Fic: Drive
Title: Drive
Rating: G
Word Count: 769
Summary: The guy in the car looks like Cas, but Dean knows he isn't.
Note: Written for SRS2012: Bonus Round 4 - Speechless. Prompt: "On the Road"
Dean looks over at him, and he isn’t Cas. The face is right, and the eyes are right. That’s not it. The hair is wrong, too smooth and combed down. The clothes are weird too. He should be tucked safely in his trench coat, brow furrowed in concentration and deep thought, that vast mind always moving too fast, considering too much. The distant, oblivious expression with which this man, this Emmanuel stares out the window doesn’t become him. No. This isn’t Cas.
Dean opens his mouth to speak, but he falters. Castiel, Emmanuel, whoever he is turns to look, like he knows Dean is getting ready to talk-like he knows Dean better than Dean knows Dean. And he hates that, he does, because that is something Cas used to do, that’s something that belongs to them, and this strange doppelganger has no place in their world. He has no business looking like Castiel. Emmanuel inclines his head in curiosity, and that’s even worse. Dean shakes his head and flips on the radio.
Classic rock fills the car for hours. Dean steals glances at Emmanuel from time to time, and at one point, he even looks like he’s asleep, head leaning against the window, eyes closed peacefully. But Dean knows he’s not sleeping because he’s an angel and angels don’t sleep. It’s like Emmanuel knows Dean is looking at him again. He lifts his head and turns with a curious expression. Dean coughs and turns his eyes back on the road. Stop looking at him, you weirdo.
Dean stops for a burger at a little fast food joint. He won’t take his baby through the drive-through, so he parks off to the side. He sits quietly for a minute, drumming his fingers over the steering wheel and trying to figure out if he should offer to buy “Emmanuel” something to eat. It’s awkward as Hell because he knows that he doesn’t eat (shit, does he?) or at least he doesn’t have to eat and he might not like to eat and he might not like burgers and fuck it was never this awkward with Cas. Emmanuel is staring at him now, so Dean goes inside without a word. He comes back with a double order. Emmanuel thanks him for the gesture and politely sips his drink. Dean eats the food by himself with painstaking slowness. His usual habit of devouring everything in front of him is tucked away in favor of careful bites and single fries. Maybe he doesn’t want to affront Emmanuel’s sensibilities, which is weird because Cas certainly wouldn’t have been bothered. Maybe he just wants to make sure that nobody tries to start conversation. It’s probably both.
To his credit, Emmanuel doesn’t pry. He doesn’t press Dean or ask him questions, doesn’t try to engage him in awkward small talk. He just sits there, calm and silent, staring out the window and watching the road pass beneath them. In fact, the only clue that the guy is even alive is how he occasionally turns his attention to the radio, intrigued by certain songs, and lets that profound mind of his twist up in the attempt to recall something. In these moments, Dean just thinks, yes, yes, please remember something. Please be Castiel again. But Emmanuel doesn’t. He just smiles at the music and turns his eyes back out the window.
Dean wants to scream at him, but he doesn’t because he can’t. It’s not Emmanuel’s fault that he doesn’t remember anything, not really, and yelling probably won’t help anything. It’s certainly not the type of argument Dean wants to get into while they’re in the close confines of the car. The truth is, he doesn’t want to argue anymore. He doesn’t want to be angry, and maybe he’s really not because the only thing he wants to do is look over and see Cas and hear Cas tell him hello in that stupid way he does. He wants to reach over and hug him, maybe, press his hands into that body and make sure that he is real, that he is alive.
But he’s not, and Dean realizes it somewhere around mile marker 142. That is not Castiel. Castiel is dead, and this Emmanuel is just what’s left. It’s not his fault, but dammit if Dean doesn’t hate him for it anyway. He can’t say that though, and he doesn’t really want to. He doesn’t want to say anything now, so he reaches over and turns the radio up. Dean keeps his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road, and he just drives.