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The girls twirled and twisted in their sparkling flapper dresses, they were being swept off by suit wearing men, dancing joyfully with them, this is what they lived for, parties and drinks and youth. Music pounded into the room, it seemed a bit eerie for the joyfulness of the night. It was a jazz piece, but a haunting one, a piece that spoke many struggles and a life before this. Alcohol was being passed about in abundance, everyone had had at least a few glasses of it each, there was talk of it being banned, it was a sin they whispered, it befouled god and was the start of a degenerate society.
Castiel stood by the bar, sipping at his drink and watching the people snake in and out of each other, after a while they seemed to blur together, just hazes of colour churning against one another. Soon his drink was finished and he grabbed another, you could never drink too much. He had to drink, drink to drown the sorrow, the sorrow of loss, the sorrow of a love that was no longer alive. He stumbled up the stairs, pushing past people coming down, he had to get out, he had to be free.
Soon he was standing on the roof of the unremarkable building, it was just another ordinary building like the many that New York was teaming with. He peered down at the faces that walked by, every so often couple would stroll by down below, laughing at inside jokes and walking as if it were an intricate dance, a hand here, a pair of lips there, the unconscious dance that couples seemed to do unknowingly. Oh how he missed that, he missed it so much. It was a searing pain in his heart, stabbing at him viciously every time he saw people in love. He had had that, and now it was gone with the wind. There was no hope of it returning, no hope at all.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember a time before this, a time before drinking himself into a stupor every night. His nights with him had been full of stolen kisses and waking up in each other’s arms. Now he woke up with splitting headaches and a taste in his mouth that never went away, he tried to love again, oh how much he tried, but it couldn’t happen, all his love had been spent on him. He had took it all and now he was gone, gone with the wind.
Castiel tried praying every night before he succumbed to the alcohol induced dreams but it did no good, it never brought him hope, it never brought him what he wanted, his only need was him. At first it was easy to cope with the loss, he had only went for a weekend out with his friends, that’s all, be ignorant Castiel he whispered to himself every day, he knew what the truth was but at first he could just bury it, it’s all just a dream Castiel his mind crooned at him, he’ll be there when you wake up. And every morning he woke with hope in his heart, but it diminished more every time he woke up without a body coiled around his. He’s gone his faithless mind said to him, gone with the wind. He’s never coming back Cas, at first he blocked it out, but how do you block your own subconscious out? The answer is you can’t, you never can.
Tears fell from Castiel’s eyes, falling down the abyss, more than likely splattering onto the pavement which was so far down, so, so, far down. Maybe he was there? Waiting for Castiel, waiting for him to sail away with the wind, he had been gone for over a year, and every day it got harder. Who had said that the heart mends in time? The tears just grow, splintering the heart into something unrecognisable, then soon the tiny tears turn into rips, slashing at any hope, slowly making you crumble day-by-day.
He was down there, Castiel was sure of it, he just needed to follow, follow and be with him. It had been over a year since Castiel had heard from him, he couldn’t be anything but dead. Castiel raised one foot, steeped forward onto the air and then the other foot followed. He plummeted towards the ground, he was gone with the wind.
Dean drove into the city, after a year and a half of fighting he was finally back in New York, he could finally be with Castiel.
He couldn’t believe it, no, no, no. it couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be. Castiel was the reason he had pulled the trigger again and again, Castiel was the reason he hadn’t broken down and pushed the cool metal to his head. Castiel was the only reason why he had stumbled though each gunshot ridden day. His letters mustn’t have got to him, he was too late, late by a few pitiful weeks. Late, late, late.
What would he do now? What did he live for now? Parties and drinks and a destroyed heart?
He would go where his heart led him.
The next day he was gone with the wind.