Lay Me Down • Destiel

Lay Me Down

     It was a stuttering image, flashing colors and fading out, but Castiel could still imagine it. A lumpy mattress on an old rickety frame, whimsical sheets in a stingy motel room. Distastefully patterned walls and rotting wooden chairs, all painted in a fuzzy hue of saudade and regret.
     The lights would be flickering every now and then like an illuminated Jack-o-lantern on Halloween. Every doorway and window sill would be lined with a thick line of salt, and solid rods of iron would be waiting by both bedsides, a gun, like always, under each pillow. Of course, the shuddering lights were only caused by the old age of the electrical system, but the Winchesters were never too careful.
     Castiel could just picture the gentle rise of a poorly patterned blanket as it draped over the sleeping older brother. Dean would be lying on his stomach, his right hand shoved beneath his pillow, right beside his Colt M1911A1. His head would be turned to the side, face shoved against the worn, flat pillow so his lips were parted. He would be sleeping fully clothed, but his hair would be spiked and scruffy from sleep, like a cute little hedgehog.
     But Castiel could only imagine. He could only take the painted pictures from the depths of an unreliable memory - no matter how the angel could recite to himself every inch of Dean Winchester's body, every habit he had ever observed. He could still only fabricate a mostly-correct memory in his sullen head as he stared out at the dark night horizon.
     It was difficult, not being there, not watching over the hunter while he slept. It was strange, not being there to protect him. The angel didn't like this feeling.
     And Castiel was alone. He sat on a rusty park swing in a tiny country town, sewing the stars in the sky into an abstract art of animals and objects. He was miles away from Dean Winchester, and he couldn't think of anything else.

Yes, I believe, that one day I will be, where I was right there, right next to you

And it's hard, the days just seem so dark, the moon, the stars, are nothing without you

     The following night found not a looming, dark sky freckled with scattered stars, but a small town bar where the stars came in slim tilting glasses that dipped between clumsy lips. A ramshackle building with dreadful acoustics had the best alcohol in town, or so it was said.
     January nights in South Dakota were frigid with wet snow coating the ground, yet this didn't stop the bar-goers from dropping clothing like flies, showing as little skin as possible without being tossed out the back door. Girls hung on the men with their drinks hung on their mouths, and they committed any number of unpalatable acts they pleased. Many were stripped to a lacy bra or diminutive crop top, flashing belly button piercings as they danced together, grinding with their feet bare and disposed of the stilettos they once wore.
     The entire club reeked of alcohol, sweat and perfume. The air was thick and hard to breathe in, hot and humid like 115 degrees on the gulf coast. The floor was packed with those drunk out of their minds, people who could be expected to drop to the floor at any second, people stumbling over each other and their own misguided feet. None of this explained why Castiel was there, an angel in a shady bar of all places; but if he was there, maybe it explained why he hung back on an old barstool with only two other guys a couple of wobbly seats down. 
     "You're a little overdressed for this place, don't you think?"
     Cas looked away from the tipsy couple he'd been studying at the other end of the bar to see a young, brunet woman who was rather attractive - at least, from what the angel could tell according to the females he'd seen Dean pursue. She smirked as she straddled the cushioned bar stool, leaning forward towards Castiel. She was of the more innocent looking girls in the bar, but she was by no means naive to the scene. Her loose grey tank top stopped just above a silver and blue belly button piercing, and her black mini skirt came down to about mid thigh. She stared at Castiel expectantly, curiously.
     Castiel looked down at his attire, sliding his thumb and forefinger down the hem of his trench coat. "No, this, these are the clothes I always wear."
     "Well," the girl, who Cas could tell was drunk past two glasses, put her hand on the angel's chest, pushing back the coat. "Why don't I help you."
     Castiel looked at her in confusion, but let her slip the trench coat off his shoulders. "Why are you removing my coat?"
     The girl smirked. "Because you looked hot."
     "Well, thank you but I don't..." He paused, and then he understood. "Oh. Oh, you want to..."
     "A few too many drinks, maybe?" The girl laughed. Castiel just smiled and chuckled, letting her believe what she wanted. She couldn't, wouldn't ever know that the man she was talking to wasn't even human, much less knew how to conduct himself as such. "You're cute. Why don't we go back to my hotel room?"
     Castiel, very out of his comfort zone already, found himself nodding and standing from his bar stool with the girl hanging on his shoulder.
     "My name is Layla. What's yours?" She asked smoothly as they made their way out the door of the bar.
     "Castiel."