Reflections

Chapter 8-Castiel

My father said that God makes everything happen for a reason. The Earth, the sky, the clouds, humans. Adam and Eve were the first humans to ever be created, and with them, they created Cain and Abel. Brothers.

Cain was always the more troubled of the two, murdering Abel, and eventually being punished with it by a mark. The Mark of Cain.

But that's not why I say all the things I have before, no, I say them because Gabriel and I are much like those brothers... well, besides the murder. Gabriel would be Cain, he was always the more unfortunate of us two. But I always loved him; was always there for him through everything.

We always did everything together, and we were relatively close. Being the baby of the family wasn't always the easiest, but Gabriel was always there, holding my hand as I took my first steps or taught me how to talk; usually they were cuss words, but it's the thought that counts.

However, now was my turn to walk him through those steps, hold his hand before he fell down. But no matter what, my brain always wanted to say that what is happening isn't real, it's a fever dream and eventually I'd wake up to my annoying older brother jumping on me, getting me up and ready for school.

None of that matters anymore. No amount of assignments of math homework or books will bring my brother back to full health.

My phone buzzed, violently ripping me from my thoughts. It made me dizzy almost.

I stretched my arm over to my bedside table, looking at the time. I sighed heavily, 4:47am. I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep.

Wants to cimme ovber?

Odd. The text was from Dean, his messages a jumble. I didn't know Dean well, but I knew he was a nice boy.

Sure. Text me an address.

A few moments later, I got a jumbled address, but I was able to decipher it.

I knew he drunk texted me, given the jumbled letters, and I couldn't help but worry as I dressed myself and took my keys quietly from the coat rack and snuck outside. I got into the car, cringing as it loudly turned on and drove away from my house.

If mom and dad knew I left, they'd kill me.

-

I knocked on the door, and I could hear staggering coming from inside. Dean opened the door quickly, heavily, and the grotesque smell of alcohol wafted towards my nose.

"Dean, why are you drunk?" I asked in my usual blunt manner.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He slurred back, and pulled me inside. I let out a small noise of surprise but allowed him to pull me in nonetheless.

"Dean, what is going on?" I asked as he pulled me more into the house. It reeked of beer, maybe from him or another, I wasn't too sure.

But from the looks of it, he had help drinking. Beer cans lay by the sofa, more then I could count stacked onto the coffee table and TV stand.

He pulled me into a room, one that wasn't stained by the smell of beer or alcohol. He slumped down on the bed, sprawling out like a starfish on the bed.

"Why did you text me at 4 in the morning?" I asked Dean, sitting cautiously on the edge of the bed.

"It's just.." he trailed off, drunkenly giggling. "This is just ignorant bliss," he slurred. It was almost like he was talking to himself, like I were just a ghost he couldn't see. "This.." he sighed heavily. "I wanted an escape." He said, his giggling coming to an end. It sort of unnerved me. He acted like a few sips might be the potion, like alcohol was ever gunna solve any of his problems, bring his sick brother back to health; but it wasn't.

I didn't know what to say, I just stayed quiet. "Is this about your brother?" I asked after a couple beats of silence.

"We are close," he slurred, almost whispering. "I can't lose him, Cass." It was then that I knew Dean was fighting battles, everyone was, everyone fought their own, but Dean was fighting one he might never recover from.

He was fighting an external battle; the one with his brother and his cancer. His brother was slowly dying, going to die. There was nothing he could do about it. He would just have to wait it out.

He was also fighting an internal battle; one against himself, his thoughts and actions, his depression and anxiety. He had to balance out what he did and how he acted. He knew he couldn't afford to feel right now, he knew he had to stay strong for his brother.

Just then, I felt a weight on my leg. I looked down, Dean laying his head on my thigh. I tensed up, but he didn't seem to notice it in his drunken haze.

"Sam and I.." he slurred, playing with a loose string on my dress-pants. "I used to comfort him like this." He whispered, his voice shaky as though he were holding back sobs. "Even if I was the one hurt.. I'd still hold him and tell him it was okay as he cried." And then a small sob left his mouth, and it was one of the most beautiful sounds I had ever heard, as sadistic as that sounds.

"I'd play with his hair," he continued, a broken chuckle coming from him. "He always prided himself on his hair, ya know? And now... now he's going to lose it all." He clutched my leg, as though after his confession I was just going to up and leave. But I could never do that to him, ever. He needed someone, a shoulder, and I was willing to be that shoulder to cry on, that rock to lean on.

I could feel as his tears soaked through my pants, wetting my leg, but I couldn't bring it in myself to care. My heart hurt just hearing his broken and drunken sobs, his drunken confessions as he told me his past.

I put a shaky hand on his head, surprised to feel that his spiky hair was actually soft, and I threaded my fingers through the longer parts of his hair.

"Well," I started, not quite sure what I was about to say. "You can count on me," I said, playing with his locks of dirty blonde hair. "You can talk to me, Dean. We're friends now." I simply stated. I wasn't sure what he needed to hear, nor what he wanted to hear, but I'd try to offer as much help as I could.

He let out a sob, closing his eyes tightly. He didn't say much after that, just fell asleep, clutching my leg and cuddling into my dress-pants and coat. I sighed as I looked down at him, the now rising sun shining on his soft features. He had freckles, I took notice. Freckles like the stars, and I marveled at them, trying to count them, but found it futile as I lost my place and tried again. I did this until I fell asleep.

And for the first time, I didn't think about my brother, about his supposed illness. I didn't think about him in those white hospital gowns with tubes coming out of his arm in every which way. I didn't think about how it could be real or just a sick joke. My only focus was on Dean. Dean. Dean.