Exit Light [Dean/Richie]
Title: Exit Light
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: Dean/Richie
Rating: R for language
Warnings: Unbeta'd
Words: 1300
Summary: Richie's got a crush, and Dean's got a crisis.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: Didn't you ever wonder what happened between these two? Oh, you totally forgot who Richie is, that's okay. I forgive you.
"Oh come on, come on, hey." Richie's voice was loud and grating as Dean slid off the hood of the car, feet hitting the pavement with a jolt that shocked through his body. His vision was just on the wrong side of clear, his balance nowhere near being in the realm of steady, but his mind was all there, sharp and wise and knowing that this was wrong.
"No, man, come on, just --" Dean shrugged Richie's hand off his arm as he came to a stop at the side of the car, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the door. The sky was dark, a sort of menacing velvet, all deep and dodgy and ... just really, really dark. Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, not sure why he was taking this with such a grain of salt. It shouldn't be such an issue, but... this wasn't some random dude in some backroads bar, who'd looked at Dean's mouth and gotten the wrong idea. This was Richie, the only friend he had, a guy who knew him, and still went for it anyway.
And maybe... maybe that was the problem. Maybe Dean just didn't know how to handle that. He knew perfectly well how to hook up with the people he wanted, and turn down the ones that he didn't. It didn't even matter if he hurt them, didn't even factor into his decisions that they could hurt him, because Dean Winchester could never be burned by someone who didn't even matter to him, someone who didn't even know his real name. But Richie knew it. Richie knew his name, and his scars, and his fears, and his life. And Richie wasn't looking at his goddamn curse of a mouth when he moved in for the kiss.
"Dean, just forget about it, I messed up." Richie held his hands out to the side, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "I just felt really close to you, ya know? Like, we just spend all this time together, and I guess I just, I just... I made a mistake, Dean. And that's all." Richie waved his hand, brushing off Dean's half-assed attempt at a rebuttal as he rounded to the other side of the car, mirroring Dean's position without making the conscious decision to do so.
The silence fell heavily between them for a moment that was long, or perhaps it just felt that way. The sky deepened, if that were at all possible, sucking the stars away with an insignificance that was disturbing. Dean didn't need to turn to know that Richie was facing away, back turned toward Dean, just as Dean's was to him, with six feet of Impala spaced between them.
"I'm not mad at you, you know." Dean said his words louder than was necessary, not wanting to have to repeat them again. He felt his face fall into something that was pensive and confused, frustrated, perhaps. "I just, you're not..." Dean didn't want to say the words he was thinking, knew that no one deserved to hear that. I'm not interested in you like that, and you're not what I want.
"I know, Dean." Richie's reply bounced back with equal volume, echoing a single time through the trees around them. Dean heard a soft scrape of fabric against glass, Richie's jacket against the window. It was a familiar sound, as everything about him had somehow become to be. Richie was a total cliche, in most aspects of life. He talked with his hands, ate a lot of pizza, and Dean sometimes felt like hanging out with him was like hanging out on the set of Mambo Italiano, or some shit. But, he was complex, too. Deep and detailed in ways that most people never got the chance to see. He was smart, real sharp. He liked Rimbaud novels, and reading science magazines. He was a good listener, a good cook. He liked video games, but only the old ones, the kind you had to blow on to make work. He was a good friend.
A really good friend.
"No, you don't get it." Dean was getting frustrated as he slid down the side of the car slightly, spreading his legs. "It's not that I don't... that you're not..." Dean had a feeling that saying the words he was planning on now would be even worse that what he'd wanted to say before. It's not that I don't want you, it's not that you're not attractive.
Dean sighed deeply, drawing his breath in slowly, filling his lungs before letting it all out. "You're just my best friend, my only friend. We live together right now, we hunt together, we eat together, we do every damn thing together." Dean's voice was just an octave below a yell, and he intended to keep it that way. No "Hmm? Come again?" this time, no way. He wasn't going to repeat this. "We have too much to lose. Too much to risk!" Dean intended to stop right there, knowing, hoping that he'd said enough to make his point. "I do want you. I want you to kiss me, I want you to... god, the things I want you to do to me. I just can't allow it, Richie. I can't let shit like that fuck up the one good thing I've got right now." Dean closed his eyes tightly as he said the words he'd never planned to say. A confession that didn't need to be made. But, he'd done it anyway.
It was out there now.
Richie's responding silence was harsh and itchy as Dean's last words hung in the air. He wanted to press, wanted to ask, wanted to know what the other man was thinking. But, the words never came. No answer, no argument, just a click and pop as he opened the door.
Dean felt the car shake slightly against his back as Richie dropped into it, slamming the door shut behind him. Dean opened his own door at the same moment, hating that his click-pop was drowned out by Richie's creak-bang.
He slid behind the wheel silently, keeping his eyes focused low, taking in the dash, the radio, the floor, purposely ignoring the five feet of Italian trouble simmering next to him. He fired up the engine with a practiced ease, not bothering to actually move them anywhere once the car started. His mind was wandering, unsure of how to feel, where to go, what to do, what to say. It was the first time in a long time that it had happened with Richie, because being with him was just generally easy. He was simple to talk to, and even easier to understand. Dean could always make his point in five words or less, and even if he couldn't, Richie would get it anyway, because... because he just knew Dean. And no one else did. No one who was alive. Or around.
Or human.
"I wanna talk about this when we get home." Dean's voice was low now, soft and unsteady as he was unsure about his words. He didn't have a plan, exactly, no prepared speech, or even a cue card. He had no clue what he wanted to say, or even really where he wanted it to go. But, he knew that this couldn't be over yet. The situation wasn't as open-shut as they'd made it be. It was nowhere near the simplicity of turning down a dick in a bar who'd just fallen into the wrong goddamn lap. There was more to it, and Dean knew that.
"That'd be cool." Richie said the words to the window, face turned away, and Dean was sort of glad. He wasn't sure if he was ready to look at him yet, because he knew that the next time he did, it'd be someone new, an entirely unrecognizable face that Dean would have to get used to, and learn all over again.
"Cool." Dean let his hand fumble over the tape deck, flicking it on and cranking it up. He pulled the Impala off the side of the road, wheels hitting pavement as the stars finally emerged from the abyss of the sky. And he wracked through his brain, cataloguing his life, but he came up empty handed with a memory to rival this one; Metallica had definitely never sounded so good.
-End-
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: Dean/Richie
Rating: R for language
Warnings: Unbeta'd
Words: 1300
Summary: Richie's got a crush, and Dean's got a crisis.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: Didn't you ever wonder what happened between these two? Oh, you totally forgot who Richie is, that's okay. I forgive you.
"Oh come on, come on, hey." Richie's voice was loud and grating as Dean slid off the hood of the car, feet hitting the pavement with a jolt that shocked through his body. His vision was just on the wrong side of clear, his balance nowhere near being in the realm of steady, but his mind was all there, sharp and wise and knowing that this was wrong.
"No, man, come on, just --" Dean shrugged Richie's hand off his arm as he came to a stop at the side of the car, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the door. The sky was dark, a sort of menacing velvet, all deep and dodgy and ... just really, really dark. Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, not sure why he was taking this with such a grain of salt. It shouldn't be such an issue, but... this wasn't some random dude in some backroads bar, who'd looked at Dean's mouth and gotten the wrong idea. This was Richie, the only friend he had, a guy who knew him, and still went for it anyway.
And maybe... maybe that was the problem. Maybe Dean just didn't know how to handle that. He knew perfectly well how to hook up with the people he wanted, and turn down the ones that he didn't. It didn't even matter if he hurt them, didn't even factor into his decisions that they could hurt him, because Dean Winchester could never be burned by someone who didn't even matter to him, someone who didn't even know his real name. But Richie knew it. Richie knew his name, and his scars, and his fears, and his life. And Richie wasn't looking at his goddamn curse of a mouth when he moved in for the kiss.
"Dean, just forget about it, I messed up." Richie held his hands out to the side, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "I just felt really close to you, ya know? Like, we just spend all this time together, and I guess I just, I just... I made a mistake, Dean. And that's all." Richie waved his hand, brushing off Dean's half-assed attempt at a rebuttal as he rounded to the other side of the car, mirroring Dean's position without making the conscious decision to do so.
The silence fell heavily between them for a moment that was long, or perhaps it just felt that way. The sky deepened, if that were at all possible, sucking the stars away with an insignificance that was disturbing. Dean didn't need to turn to know that Richie was facing away, back turned toward Dean, just as Dean's was to him, with six feet of Impala spaced between them.
"I'm not mad at you, you know." Dean said his words louder than was necessary, not wanting to have to repeat them again. He felt his face fall into something that was pensive and confused, frustrated, perhaps. "I just, you're not..." Dean didn't want to say the words he was thinking, knew that no one deserved to hear that. I'm not interested in you like that, and you're not what I want.
"I know, Dean." Richie's reply bounced back with equal volume, echoing a single time through the trees around them. Dean heard a soft scrape of fabric against glass, Richie's jacket against the window. It was a familiar sound, as everything about him had somehow become to be. Richie was a total cliche, in most aspects of life. He talked with his hands, ate a lot of pizza, and Dean sometimes felt like hanging out with him was like hanging out on the set of Mambo Italiano, or some shit. But, he was complex, too. Deep and detailed in ways that most people never got the chance to see. He was smart, real sharp. He liked Rimbaud novels, and reading science magazines. He was a good listener, a good cook. He liked video games, but only the old ones, the kind you had to blow on to make work. He was a good friend.
A really good friend.
"No, you don't get it." Dean was getting frustrated as he slid down the side of the car slightly, spreading his legs. "It's not that I don't... that you're not..." Dean had a feeling that saying the words he was planning on now would be even worse that what he'd wanted to say before. It's not that I don't want you, it's not that you're not attractive.
Dean sighed deeply, drawing his breath in slowly, filling his lungs before letting it all out. "You're just my best friend, my only friend. We live together right now, we hunt together, we eat together, we do every damn thing together." Dean's voice was just an octave below a yell, and he intended to keep it that way. No "Hmm? Come again?" this time, no way. He wasn't going to repeat this. "We have too much to lose. Too much to risk!" Dean intended to stop right there, knowing, hoping that he'd said enough to make his point. "I do want you. I want you to kiss me, I want you to... god, the things I want you to do to me. I just can't allow it, Richie. I can't let shit like that fuck up the one good thing I've got right now." Dean closed his eyes tightly as he said the words he'd never planned to say. A confession that didn't need to be made. But, he'd done it anyway.
It was out there now.
Richie's responding silence was harsh and itchy as Dean's last words hung in the air. He wanted to press, wanted to ask, wanted to know what the other man was thinking. But, the words never came. No answer, no argument, just a click and pop as he opened the door.
Dean felt the car shake slightly against his back as Richie dropped into it, slamming the door shut behind him. Dean opened his own door at the same moment, hating that his click-pop was drowned out by Richie's creak-bang.
He slid behind the wheel silently, keeping his eyes focused low, taking in the dash, the radio, the floor, purposely ignoring the five feet of Italian trouble simmering next to him. He fired up the engine with a practiced ease, not bothering to actually move them anywhere once the car started. His mind was wandering, unsure of how to feel, where to go, what to do, what to say. It was the first time in a long time that it had happened with Richie, because being with him was just generally easy. He was simple to talk to, and even easier to understand. Dean could always make his point in five words or less, and even if he couldn't, Richie would get it anyway, because... because he just knew Dean. And no one else did. No one who was alive. Or around.
Or human.
"I wanna talk about this when we get home." Dean's voice was low now, soft and unsteady as he was unsure about his words. He didn't have a plan, exactly, no prepared speech, or even a cue card. He had no clue what he wanted to say, or even really where he wanted it to go. But, he knew that this couldn't be over yet. The situation wasn't as open-shut as they'd made it be. It was nowhere near the simplicity of turning down a dick in a bar who'd just fallen into the wrong goddamn lap. There was more to it, and Dean knew that.
"That'd be cool." Richie said the words to the window, face turned away, and Dean was sort of glad. He wasn't sure if he was ready to look at him yet, because he knew that the next time he did, it'd be someone new, an entirely unrecognizable face that Dean would have to get used to, and learn all over again.
"Cool." Dean let his hand fumble over the tape deck, flicking it on and cranking it up. He pulled the Impala off the side of the road, wheels hitting pavement as the stars finally emerged from the abyss of the sky. And he wracked through his brain, cataloguing his life, but he came up empty handed with a memory to rival this one; Metallica had definitely never sounded so good.
-End-