Chapter Text
It’s a cold day when everything falls apart.
Later, Castiel will run through every sign that should have kept him in bed. Later, he will torture himself with all of the what ifs and might have beens. With things that he can’t possibly know, in the moment.
When the dust has settled, and Castiel has a moment to himself to just think, these are the thoughts that will haunt his every hour - not just his conscious ones, for the world is rarely so kind as to make sleep a refuge: He should have known the instant he stepped away from the comfort of his bright, multicolored apartment into the cool grey day outside. He could have stopped everything that went wrong with just one text message…
But for now, a man of average height makes his way towards the closest bus stop. His dark hair ruffling in the wind, a sardonic smile on his face. The man is not remarkable in any way. Young - but not overly so. Dressed in a comfortable t-shirt and jeans, not bothering to brace his arms against the cold.
There is, perhaps, one spot of red paint not quite rubbed away on his left forearm, noticeable only because of its contrast to his outfit of blues and greys. On such a dim day, in the bland streets of a city, the neon paint almost glows.
As he stands idly, waiting for a bus that should have been there minutes ago, questions cross his mind. The slightly annoyed passing queries that entertain his thoughts regularly. What day is it? - Thursday, his mind helpfully supplies. He’s taken a day off school for this event.
Finally noticing the paint, the man rubs at the spot, though his hard eyes soften, slightly, at the thought of brushes standing propped up in a vase, bottles of oil, and canvas. Thoughts of what awaits him upon his return.
After all, he justifies to himself, after a tedious day like today, a little rest and relaxation is absolutely in order. Trying to keep an apocalypse from breaking out when all of his brothers are together is somewhat like trying to force legislation passed; very nearly impossible, and perhaps more trouble than it’s worth. He sighs, internally cursing himself for the comparison.
If he even so much as mentions politics to Lucifer…
The bus finally pulls up in front of the corner, gleaming metal a startling shade of green- landscapes and the grassy growth near riverbanks come to mind.
Even the bus driver looks apathetic under artificial lights, which throw the wrinkles on her tired face into harsh relief. She doesn’t ask to see his bus pass, or for fare, and somehow, the man is sure that he could get away with simply walking past, but…
He pulls a worn, black leather wallet out of his back pocket. Sliding his pass out, he scans it on the new ‘tap’ apparatus.
Taking a seat, he makes to put the card away, but intelligent blue eyes catch on something. His own picture stares up at him, unaffected, from his driver’s license. The print, as crisp as the day the card was issued, reads ‘Castiel Novak’. Date of birth, 9/18/1986.
He heaves a sigh, eyes closing. His lids act the theater screen, playing the memory. He’d tried to pass himself off as Jimmy in the photographs, but there was always something different about him.
Castiel has never been able to mimic Jimmy as well as he wishes. No, they’re too different, for all they share the same likeness.
Jimmy; the nice twin, the good twin. Always the friendly one. The successful one.
That suits Castiel just fine. Being the prickly one, with the sharp eyes and sharper words, has always worked well to keep people from coming too close. Castiel is content to be the twin talked about in whispers- the rude one, the smart one, the shadow.
There’s considerably less scrutiny on the shadow than on the one who casts it
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the History teacher prepares himself for one of the few events that actually drag the remnants of the Novak family together.
His and Jimmy’s birthday.