Through the window, the world was distorted, the colors bright but the shapes unimportant.
So few raindrops really, each one creating its own crooked way. One of them was him, maybe, another was Dean. They had crossed paths but life had been unexpected. He wished he could have said good-bye.
It was night, but the rain would still be there in the morning. It couldn't be otherwise, Castiel's heart was too wounded, surely, the sky would stay gray.
In the blur, he could find peace, or at least, solace. He could escape reality, he could pretend he wasn't crying, it was just the rain.
Dean had betrayed him, as if it was nothing. Castiel had asked for that, only that. To be told. To prepare himself. It had been important.
They were really different, like those two neon signs outside, one like a green arrow, one like a blue wave. Castiel lived in dreams, created his truth every day. Dean enjoyed life, like a big juicy pie he had to finish before it got stale. Castiel had gone stale.
Now he was left with only the wet icy glass, his cheek pressed against the surface, his heart invaded by the cold as well.
One day, they would come and find him there, frozen and defeated. They would surely close the door not to see this, pretend he was fine.
He stayed in the same position, his knees jammed against the armchair's fabric, his arms crossed against the frame, his trench coat still buttoned.
Dean.
The light changed, promising a sun that he didn't want to see. Dean would love the bright weather. He loved everything, and everyone, some as friends, some as more. But never Cas.
The glass was dirty now, with the imprint of his skin. His eyes were unfocused. Instead of the street, he saw Dean. His freckles in the brown gravel on the boardwalk. The shine of his eyes in the reflection of the sun on the green street lamp. The tenderness of his smile imprinted in his mind.
Dean had warned him : "I won't stay here, Cas... I always move... It's temporary..." And Castiel had shrugged. He hadn't known at the time. How tempting Dean's muscles were, when he got out of the shower. How affectionate he could be when you needed cheering up. How ethical and thorough he always was, even in terrible circumstances.
Dean's father had died and he had fallen. He came home drunk, he slept around. Castiel ached but stayed silent, remained a friend. Dean didn't see that. He forgot him. He forgot that Castiel had asked, one day, to be told before he would leave. To find another roommate, he had said. Dean had bought it.
In the bright morning, in the empty apartment, Castiel drowned. He had saved Dean from despair the first time, but now he had failed. Dean had left a note. A f... note. Castiel couldn't swear, not even in his head but he was seething. He wanted to throttle Dean. He wanted to hug him and protect him from all the hurt life had thrown at him. But he couldn't, he was worthless. Dean didn't need him.
When Sam had been taken by the social worker, Dean had been shattered. He had left their home and come live with Castiel. It had taken time for him to open up so Cas hadn't noticed at first. But when he told him, he made it his mission to help him out of the depression. Dean had been better and had thanked Cas. And Cas had known he loved Dean. Dean who liked women. Dean who never settled. He still loved him and it hurt every day. Dean hadn't seen it. He had left, without a good-bye. Sam was an adult, he had found Dean. He lived in California.
It didn't rain much in California. The air was hot and dry. Dean must be happy there, far from Castiel and his broken heart. He had hoped so much that night, he had barely sleep. He had been mistaken.
They were watching a movie, their hips touching on the old couch. Dean's finger had bumped against his in the popcorn bowl. Each time, there was a spark. Each time, Castiel thought Dean would stop and look embarrassed. Their eyes had met, their stares had melded. When they had withdrawn to their bedrooms, Dean was wearing a soft teasing smile. Castiel had hoped, so much. The phone-call had happened in the middle of that night and after that Castiel had been forgotten.
There was no more rain and too much sunlight. Castiel got up. His tired steps led him to the kitchen. He had to go to work. He couldn't. He had to.
The day was grey and filled with rain, all in his mind. His brain worked on his own, careful not to get fired. He didn't eat at lunch. He stayed late. Nobody cared.
After a week, his brother came. He shouted and threatened but Castiel remained prostrated and limp. At least Gabriel had forced him to eat. He still looked out the window, dulling his mind.
It was a Sunday. He had got out of bed and walked to his spot. The sweating mark on the window was awaiting him, like an old friend. Like every day, he wept. The sobs were too violent, too dark. He was bawling like a child, unable to stop, frightened by his lack of control. Dean had been so kind, so attractive, larger than life. They had shared their whole life, told secrets and cried on each other's shoulder. They had grinned at each other over their morning coffee.
He must have fallen asleep, exhausted and drained. That would explain it, the voice, the leather smell.
The tone was tentative:
"Cas...?"
He didn't turn, not for a dream or a mirage. He needed his sanity. He needed the real Dean.
"Cas, come on... You're mad?"
The dream didn't let him sleep. A hand was touching his shoulder, gently. It felt real.
"Cas, I'm sorry, I am. I've been a shitty friend. Will you take me back?"
Castiel looked up. Dean wasn't a dream. It was worse. He was there, begging, asking to come back in his life to finish wrecking Cas' heart.
And of course, Castiel said yes.
Dean insisted on hugging him. Castiel just wanted to go to bed. The warmth engulfed him, gave him back his breath and his will to live. He must have sighed. Dean patted his back awkwardly and helped him get up.
Dean took him to his bedroom and laid him on the bed.
"Good-night, Cas."
A new bravery entered him. The kind one gets at the bottom of despair, when there is nothing to lose and no dignity left.
"I love you."
He heard the intake of breath, saw Dean take a small step back. It was done, over. Maybe now he could move on. Or maybe not. It was too late anyway.
Dean hadn't fled. He was a dark silhouette against the kitchen lights. His hand was sliding down the door frame. His voice was trembling now.
"You can't."
"Why?"
"Because I left, because I was a coward. I thought we could be together. But after my dad..."
"You were grieving Dean. It's still possible."
"You shouldn't..."
Castiel sat on his mattress. Dean knelt down. They were like children, holding hands, hearts racing around.
Before he kissed him, Castiel switched on the light. He wanted a clear picture, no dimness, no distortion. Dean was smiling like he was about to cry. And when their lips met, there were tears from both sides.