Chapter Text
The bass pounded dully through the walls as Castiel handed an open bottle of water to Crystal. Her makeup was running. Sweat dripped from under her voluminous purple wig, dragging hours of meticulous work in watercolor streaks down her thin face. She waved him off with a distracted flick of her wrist.
“Drink it,” he commanded with a scowl, shoving the bottle under her nose.
Her skeletal fingers stilled, tangled in the complicated weave of her knee-high boots. After a moment of deliberation, she snatched the bottle from his hand and threw it back in one deep swallow.
There was a joke there, Castiel was sure of it, but he wasn’t as clever as these humans. As she resumed lacing her boots, he carefully dabbed the sweat on her temples with a tissue, careful not to smear the makeup further.
“Thank you, baby,” she muttered, distracted. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek then ran back through the door that led to the stage. Seconds later, there was a burst of cheering and applause, woven tightly into the space between the thump thump thump of the music.
Castiel tossed the empty water bottle in the recycling bin and cast his gaze around the room. He wasn’t allowed to touch much and, despite the chaotic mess, the room was mostly as the girls wanted it.
Several flimsy metal racks were stationed around the room, packed full to bursting with colorful costumes of lace and tule and sequin, and each rack was a separate organizational system that made sense only to the Queen to whom the costumes belonged. Up near the ceiling, practically all the way around the room, were shelves crammed with styrofoam heads sporting wigs of various sizes and colors. On the other side of the room, the entire wall was one long mirror, edged by large, diffused light bulbs. The tables under the mirror were full of makeup, hair products, and tools Castiel thought looked a bit like torture devices.
To his eyes, it looked like a mess, but the girls insisted everything was as they wanted it.
So, he couldn’t do much, but he got the Windex out of the bathroom cupboard and made sure the mirrors were spotless and the lights free of dust. He picked up all the empty juice and water bottles – he’d take them to the bottle depot later – and tossed all the take-out containers and discarded makeup sponges in the trash.
Against the wall opposite the mirrors was a couch one of the girls found at the end of their neighbor’s driveway. It had taken their collective effort to get it through the door and Castiel hadn’t let any of them sit on it until he’d taken all the cushions to the laundromat and emptied an entire can of Lysol spray over it.
The find had been a useful one, as they had all used it as a bed for the night at least once. Castiel had used it for that purpose several times.
An old fridge rattled and wheezed in the corner of the room and Castiel gingerly opened the door – the top hinge was not long for this world – and grabbed ten water bottles to set out on the battered coffee table for when the girls finished their night.
Despite his efforts to keep them hydrated during, they were always dying of thirst after a show. It was hard work, dancing and jumping and singing with the energy they did.
Next, he pulled the plate of brownies from the fridge and unwrapped it, placing it next to the water bottles. A regular that Castiel recognized but didn’t know by name had shyly handed them to Castiel backstage two days ago. Castiel had eaten one first, to make sure they were safe. People could be cruel.
The song that marked the end of their last set started thumping through the speakers and the clock over the door told him it was nearing two in the morning. The show would soon be coming to an end for the night.
Castiel felt his energy leave him in a rush. Saturdays were always exhausting, and he hadn’t eaten much in the last few days.
With nothing else to do, he sank into the sofa and felt the music through the wall. It pulsed in his chest like a heartbeat, comforting, in a way. Even when he remembered this living body of his needed a heartbeat now.
He’d just started to doze off when the show finally came to an end and the girls came spilling through the door. He smiled at them, hoping it would hide how tired he was. They had worked much harder than him today, and they were still bouncing with energy; giggling, and laughing and talking over one another with excitement.
Where they got their seemingly endless amounts of energy was a mystery.
Castiel eyed the recycling bin nearly overflowing with energy drinks. Maybe not a total mystery. So far he’d been too scared to try one. The color of the liquid alone was enough to concern him.
Still, he couldn’t keep going like this. He hardly slept, riddled with nightmares as he was, and on the rare occasion he did sleep, he woke like a corpse being pulled from a lake.
Perhaps it had something to do with the loss of his grace. Perhaps this vessel he was trapped in was sick. Perhaps it was neither of those things. Perhaps all humans were this tired all the time and he was just doomed to live out the rest of his days exhausted.
There was no way of knowing.
Somehow, amidst the post-show noise of everyone bustling around the room, Castiel only realized he’d drifted off again when a hand on his shoulder jolted him back into the conscious world.
Muscle memory made his arm dart out like the thrust of an angry spear. Luckily, the hand that usually held his angel blade was empty.
But they’d known him long enough now. Someone caught his arm and then they were reminding him that he was safe, that it was ok.
“Oh, baby, look at you,” Ida cooed, her plump round face and wide brown eyes were sympathetic under all the makeup “When was the last time you got any sleep?”
Castiel sat up, knowing that his answer would only upset her further. He shook his head a little, hoping it would communicate whatever they needed.
“It’s alright, sweetie, we understand.” Kiki was rubbing his back in soothing circles, her giant hand warm through Castiel’s shirt.
They thought he was ex-military. Which he supposed wasn’t entirely untrue. He just hadn’t been part of the human military. They thought he had something called PTSD. He wasn’t sure what that was and hadn’t bothered to ask, but whatever it was made his little lapses in awareness excusable in their minds.
Over at the mirrors, the rest of the girls were pulling off their wigs and gingerly peeling tape off their skin. Some had already shimmied out of their layers and layers of padding and hose. Valery was sitting at the end of the coffee table, prying her acid-green platform heels off with a groan. Ruby had stolen the small fan that was normally clipped to one of the dress racks and stood in the middle of the room with it held up to her face, eyes closed.
Castiel smiled softly.
“Feeling better?” Kiki asked hopefully. She leaned forward and grabbed a brownie that matched her skin tone almost exactly. She held it up to his mouth as if she intended to feed it to him. “Here, baby, get some sugar into you. Have you eaten today?”
He shook his head a little, heat coloring his cheeks. Taking the brownie from her, he nibbled the corner. Food tasted better, now that he had lost his grace, but it also tasted strong. Too strong, too dense and, like many things since his grace had been stolen, too much.
“Honey, you gotta start eating more!” Ida wailed. She grabbed his face and smooshed his cheeks together, staring at him through giant lashes that fanned over her dark brown eyes. “How would you feel if we all stopped eating? Hm? I watched you almost choke Crystal with apple slices when she was on that diet.”
Castiel rolled his eyes.
“Don’t you give me that attitude, mister. Eat the brownie, then you’re coming out with us for dinner.”
Scowling, Castiel stuffed the brownie in his mouth to get it over with, quite sure there was nothing he wanted to do less than go out. He wanted to sleep. The only reason he didn’t object was because he knew it would make no difference.
The only one who got away with not eating was Crystal.
By the time they had stripped themselves of every sequence and layer of makeup, it was nearing three in the morning and their post-show energy was long gone. Their personas had been shed, left to hang on the designated racks until tomorrow night. Which, Castiel remembered, meant their pronouns had changed as well, and he made the shift in his mind.
The artful makeup had been wiped away, the wigs had been replaced by close cut hair – except for Ida who had his tied in a high bun atop his head – and everyone was in plain hoodies and jeans. They shuffled as a group into the parking lot and crammed themselves into Kiki’s 2002 Toyota Carola.
Castiel, Crystal, and Valery were in the backseat like always. Crystal had been permanently banished to the middle because he took up the least amount of space. In the front, sitting on half of an old milk crate jammed between the seats, Ruby and Ida shared the front with Kiki, who somehow always managed to fold his long legs into the space under the steering wheel.
They went to McDonalds, just like every Saturday night, because it was close, cheap, and open twenty-four hours a day.
“You wanna stay at our place tonight, Blue?” Kiki asked him once they were all sitting down.
Back when they had first met, Kiki had started calling him Blue. Because of his eyes, Kiki said. And because he had refused to tell them his real name or even make up a fake one. So, unfazed, they had simply given him one.
Kiki’s voice was deep and soothing, like velvet or the rumble of a distant thunderstorm. It suited him well, Castiel thought. He was as tall as Sam and was all lean muscle and clean lines and the stubble on his jaw always seemed perfectly groomed to accent the sharp planes and angles of his face. He looked like the male underwear models on all the billboards.
Castiel nodded and offered a small smile in appreciation. He liked Kiki and Ida’s apartment. It was small and cluttered but warm and loved and it smelled like the colorful drinks they served at the club. So much nicer than the homeless shelters he’d had to stay in.
He reached across the table to grab a few fries off Crystal’s tray. He wasn’t hungry, he rarely was, but he liked the salty taste.
Crystal winked at Castiel, makeup long gone and blond lashes blending with his pale skin. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Blue Belle.”
Castiel knew Crystal wouldn’t eat all the fries anyway. The knowledge caused a pang in his chest because the dark circles under Crystal’s eyes and his nearly translucent skin indicated he had very few meals left to skip.
Crystal needed a lot more padding to round out his figure than the others.
“I liked your costume tonight,” Castiel told him. It had been a play on his name, Crystal Ize, as his costumes often were. He’d gone with amethyst for tonight’s show, and his outfit had been a painstakingly crafted piece of art that had been created from layers and shades of purple and pink and sparkling sequence.
Castiel often wondered how each of them had picked what they had explained were their 'Drag personas'. Crystal’s seemed to fit his persona almost too well. With pale skin, hair, and eyes, he looked – and often felt – as cold and brittle as an actual crystal. By choice, he almost never ate, which Castiel had learned was a illness of the mind that some humans had. And the few times Castiel had seen him eat, Crystal had been consumed by guilt afterwards. Sometimes for days.
Once, Castiel had seen him stagger to the washroom in the back corner of the dressing room and could hear him retching into the toilet even over the sound of the bass.
Castiel worried for him but Kiki had explained that they had all tried to help. They had even staged an intervention. All they could do now was be there for Crystal when he needed them.
Crystal pursed his thin lips, smiled indulgently, and nudged the small cardboard cup of fries towards Castiel.
They finished their meal mostly in silence. Everyone was exhausted and the constant beeps and screeches from machines coupled with the overhead glare of fluorescent lights was wearing on everyone’s nerves. Once Valery had paid – it was his turn – everyone crammed themselves back into the car. Kiki drove the others home like he always did, dropping each of them off at their apartments. He would watch them step out under the orange glow of the street lamps and waited until they were inside and the door was closed before he would pull away from the curb.
Finally, at close to four in the morning, they pulled into the parking garage under Kiki and Ida’s building.
The apartment was small, but it was all they could afford, and they could barely afford it. But Castiel liked it. The kitchenette was directly to the left of the door – only enough space for a small fridge and couple cabinets – and the cool porcelain tiles felt nice on his bare feet when it was too hot outside. There was a little window that let you pass drinks and food from the kitchen into the sitting area. To the right of the door was a short hallway with the bathroom on the right and a single bedroom on the left, which Kiki and Ida shared.
Castiel dragged led legs past the sofa to stand in front of the apartment’s best feature, in his opinion. The window. They were on the twentieth floor of a thirty-floor building
He stared down over the city of New York from a perspective he hadn’t had in ages. Since the last time he’d been able to fly. Or longer still, when he had last been in his true form.
It was a bittersweet vantage point.
Still, he liked it here. All the shining lights and constant noise filled the void in his head that used to be the constant chattering of his brothers and sisters. He liked how busy it was. Here, he blended in, unseen, unimportant.
And he thought perhaps he had found a home with these men and their club.
Still, he worried. He wanted to do more for them. He wanted to be kept around because of his usefulness, not because they pitied him. Pity would dry up, eventually, and he had little knowledge on how to survive as a human. If it wasn’t for Kiki, Castiel was sure he would be dead already.
They’d taught him a lot in the last few months, but he wasn’t sure he knew enough to get by on his own.
He had to find a way to become more useful soon, he just wasn’t sure how.
“You want some tea, baby?” Kiki called to him from the kitchenette. He was peering up into the cupboards with an unimpressed expression, perhaps hoping something appetizing would appear between the half-eaten box of soda crackers and almost empty jar of peanut butter.
“No, thank you,” Castiel called back. He intended to sleep tonight and tea would just have him up every hour to use the bathroom because being human…or mostly human…was a tedious affair.
Grabbing his duffle bag from where it was tucked away between the end of the sofa and the wall, Castiel nudged his angel blade aside and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste.
When he left the bunker he’d had nothing but the shirt on his back. Now, though, he’d collected a few things that were his. Two shirts, both from Valery as he was the only one that was close to Castiel’s size. Ida and Crystal had both ‘thrifted’ two pairs of jeans and a jacket for him as well. Kiki had come crashing through his own front door a couple days after he’d brought Castiel home, highly intoxicated. He’d thrown a new package of socks and underwear at Castiel and then promptly passed out on the kitchen floor.
And his angel blade, of course. The only remnant of a past that spanned eons. That past felt as far behind him as it was long.
He stared down at his blade and felt a twist in his gut at how foreign it looked. Like something from a past life he could barely remember. That blade had been forged from a piece of him and now it gleamed dully from within a duffle bag because Castiel no longer had the ability to absorb it back into his body where he normally kept it, concealed in his vessel’s forearm.
He zipped the bag closed, but it's presence remained.
The three of them took turns showering and getting ready for bed and by the time Castiel was easing his tired bones into the sofa cushions, the skyscrapers were tickling the belly of the first shades of dawn.
The jarring whirr of the coffee grinder startled Castiel into the waking world and he sat bolt upright, one foot already on the ground and ready to propel him towards his attacker before he remembered where he was.
He swallowed, sinking back into the couch and closing his eyes, willing his heart to stop hammering itself into the spaces between his ribs. There was nothing here for him to fight, he told himself, but his body wasn’t listening; it never did.
Pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes hard, Castiel tried to focus on the pinpricks of light dancing in the darkness behind his eyelids, instead of the fact that he was losing control of his breathing.
He tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled; pain sometimes snapped him back down to earth.
“Hey, Blue,” Kiki whispered, so softly Castiel barely heard him. “You’re alright, honey. Try to hold your breath just for a sec, okay? Then let it out nice and slow.”
He tried his best, latching on to the instruction. It wasn’t the first time Kiki had walked him through what he now knew was a panic attack.
With Kiki’s help Castiel managed to calm himself down. He was getting better at it now.
“I’m sorry, Blue,” Kiki said, voice low and soothing. “I wasn’t even thinking about how loud that would be. I’m so sorry –”
Castiel grabbed his hand and squeezed. “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “I’m alright.”
Kiki’s smile was sad. He squeezed Castiel’s hand back. “You want some coffee?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.” Affection and gratitude swelled, filling in the cold space lingering in his chest. Unlike some of the others, Kiki didn’t linger when Castiel said he was ok. He didn’t keep asking if Castiel was sure or if he needed anything. He always let the moment go without a fuss and Castiel was able to recover from the embarrassing moment that much faster because of it.
He was exhausted despite having slept like the dead. He was sure this level of constant fatigue wasn’t normal, but didn’t exactly have a baseline to compare it to. He wasn’t human, and it wasn’t normal human fatigue he was feeling. It couldn’t be.
It was the kind of exhaustion born of the horrific trauma of having his life-force stolen and his wings burned off. It was the kind of fatigue he knew would never end no matter how much he slept. So, instead, he waited and dozed while Ida stumbled and clattered through his morning routine and Kiki filled the small apartment with the mouth-watering smell of strong coffee.
Drawing his knees to his chest, Castiel stared through the fog obscuring the tops of the buildings outside the window. He felt like that same fog had seeped through the glass and into his brain, but he was used to that by now. He always felt hollowed out and foggy after a panic attack. It would pass, he just had to let it.
It would rain all day again, he was sure of it. The clouds were already starting to tear away from the fog, their underbelly jagged and shredded above the city.
That was fine with Castiel. He liked rainy days. They were quieter. Sometimes the sun glared too much.
Kiki’s warm hand brushed his shoulder and he looked around to carefully take the mug of coffee. He left Castiel be and disappeared down the hall, presumably to get ready for the day. The coffee pushed some life back into Castiel’s veins and he let a wave of fondness wash over him. He was so grateful Kiki had found him when he did.
He’d been huddled in the alcove over a locked door to some restaurant, trying to find a way to hug his limbs in even closer than he already was. The rain had soaked him through and a constant shiver made his teeth chatter incessantly
Before he had become human, Castiel had thought he knew what being cold felt like, but he hadn’t had a clue. Moving from city to city, with homeless shelters few and far between, he spent much of his time outdoors in the elements. The farther east he had traveled, the colder and wetter it got. He’d spent two full days moving through the rain, soaked through to the skin, never able to dry off or warm up because every shelter he went to was full. He’d curled in a tiny ball on that doorstep and…
That had been true cold. It had been in his bones, so deep that some days he felt as if it was still trapped in the marrow.
It had been terrible and he’d been close to trying to find someone’s bed to crawl into. Even though he said he would never go home with another stranger, not after April. But he’d rather do that than spend another minute being cold. He could handle feeling dirty if it meant he could feel warm.
Castiel cradled his coffee mug close to his chest, the ghost of that memory making goosebumps explode across his body even though he was perfectly warm now.
He waited for his turn in the shower and when Ida stumbled out through a cloud of steam – looking barely more awake than when he’d gone in – Castiel savoured the hot, pressurized water. When he finally felt clean – some days that took longer than others – he left the small bathroom, holding his towel in place with one hand while rubbing another towel over his head to dry his hair.
Not that it mattered, rain was already pinging off the sitting room window and it would get wet as soon as he stepped outside.
“Oh Blue, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”
Castiel grinned at Kiki from under his towel, then tossed it over the arm of the sofa. Unlike Sam and Dean, who had told him that under no circumstances was he allowed to ever be even close to naked in front of them, Kiki and Ida didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, Castiel could feel Kiki’s dark eyes on his back as he pulled a black turtleneck over his head. It was a small apartment and the sensation was a familiar one.
Sitting in the ratty but comfortable armchair that was placed under the kitchenet window, Kiki lounged in plain grey sweatpants and matching tshirt, sipping his coffee.
Castiel shook out his black trousers – the only part of his old outfit that had survived his bout of homelessness intact – and the towel slipped from his waist.
Kiki wailed behind him and Castiel felt a laugh bubble up and escape his chest. He shook his head, pulling on a pair of boxer briefs before turning to shoot Kiki a look.
“Listen, honey,” Kiki said, sitting forward in his chair and gripping his coffee mug with both of his massive, long-fingered hands. He stared at Castiel intently with eyes darker than obsidian, steam curling up and around his angular face. “If you ever – and I mean ever – want to know what it’s like batting for the other team. You come to me.”
Castiel felt his face heating under Kiki’s smouldering gaze and his mouth opened like it thought it might have something to say to that.
The heat creeped down his neck and sank low into his belly. It wasn't the first time Kiki had been so open and blatant in communicating his desires and it was as refreshing as it was perplexing. What could possibly be attractive about him? He chalked it up to the fact that Kiki didn't know Castiel. Not in any way that mattered. If he did, he certainly wouldn't be attracted to him.
He turned his back, pulling his slacks on, and cleared his throat so his voice came out steady. “You know, it’s strange. I only had sex for the first time a few months ago. It wasn’t at all what I expected it to be.”
When he turned back around, Kiki’s intense expression had been replaced with shock. Absently, he set his mug on the tiny table next to his chair. “You mean, like…what do you mean, exactly? Like you were a virgin up until a couple months ago?” He looked flabbergasted, eyes darting down Castiel’s body and then back to his face. “How? I mean, how?”
Castiel shrugged, sinching his belt. He’d lost a lot of weight and his pants were too big for him now. But the others assured him he still looked presentable. “I’ve never really had the interest. But, um, I was cold. She offered me a place to sleep and when I refused her advances, she told me I could leave. I was so cold, Kiki. I didn’t know I could even get that cold. So I stayed and…I had sex with her. But I hated it. It was awful. I didn’t want to but...the alternative was much worse.”
Kiki waited until he was done talking before he carefully stood. He took the four steps to Castiel and carefully enveloped him in a warm, strong, embrace.
“Oh, honey,” he mumbled into the top of his head. “Baby, that wasn’t sex.” Kiki pulled away just enough to place both hands on the side of Castiel’s face to make sure their eyes met. “That was assault. And it wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do to survive and that woman was a monster for doing that to you.”
Castiel didn’t know how to respond to that, so he merely nodded, though he didn’t totally agree. April had given him the option to leave. Castiel had chosen to stay.
Kiki hovered, the heat in his gaze was gone but the intensity remained.
As Castiel pulled on the coat Crystal had given him he tried to ignore how heavy the silence had become. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told Kiki about April. He seemed unhappy now. Almost angry.
Instead of over-thinking it, Castiel focused on buttoning his jacket. He liked it. It went down to mid thigh and was made of wool so it kept him warm against the damp and wind and he could turn the collar up to keep the rain from slipping down the back of his neck.
Ida finally immerged from the bedroom as Castiel was leaving. He wore a well-loved oversized tshirt that hung off his plump frame and his long brown hair was gathered in a messy bun atop his head. He smiled when he spotted Castiel by the door, his cheeks rosy and his brown eyes trailing appreciatively down Castiel’s choice of outfit for the day. Not that Castiel had many outfits to chose from. Not yet anyway.
But Ida’s smile faltered when he noticed the intense frown on Kiki’s face. Kiki wasn’t a frowner, being as calm as he always was, and a frown on his face made him look angry.
Before anyone could say anything else, Castiel slipped out the door with an awkward little wave that had him rolling his eyes at himself.
It was a steady rain he walked into, but he didn’t mind. The wool jacket was naturally water repellant, and he was only walking a few blocks to the coffee shop down the road. Kiki made decent coffee, but it was strong enough to melt paint off a car and Castiel could only stomach a cup of it.
The Jumping Bean was an old shop that looked as weather-beaten as Castiel felt and was being supported by the buildings it was wedged between. The bell over the door jingled in welcome when he walked in and Castiel was glad to see only a handful of other patrons inside.
The café was one of his favourite places, possibly ever. It was quiet and smelled strongly of fresh coffee. There were used books lining the walls that he could read while trying new specialty drinks and there was always soothing music playing in the background. The baristas were kind and let him sit all day in his corner, reading. It was an oasis of peace and distraction in what had otherwise been the most tumultuous and traumatizing six months of his life.
He shook the rain from his hair and coat and smiled at the barista – Carey today – behind the counter.
“Hi, John!” She smiled warmly.
He’d told her to call him John. It was better to have a few different names associated to his face in case anyone came looking for him.
He ordered a carrot muffin and something called a London Fog that he hadn’t tried yet, paying for it with the change he got from the recycling from the club. Then he retreated to his corner. It was a small table with two worn-in, over-stuffed armchairs on either side that had been a royal blue color at one point but had been worn and faded down to something much lighter. But they were comfortable, and Castiel threw his coat over the back of the one wedged between the window and a book shelf. He liked this one better. His back was to a wall, he could see the door, and he could watch people walking by outside if he wanted.
Today he ran his finger over the spines of the books, finding and pulling down a tattered copy of Lord of the Rings. It was the second one – the Two Towers - he was on now, having finished the first two weeks ago. Dean had always made references to the series and Castiel had never understood them. Not that it mattered much. He wouldn’t able to show Dean he understood those jokes now. Still, it was important for him to understand pop culture if he wanted to fit in as a human, and the story was vivid and distracting. That’s really all he was looking for.
A few hours later in Osgiliath, Frodo, overcome by the One Ring's influence, almost kills Sam, and Castiel's heart tried to wring itself dry.
He folded the book in half, gripping it too tightly, and brought it closer to his face.
“It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really matter. Full of darkness and danger they were. Sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?”
Castiel swallowed thickly, and looked up from the book to stare out the window.
How poignant.
When he thought maybe he had managed to collect himself, Castiel dropped his gaze and continued.
“But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come and when the sun shines, it’ll shine out the clearer. Those are the stories that stay with you. That meant something. But I think, Mr. Frodo, that I do understand, I know now. Folk in those stories, had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.”
“What are we holding on to, Sam?”
The tears blurring his eyes made it impossible to read any further. Castiel set the book down with a thunk, rattling the rickety table. He scrubbed at his eyes, chest shuddering and throat tight. But he took some deep breaths like Ida and Kiki had taught him before he examined what about that passage had affected him.
It was immediately obvious. What was he holding on to? How could anything be good when so much bad had happened? What was he supposed to do now? Get a job? Find a partner? Exist on the outside of the world he’d spent millennia being a part of?
The thought stole his breath, and he braced his elbows on his knees, maintaining an iron grip on his breathing.
That couldn’t be how his story ended. He was a soldier that was meant to die on a battlefield. He was meant to die for a purpose, not of old age. Not of sickness. He would die by a blade or he would never die. That had been the truth for hundreds of millions of years.
He was a warrior, made of light and sharp edges and raw power…and the universe had stripped him of any purpose, any usefulness, and left him to die of what? Monotony?
Annoyance pushed back against the panic and Castiel was able to sit upright. He wiped at his eyes one last time and ignored the concerned stares from the baristas. It was not, unfortunately, the first time they had seen him break down in the corner of their coffee shop.
He ignored them, face heating again. There was nothing he could say to make the situation less awkward. He just let them assume what Kiki, Ida, and the others at the club all assumed.
He left the book sitting on the table and, for a while, watched the world pass him by as he sipped his lukewarm London Fog. He didn’t like it.
It was still raining and the people who had left their houses without umbrellas were running down he sidewalk, dashing past those that had. When a bus pulled away on the other side of the street, Castiel felt his heart squeeze. There was a man sitting on the bench with his head bowed. He looked like Dean.
It was time to go, Castiel realized. He’d seen a hundred different Dean’s in a hundred different places since leaving the bunker. None of them had actually turned out to be Dean. The flutter of hope in his chest hurt every time.
And anyway, the club would be opening soon and he needed to help Kiki and Ida carry their new costumes to the car.
He left a generous tip for the poor teenagers behind the counter – throwing them an apologetic smile for having to deal with him – and left his drink on the table, only half finished.
As he headed back down the street towards the apartment, Castiel refused to look at the bus bench to see if the man was still there.