"Happiness was never an option"

[the_cynical_nerd]

 When the next song started, echoing in the half empty bar, the black haired man put down his drink, producing a muffled sound when the glass hit the wooden surface of the table.

He knew that song. It was one of Dean's favorite.

He looked down, letting out a sigh, staring at his own hands, now clasped together on his lap.

Those same hands that had used to be strong and steady, hands that once had grabbed a man and raised him from Hell, holding him in a such a steely grip to leave a mark on his skin.

Still, they hadn't been enough to save him, in the end. Not enough to save any of them.

And now that Dean was long gone, along with Sam, Jack and everyone else he had ever loved, he could not but hate his own hands, for not being able to drag them back to him.

He had kept praying to them every night, though, hoping that his words could reach them in Heaven, where his broken wings couldn't take him any longer.

And he was still praying to his Father too, even if he knew that nothing would change: God had cast him out.

Exiled for rebelling, for not being the perfect and mindless soldier that he was supposed to be.

He was condemned to live forever on earth, away from his kin and from the grace of paradise, drowning in his misery for the rest of eternity.

He had gone on getting on his knees every night, begging for the gates of Heaven to be reopened for him, so that he could talk with his family one last time... but it had all been in vain.

He wasn't even sure that someone was listening to him anymore, after so many years.

Maybe God had abandoned them altogether, capricious as he had always been.

He had no way to know.

But he knew that he would never stop looking up at the night sky, to ask for forgiveness, for kindness and for a place to go back to.

Pointless as it was, he couldn't give up hope.

It was hard, however, to keep walking the earth alone, knowing that he would probably live through the centuries, to see the world change again and again, while everyone else was oblivious of the truth.

People didn't know who the Winchesters were, they didn't know how those two brave and selfless brothers had saved all of them, more than once.

And that was the real struggle, for him.

That was what broke his heart the most.

He took a deep breath out of habit, even if he didn't really need air to survive, then he turned his head and looked out of the window that was on his right.

It was still raining and the glass was filthy, but he could see all the cars parked outside, along the street, and his eyes shifted to the Impala, wishing so hard to see Dean getting out of it, cursing against the weather like he used to do.

He sighed again, allowing memories to flow through his mind, just like the raindrops on the window and he allowed himself a moment to remember, cutting off everything else.

He could still hear Sam and Dean arguing about the radio, while he was sitting on the back seat of the car.

He could still see the childish smile of his best friend, when finally taking a bite from a burger or, even better, a slice of apple pie.

He could still hear Jack's shy laugh, every time he learned something new, like a puppy taking his first steps.

He could still see that one wrinkle forming on Sam's forehead, while he was typing on his laptop, searching for lore.

And oh, he could still feel the warmth of their arms around his body, of their hands patting his back, during those last hugs... before that everything turned into ashes.

"Do you want another one?"

Suddenly, the man looked up at the blonde woman that was now standing next to his table, with his empty glass on a tray and smiling at him.

"No. Thank you", he muttered to her in his deep voice, his hand already moving toward the inside pocket of his jacket, to grab some money to pay for his drink, when the waiteress slowly shook her head from side to side, in a silent no.

"Don't worry about that. It's on the house", she said to him, widening her smile and then walking away, without even waiting for him to thank her.

He looked at her as she went back to the counter, not sure about why she would offer him a drink, but then he shrugged it and stood up.

He always had somewhere to be, some Hunter to help, some monster to kill, after all.

That was all that was left for him, now.

That was the Winchester's legacy and he was the only one to keep them "alive", in a way.

So, he stepped toward the door, putting his old and worn out trench coat on once again, ready to go, when out of the blue he found himself thinking about something, that he thought he had forgotten ages ago.

He remembered the devious voice of The Empty, its promise to wait until he would be finally happy before coming to collect him and to drag him back into the void.

And, for the first time in years, he let his lips curl in a smile, even if it was a bitter one, walking outside the bar and letting the rain pour over himself, heading for the Impala.

He had lost so many battles he couldn't count them, but oh, he would never lose that one.

The Empty would never get to him, no matter how long it would wait for his chance.

Because he was certain of one thing and only one, at that point, and it was that he would never be happy again.

 

* * * * *

 

Both the waitress and bartender followed the man with their eyes, as he left, but once he was gone, the guy behind the counter looked at his coworker.

"Why did you pay for his whiskey? You know him?" He asked.

"I know who he is", she responded. "You know, my old man, he was in a risky business when he was young, he used to... hunt a lot. And he talked to me about that guy, about how he had helped him once, so..."

"...you're telling me that that man helped your father? But, I mean, your dad died more than ten years ago and that dude didn't seem old enough. Plus, how would you know that it was him? He walked in, didn't say a word to anyone, I don't get it."

Again, the woman smiled.

"He didn't have to. I recognized him by his look. Those sad, blue eyes, his coat... and the car he arrived in. And don't let his appearance fool you, he's older than you might guess."

The bartender huffed, before grabbing a bottle of cold beer from the fridge, ready to move on and serve another customer.

"You're a weirdo. And your dad, I don't know what kinda job he was into, but I have the feeling he was a little weird too", he added, before concluding with one question, "Anyway, who was he? Does he have a name?"

She laughed and nodded, picking up the tray and walking away too, to go on with the night.

"I'm not sure, but I think they call him Castiel", she responded, "And trust me, unless you grow up as I did, you could have no idea how weird the world out there is."