Castiel came home that night tired, but quite happy. It was cold and windy outside, so he knew that a nice cozy fire would welcome him. He could sit on the couch near the stove, lose himself in the dance the flames would create against the glass door, then join Hannah in the kitchen and start preparing dinner. They would have a drink of wine while talking about their day and then watch something or other on the TV set. Theirs was quite the boring life but Castiel had learned long ago to let his dreams fade away. Hannah was faithful and supportive. She didn't ask for much and that was good, for he didn't have much to offer. All in all, this life was easy and devoid of strong emotions.

He pushed the door, vaguely wondering why all the lights were out. He walked to the living-room and stopped in his tracks. Apparently his wife had been stranded at work. It rarely happened so it was a little worrying that she hadn't called or texted.

He kept his coat on as he started the fire. The matches were slipping from his cold fingers. He wasn't good at manual work, expect when it came to food. Hannah wasn't much of a gastronome and did not pay attention to what was in her plate, but he still loved to try new recipes. If they had been the type to entertain, he would have tried his best to prepare something that would blow everyone's taste buds away. Hannah didn't like the idea, she said it would dirty the house if people came over, plus she couldn't always watch out for him. Castiel was aware of how much he embarrass her, so he hadn't met her colleagues or her friends. They had married in a court house, quickly, with no honeymoon. She had been very firm on that point.

He hesitated before opening the fridge. He should call her, inquire when she would be home. He shivered when he thought she could have been in a car accident. Better settle his doubts.

The phone rang three times before there was an answer. It was curt:

"Castiel, not now!" then she hang up. He still didn't know why she was late, but she didn't sound distressed, so things were all right.

He fell asleep on the couch as the fire died down. Later, the drop in temperature woke him up and he looked around in a daze. How late was it? Why hadn't Hannah called back?

He checked if she wasn't already there and was closing the bedroom door when he saw headlights pierce the window. He grinned and walked to the door to greet her. She knocked. Had she forgotten her key?

A tall, dark figure was standing in the light rain, folding an umbrella away. Castiel frowned at his brother.

"Michael, I'm glad to see you, but what are you doing here so late? Has something happened?"

He took a step back and motioned him in, but Michael didn't follow. He stood in the doorway, his face blank and stern, as it often was. Then, he took a deep breath and said:

"Castiel, I have to tell you something."

He sounded angry, as if he didn't want to be there. Castiel faltered under the dark glare. He was always a disappointment to Michael, whatever he did, so he had stopped trying. He managed to reply, in an unsteady voice:

"Yes? Go ahead."

"Hannah is leaving you."

Castiel felt a wave hit him in the sternum. He didn't ask if it was a joke. Michael was a serious-minded man. But why be angry at him?

His brother finally walked inside, sitting at the kitchen counter after taking his raincoat off.

Castiel sat next to him and waited. He felt dull and cold.

"You are not a very good husband, Castiel."

He gave a start, wondering if he had misheard but Michael was elaborating:

"Hannah deserves more than this small house. You're small too and uninteresting. I can give her all she wants, you have to understand that."

"What?"

He could fully hear the disdain as he processed the new piece of information.

"Are you saying she cheated on me? With my own brother?"

He was trembling with a rage he didn't know he possessed. Michael put his hand on his shoulder, sensibleness lacing his every word, as if Castiel was a fool and a child:

"It's better that way. Did you actually think she had settled for you? I really hope you won't prove unreasonable about it. I'll send you the divorce paper myself. I don't want to trouble Hannah. She was trying to find ways to let you down gently and it was upsetting her, so I decided to come tell you straight away and ease her mind."

Castiel stood up, pushing his brother's hand away. He wanted to yell. He wanted to run:

"How could you? This is wrong of you, Michael! I was content with Hannah. You took my life away!"

"Now, Castiel, lower your voice. I am the eldest and you should talk to me with respect."

The absurdity of the situation paralyzed Castiel. He watched Michael take his exit with an open mouth, incapable of fighting further. The door clicked on his future.

He stayed prostrated on his couch for two whole days. He didn't eat, he didn't cry, he may have slept, he wasn't sure. The house was silently echoing his loneliness, enveloping him in a shroud of numbness. Hannah never came or called. She clearly didn't think he was worth an explanation. For once, he didn't agree with her views, he felt wronged, he felt robbed. He had to be allowed happiness.

So, he shook himself out of his trance and drove to Michael's apartment. Hannah wasn't there but her lover was. Castiel broke his nose.

"You what?" Gabriel sounded incredulous. Castiel didn't blame him.

"I was grieving. I still am. I have no one to turn to but you. I don't want to impose, but..."

"Sure, Cassie, you can come and stay with me for as long as you need. Are you driving or booking a flight?"

"I don't feel confident in my driving long distance right now and I can't afford a plane. I shall take a train. When can I come?"

"Whenever."

So here he was, ready to board a train to the other side of the country, leaving his past life behind. He didn't feel ready. He was crying now, every night and he hardly knew why. He was lost and alone. He was no one.

He wasn't alone in the passenger car however. Quietly, people passed and sat, surrounding him with soft noises and whispered conversations. He sat next to the window, looking through the dark rectangle, wondering how he would survive the trip.

Someone sat next to him. He turned his head and found that his neighbor for the next hours was a good-looking man in his twenties. He was holding Castiel's coat and handing it to him. Their eyes met and Castiel felt he was looking in a mirror. The eyes were green instead of blue and there were freckled around the nose, but otherwise he could read in that face a great sorrow. Like him, this man had his life falling apart. For a second, this shared suffering proved a respite, piercing though the loneliness, but it didn't last. He knew nothing of the stranger, nor did he dare ask.

The lull of the train lulled him asleep. When he finally opened his eyes, he felt slightly better. The seat next to him was empty. He got up, in search of the bathroom, passing his seat companion in the corridor with a phone pressed to his ear. His shoulders were sagged and he was looking down at the train floor.

Later, he sat back next to Castiel and took out a flask. The smell of alcohol was faint but unmistakable. Castiel wanted to ask for a gulp too. That way, he would let go, relax for a while, but he didn't really believe it.

The man's hand was shaking. Drops of whiskey fell on Castiel's lap.

"Oh, fuck! I'm sorry!" The voice was soft and raspy, well adjusted to the man's appearance. He was moving in the seat, his hands searching his pockets until he found a paper handkerchief. He started cleaning Castiel's thigh frantically. It happened so fast that Castiel didn't have the time to stop him. His knee jerked in reaction to the touch, bumping into the still-open flask. The result was catastrophic. All eyes were on them, making them blush.

They went back to the bathroom and stood at the door, embarrassed, gesturing in sync:

"After you."

"No, man, you go first."

Castiel wasn't budging, nor was the other man. After a minute, they both walked in. The booth contained a toilet seat and a sink and was just big enough for the two of them.

One hand on the toilet seat, the man raised the other and said:

"I'm Dean."

"I'm Castiel." They shook hands clumsily. The train took a sharp turn. Castiel fell backward and Dean landed on him, his arms around Castiel's torso. He could feel their two hearts beating in company, much faster than usual, through their pressed chests.

"Well, I'm not usually that forward, Cas. Hope you don't think I'm easy," Dean said, smirking. Castiel didn't reply. He cleaned his trousers thoroughly and tried to move his leg upward to use the blow drier.

"Okayyyyy, sorry for trying to lighten up the mood. I'll shut up now."

Castiel sat on the toilet, his head meeting the cold mirror and sighed:

"I apologize. I'm not in a good place at the moment. I'm not angry at you, I assure you. I've already used all my anger on others."

"Really? Why don't you tell me about it?"

So Castiel did. He told Dean his heartbreak, as the man stood still, an inch away in the toilet booth. It was surreal. It was also one of the most interesting his life had ever been.

"Man, that sucks, your brother's a real dick! If he was there, I'd punch him for you."

"No need, I already did."

A hint of admiration went through Dean's eyes. Castiel felt stupidly proud. He checked himself.

"I shouldn't have. Violence is never the answer. Maybe Michael was right. I don't deserved to be loved."

"Wow, wow, stop right there. Everyone deserve to be loved. I mean..." He pinched his lips, back to his melancholic state, before adding: "... even my dad. He was harsh and he drank too much, but man, did I love him."

"Did...?"

Dean nodded:

"I just buried him. No funerals, just me. My brother couldn't come and he didn't really want to. I don't blame him. I just met our half-brother. My dad didn't bother tell us about him, the bastard. He lived two lives and then one day, he disappeared. We weren't important enough, I guess."

Castiel frowned. He recognized his own wording, how he viewed himself and somehow saw it as it was, unfounded.

He put his hand at the back of Dean's head and pushed him down:

"I don't believe that. You seem like a compassionate person. You're the only one I could tell about how I felt and you didn't leave or judge me. You're a good person."

Dean was blushing again. He was beautiful. Cas didn't think. He kissed him.

The kiss deepened but it was difficult to move around. Dean had been struck, remaining still, but he soon recovered. There was desperation in the way he touched Castiel and it felt good, it felt real. Castiel had never felt as wanted and worshiped.

His coat was laid down to protect them from the cold tiles. They didn't take their clothes off entirely, just enough for Dean's fingers to handle Castiel's cock and offer him his. They kept their lips pressed, barely kissing, breathing heavily. Castiel didn't last long but the orgasm almost ripped him apart.

It was easy to clean using the bathroom soap and towel, and after they could explain their wet state with the whiskey drop. They tumbled back to their seats and fell asleep holding hands.

There were two persons awaiting Dean at the station, his brother Sam and his girlfriend Jess. Dean handed them his father's urn without a word. They hugged. Castiel walked away, searching his own brother. He felt courageous, ready to live again, and this time to the fullest. He would miss Dean but they barely knew each other. Still he had made Castiel the gift of self-confidence and he was grateful. He marched on, spotting Gabriel and waving at him.

He heard footsteps behind him. He stopped and turned. Dean had run to him. Why would he? In the bright sunlight, he looked heavenly. His hair had a golden gleam and his eyes were so soft. Castiel couldn't believe he was looking at him.

"Can I see you again?"

And Castiel fully opened to life. He stood proudly on the platform, staring at Dean, feeling a connection he had looked for all his life and let his dreams re-ignite:

"Yes."