*FEELS*
*Twist and Shout Spoilers and references. Read at your own pain*
Leslie Rosen has known Dean Winchester as long as she can remember.
Dean Winchester, the old man who lives alone in the sad house at the end of the street.
Dean Winchester, who has a veteran sticker next to a peace sign on his car.
Dean Winchester, the old man who used to babysit her. The man who she kept visiting because he always looked so sad and she thought he could use the company.
"You remind me of my niece," He told her one day. "Sammy's little girl. She has blonde hair like yours, just like her mother's too."
Dean is 90 now. His brother and sister in law died a few years back, but Dean still liked talking about them.
The outside of Dean Winchester's house is bare. Unwelcoming, and just as sad as the old man's eyes. But inside is different. Inside his house there are pictures. Dozens of pictures of him, racing on motorcycles, hanging out with his brother, his friends and family.
And one day, Leslie spotted an old, faded Polaroid picture of a young man with bright eyes and dark hair.
"Who's that?" She asked, at only eight years old. Dean always had great stories behind the pictures, funny and sad stories of his friends and the people he loved.
But this picture was different. Dean had stared at his, and his eyes had gone glassy.
"You're too young to hear about him," He had whispered. He had asked her to leave shortly after, and Leslie got the feeling it was because he cried after she left.
Every year she would ask, and every year she got the same answer.
"You're too young to hear about him."
And then one day, the answer changed.
When Leslie was sixteen, same-sex marriage became legal in all fifty states of the U.S. It had been a proud day, and Leslie's girlfriend had given her a rainbow flag pin in honor of it.
Leslie thought nothing of the pin as she went to visit Dean Winchester, only to see him gazing at his TV, the news clicked on where they were talking about how the marriages were legal everywhere in the U.S. now.
"All fifty states now," Dean whispered.
"Yeah, isn't it great?" Leslie questioned. She hoped Dean wasn't one of those old folks who was still bias against members of the LGBTQ community. Dean had been her best friend for years; she couldn't bear the thought of him disliking her. Instead, Dean had looked up and studied her with an unreadable expression.
"That's a nice pin," He commented finally. "What does it mean?"
"It's the gay pride flag," Leslie offered. Dean nearly winced.
"Pride?" He echoed.
"Yeah, a pride flag. My girlfriend gave it to me." Dean had smiled softly.
"You have a girlfriend?" He asked deviously. Leslie grinned.
"Yeah, her name is Charlie. We've been dating for a few years now."
"Do you love her?" Leslie nodded frantically.
"Definitely. She's amazing."
Dean stood and walked over to his pictures, looking through them before finally picking up the one of the mystery man.
"Do you still want to know who he is?" He asked.
"Of course," Leslie declared. Dean's hands were shaking slightly as he handed her the picture.
"You're old enough now." He insisted. Leslie traced the photo of the man.
"Who is he?" She asked.
"That's the love of my life," Dean said sadly. "His name was Cas."
Dean led her into a spare room that Leslie had never been in before. And while the rest of Dean's house looked full of light and a life well lived, this room reeked of nothing but despair.
A projector was set up in the middle, pointed at a blank wall. A record player sat in one corner, next to a stack of old vinyl records, but it was the paper that made Leslie pause.
There were papers everywhere. Piles of them, covering a desk, the floor, the chairs. All of them covered in scrawled out writing. There were a few yellowed pages pinned to the walls. A half empty bottle of amber colored alcohol sat on the desk next to a stack of fresh paper and a cup full of pens.
"What is this place?" Leslie asked, confused. Dean shoved some papers off the nearest chair and gestured that she should sit down.
"This is where I go whenever my regrets catch up with me," Dean offered. He turned toward the projector, fiddling with it, and Leslie picked up one of the papers. It was a short note, but she figured it said a lot more then she knew.
Dear Cas,
I'm sorry.
"What happened to Cas?" She questioned. Dean stopped.
"I want to tell you our story." He insisted. "I'm an old man, Leslie, and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to rely on my memory, so I want to get it all out before I forget anything." His eyes went distant. "Although some days I swear his smiling face will be the last thing I ever see." He looked down at the projector. "I want to show you who Cas was before you know what happened to him. I want you to know him- to appreciate him."
He brushed off another chair and sat down, facing her.
And he told her the story.
The story of two men in love in a time when that wasn't allowed.
Two men who loved in secret, and didn't care what the rest of the world thought.
The story of a dark haired man named Cas, who loved Elvis songs and Polaroid pictures.
The story of a soldier who couldn't move on.
The story. The reason why Dean Winchester would never answer the door on a Thursday, no matter what day of the year it was or who was knocking.
The reason why there was never any milk in the old man's house, and why he cringed every time anyone mentioned the beach.
The reason why he always said goodbye, because the one time he hadn't haunted him.
The reason why there was a gold necklace hanging from his neck, and a well worn photo in his living room.
The story that made Elvis's voice burn worse then a forest fire. That made the words 'See you then' act like a bullet to the chest.
The saddest story Leslie had ever heard.
He showed her the pictures. Old Polaroids. He showed her the video, of him and Cas at the beach, and he wept, remembering that the last time he had brought himself to watch it was in a hospital room.
He told her everything, and Leslie's heart cracked because of it.
And then the story ended, leaving a broken man behind.
"Not a day goes by where I don't think of him," Dean whispered. "Sometimes it's good memories. His laughter, his smile. And sometimes it's bad. How he looked in the hospital, the day we left each other. I write him on the bad days." He gestured to the piles of papers. "I can't help it. Sometimes it's too hard, but I have to keep going because I don't know what I'd do if I didn't."
Leslie had no idea what to say. What was there to say?
"I'm sorry," She offered, tears in her eyes.
"Don't be sorry," He insisted. "Just don't let the story die."
"I won't." She promised. Dean picked up one of the pictures of Cas, staring at it.
"And when you see that girlfriend of yours," He forced a smile. "You tell her how much you love her, you hear? Don't ever let anyone tell you it's not right, or that you're wrong, because it's not true. You tell her how much you love her and make sure everyone you know does the same, because you are so lucky to be able to."
Leslie nodded.
Dean asked her to leave not long after, insisting that he was tired. She obliged, and promptly went to Charlie's house.
Her girlfriend didn't understand at first why she had broken down in tears on her doorstep, hugged her and kept saying how much she loved her.
But when Leslie was finally able to tell the story, she understood.
Dean Winchester had passed along the story, and it wouldn't die. He knew that. Cas's memory- his memory- would live on. It may live in a sad way, but it was a legacy at least.
And so, Dean Winchester put on a record and sat down with a paper and pen in his hand.
Wise men say, only fools rush in.
Dear Cas, he wrote down.
But I can't help....
See you then.
Falling in love.....
Dean set down the paper, and slowly shut his eyes.
With
It was about time he got to see Cas again.
You.