dosciencetoit | Fic: A Love Story Told In Reverse

Part III – I Don’t Believe in Déjà Vu, But I Think I Loved You Before

Beloved
New York, early 2002

It was snowing in New York, but it was warm enough that the light flurries melted as soon as they hit the ground. Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to warm them, but the way his breath fogged in the air he knew it was a lost cause. He’d just gotten off the phone with his mother. He didn’t want to deal with the fact that he hadn’t been home in almost a year. He’d left the apartment to go for a walk and clear his head, but the temperature had plummeted quickly.

Cassie would be waiting for him when he got back, and he just didn’t want to deal with her, either. Things between them were growing more tense. They were arguing almost every other night. If it wasn’t the long hours he was putting in with the community centre now that the overnight shelter program had taken off, it was his unexplained absences from work while he followed up on potential hunts in the city. He kept thinking about telling her the truth, but given how his own brother had taken it and the fact that his mom kept it from his father, he never ended up thinking it was a good idea. The only saving grace was that they rarely went to bed angry, but even the makeup sex was losing its novelty. He dragged his feet as he walked, despite the cold, hoping that tonight would be a peaceful one, where they would just cook dinner and watch TV.

Taking a deep breath to clear his thoughts, he opened the door to the apartment and was greeted by Cassie’s smiling face. He let out a sigh of relief, but covered it with a cough, not wanting to ruin whatever had put her in such a good mood.

“You’ll never guess what the newspaper asked me to do!”

“Interview the president,” Dean replied, hanging up his coat.

“Ha, ha,” Cassie mocked, coming up to put a kiss on his cheek. “I wouldn’t interview that bigot even if they offered me a position with the New York Times. No. They want me to do a write up on Dr. Richard Brown, the professor who’s been involved in organizing the new exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, and they're sending me to the opening night gala!”

“That’s great, Cassie.” Dean wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he said it, trying to force enthusiasm into his voice. He went through the motions, but he couldn’t really figure out why she was so excited when she wanted to be an investigative journalist and not an art critic. If she noticed his lackluster response, however, she didn’t say anything about it.

“Isn’t it? I’m going to need you to book the Thursday after next off, though. I’ll look a little conspicuous if I try and go it alone.”

She continued talking about it being her big break with the paper, and Dean didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d likely be busy that night, like he was most evenings. To his surprise, he’d become the guy who just did things because it would be easier and faster to do them than waste time arguing about it. He’d never imagined himself being someone who followed the ‘honey do’ list, but he figured it was something that came with growing up and becoming involved with someone else.

Smiling and nodding at the appropriate parts, Dean ran through the list of people who could cover for him that night, and waited for her to pause before he could ask, “Is this a black tie event, or would my suit work?”

Thoughtful, Cassie tilted her head to one side and gave him an appraising glance. “I’m not really sure. Fashion isn’t my forte. I was going to take the opportunity to buy a new dress, but you might want to go to that menswear shop up on Wood and see what they recommend.”

Dean nodded again and went back to listening to her speak with half an ear. They made a simple dinner together, and he ended the night sitting on the couch, Cassie curled into his side, a beer in hand, watching the hockey game. If all his nights could end like that, Dean figured he would be okay with that.

The day of the gala, Dean picked up a crisp black fitted suit from the tailors; it was a three piece affair with a dark grey tie and a deep blue shirt that bordered on purple. The seamstress insisted brought out the colour of his eyes. He'd eyed it warily, but if Cassie’s bug-eyed expression was anything to go by when he put it on, he cleaned up nicely. She looked lovely, as well, in a black cocktail dress with her hair pulled back into a carefully styled bun, wisps pulled free to accentuate her long neck. The only reason they were able to arrive at the gala fashionably late, instead of full out late, was that she didn’t want to ruin her hair and make-up beforehand.

When they arrived they checked their coats and made their way towards the exhibit. Immediately, they were each handed glasses of sparkling wine, and Dean didn’t hesitate to partake in the appetizers circulating. He ignored the sharp look Cassie gave him, deciding to enjoy the better parts of what this evening had to offer him. Not being much of an art critic, he didn’t understand modern art at all. He had to take pleasure where he could get it.

To stop him from gorging on the food, Cassie took his arm in her hands, and directed him towards some of the paintings they’d mounted on the far wall. Cassie whispered to him as they moved. “I don’t want to look like one of the vultures from the paper. I figure I can get a better interview with Dr. Brown if I approach him from an academic point of view, so please try and blend in.”

Swallowing the food in his mouth, Dean put on his most serious and intellectual face and forced her to turn towards him. “Sure thing, boss.”

Despite herself, Cassie laughed. She was amazed at how easy it was for Dean to fake a persona, and that he was able to remain serious in the face of her amusement. She assumed he’d done some kind of drama class in his youth, but Dean always kept mum about his childhood. He knew it was better to let her assume what she would, than to tell her it was his mother that had taught him to lie so well. He was out of practice, but he was pretty certain he could still fake being anything he wanted, including snobbish academic art critic.

Cassie stopped them at a particularly distracting abstract painting. It featured a black outline of some silhouette mostly obscured by grating lines of colour that criss-crossed the canvas. While Cassie pretended to consider the piece, Dean looked at the title, “Triumph,” and couldn’t help but think it was the triumph of idiocy over a simplistic painting that had the potential to be half-way decent. He said as much to Cassie.

“Actually,” a deep voice said from behind them, “Your assessment is pretty accurate, though I believe the artist was trying to portray the triumph of the bright, chaotic New York lifestyle over the simpler, practical lives we used to lead.”

In unison, Dean and Cassie turned around to meet the speaker, and the tight grip Cassie had on his arm told her the middle-aged man in front of them was the illustrious Dr. Richard Brown she was supposed to be interviewing.

“Doctor Brown,” she began, trying to keep her voice under control. “I’m Cassandra Robinson, with New York Daily News. I really enjoyed your critique on the influence of renaissance art in modern media, and I was hoping you’d be willing to give me a few minutes of time to talk to you about the article we’d like to do.”

“Please, call me Richard,” the man replied with a smile, the corner of his eyes wrinkling. “And if you’re smart enough to bring such a sensible young man as your companion, I’d be more than happy to talk with you. Most of the young journalists these days try and bring pretentious socialites in, thinking they’ll impress me. They end up just parroting back quotations from my own write ups!”

Taking the opportunity to sneak away and let Cassie do her thing, Dean offered an incline of his head and ducked away to enjoy some more of the food. He looked over the crowded room and noted that most of the patrons had formed clusters around the various pieces, and he didn’t feel inclined to intrude. He spotted on man standing alone at one of the tall tables that had been scattered through the room for people to place empty glasses on. Figuring him to be a fellow uncultured man, he started to make his way over. Halfway to his destination, he caught a glimpse of something silver flash in the man’s hands. Intrigued, Dean closed the distance to investigate.

The man had dark, messy hair, a serious five o’clock shadow, and his tie was slightly askew. He was playing with a set of silver rings, and Dean recognized it as a puzzle ring, like one of the more artsy girls he’d met at college had. This one looked a little thicker, more suited to a man’s hand than a woman’s. Looking up to the man again, Dean saw he was biting his lip in frustration, and instinct took over. He held out a hand underneath the man’s. “Give it here.”

The rings dropped into his hand, and Dean immediately lifted them up to get a better look. He’d seen the finished product a few times, so it didn’t take him long to figure out that the four rings connected were actually two pairs, and outer and an inner. It took a couple of tries to twist the inner rings together so that the band they formed would lie flat, but from there it was easy to fold the outer rings into the figure-eight the inner rings formed. In less than five minutes, Dean had the ring back together. He took it by the base and held it out to the man.

“Thank you,” the man said sheepishly, running his hands through the hair on the back of his neck. Dean almost missed the response, though, distracted by how blue the man’s eyes were. The man didn’t notice, continuing, “It was a gift, and the rings fell apart as soon as I unfastened the wire holding them together. I was worried I would never be able to wear it… Have we met?”

Starting, Dean realized he’d been caught staring. Embarrassed, he ducked his head and chuckled. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Sorry, I think you remind me of someone.”

And it was true, though it wasn’t anyone Dean remembered in detail, just the strange sense that he’d met someone similar. Or it was someone from his dreams.

The man tilted his head to one side, almost bird-like, both curious and confused at the same time. “I can’t say anyone’s ever told me that before, but it could be that I have one of those faces.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean agreed, though he was pretty certain the man’s features were a little too striking to be easily mistaken. Shaking his head to rid himself of the strange sense of déjà vu, Dean held out one hand in greeting. “Dean Winchester; not usually such a creeper. I’m a little out of my element.”

The man’s head remained tilted, and his neck extended a little more to look at Dean’s hand, as though Dean was something that needed to be studied. After an awkward moment too long, the man grasped his hand and shook it. “Castiel Ferrier. I’ve been told I’m always this socially inept. I believe I’m in what you would call my element.”

“Oh?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow, half because of the name, which was weird and half because he couldn’t picture the dishevelled man as an art connoisseur.

“I work as a curator for the museum,” Castiel explained, a faint hint of pride colouring his features. “I helped to put this exhibit together.”

“Oh,” Dean repeated, feeling a bit like a schmuck, since he didn’t really know anything about the exhibit itself.

Castiel placed a warm hand on Dean’s shoulder, and even though he saw it coming, he was still surprised, a tremor of heat running through his body. It wasn’t normal for strangers to touch each other so soon after meeting, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to shrug the hand off.

“It’s alright if you’re not an expert on the topic of modern art,” Castiel said in a low voice, confiding. “I am not fond of the movement as a whole, but the museum directors see fit to give me projects and themes to work with, and I enjoy the challenge of putting an exhibit together.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Dean couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You put this all together?”

One corner of Castiel’s lips quirked up in what Dean assumed was a smile. “I wasn’t responsible for picking all of the art work, but I was given final judgement on what we included, and control over the concept. Richard Brown wanted to construct an exhibit on religious influences in art, but I felt the various aspects of Good versus Evil might be more universally appealing. Light and dark, order and chaos…”

“Angels and demons,” Dean finished for him, eyes wide. He chalked it up to his surprise at Castiel being able to override some big wig university dude’s idea, but the fact that he understood where Castiel was coming from in his description was a little strange, too.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, and Dean wasn’t certain if he was agreeing with the theme, or with his thoughts.

That he even considered the latter shocked him into silence, and he stared at his hands until Castiel saw fit to break the silence.

“What do you do, Dean Winchester, when you’re not being a… creeper?”

Shocked again, Dean laughed at having his words turned on him. He noted another faint smile on Castiel’s lips before he answered. “I run the youth outreach program at a community centre in one of the rougher areas of the city. It’s mostly afterschool programs, but we’ve got a few beds now to give kids a safe place to turn to when they don’t feel like they can stay at home. We’re working on bringing in some councillors or youth workers to give the kids someone to talk to, and to make sure we don’t have to send them to unsafe homes.”

Dean was a little proud himself of the work he did, but he felt inordinately pleased with Castiel’s praise. “You do good work, then.”

Chuckling, Dean tried to pass it off as nothing. “I just didn’t want to enter into the working world, and I saw the need after I volunteered there a few times. It’s no big deal. Anyone could do it.”

“But you are the one who is,” Castiel responded with narrowed eyes, as though he didn’t appreciate Dean selling himself short. “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

The intensity of Castiel’s stare and the serious tone were somewhat off putting, but Dean found he wasn’t bothered by it as much as he expected to be. He shrugged and took a sip of the wine to stall for time before replying. “You don’t do too badly yourself. This whole exhibit is kind of cool.”

Whatever Castiel was going to say was cut short when Cassie and the professor approached their small table. Cassie was laughing about something the professor had said, notepad and pen forgotten in one hand. The professor had a hand on the small of Cassie’s back, guiding her towards them.

“I see your escort has good taste in company, as well as art, my dear,” the professor said once he was in hearing range, and Dean noted the way Castiel’s face took on a more neutral expression.

Pushing away from the table, Castiel went to stand next to the professor, closer than Dean felt was necessary, his shoulders visibly tense. He spoke in a low voice that he would have considered warning. “Richard…”

The professor only continued smiling. “Cassie, this is Castiel Ferrier, curator for the MoMA. He helped me put together this exhibit. He’s also my better half.”

As he introduced the two, the professor’s one hand dropped from Cassie’s back, while he placed his other on Castiel’s. He used the hand to manoeuvre Castiel into place before Cassie so they could shake hands, and Dean felt his spine stiffen at the proprietary manner with which the professor treated Castiel. It wasn’t until the professor excused himself to make the obligatory address to the guests that Dean even realized the man had implied he and Castiel were a couple. He stood still, shocked, as Castiel inclined his head before following.

“Don’t tell me you’re weirded out because they’re gay,” came Cassie’s voice from beside him, incredulous and tinged with annoyance.

“What? No!” Turning to face her, Dean expected her to be joking. He couldn’t care less what other people got up to on their own time, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to figure every gay man would be attracted to him. People were people. Instead, her mouth was set in a moue of displeasure and her eyebrows were drawn together. “Seriously?”

“You don’t do chick flick moments,” she pointed out, as if it made her case.

“Because I’m not a chick, and in case you didn’t notice, neither are they.”

Cassie put one hand on her hip and huffed. “Then what’s your problem? You’re giving Richard the evil eye.”

Shrugging, Dean looked over to where the professor had taken to the podium. Castiel was standing behind him, looking at the crowd with hooded eyes, as though he was curious, but not overly concerned by their presence. He looked back at Cassie, her stance expectant. Finally, he sighed. “Don’t you think he’s a little old?”

“I think he’s sweet, and obviously Castiel agrees, or he wouldn’t be with him,” Cassie shot back. “And since you got the chance to talk to Castiel earlier, you’re going to have to tell me about him so I can add something about Richard’s ‘better half’ for my article.”

Dean rolled his eyes, wondering if she was actually serious. “If you want to know more about the professor’s partner, you can ask him yourself. I’m not getting involved in your work.”

“Fine!”

He didn’t bother to stop her from walking off, the heels of her shoes clacking on the marble floor. The other attendees had started to quiet down in anticipation of a speech, so the tail end of their conversation attracted a small amount of attention. Annoyed that Cassie had decided to make a scene in public, he offered a tight-lipped smile to those who looked at him and raised the wine glass in salute. He could tell they were already assuming the worst about him, but they were so far out of his social circle he wasn’t worried about offending them. Tempted to flip them one out of spite, Dean set the glass down on the table and turned away.

Fortunate for him, the professor started his grandiose speech about the exhibit, and the importance of the patrons’ donations. Dean listened with half an ear while he moved about the outskirts of the room, taking in some of the paintings and sculptures. One in particular caught his eye, a painting called “Morningstar.” It was a painting of Lucifer’s fall, but the way imagery involved seemed to put the emphasis less on the fall, and more on the anguish of the angel itself, trying to evoke sympathy.

“Some people argue that the lesson to be learned from Lucifer’s fall is that it is possible to love God too much.”

Dean nearly jumped when he heard Castiel’s next to him, voice pitched low, and when he rounded on the man. Castiel was standing right next to him, close enough for him to feel Castiel’s breath on his skin. He wanted to say something about it, but the dark look in Castiel’s eyes stopped him. Something about the painting touched Castiel. Dean was willing to place money on the fact that this was a piece Castiel was directly responsible for procuring.

“What do you think about the painting?” Dean asked instead.

Frowning, Castiel tilted his head to one side again. “I think it is a lot more complicated than we would like to believe.”

It left Dean at a loss for words, because he had no idea how to respond to that kind of statement. Silent, he stood next to Castiel, close enough to feel the body heat radiating off of him. Once the momentary unease passed, Dean found it comfortable standing next to Castiel while they studied the art work. Lulled into the false sense of security, he nearly jumped again when he felt Castiel’s hand on his wrist. He nearly shivered when Castiel leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Let me show you one of my favourites.”

For the duration of the professor’s long-winded speech, Castiel gave Dean a private tour of the exhibit, taking him from painting to sculpture, explaining why each piece was chosen for the exhibit. “Triumph” was chosen to represent old versus new, while “Morningstar” was meant to represent moral ambiguity and shades of grey. While less enthusiastic about the material, Dean found it amazing to witness how passionate Castiel was about it. It was good to see someone so involved in their work.

“You should see about bringing the children from your community centre to the museum. We have tours that are tailored to various age groups, and I’m certain they would find it enjoyable.”

Dean was surprised Castiel remembered what he did, after all of the people he’d been introduced to that evening, and the offer made him chuckled uncomfortably. “I’m sure they would, but most of the kids can’t get together the money to pay for something like that.”

“Money would not be an issue,” Castiel responded with a shake of his head. “There are enough patrons who would be happy to fund such a visit for the chance to introduce art and culture to the community, while the museum itself wouldn’t mind the press it would generate. If you’d like, I can look into it further and provide you with more details.”

“That would be great, man! Most of the younger kids would definitely be interested.” Enthused with the idea, Dean pulled out his wallet and slid out a business card to hand over.

Castiel’s fingers brushed his when he took it, and he paused. Dean found himself staring into Castiel’s blue eyes, and he had to force himself to look away and draw his hand back before the situation got awkward. He started talking to diffuse the situation. “That’s my work number at the community centre. If you can’t get a hold of me, you can leave a message, or you can ask to speak with Kathy. She’s in charge of coordinating events.”

“I will try to get in touch with you soon,” Castiel replied, not moving out of Dean’s space.

“Thanks,” Dean replied, and after a moment, asked, “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your partner?”

Large eyes blinking, Castiel turned to look over at the podium. The professor had moved away from it, and was shaking hands with the other guests. He turned back to Dean with a confused frown on his face. “I suppose I should…”

Feeling like an ass for effectively telling Castiel to piss off, Dean clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Thanks for the tour, Cas. I’m looking forward to hearing from you about getting the kids in here.”

The frown on Castiel’s face became more pronounced, and Dean watched as he mouthed the shortened form of his name to himself before his lips turned up in a full-out smile. “I will let you get back to Cassandra, then. It was very nice to meet you, Dean Winchester.”

“You too, man.”

He and Castiel walked away from one another, back to their respective partners, and Dean was pleased to note that Cassie had calmed down since they last talked. She didn’t say anything to him until they were in the car, driving back to their apartment shortly thereafter.

“You spent a lot of time talking to the curator.”

“Cas?” Dean grinned at her, entertained by the suspicion in her voice. “Turns out he’s about as thrilled to be at social functions as I am, so he decided to take me through his exhibit. It was actually pretty fun.”

“Be still my beating heart!” Cassie exclaimed, placing a hand on her chest for added emphasis. “Dean Winchester, enjoying modern art? Mr. Ferrier must be a special man indeed. He seemed a little stuck up when I spoke to him”

“I think he might just be shy. He’s certainly interesting, though,” Dean elaborated, before recounting his plans to work with Castiel on an event for the community centre.

Not even a week had passed before Castiel called him about the trip to the museum, and Dean was breathing heavily from running around with the kids when he took the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dean Winchester? It’s Castiel Ferrier, from the MoMA. Is this a good time?”

Castiel’s voice came across as tentative over the phone. Dean smiled when he realized who he was talking to, though. “Cas, man! Good to hear from you! How’s life as a curator treating you?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Dean could almost picture the small frown on Castiel’s face as he thought. “My work as a curator is monotonous at times, but rewarding when I get to see people admiring the exhibits. That’s not why I called you, though.”

Dean laughed softly into the phone. “I was asking how you’d been since we last talked. I didn’t expect you to answer quite so literally.”

Another pause before Castiel answered again, his voice growing more hesitant. “I’m sorry…”

“No worries,” Dean answered quickly to smooth over Castiel’s discomfort. “Some things don’t come across well on the phone. So, do you have anything on the museum tours?”

Back on more solid footing, Castiel was able to answer easily. “I spoke with the directors, and they think the idea has some merit. They were quite pleased with me taking initiative. They are unwilling to give me the permission, however, until I have more substantial plans. I’m not certain what they were expecting, so it may take me some time to formulate a plan they find acceptable.”

Dean sat down in his chair and leaned back to get more comfortable. “What time do you finish at the museum?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to the conversation.”

This time Dean had to stop himself from sighing. “I was going to suggest we meet up after we’ve both finished work to talk about it. You know what your museum has to offer, and I know what types of things I’ll need to get permission for the kids, so it makes sense that we could work together to get this of the ground.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Dean waited a few moments for Castiel to continue, but with the continuing silence on the other end of the line, he worried Castiel might have hung up by accident. “Uh, Cas?”

“Yes Dean?” The response came quick enough to rule out that theory.

“What time do you finish work?”

“Oh, yes. I am allowed to leave at five, but I tend to stay later to look after any unfinished business.”

Unbidden, Dean was reminded of the Abbott and Costello skit with “Who’s on first…” Trying to get a solid answer out of Castiel was like trying to pull teeth. It wasn’t deliberate, however, which left Dean finding Castiel’s ineptitude somewhat endearing. Still, he decided a more direct approach might be required. “What time would you like to meet up to discuss this, Cas? I finish at the community centre at six, so I could meet you at the museum at seven and we can take it from there.”

“Seven would be acceptable. If you’d like, I can show you some of the other exhibits while you’re here.”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

By the time nine o’clock came and went, Dean was starving. He’d come to the conclusion that Castiel would be able and willing to show him the entire museum in one go, and it wouldn’t be a simple walking tour. Castiel was capable of going into any of the exhibits and explaining why each piece had been chosen, what it was supposed to signify, and what he actually thought it meant. Although he was never overtly negative about any of the artwork, his straightforward way of speaking made it obvious which ones he disliked. And when it came to his favourites, the fervour in his voice bordered on religious. Dean was almost loath to cut him off, but his stomach rumbling forced his hand.

“We've got to stop now.”

Grabbing Castiel’s arm to stop him from continuing onto the next exhibit, Dean pulled up short. Under his own momentum, Castiel stumbled as he turned around, looking at Dean with that cocked head and blinking confusion. Understanding passed over his features when he heard Dean’s stomach grumble, though.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the picture of contriteness. “I often forget about meals, and I didn’t think to ask if you’d eaten.”

“It’s alright, Cas. I just didn’t expect us to be this long. Ah, not that I’m complaining.” He brought a hand up, sheepish, to rub the back of his neck, not wanting Castiel to think he wasn’t enjoying the tour. And then Castiel’s words caught up with him. “You haven’t eaten either?”

Castiel shrugged. “I didn’t plan to stay this late myself, so I didn’t bring anything to eat.”

“We’ll have to fix that, then. Do you know a good place to eat? We can go there and talk about what we can actually do for the kids.”

Castiel’s face fell, and for a moment Dean wondered if it was because he didn’t want to leave the museum. He watched Castiel shift his weight from one foot to the other, ducking his head before answering. “I usually bring my own food to the museum, so I’m not certain which restaurants would be to your taste. If you’d like, perhaps you could choose somewhere you enjoy.”

“If you don’t mind a bit of a trek, there’s a great diner that will still be serving the full menu this late.” When Castiel nodded, Dean grinned. “Perfect! Anything you need to do before we head out?”

“I will have to turn out the lights and let Jim know we’re finished for the night before I can grab my things. I will escort you to the front of the building, if you don’t mind waiting for me there.”

“Why don’t I just come with you?” Dean asked, thinking it would go faster.

“We’re not supposed to allow people in the back rooms without reason.”

Dean realized Castiel was actually a sticker for the rules, and the thought made him smile. The two of them were quite different, but he found he really enjoyed Castiel’s company.

“There’s no one around who’s going to care, and if you do get caught, just tell them I’m interested in including an educational “behind the scenes” portion for the kids.” Dean cheered a little when he noticed the slight quirk of Castiel’s lips, as close to a smile as he’d seen that evening. Though reserved, Castiel’s eyes would light up when he found something amusing, and Dean thought it looked good on him.

“You’re adept at bending the rules to suit your own purposes,” Castiel observed, with that hint of a smile on his face.

“I have to be, otherwise I wouldn’t get to have any fun,” Dean replied, throwing an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “Now, let’s get these lights off and go get food. I know one of the waitresses at the diner, and if she’s on we’ll probably be able to score a free slice of pie!”

Continued

Fic: A Love Story Told In Reverse - Part III