— castiel. —
sam was home now.
he got home the moment castiel walked out of dean's room.
"hey cas, where's dean? got him some pie-" he barely can make out anything sam says. not that he even wanted to, he was in pain. all he cared about was leaving, getting as far away from them as possible, getting as far away from dean as he could.
it was storming, rain accumulating on top of the world. castiel felt like he's walked for hours, he didn't feel he deserved to teleport himself to any place. he'd rather wallow in pity and his stupidity.
saying he was stupid was an understatement. castiel was always the runt of his flock. always falling behind, so of course. he would be the solider to fall for a human, and get his heart broken into millions.
ophaniel was right. anyone who's ever told him that dean didn't feel that way. they were always right. castiel had already known this but he thought he accepted it a long time ago, he came to peace that dean would see him as nothing more than a friend. he was okay with that.
as long as he got to be dean's friend, until dean kissed him that night. the false hope began brewing deep inside. he questioned it that whole night when he lay with dean in his arms. what he could blame on. dean was sober, he took one shot of weak whiskey, and he had a high tolerance. it took him a lot to get drunk. maybe he was sleep deprived, but he just woke up. maybe he thought he was dreaming, but he knew he was awake.
maybe, maybe.
he felt the same.
he feels stupid for even thinking it now. it didn't matter, kissing dean didn't matter, having sex with dean didn't matter. cooking for him, holding him, fighting with him, dying for him. none of it mattered anymore. because it meant nothing. it meant nothing.
castiel tore apart the entire script to love a man who wasn't capable of loving him. he has oceans of blood on his hands, killing for one man. he destroyed himself for a man who couldn't consider loving him. did dean even care about him? was all of that a lie? we're they, not family? was everything dean ever said to him fake? did anything even matter anymore?
it's dark now. he can't recall how long he's been walking, but he finally made it to a town, and in small towns like this, there is always a bar. castiel walked up to the doors, clinging to the handle and flying it open, with the intent to drink himself to death, which isn't possible for angels.
he's not sure how many drinks he's had, he's not sure that any of this is helping. he was not even aware of the fact that people had begun to leave, and it was almost four am. there was a woman cleaning glasses behind the bar. she was pretty, dean's type. "hey, this place isn't 24/7. you'll have to leave soon so i can close up." she turned her head towards castiel, long blonde hair falling down her shoulders, with a big white teethed grin, the badge attached to her punk shirt read the name, 'cindy.'
castiel looks up at her, narrowing his eyes at her name tag before rolling his eyes and taking down another shot. the bartender seemed less annoyed once he looked up at her. she grabbed a shot glass, pouring him another shot. "rough night?" she says, sliding the glass towards castiel who immediately shoots it back.
"yeah," he mumbles, feeling the sting in his throat, sliding the glass towards her. she fills it up again, and each time he took the shot, she'd refill it again. he's not sure how many drinks he's had, but he's still not feeling anything. even though it takes a lot of liquor to get an angel drunk anyway, or even to feel a buzz. "you've been drinking all night, since nine pm. and you don't even look hammered, that's some tolerance you got there." she seems intent on getting to know him.
