"two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the universe or we are not. both are equally terrifying." arthur c. clarke
☁
Cas didn't understand how he ended up at that bar, tagging along with Dean, Sam and Charlie. But he did. Perhaps he wanted to see Dean's never-ending smile, the way his shoulders slumped over when he laughed, how his teeth shined and made his eyes glow so extortionate. Perhaps it was the way his fingers slightly brushed over his when they were staring so passionately that every single second felt like a century, when his eyes flickered down to his lips, opening his own so tinily that you could only see the darkness of his mouth.
Perhaps he wanted to so excessively just feel the plummeting drop in his stomach, to feel the tiny butterflies flattering around his gut. To hear the velveteen of his voice, to taste the iron that pooled up in his mouth when he bit down on his lips so hard to stop himself from kissing the man. He wanted somebody, especially him, to just tell him it'll be okay, to see the purity in his emotions, that he actually cared.
The semi-angel knew that Dean was broken, he could just simply tell. He could tell from the way Dean's hands sat quietly in his lap when he talked, when his smile faded away too quickly, almost as if it was fake. His excessive alcohol junctures, and the fear in Sam's face when he saw the way Dean's eyes were drowned by the liquids, how he slumped in his chair to relax the bone-chilling nerves portrayed in his spine.
The fear, the fear that was so real, because Dean's own brother was scared of how he would turn out. The younger one knew that alcohol consumed his dad's life, almost to the point of practically drowning himself in the alcohol-induced liquids, Sam didn't want Dean to treat anybody the way their father does. Sam knew he was so much stronger, emotionally, than their dad. Castiel knew that too. He met John once before, and it did not go at all what he expected. He thought their father would be kind to the new angel, but instead he lashed out anger that he had been holding in for who knew how long.
He also knew the anger that the whole Winchester family had carried. John, who started the whole goddamn mess, was a goddamn mess himself. Dean, the first child of him strived to be more like his father, who followed every single footstep. Sam, the second and youngest didn't want to be a hunter, he wanted a life. The brothers did care so much for other people, but seeing the hatred that John had brought upon them had really strived how they pertained people.
Cas' body jolted up and his thighs shook with every speed bump that they had drove over. He could never get used to cars, and how exceedingly fast they were actually going. Every hill they managed to surpass, Cas held tightly onto Baby's door handles, slightly glancing up at the rearview mirror to see Dean's concentrated eyes not staring back.
Instead of talking, he put his hands in his lap and peeled skin around his fingernail that so desperately needed to be pulled off, yet he couldn't manage to do it. He couldn't manage to do anything. For example, just rip the skin off, ignoring the pain, just like he needed to rip his heart out to Dean, ignoring the immense pain that will last longer than an unadorned sting. Castiel couldn't even fathom the substantial, prodigious torment that would come through Dean's possible actions.
The first and most likely possible answer was rejection. A flotsam, drifting away at bay. Ridiculed as useless, fragile. Castiel would tell his unnatural, inhumane feelings that Dean would be so struck back, so disgusted, that all he could do was tell him no. Agliophobia, possibly. The fear of pain. The fear of anybody, anything hurting him. Anybody in the car could hurt him, kill him. Which is what brought up his second possible answer.
The second possibly answer was death. Dean could so easily just have left him, dumped him like a heap of garbage anywhere, and let him rot. The non-angel was so persistently scared of death, because broken angels didn't know where they went when they died. Hell, possibly. Heaven, possibly. But Castiel didn't want to be separated from the world, he didn't want to be tortured in hell, or locked up in his own fake memories in heaven. He wanted to be real. He wanted Dean to touch him in a way that it sent chills down his arms. He wanted people to know he was real, and not just some broken angel who's tagging along just for the sake of it.
Charlie, his up to the minute friend, was sitting beside him in the backseat. She was scrolling away on her phone, headphones connected to the joint. Her body swayed in the heat of the silenced music. Sam was also on his phone, and it looked like he was texting somebody. Castiel never understood phones, and why they were so time-consuming and addictive to people. Dean was the one driving of course, his hands on the wheel tapping an unqualified beat.
"Alright Cas," Dean finally looked in the rearview mirror to lock eyes with him, "this is the best bar in the joint. You excited?"
"I suppose. It is nice going outside." Castiel replied, his vocabulary still angel-inducing. He could never seem to sound like a Winchester, yet. Different references that he didn't understand would confuse him.
"Yeah, I guess. But you gotta stick with us, alright? No hooking up with chicks."
"Okay." he replied, stumped at why he would 'hook up' with an adolescent hen.
Dean looked back down, the headlights lighting up the dark and eccentric road ahead of them. The wheels chirring with speed, and the trees were whirring past them. Castiel had been at a bar before, but Dean was expecting him to drink alcohol which Cas was not thrilled about.
They parked in the lot of the bar, the music was stifle and vulgar to Cas. He didn't understand the music and why it was so loud. Dean clicked the Impala's stick into park and Sam, Dean and Charlie all opened their doors at the same time and got out, leaving Castiel inside while he tried to open the door himself, but he struggled getting a grip and he pulled instead of pushing.
Dean ended up having to open the door for him and Cas got out embarrassed. He despised asking for help, especially if it was basic human functions. It had been weeks since Castiel had became human, so he was self-conscious that he hadn't caught on on a lot of stuff yet. Dean rolled his eyes as he grabbed Castiel's arm signaling that he had to hurry up.
Sam opened the door for everybody, the music pouring out and getting louder with each step. Dean patted Cas' back, silently telling him he'll be fine. Dean was so two-faced it seemed. Somedays he was sweet and thoughtful, while other days he was mean and introverted. Usually around the ex-angel, though, he was the first one. Different moods on different days, he supposed.
Evidently, Dean had already found a table for them to sit at. Dean looked at Castiel, who was squinted at a half naked stripper. Dean nodded, biting his lip. They continued walking, brushing past different people, some bouncers, some shirtless men for no apparent reason. Castiel felt the fabric through his trench coat of some people's sweaty and gross arms. All he could smell was beer and vodka, which was not a pleasant smell in his opinion.
They all pulled out chairs of a table and sat down. Sam and Charlie sat on one side, and Dean and Castiel on the other. Dean wanted the side that was facing the stripper's floor, and for some reason he got what he wanted.
"How come Cassie can see the girls and not me?" Charlie smiled, trying to make people talk. Cassie triggered a memory for Dean, him hooking up with a beautiful girl who had a boyfriend.
"Ya'll can switch if you want," he winked, apparently saying an innuendo that made Sam look up from the table and made him chuckle.
Sam replied, getting in on the joke that Cas could not understand, "I'm sure he would really like being on the other side."
They all three laughed as Castiel shrugged his shoulders in, trying to make himself smaller. He didn't like to be the head of the joke, especially when he had no idea what it was about. Castiel wasn't very funny, even as an angel.
Castiel didn't want to switch sides, since him being around Dean made him feel safer, especially in public, when Lucifer was on the hunt for him. What if Lucifer captured him right then and there, in the bar? Dean had seemed to forget, so instead of remembering, he wanted to go out and 'have fun'. This was not fun to Castiel, but he wanted to get fresh air, so he wallowed.
"Top or bottom, Cas?" the oldest asked, snickering at his own joke. The other two laughed along with him.
A random waitress came up and Dean ordered for both him and Castiel. While Charlie and Sam ordered their own respectively. Dean ordered Castiel something called a 'purple nurple.' Sam snorted through his hands as he thought about the ex-angel drinking it.
"Dean," he whispered, getting flustered with every joke. "I do not understand."
"Nah Cas, you don't need to." Dean responded, smiling through his lips which made his heart flutter like a pair of eagle's wings. So delicately, so mellow.
A few minutes had gone by of the three others talking, their voices practically drowned out by the interchanging music. Neon lights were flickering on the ceiling, changing the colors that were illuminated on his face. Castiel counted each time it would turn green, since it was his favorite color. Every five colors, it would turn green. The green lights would make the iridescence in Dean's eyes pop.
The waitress came back again, with two beers, a shot of some random substance, and Castiel's purple nurple. It looked absolutely disgusting and smelled like medicine. Dean immediately downed his shot, licking his lips afterwards. The other two, Sam and Charlie drank their beers slowly and enjoyed drinking them.
All of them watched the ex-angel in anticipation, their electrified glares burning through the glass. Castiel's fingers gripped the tiny glass. Earlier he had quickly commentated on how Dean had drank his own shot. Cas bit his lip, looking at the glass that was tempting him. Never in his angel nor his human life that he had ever tasted the inducing liquid.
He took it.
The taste was so horrific that it made Castiel cough up practically his own lungs, he had just so happen to fortuitously knock it over that made the glass shatter. A few people's head turned and some people stopped dancing to look at the prone accident. Cas got on his knees to start picking up the glass pieces, and one of the shards cut his thumb. He winced in pain and ignored it, just like he had been telling himself to for everything. Ignoring the pain in his hand, ignoring the pain in his throat churning down his stomach, ignoring the pain in his heart.
"Cas, stop it man." Dean called out, frantically looking around.
Castiel ignored it. He continued picking up the glass until there was nothing left on the floor. Blood was trickling down his thumb and onto his wrist. His hand was shaking and trembling in self-consciousness, and he ignored the voices calling out to him and he ignored the glares he got.
"Cas, what the hell? Stop, the waitresses will clean it." Dean said again, getting up from his seat and kneeling to his side.
"Shut up Dean!" he barked back. "I made the mess and I'll clean it!"
Dean was slightly taken aback. He had never heard such annoyance and vexation in his voice before. Castiel thought of all the other messes he had made, the ones that he so desperately tried to clean up that every cut and every bruise he got he pushed away and continued until every last piece was fixed. Until he was fixed. He didn't want anybody else to clean it, anybody else to help him. He didn't want to be a dead end, a blocked path. Sam and Charlie couldn't help but stare as the music seemed to get louder and more dramatic.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffled. He then got up and placed the glass onto a napkin, after he looked at each of their expressions with such shock, he turned and went to the bathroom.
The ex-angel washed his hands vigorously, the blossom of the blood staining the water that was going down the drain. The soap that he pumped onto his hands burned the open cut like hot coals. The bathrooms air smelled just like it did out there, disgusting. It was cold and Castiel's breath was visible. He immediately snapped his head up, and saw a man in the mirror walking out of one of the stalls.
He then started washing faster. He grabbed a paper towel from the automatic machine and tried wiping away the blood instead. The mysterious man walked to the sink right next to Castiel's and saw the blood that his open cut was forming.
"Wow, mate. Tough night?" his voice was British, despite them being in the middle of Kansas.
"I suppose so." Castiel replied, trying to prove that he knew his manners.
The man was attractive, yet there was something about him that gave Castiel a fearful, stomach-indulging uneasiness. He knew he was bad news. Castiel needed to stop the blood before he could leave, but no matter what pressure he put on it, it wouldn't stop.
"You here alone?" he asked, walking a step closer. The man had stopped washing his hands and stuffed them into his black, leather jacket. Cas' skin grew colder, goosebumps rising on his skin.
"No, I am with my friends." his voice seemed to rise in nervousness, as he didn't want to talk to any strangers, especially a man who made his bones chill.
"Your name?"
Castiel stuttered, trying to find brave words. Brave words that would tell the man to stop talking to him, but he couldn't seem to mutter them out. "Castiel."
"Perfect," he purred.
The ex-angel wanted to call out Dean's name for help. Dean would immediately throw punches and grab his angel, his guardian, to safety. Castiel wanted Dean to hold him, to protect him and tell him compliments and tell him that everything would be okay. He wanted to feel love from him, especially him. Love so deeper than the ocean, love that it would hurt Castiel. He wanted Dean to love him back the way Castiel did. He wanted to show the righteous man how human he was, that he was capable of loving just like anybody could.
He knew he would be an angel soon again, but he didn't want to lose the butterflies in his stomach. He wanted commitment. Love to Castiel, with now better understanding, couldn't be characterized by words. It wasn't a character, it was a gut-wrenching or perfect feeling. He had never regretted loving Dean. Each moment he had with him was perfect in every way. He was so vulnerable, where he could drop his feelings around him and flat out tell him his feelings.
The bleeding finally stopped, and Castiel wet a paper towel to wrap around his thumb. He was on his way to leave the bathroom, the music still pouring in and echoing slightly. Yet through the sounds Castiel heard the man's footsteps that were walking toward him. Fear immediately grew inside of him and his throat closed up so dramatically that he felt like he couldn't breath.
"Where are you going, angel?" the man asked, his words coy and sly.
He immediately stopped in his tracks. How did the man know? Castiel turned around and his own blue eyes were so electric and fearful. His breathing got distorted and he tried to open the door but the man's hands stopped him. Then his shoulder ached in pain as the man was compressing the bone so resistantly, that all he could do was call.
Call the name that he wanted to say for the rest of his life. People would ask him questions about who he loved and Castiel wanted to respond with the one name he would call out.
"Dean!" was the name he decided to call. Dean was the one he loved. The love he felt for him never seemed wrong, never unnatural. It was true, intimate. He knew. He knew that he was the only man he would ever love, because nobody was as perfect as Dean was.
The man let out a hefty chuckle and he swiftly put his other hand over the almost-angel's mouth. He used his forearm to almost choke Castiel in a headlock. Castiel tried so desperately to escape, he reached for the door handle so he could attempt to call the name again.
He tried. But all that came out was muffled grunting. He wanted, no, needed to leave. To leave that godforsaken bathroom before he took him who knows where. Castiel knew he was with Lucifer. And Castiel knew what would happen if he let the man take him with him. Cas was certain it would happen. It was only a matter of time. He struggled against the weight of his arms and he kicked and kicked, but every swing was a miss and every yell was muffled.
He was almost certain he would die.
-
wow holy shiitake mushrooms, ya'll should be proud of me. two chapters in 3 days? no way lmao. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did writing it!
love you all, cuties.
by the way, the man's face claim is Sam Claflin because 1) he's a cutie, and 2) he just seemed to fit well with the character.