Chapter 11

You should take things the way they come. But you should also make sure that things come the way you want to take them.

(Curt Goetz; free translation from German)

Saturday. He wished he could escape his life. Start a new one. Get out of all the daily routine and duties. But he was chained to a life he didn't want to live. No get-away. Not even death could rescue him. And life couldn't either. And the only thing he could do was to move from one reality to another. But when he lay down in his or any other bed at night, surrounded by darkness and thin air, he was forced to think about his own reality, whether he wanted or not. Darkness didn't let you distract yourself. Darkness didn't let you ignore things. Darkness doesn't let you do anything.

And when he was sitting in a shabby diner and watched the peoples' goings-on, maybe for example a young couple, in love and not knowing what happened in the world they were happy in, he ached for a time, where he had been just as unknowing. A time that had never existed. A phantasy, a dream he wanted to dream, but couldn't.

His heart sank deep into his heavy ribcage, when he thought of all the time he had lost, even when it seemed it had never been his. All the things he had done, everything he had caused. And he wished someone would bring what had been taken from him and give it back. Held back by life and changed, lost his way. And still he gave it all.

The godless but will mulct themselves of their lives.

(The Bible, Tobias 10)

Sometimes life is not enough. Sometimes the road is hard and uncomfortable, and sometimes he didn't know why. The road, which was long and stony, and they had to walk it further and try to stay alive, even when it seemed like they were born to die. But it also seemed like they were born for each other, in one way or another. As if they had always been waiting for one another, as if it was destiny that their ways crossed, to hate each other, to fight and to waste all these word on each other. But there was also something that held them together, despite it all, a secure loyalty and safeness.

Castiel had become like a home he had never had. A constant that ran through his life like a golden thread. And all the disapproval was forgotten. And almost he lost himself in the beauty of the banality that had the reasonless, but become a habit, joint drinking.

He turned the bottle's cap and poured himself another glass of sweet benumbing, the juice of suppressing feelings. His gaze flew to Castiel and, wordlessly understood, he filled him his glass as well. Castiel had learnt to drink and he had the best teacher. And he liked how alcohol gave him fever, how the heat pulsed through his veins and his head got so heavy and motionless. It was simple and easier.

And something in Dean's face said speak, but his mouth seemed not to be ready yet. As if he thought about remaining silent, something was on the tip of his tongue, but not yet finished or not yet allowed to be set to sound. A joke maybe, or a feeling that had crossed and survived the maze of his drunk self. Sometimes you need to speak it out. Sometimes something needs to be said to understand it yourself.

"Listen," the Winchester started quietly and a small smile urged onto his lips unasked, "I wanted to say thank you"

A cleared throat echoed through the scraggy room and landed directly on Castiel's pondering face.

"For… you know," he went on, and Castiel knew. He lay his hand on Cas' arm like a confirmation of his words, or as if he hoped the unsaid would move on to him this way. It rested there for a short time, stiff and almost cold, until his thumb softly moved over the white material of his shirt. An invisible energy streamed them, bonded and still distant, like a life dangling on a string.

Castiel's head was cocked a little, his eyes bound to Dean's, and he almost looked like he wouldn't understand. He almost looked like an angel, and still wouldn't be one anymore. Not sure, if that was good or bad. But it was real. And Dean hoped he would be all right, never asked and still assumed. Silent and secretly agreed, that it would be hushed up. And it was as if he already knew every answer to every question he could think of. A Castiel for each of us, and more mirror than window.

Maybe it was high spirits, maybe melancholy, maybe just the alcohol, but his hand decided for movement and ran higher to Cas' shoulder, warm and soft under his fingers, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. And was it said alcohol, in his head all the chaos was turning and his eyes failed to see. A black nothingness full of hysteria and inner laughing. An action as unusual as confusing.

His lips unexpectedly lay on Castiel's, even warmer and even softer. Short and chaotic and barely. The mirror seemed too clear and definite, it was as if he kissed himself. And as he realized, that that wasn't the case, he moved back fitfully. Shock and fast panic spread out in his iris, surprise and confusion in the one of his opponent. His heart beat out of his ribcage. But quickly fogged by false smile. Mute and untrue.