Twist and Shout

Chapter 9

Late February, 1981
-
"Dean, you've got a call!" Dean looked up from the bike he was refitting and stood, walking to where Bobby hung out of his office, holding the phone out for him to take. He nodded, wiping his face with his rag, propping the receiver up to his ear with his shoulder as he tried to smudge some of the grease off of his fingers. Bobby pushed past him, shutting the office door halfway and giving him some privacy.
"Dean Winchester," he began, glancing at the sliver of smoothed poured floor of the garage right outside the office. A crack had started to run across from the baseboard at the end of the wall and extended a decent amount, disappearing under a Harley. "Hello?" Dean tried again after he was met with silence.
"Sorry," an unfamiliar voice said. "Sorry to bother you at work.."
Dean's eyes narrowed and he squinted at the crack in the floor, trying to place the voice but coming up with nothing.
"Who is this?" he proceeded, adjusting the phone with his hand, turning away from the office and the rest of the crew on the floor. "Do I know you?"
The person on the other end seemed to hesitate, but eventually drew a deep breath.
"We've never met in person. I'm Gabriel Novak." Gabriel Novak took another breath. "Castiel Novak's older brother?" As if Dean could have ever forgotten that name.
Dean said nothing.
"...I was told I could reach you at this number, or that, if you weren't in the city, Bobby Singer would know how to reach you," Gabriel continued, his voice sounding spread thin. "Castiel wanted me to call you for him."
"Is this a joke?" Dean said softly, the stupor surrounding that name slowly lifting. He could feel himself becoming more self-conscious. "Who the fuck is this?"
There was a weighted pause and Gabriel - if that even was who he claimed to be - cleared his throat.
"Castiel wanted - look, I know you two haven't spoken to each other in years. He told me that. He told me you'd probably be angry when I called, but, I had to call. I would never have bothered you unless he'd asked me."
Dean leaned against the near wall, crossing his arm over his chest.
"Make it quick, I'm on the clock," he said harshly, ducking his head so the sound of an engine being tested wouldn't cloud his ear.
"He wants to see you," Gabriel said simply. "That's all."
"He should understand I can't do that," Dean replied.
"He's sick."
"Listen, I don't know why you think you can just call me about this -!" Dean said angrily, looking around for the phone cradle so he could hang up.
"He's dying."
" - but I don't have time to worry about whenever Cas gets a cold, alright? We ended it. Years ago. Now get off my phone," Dean snarled, but he found that he couldn't move.
"I know how difficult that must be for you to hear," Gabriel said, "and I know that you don't want to hear it from someone like me, but he really wants to see you."
Dean stopped, his face still screwed up in anger.
"What did you say?"
"He's dying, Dean." There was a break in Gabriel's voice. "He's very sick."
"You're lying," he hissed, "You're lying. You're pissed at me because we were lovers - that I was queer for your brother, and now you're trying to punish me, aren't you? Listen, I don't have the time for these sick pranks. I've got work to do, so fuck off!"
Gabriel didn't say anything for several seconds.
"I'm so sorry, Dean."
"I'm fucking sorry too! That you think you have to call me in the middle of work to tell me some bullshit lie about Cas to make me feel like shit. To make me feel like shit because you can't stand that I fucked him! Bullshit, this is fucking bullshit!"
"I'm so sorry."
"Stop telling me that!" Dean roared. "Stop telling me you're sorry about a fucking lie!"
His skin was itching; he felt like it was stretched too tightly over him, like he was going to burst out of it at any second. His face felt hot and red.
"You need to understand!" Gabriel said loudly, and Dean could feel more words bottle-necking in his throat, pushing up, attempting to get out of his mouth as he swallowed them down.
Dean raised a shaking hand to his mouth, running his fingers over his jaw.
"He wants to see you. He hasn't asked for anyone else outside of the family."
Dean's hand curled into a fist, his tongue felt thick and heavy and everything tasted like pennies.
"Why does he want to see me?" Dean asked, shaking his head. "We...we ended it. We haven't spoken since."
"He's dying, Dean," Gabriel repeated.
"Where is he?"
"San Francisco General."
His heart dropped; he hadn't known Cas was in San Francisco.
"He's been living in the bay area for a few years now," Gabriel explained. "We didn't know where he was for a long time, either. We finally got a hold of him when Rachel got married - he came for the wedding. He looked good then, a little thin, but now..." Gabriel trailed off.
"How much time?" Dean said suddenly, not knowing where the question had come from. But there it was. The words burned as they moved past his lips, dark and bitter. "Don't bullshit me."
"They wouldn't tell me for sure."
"Don't bullshit me," Dean repeated, his voice a tired whisper.
"A few weeks. Probably less."
"No," Dean said automatically. "No, that can't be right."
"I'm sorry," Gabriel said, again.
Dean didn't know what exactly Gabriel was sorry for. He and Cas had ended so long ago. He didn't know what to say. His brain felt soft in his skull and the words wouldn't process. They kept twisting themselves up and getting tangled the more he tried to understand exactly what they meant. A few weeks. Probably less. He felt like he should laugh.
"I have to go..." Dean said vaguely, and he pulled the phone away from his ear.
His hands were shaking, and if it was out of anger or out of fear, he didn't know. He felt almost sick, lightheaded, and he leaned against the wall behind him, running a shaky hand through his hair.
This had to be a prank, a cruel prank that Castiel and his brother were playing on him; revenge for Dean leaving Castiel when he had. Revenge for just up and leaving without so much as a warning, and really, Dean believed that this was something that he deserved. What he had done was really shitty of him, but Castiel's brother telling him that the man that he loved more than anything in the world was dying - why?
Maybe he didn't deserve this.
Maybe.
He breathed, his hands still shaking, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He pressed his back against the wall, pressed the heels of his hands harder against his eyes, and there was a little voice in the back of his head telling to let it out, to scream, to cry, to just let it out. But he couldn't.
He needed to get home. He needed to get home right now.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Dean pulled his hands away to see Bobby standing in the doorway. He was frowning, and he looked worried; he had probably heard Dean shouting just moments before.
"It's nothing, Bobby."
His eyes felt sore, and his cheeks felt wet, so he rubbed at them with the backs of his hands, wiping his palms against his thighs afterward. He tried to breathe but his throat felt tight, and he didn't realize that Bobby had entered the room until he felt the familiar weight of Bobby's hand on his shoulder.
His fingers squeezed tightly, and Dean leaned into the touch, sighing softly and closing his eyes.
"Go home, get some rest."
Dean was about to protest, because he couldn't go home right now. He was working on a bike, and he had planned to finish that day, but Bobby squeezed his shoulder tighter, fixing him with a look that told Dean that he was not going to take no for an answer.
All he could do was nod and agree. Yeah. He needed to go home and get some rest; he needed to go home and collect his thoughts. He walked towards the door, opening it, and as he did, he turned.
"Did you know Cas was in San Francisco?" he asked.
Bobby sat heavily in his chair.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean persisted, facing Bobby more fully, "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
"You were gone!" Bobby hissed. "He left a year or two after you took off. He asked me for weeks where you were and I had to tell him you didn't want to be found!"
Guilt was like having your clothes wet. It was an even weight over all of you, and it was sloppy and dragged along with you wherever you went, clinging to your skin, never letting you forget it was there. That damp oppressiveness.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean said, and Bobby shook his head indignantly.
"You didn't ask!"
Dean knew he was wrong to be angry, but he didn't know what he was.
"He's sick," he continued and Bobby's face fell into confusion.
"Sick? Who was that on the phone?"
Dean stared at the wall, trying to piece it together in his own head.
"His brother," he answered. "He said he was sick."
"What about it? Is he alright?"
Dean shrugged listlessly.
"He wants to see me," his voice trailed off. "Me, of all people."
"You're going to go, right?"
"I don't know yet," Dean finished, raking a hand through his hair, "I don't know if that's a good idea."
Bobby thought for a moment, seaming his mouth shut, tapping his finger against the arm of the chair.