t argue that.” He jerks his head back, getting an angle of your legs, and smirks in agreement. He speaks up again, “I definitely would never push you to get into a car again, but on your own accord, if you ever wanted to take a ride- I’d be honored to let it be in Baby.”

You squish your brows together, “In…Baby?”

Dean smiles proudly, “That’s her name.”

“I bet she can carry one hell of a watermelon.”

He replies with a surefire tone, “Well, no one puts her in a corner.”

Fortunately, nothing along the rest of the Nick-adjacent topics arise, which leads to undeniably smooth, easy conversing. And you hate to admit it, but you can see yourself liking him. Hell, who are you kidding, you do like him. But, God, you did not want to wrap him into your shit. Why take a perfectly great guy and taint him with your devastatingly scarred emotional tendencies? Did that mean you were leading him on? No, not yet. It was just a casual walk back to your apartment. You told him you weren’t exactly at that “interested” level yet. And he understood. He was doing this for you out of the kindness of his heart (?).

The walk back concludes at the outside of the lobby, where you linger and let the conversation die off slowly. He acknowledges that the both of you arrived at your residence, and he looks up at the building, “I take it we’re stopping because this is your apartment, and not so that you can look deeply into my eyes.”

“Who said that?” You quirk your head. Well, fuck. That was a flirt. Now you would be leading him on if you didn’t expect something more from this.

“I just used my context clues.”

“How impressive. That’s an A+ for you, mister.” You tease, activating your “teacher voice”.

“That’d be the first one in a while,” Dean concedes, laughing a bit.

You give him a slight chuckle back, looking down at your feet, then back to him. “I appreciate the walk back.”

“Don’t mention it. Maybe I’ll start walking more often.” He muses, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You roll your eyes, “You claim to have this beautiful, antique muscle car and you’re going to start walking more?”

He lifts his shoulders for a moment, leaning forward a bit to tell you, “I’ve got some motivation.”

You could not believe his charm. “You don’t even know when I’m walking back from class or wherever.”

“Well then, this would be a pretty good time to ask for your number. So maybe I can find out.” And it sounds like he almost purrs.

You inhale, not looking directly at him, biting your lip in contemplation. “I don’t know if that’s right.”

“We’re not dating,” He restates, “Like you said, she apparently has guys crawlin’ in and out of there.”

Damnit. Is it right to have his number? I mean, he was at least a friend by now. Friends have friends’ numbers.

“If you insist-”

“I’m afraid I must.” He feigns a look of dismay, then smoothly slips his phone from his pocket to hand to you.

You try to contain the smile that peeks out as you insert your number, creating a contact for yourself on his phone, and then handing it back to him. “Happy?”

“I am,” he flashes his teeth with an undoubting expression. “Let me know when you leave class tomorrow if you have it.”

“I just might,” You back into the lobby entrance, my gaze softening some, “Bye, Dean.”

He maintains his smile as he gives you a farewell wave, keeps his eyes on you as you walk through the main floor to the elevator, and waits to take off to his car until he can no longer see you.

When you amble back into the apartment, the door clicks softly behind you. You lean against it, a rom-com moment playing out by the entrance, where your mind whirls over the afternoon that played out just before you came in. A stupid grin plays out on your face. It was nice to be treated that way again. It's been years since a proper exchange of witty dialogue, eventually leading to the mushy details of the day where you part ways with the intent of seeing each other again. The fantasy of that lasting repeats in your head as you hold onto the feeling.

And the fantasy is quickly interrupted as you're greeted by Jo, currently wiping the counter in the kitchen ahead of you. She glances up and nods her head to you, “Hey.”

You clear your throat, immediately kicking yourself off of the door to head to your shared bedroom, “Hey, Jo. Charlie at D&D still?” You check, an ebb of guilt slightly boiling in your stomach.

“Yeah, she said around 6:30 she’d be back. Speaking of,” She put the cleaning spray she had out back under the sink, moving to press her palms against the counter, almost accusingly. “You’re home a little later than usual, I thought class ends at 2:00 for you?” She eyes you curiously, which is out of the norm for her. Most of the time, you didn’t think she paid attention when you returned from classes.

“Oh, it did, but I ran into a friend. We ended up shootin’ the shit for a little while.”

“Oh...cool.” She bites her cheek, an awkward silence tethers you back from your previous high, before she looks to you with a pinched expression. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Jo's never initiated much conversation between the two of you alone. “Yeah…what’s going on?”

Jo has this annoyed smile plastered on her face as she brings up the subject. She's almost oblivious as she asks, “It's weird, but... you obviously liked Nick at the beginning of your relationship, right?”

You flinch slightly, eyebrows perking up, “Oh, well- Yeah…I mean, it’s hard to say so now after everything, but there was a draw to him in the beginning.”

“What did…what did that feel like to you?”

“Oh, man. It’s torturous... I thought about him a lot, and I made every excuse to drive by his apartment complex before I lived with him. I used to go to the restaurant he works at, even though he wasn’t a server, and I knew I wouldn’t see him in the kitchen. I was real stupid for him.”

It's true. You really used to be stupid for him. You still feel stupid somehow, although in a different sense. While you weren't lying to Jo, you had a hard time recalling why you were as crazed for him as you told her. You remember everything you did before officially being in a relationship, but it's like every remotely positive feeling from that relationship had been violently dissipated. There were good times, but it's almost painful to just briefly be aware that there were times when that sick fuck got a smile out of you. Just acknowledging that he was anything but a dog felt stupid. God, I was stupid.

“Sounds it.” Jo admires.

You huff out a regretful breath. “It was. Emphasis on ‘was’.”

“Right...”

“Why do you ask?”

Jo sighs, and now you're in for it. “I started…I don’t know. I started getting these weird feelings at the party last week. Butterflies, maybe. I don’t know, it honestly has been so long since I really started to like a guy, I guess.” She leans her body onto her forearms that rest on the granite countertop.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah," Her eyes move to yours, almost looking for your judgment, "I know it’s no secret that I’ve bounced between a lot of guys, but, I just figure why go through all the trouble of figuring out who wants a girlfriend or who just wants to get into my pants when I can just initiate it first?”

You tilt your head, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug, “Sometimes you have to weed out all the bad ones to find a good one. Getting hurt like that, unfortunately, it’s inevitable. Hell, it’s happened to me a few times.”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that. You can hook up first and then be more than a booty call if the sex is good. I mean, there’s no order to these kinds of things.” Jo is sure of herself.

Alarm bells go off in your head at her dating philosophy, if you could even call it that. Of course, if a relationship had naturally progressed from hookups to actual dates, that’d be a different story. A weird, modern story, but still viable. But Jo makes it sound like it was a typical option for finding a partner… which seems a little twisted, shallow almost. You don’t exactly know how to tell her otherwise or feel that you should, so you just nod along with her statement, staying reserved.

Jo ignores the somewhat forced silence you take and continues determinedly, “Look, somewhere along the lines, I just realized that I’m just bored of it. There’s no chase… or back and forth. Guys hardly make any effort when they already know they're gettin' it. I get free dinners and an orgasm out of some of them, which is great and all, but I want something more. Maybe I have to do some chasing, then backing away, then chasing until it forms...it keeps things interesting.”

“Forms...like an actual relationship?”

“Something along those lines," Jo nods half-heartedly, seemingly keeping her hopes at a distance.

It's hard to encourage the hopes of a falsified relationship, but in all honesty, you're not close enough with her to try and set her straight. You can't slap her silly and say, "That's not love, that's boredom!" She'll have to learn it for herself, and that poor bastard is going to have to see her expectations from miles away in order to get a head start back to where he came from.

“Try it out. I mean, you only live once, and college is the right time to try out all this stuff.” You offer basic advice, afraid true advice would get twisted somehow into further bullshit. "I mean, if a guy has you all tingly inside, then definitely worth the shot. You said you met at the party?"

Jo shakes her head, "No, actually. We've already hooked up a couple of times, but we talked at the party some, and that'skind of when I started to think about things differently."

"Oh...who is he?" A nasty feeling arises in your gut.

"Dean Winchester."

Fuck. It was your poor bastard.

A/N: I'm impressed you made it to here! I almost didn't

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