Coda to 9.18: “Meta Fiction”
Non-existent green eyes peak behind the barricade of his memories, every spoken word of concern clawing at his skin in a the ghost of an echo. Castiel eyes the minibar.
“What’s honourable about a miniature bar in a motel room?”
Pulling open the yellow door, the angel reaches for a tiny bottle. He pulls out one at random. Tequila. Oh. Castiel remembers tequila. He almost breaks the bottle for how hard he’s gripping it.
Cas thinks he understands now.
The honour is not in the alcohol, it’s in the choice; in the mere existence of that God-awful ugly piece of machinery, glaring at him from its spot on the floor. Castiel can appreciate that. He can understand that. He can ‘get behind that’. But he doesn’t need a drink.
He needs a liquor store.