Chapter 6: Regret

I remember, the metallic door of your bunker creaked and I found your concerned faces. With heavy steps you came down the stairs and already saw me sitting at the big, glowing table. My face drawn by a specious smile, acting, as if I didn't know anything. It was hard for me to hide, that I had been with you all along, because I wanted nothing more than to ask you, what I did wrong. Since the last message, just before you had searched for the ghoul and found the dead body in the tomb, you hadn't texted me. That had been four days ago. And hadn't I kept on following you, I would have sat here and worried. To keep up appearances I had called you a couple of times, but you hadn't answered.

"Hey," I threw into the room, as I stood up, as if I was relieved to see you. Of course I actually was, but not, because I had been worried. I knew you were save the whole time.

"Hey, Cas," Sam answered me, not you. You directly went towards your room and from the hallways I heard your door slamming. I followed you with my eyes and my confused face wasn't pretend. My gaze fell to Sam, who simpered.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Long story," he answered, "come on, let's have a drink and I fill you in"

I followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He told me about every detail. Things I already knew, things I just supposed, and things I didn't know. And inside me a big stain spread out, dark and almost painfully it took in everything in me and crushed me. Even only thinking about it now makes it grow again. I couldn't breathe. I had made a terrible mistake.

"There has never been enough oxygen for me in the world, but in this moment I felt its shortness particularly"

(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars"; free translation from German)

The big realization over my colossal blindness towards the truth was overwhelming every fibre of my body. I hadn't known, but I could have seen it, hadn't I acted this overeagerly, without thinking twice about my steps. Caution is what I still need to learn.

Sam told me about having tracked down the ghoul, every step you had made. And I eagerly drank of my Scotch, which couldn't numb me, but I hoped the slight burn down my throat would distract me from the burn inside my chest. He told me how you had been searching at the wrong graveyard and I tried not to show anything. And then he told me about the woman, who I have killed for you, who wasn't the ghoul, but its latest victim. Feeding of people that are already dead seemed to be not enough for him anymore.

The realization over my failure and over what it meant caught me like my body would go into lockdown. I have killed an innocent woman. For you. Or perhaps even a little for myself.

"Well, that's unpleasant," I babbled. I was staring into my empty glass and thought about what to do now. Of course I couldn't tell either Sam or you, that I am the one, who had killed her. You thought the ghoul had killed her and left. And that's the only truth you needed now. You had failed saving someone, you didn't have to know that it was my fault. You needed someone now, who builds you up, not someone, who has betrayed you.

I poured another glass of Scotch. Only that it wasn't for me. It was for you. I raised it into Sam's view and told him that I would bring it to you. Slowly and maybe hesitantly I moved along the hallways towards your room. I cautiously knocked on your door and waited. I heard a quiet "come in" and did so. You were sitting on your bed and pulled off your heavy boots. You didn't even lift your eyes. And I told myself that it wasn't, because you didn't want to see anyone, but because you knew that it was me. I held the glass in front of you with a rough "here". After a few seconds, which felt like hours, you took it and your fingers touched mine a bit with that. You emptied it with one sip and gave it back to me.

"Dean," I dared, although I knew, that you're only this quiet, whenever you're angry enough to explode any moment. But you didn't. Your eyes found mine and I saw all the self-doubt and all the anger and the disappointment in them, which I hated to see. And something inside me was happy, that you didn't let it out on me, as if you would hold it back, like a shield that doesn't let me come into the crossfire. But something else inside me was worried, because if you keep it to yourself and hide it from me, it means that you don't trust me enough to share your emotions with me.

"Thanks, Cas," you finally said, but for a moment I didn't know for what, "for the Scotch, I mean"

I smiled at you and tried to hold the eye contact as long as possible. Your face relaxed a bit and I could sense you were feeling a little better. Because that's what I do. I make sure you feel better.

"I really needed that," you said, as if I hadn't known that already. I always know what you need, and when you need it. And even when I am the cause for this situation, I could still fix it. I couldn't revive that woman, but I could make sure, that you forget about it. And I was happy that you saw that I could do that.

"The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people noticing things, paying attention."

(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")