AN ~ Title from William Blake. Very likely that this is the first of a collection, either Cas- or TeamFreeWill-centric, probably to be entitled Songs of Innocence & Experience, very loosely based on the themes in Blake's anthology. Let me know what you think of this idea or if you have any moments (preferably canon or canon-compatible) or poems to request/recommend be in the collection! In the mean time…
Songs of Innocence
(The Little Boy Found)
As time went on, Castiel noticed he was becoming slower to react. He fumbled his spoon, he stumbled over his own feet, and his supervisor had had to call his name four times before he remembered that he was going by Clarence now and decided to respond. That afternoon, on break, he dropped a half-full cup of coffee, and it splashed down his jeans. Dean would have cursed – sonofabitch! - but Cas said nothing. In fact, he hardly registered what had actually happened until Father Matthew rushed over with a towel.
"Here, Clarence, it's okay," he said, pressing the towel into Castiel's hands. "Here, take this and clean yourself up."
The Father's eyes were mildly irritated, but mostly concerned. He looked tired. Cas frowned, feeling guiltier than he was prepared for as he looked back down at the spilled beverage. It was just coffee. But he knew the Church had been struggling financially, probably for a while – that was why the Father looked so tired all the time. Cas shouldn't have been there. He could have gone back to Dean and Sam and demanded some assistance if they were going to throw him out like this. He shouldn't have burdened these people.
"Clarence?" Father Matthew inquired gently. "Are you hurt?"
"No, Father," Cas assured him quickly, not wanting the man to worry any more than he already did for his flock of misfits. "I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to forgive, my son. Sit down and I'll bring you another cup."
Father Matthew smiled and Cas found himself smiling back. He sat down on the park's stairs and leant against the short brick wall which served as railing. It was a little damp, but nothing he couldn't handle. Sitting there, though, it became obvious that his muscles – even his bones, apparently – had been straining. Being human was hard. There was so much pain.
Father Matthew returned, and pressed a new cup of coffee into Cas' hands.
"Thank you," Cas mumbled, taking a large mouthful of the liquid before recalling how hot it was. He'd burnt himself before like this, so he avoided spitting it out this time, but he made a mental note to write it down or something. The human mind was much more muddled for some reason, and especially lately, he'd found it hard to remember a thing.
"Now Clarence," Father Matthew began softly, "have you been taking care of yourself?"
"Yes, Father," Cas replies, though half his muscles still ache, he has cuts and bruises all over and his mouth is raw from burns.
"How much water have you had today?"
"Nearly a litre."
"Good to hear. Have you eaten anything?"
"I had a…sandwich earlier." Cas frowned at the Father. "Why do you care?"
He didn't mean it to sound hostile at all, but if he's not mistaken, it is offence that first crossed the Father's features, followed by confusion, and then a concerned acceptance of the question, and sympathy. Father Matthew put a hand on Castiel's shoulder.
"Sometimes the world can be difficult, Clarence – and I realise I'm preaching to the choir on this, believe me – but you mustn't let it make you forget to take care of the basics. Water, food, shelter. That's what we're here for. You are not alone in your struggle. We want to help you. It is through His servants, the Lord provides."
He had Cas until that last sentence. Cas sighed. His eyes fluttered closed in exasperation and despite the broad – if cloudy – daylight, he felt very comfortable all of a sudden leaving them like that. Tired, Cas realised. I'm tired.
"I understand it can be difficult," Father Matthew finished, gently taking the cup from Cas' hands before it tipped again, "but if nothing else, have faith in yourself. Treat yourself well so that you can grow. God intended great things for you, my son, but you might never achieve them if you don't get some sleep."
Cas forced his eyelids open, having picked up that this might be some sort of cue, but the Father was back over the other side of the square. He reluctantly moved to get up, only to find a thick, black coat had been laid over him. Cas closed his eyes again, and slept.