Can someone please explain to me why I did this? No one? Okay.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, yada yada yada, something about rightful owners, blah blah blah. Is that it? Did I cover it all?
ENJOY, LILY!
Castiel had spent most of his life in Idaho, with his mother and siblings, while his father traveled for work. Occasionally his father would allow one of them to tag along with him on these trips, usually it was one of the twins, Micheal or Lucy. What with them being the oldest and easiest to handle.
But, if he was really lucky, his father would pack Castiel a bag before he got home from school, and surprise him with a trip to New York, and San Francisco. He would fly first class with his father, have his own king sized bed to sleep on in hotel rooms bigger than their house, and an unlimited supply of money to buy one thing per trip.
The first trip was to New York, at age seven. And he was in love the second they stepped off the plane. He brought an 'I HEART NY' t-shirt that time. His father smiled as he payed for it. Castiel later learned that his siblings usually brought something super expensive. But he wanted something he could keep forever.
At ten, he went to San Francisco. He slept the whole way there, and spent the whole time begging to be taken over the big bridge. He brought a small, metal souvenir of said bridge. It still sits on the windowsill of his childhood bedroom, right next to the snow glob Ana got from Tokyo.
His thirteenth birthday present was a week long trip to New York City, with free reign on all activities and his fathers chauffer, Jack, on hand at all times. He spent the week walking through Central Park with Jack in tow, smiling as Jack told him stories of all the cities he had visited with his father.
When he was sixteen, he was offered the choice of going to Miami with his mother and older siblings, or accompanying his father and Ana to New York. Castiel, of course, was never one to turn down a trip to his favorite place on earth. He walked through Time Square about fifteen times, eating frozen yogurt with Jack and Ana. And stood beneath the World Trade Centre, staring up at the two buildings, losing his breath for a moment at their height. He imagined them swaying in the wind, they would have to, wouldn't they? Being so tall, they must not have a lot of sturdiness at the top. Castiel was always afraid of heights. He brought a tiny teddy bear, wearing a NY t-shirt.
The next year, three weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Ana dared him to stand on the roof of the north World Trade Centre building, and take a photo with her. He stood square in the middle, refusing to move anywhere near the edge. Until Lucy, the evil big sister she is, dragged him to the edge and held his arms at his side as they looked out at the skyline before them. "Don't be such a sissy," she said out loud, before whispering in his ear, "I won't let you fall." He brought a photo frame to put their picture in.
When Castiel turned eighteen, his entire family went to San Francisco for two nights, before they all surprised him with a trip to New York. They spent four days touring the entire city. One night was spent watching some broadway show that Castiel could not have cared less about. He brought a skyline key ring.
He spent a week in San Francisco with his father and age nineteen. His gift for that year was a landscape painting of the Golden Gate Bridge, that now hangs above his coat rack, it's the first thing you see when you enter his apartment.
At twenty years of age, in San Francisco, he walked the entire length of the bridge three times, stopping every few minutes to look out at the sight before him. He didn't buy any kind of souvenir that year. He just hoped he could memorize the view perfectly.
Now, three days after his twenty first birthday, he is standing mere meters away from the World Trade Center, staring at the space where the North building should be standing. Memories flash through his mind, of Ana, leaning over the edge and waving down at the people standing below her. Of Lucy, wrapping her arms around him from behind, holding him tight in an embrace that has always made Castiel feel safe.
He can hear the wind whipping past them, can feel his heart fluttering, sinking and beating too hard in his ears. Can sense the same fear he felt as he stood atop that building.
He knows he has no reason to feel the pain he feels. It wasn't him. He was no where near here when the terror occurred. But still, he feels that sense of dread, that sickening feeling of 'that could have been me. Ana. Lucy. Gabe. Micheal.'
He feels his breath leave him a second later as he looks around him. He can smell smoke and dust, he can see the leftover debris, and he can feel the dead, cold, silent screams of the victims. And he can hear ragged breaths that are definitely not coming from him.
There is a young man, not much older than Castiel, leaning against a pole, looking very much on the verge of a panic attack.
"Are you okay?" Castiel murmurs, debating on whether or not he should touch the man. Castiel was never good at comfort.
"My car broke down," he gasps out. Castiel feels a sudden rush of anger. This man is standing here, gasping for breath, mere meters away from the exact place hundreds, no thousands, of people died. Because his car broke down.
Before Castiel can comment on the absurdness, on the rudeness, and down right disrespectfulness the man is showing, he speaks again.
"I was supposed to be on that plane. But my car broke down." He sobs. "I was flying out to see my sister-in-laws first art show. I was supposed to be on that plane."
Castiels heart shatters. "Oh," he murmurs, feeling horrible, ashamed if himself for jumping to conclusions.
"Yeah," the man barks out in a laugh, "yet here I am! Not at her show and most definitely alive." He starts laughing hysterically, tears pouring down his face as his laughs turn to sobs.
Castiel has only ever had Gabriel and Micheal to look up to when it came to pain management. And it was either Micheal's approach, which involved yoga and guns, or, find a liquor store.
And drink it, as Gabe would.
"Would you let me buy you a drink?" Castiel asks, resting his hand on the mans shoulder, smiling a gently as he can.
"Yeah, yeah a drink sounds nice. Please."
"I'm Castiel," he holds out his hand.
"Dean," he says firmly as he shakes their hands.
Castiels souvenir from that trip was a new nickname. Cas.
I would like to say that I have no personal connection to the 9/11 attacks. I in no way trying to be offensive or come across as uncaring. I am not the first, nor will I be the last person to include the attacks in fictional stories and I apologize if anyone is offended by this story.
Me posting this on this particular date was not intentional, and I will stress that. I honestly did not realize that it was the 9th of November (in Australia) until I had already decided to post this. And I'm eternally sorry if the coincidence of the dates being so close saddens you, but I cannot and will not write a whole new story to replace this one.
May the victims of this attack rest peacefully and may their families be at ease.
May the surviving victims live their lives with no guilt resting on their souls.
May this event never be forgotten, for it must never happen again.
Chief.