The Fall // Destiel

i. Everything Extraordinary Starts With Something Ordinary

This is not the story of two losers falling in love over a hundred pages. This is those two losers fighting for it.

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It's just as every other Tuesday, which coincidentally happens to be just as every other day of the week.

Boring.

Castiel frowns, a gesture that he's picked up from his coworker, Janet-she does it whenever she's discontent.

And if Castiel has to assign an emotion to himself, discontent sums it up pretty well. It's just like being bored, which is really no more than a dull buzzing at the back of his head. However, if it's mixed with annoyance, it could become a very unfortunate combination for anyone around. Castiel learned this when his brother Gabriel, was bored a few thousand years back and accidentally created the first platypus.

The bell attached to the front door dings. Someone walks in, heading straight for the snack food aisle. Typical.

Castiel drums his fingers on the counter, watching whoever this man may be.

Nothing extraordinary, really. He is neither aesthetically nor spiritually pleasing. His soul is darker, even. Tainted with the smoke of cigarettes and other such sins.

He grabs what he's looking for, heading-or moreso waddling up to the cash; arms stuffed with chips and pop cans.

"Hello sir." The angel greets, accepting and scanning each item. The man grunts in response.

How rude, Castiel thinks as he scans the last bag of diabetes, informing the man that his total would be eleven ninety-five. Once again, he earns a grunt, and Castiel can't help but wonder why this man's so grumpy.

Judging by the smell it might be alcoholism, or maybe just the erectile dysfunction. Who knows, humans are weird.

"Thanks." The man mumbles when Castiel bags his groceries, and from even that one word he knows that the man's name is Daryl. He has a wife, but they're taking a break. Daryl smokes marijuana and often indulges in a few beers on every day ending in y.

"You are very welcome." Castiel replies after a pause. "Have a nice day."

"Yeah, whatever." Daryl growls, and just like that, his day is back to boring.

The slushie machine breaks down twice more, thirteen people and one dog come in, but nothing new or exciting happens for the most part.

The rush hour is usually after dinner, and even then, rushing is just a polite way of saying all the alcoholics run in for their nightly case of beer.

Castiel checks the analog clock laying beside the cash register. It reads 5:53, meaning his shift is only another forty five minutes or so, before Janet will replace him. Groaning, he stretches and pops his joints, wishing for nothing more than to stretch his wings or talk with another angel.

But, it's been almost a year since he last saw any angel, and said angel happened to be Balthazar, crashing through his front window; as usual he was piss poor drunk. Castiel could just call someone up, but then they would scold him for living such a mundane life.

Two men walk in, chatting in hushed voices about some pornography website, but Castiel can still hear them as they snap him out of his thoughts.

Angel perks, you could say.

Their souls aren't magnificent either, and to judge them based on appearance could be considered pedophilia in most countries; seeing that they're barely seventeen and the angel's vessel sits at thirty-six.