Author's note: Set somewhere after season 11's finale. Possible spoilers! I only own my words :(
I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence
As drunken men find flaws in science
Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with just voices...
"Set The Fire To The Third Bar" - Snow Patrol
The bar is crowded and filled with so much noise that Castiel cannot hear his thoughts. So many people in one place make the air heavy and sticky with sweat. Even breathing costs him effort. One agonizing breath and the smell of alcohol and human filth burns his lungs. Then the exhale leaves him with a dull pain whose origin is hard to define.
Instinctively, he reaches out for his grace. For the twelfth time only during this day he needs to recall that he isn't strong enough. Castiel can sense the subtle bluish flicker of grace somewhere deep inside his vessel - no, this body belongs to him now - himself. But his true form needs time to heal. As it turns out, a lot longer than a human body. But time is exactly what Castiel doesn't have.
The scratches on his face are long healed. He almost does not feel the bruises on his ribs. The only problem is - is it the only one? - that without his powers he needs to sleep. He needs food. Clothes. Shelter. It is fortunate that he has spent enough time with the Winchester brothers to know what are the easiest ways to obtain them. And now, when he finds himself between a rock and a hard place, all alone, with no money, no phone and almost without grace, he is thankful for this knowledge.
The thought of Dean and Sam presses on the back of his mind, more painful than all of the injuries. For the twelfth time only during this day he pushes it aside. A couple of guys, probably far below the age at which it's allowed to consume alcohol, are laughing loudly near the billiard table. Castiel watches them carefully over his empty glass at least for half an hour. They are drunk. His stomach shrinks into some mixture of fear and excitement. He had seen Dean and Sam play this scene hundreds of times. Hustling, Dean calls it. And Castiel knows the mechanisms to perfection. That's why he is sure that he can do this. He can go there, stumbling and talking drunkenly and take those boys' money. Piece of cake. Easy as pie.
The game is actually pretty simple. Pure Mathematics, Castiel hears Sam's voice in his head. If the angel - is he one? - squints, he can remember the way Dean rolls his eyes but agrees with his brother. Geometry actually can be useful sometimes. Castiel cannot help but smile at the memory. Perhaps his smile comes distorted, sad and bitter, because it earns him a quick, sympathetic question from the girl behind the bar.
"Tough night, huh?" Her voice barely overcomes the buzz in the crowded room. In response, Castiel just nods absently, his blue eyes staring at the boys near the pool table, assessing. "Here," she hands him a full beer mug, "You look like you need it."
"I ... do not ..." Castiel tries to explain that he could not pay for a second drink.
"It's okay," the girl waves a hand, "it's on the house."
The angel looks up to thank her and he suddenly feels sick. Green eyes. Freckles. The bar is really narrow space now. Castiel discovers that he can breathe again as he stumbles up the stairs to the emergency exit. Everything is painfully clear; his senses are pushed up to the limit. His heart is drumming in his chest in his own hectic rhythm and the rest of his body is just trying desperately to catch up. The cool night air and the smell of piss slap him in the face.
Thank God - yeah, right! - that the street behind the bar is empty. Castiel sinks down the wall, panting and swallowing down a broken, weeping noise. And it sounds so much like a name.