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Rain pattered down on the windshield of Castiel's old, clunky Lincoln as he navigated through the dark, dreary road. He attempted to ignore the constant honking of the cars along the highway.The green LED lights blinked up at him and he knew that he had to get a move on or else he was going to be late.
This year, the day fell on a Sunday so the meeting would have to be shorter than he had originally planned. Running his hand through his short, dark hair, he pondered what is going to happen tonight.
Usually, they just talk about what happened during the previous year. They would talk about their jobs and families and lives. They would indulge and enjoy in a few cups of coffee and dine in their specified booth. They would reminisce about old times and they would both pretend that it didn't bring up bad memories as well as the good ones. They would talk and laugh and maybe even cry with each other for hours in that little corner booth with the rainbow ice cream cone poster over it and the sticky plastic seats that squeaked when you sat down on them. He would make a fart joke every time Castiel would get up out of the seat and Castiel would jab at how disgusting it is to use bathroom humor in a restaurant. But then their eyes would meet and there would be that unspoken spark that neither of them would address because they had convinced each other, and themselves, that those times had passed.
But had they really? No, Castiel decided, they haven't. Otherwise, why would they keep meeting in the same place, on the same day, at the same time, sit at the same booth, and eat the same food just like they had promised to do all those years ago.
Castiel ran a hand over his slightly stubbled face. He hoped that he would be there. They had promised all those years ago to meet every year no matter what. But, after they'd crosses the boundaries they had set, well to be more accurate, Castiel had, there could be reason for doubt. But, he thinks, he hadn't met any resistance so he supposes that it will be all right.
He could remember last year clearly in the back of his mind's eye. He could remember the way that their stares had been longer than usual, how their touches had been more intimate than usual, how their flirty banter had been more charged in promises than usual. He can remember taking a chance sitting in that booth and leaning in. He could remember expecting rejection and bracing himself for it. Then quaint surprise and relief when he wasn't and their lips met. It had been hesitant at first, out of practice, but all still familiar before he felt it properly reciprocated. Their lips, he could still feel them perfectly, slowly became more intense and their hands began to move with more urgency, clinging to each other. He didn't remember what he said to him or how they got there, but he does remember leaving and spending the night at the closest motel. He could remember the way their bodies moved together as they made love that night for the first time in so long. He could still feel those nails digging down his back and how they met each other with and enthusiasm and intensity and longing that he knew they both had missed.
But he could also remember the end.
That he could remember more clearly than anything else. He could remember the look on his face as they reached their climaxes together, coming together, and then he could remember the look on his face when Castiel called out, not his name, but a confession. The one thing Castiel had been holding in since all of their small visits. Castiel could remember the regret he had felt for allowing their situation to lead him to say the one thing they agreed to ever say, while doing the one act they swore they would never do again. And he could remember with crystal, painful clarity, waking up the next morning to an empty bed, the heat of the body that had been there long passed.
Yes. He could remember the end.
Last year has left Castiel with a small level of anxiety that told him he wasn't going to be there this year. That the lies crossed previously caused a change in the routine and tradition they had been following for so long. That Castiel had scared off the one person he looked forward to seeing every year. That Castiel would lose the one person and the one day of the year that he loved more than anything.
Castiel shakes his head. No, he thinks, he will be there. There is no reason he wouldn't be. Yes, they made a mistake last year and even though Castiel had been left alone without a goodbye, there was never any talk about not seeing each other again this year. And they had promised that day. And he always kept his promises. Always.
As Castiel turned down the familiar road, he feels his grip on the steering wheel tighten and his heart beat harder. He will be there, Castiel chanted to himself, he is always there.
The turns of the road came to Castiel as easy as riding a bike. He never really had to think about when he has to put his blinker on or when he has to slow down or when he has to turn into the small parking lot of the Roadhouse. The neon sign was fading and it had definitely seen better days but Castiel was grateful to it all the same. Even though the old owners were long passed and no longer around, Castiel could still feel Ellen in the kitchens and hear Jo taking orders. There was something about this place that briought up all of the happiest memories of Castiel's life.
He parked the car precariously on the last open parking spot and took a deep breath. Realizing that he was doing the opposite of what he wanted to do, knuckles whitening further as he tensed up, he forced his hands to relax. As he pried his fingers away, he winced at the ache his joints gave as he flexed them.
The rain is coming down heavier than before. When he'd left Lawerence, it had been mere sprinkles, but now it was nearly downpouring. The rain fell roughly, like dull bullets against his face and exposed skin.
He was wearing his black coat. It was a different style than the one that many associated him with. The other was tan and a bit lengthier with a belt that ties around the front. This black one did not have similar features. It was heavy, made for colder weather. The pockets were not deep and it had no belt, only buttons and a small detachable hood. It's simplicity was why he had bought it, but now it just made him feel underdressed for such an occasion that meant so much to him and, he hoped, his guest.
One more breath and then he had his hand on the handle of the door and pushed in.
The interior hadn’t changed. It was always the same. The wooden walls held old neon signs and the wooden seats lined with well-worn leather. The smell of greasy burgers. The low rumble of drifting conversations over food and drink. It was all so comforting and it brought a small smile to Castiel’s face. As he stands there, he can feel the familiarity of this place. The aroma of the meat and the fries washes over him in small waves through the old wooden frame. The triggers of burgers and lunch dates and first kisses flood his mind like stop motion picture, flicking by one by one through the back of his eyes.
His smile faltered a bit when he didn’t see the form of a brown leather jacket, one he had so grown used to see that he could remember every single little detail. He wasn’t here yet. Castiel shook negative thoughts out of his head. He would be here.
He had to be.
As Castiel took their regular seat, he ordered for the both of them. Two beers, two bacon cheeseburgers. Just like they always did. And Castiel waited.
He wasn’t coming.
It’s been three hours since Castiel arrived. He was the last patron, his burger lone gone cold, as well as his guest’s. He could feel the pitying stares coming from the bartender, a large burly man with a goatee. No longer Ash from years previous. Already having been asked several times if he wanted to go, being told that he’d been stood up, Castiel refused to believe it. But as the hours dragged on, there was no sign of him.
There was no dirty blond hair. No green eyes. No freckles. No leather jacket. No combat boots.
Nothing.
His heart was heavy and breathing burned. Castiel guessed that the acts of their previous visit truly did out of him from ever seeing Castiel again. Clearing his plate, stacking the foods and glasses, half of them untouched with careful precision. He was stalling. He needed a reason to believe that he was still going to come. But Castiel wasn’t a moron. He wasn’t coming.
The rears beneath the lids of his eyes threaten to spill over as he chokes down his heavy breaths and pays the bill for the dinner. If it could even be called that. Dinner was for two people. He had a meal.
His chest was heaving by the time he rushed out into his car. Anxiety and shame built on themselves upon his sternum, threatening to crush him and have everything flood out.
But then there was something. A low rumble. One that was all too familiar. He dragged his sleeve along his eyes and threw open his car door. Hope seized his chest and it feels lighter than air. He could see the roof of the Impala, its glossy black frame surrounded by the pattering rain of the storm.
“Dean!” he shouted to the howling wind, not caring that the storm was soaking him to the bone. He couldn’t feel anything but the elation in his bones as that car. Oh that car. Memories of heated breaths and whispered secrets and “I love yous” upon leather seats flood his mind and his smile ripped across his face.
As the Impala pulled in, Castiel found himself running. “Dean!” His name flowed out of Castiel’s mouth like a prayer and his eyes filled with joy at the sight of the Impala’s headlights turning off and her door opening.
Confusion flooded his mind at the figure who emerges. It wasn’t Dean. Dean didn’t have long shaggy hair that fell across his face. He used to have a brother-
“Sam?” Castiel pressed, his breathing evening out and his face pinched.
The tall form of Dean’s younger brother took him in. He’s older. Taller. Laugh lines formed around the sides of his cheeks. Only he’s not smiling. Sam looked like he’d been hit by a car.
“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked, looking around him to the Impala and back to Sam Winchester. “Where’s Dean?”
As soon as he hits, Dean , Sam’s face seemed to fall even more. The expression went from sad to downright morose and his eyes flickered down away from him.
“Sam?”
Sam looked up, his cheeks reddening and his eyes misty. “Cas, um, look.” He hesitated, “I’m not exactly sure how to say this,” another deep, shaking breath, “so I’m just going to tell you. Alright?”
Castiel gulped, but nodded his head.
Sam’s shoulders tightened, his expression somber. “Dean’s not coming.”
Castiel frowned. “I can see that Sam. I’m no-”
“He’s dead, Cas.”
A beat. Five beats. Ten beats.
“What?” Castiel felt frozen. His tongue was lead. His brain buzzed.
Sam’s frown deepened, the creases elongating, his eyes filling. “I’m sorry, Cas.”
At first, Castiel thought Sam was lying. There was no way that Dean could be dead. None. No. He couldn’t be. There’s no possible way.
Yet. It was inevitable for everything. People die. Dean is- was a person. Therefore, Dean would have had to die at some point. There was also no feasible reason why Sam would lie to him. Sam knew what Dean meant to him and what he meant to Dean. He wouldn’t have done that. Therefore, he has to be telling the truth. Why did it have to be now?
“How? When? Why?” Castiel felt the words choke out of him like glass crawling up his throat.
“About a month ago. Dad and him got into a real bad car accident. A semi T-boned them,” Sam choked, “He fought hard for a real long time. But in the end, it was too much.”
Castiel’s brain went blank and the next thing he knew, he was striding towards his car, the rain chilling his soul and his brain protecting himself by closing every door to emotion. His eyes burned as he threw open the door. Faintly, he could hear Sam calling out for him, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a shit.
He twisted the keys and pulled out, breaking every traffic violation as he sped away down the one lane road that once turned into happiest place on this goddamn earth. Now it was nothing to Castiel but a neon sign and a few blocks of wood.
He drove and he drove. He drove until the tears in his eyes and the rain on his windshield became too much and he could no longer see. Yanking the car over to the side of the road, he pulled the key out of the ignition and sat. Something simmered before it becomes too much too bare. He threw the car door opened into the pouring rain and got out.
In his rush of emotion, he kicked the tires of his Lincoln over and over again, sparing no mind to the pain the runs up his leg every time his sole hit the rim. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. No any more. Dean was dead. Nothing mattered.
“ YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!” He bellowed at the sky, raw and clenched. He sobbed, his chest and shoulders shook uncontrollably. “ You promised you were going to be there! YOU PROMISED ME! ” His legs buckled from underneath him and his collapsed, clutching his arms across his chest, his face contorted and his lungs aching as ugly wails rip through his throat.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, the rain beating down on him.
“Come home, Dean.” He prayed through his convulses of tears, “ Come home .”
And in fifty years, when Castiel met Dean again, in that same bar, with Jo and Ellen and Bobby and Ash, and eventually Sam, they finally did come home. And that spark never died. They made merry and love and kissed each other and confessed all of those things that only this freedom would give.