A/N: Recently discovered some pre-slash destiel on Livejournal from Castiels' PoV. Looked for some on and found nothing so thought I would give it a shot. Cas is very hard to write so any pointers would be helpful. Reviews? All criticisms welcome.
Disclaimer: New fic so I guess I need a new disclaimer. If I owned supernatural Cas would be in every episode. He's not so I don't.
Set in season 5 when Cas is on the run from heaven and looking for one is inspired by being freezing outside in the snow.
Castiel decides he dislikes the snow. He revels in this discovery as he treds on the grey slush that seeps into his shoes. Before his banishment from heaven, his inability to distinguish between temperature meant he had been rather indifferent to snow, or indeed, any weather. The only opinion he had formed on the subject was that newly laid snow could occasionally look pleasing when the sun shone at the right trajectory. Castiel pulls the worn fabric of his trench coat more securely around him in a futile effort to disperse the discomfort the cold was causing him. It was soaked and beginning to freeze. It was also heavy and stiff. It hindered his movement and added to his increasing exhaustion. However, it was the little protection against the wind he had left. He tries not to think back when the adjective cold had been just a word. It makes him feel… longing. His fall from heaven had cost him more than just his brothers. In fact, their constant hounding was the very reason Castiel was forced to walk along streets instead of flying over them faster than a human could comprehend. He feels their relentless scouring. They are close. Very close. He is warded, of course, but that doesn't stop the other angels from searching the Earth manually. Their proximity means the moment he takes to the skies, they would bear down on him and kill him. Capture and torture at the very least. Castiel tries not to linger on that unpleasant thought. Until an opportunity arises for him to 'give them the slip', as the saying goes, he is stuck using his vessel's modes of transport. He can feel his brothers; but he can't hear them. His head feels empty and… lonely without the constant cacophony of the 'angel radio', as Sam and Dean refer to it. Angels are not meant to be solitary. They are soldiers. Always reporting to their superiors and each other. Castiel dislikes the snow but he detests the silence. Additionally, his brothers made it impossible for him to stay in communication with the Winchesers' so very often the silence was around him as well as in his head.
As Dean would say, Russia had been a bust. Castiel had thought that perhaps his Father would reside in a place full of the natural beauty of the Earth He had created. Regrettably, he been wrong. Castiel muses on the idea that his Father loathes the cold as much as he does before dismissing it. Unlike Castiel, God is able to access Heaven's power and would not feel the cold. He needs to rest. His Grace is depleted and resting would restore it somewhat.
His cell phone rings. Castiel reaches into his pocket with numb fingers. Numbness is a new experience and an interesting one. He would not mind it was much were it not for its impracticality. He looks at the screen. Dean.
"Dean." He says as both greeting and acknowledgement.
"Cas." Dean returns. "Where are you, man? We haven't seen you in weeks."
Castiel looks skywards in exasperation. No matter how many times he explains he is hunted, Heaven's most wanted, Sam and Dean seem unable to comprehend that it's too dangerous for him to stay with them. "Heaven is searching. It's unwise for me to remain stationary. Visiting you would put all of us in danger."
"Screw them. It's not like we're on the best terms anyway." Dean cites.
"Dean, the Angels' may not particularly like you but they see you as of no particular significance other than your use as a vessel. They think of you as a nuisance, at most. It would be best if this remained their opinion."
"What are they gonna do? Kill me? I'm Michael's vessel. They need me." Dean counters.
"Yes." Castiel agrees. "But they don't need Sam." It is with regret that he says that last sentence because he knows it will win the argument. Dean won't risk Sam's life and Castiel won't risk Dean's life but his Grace, his very being, aches for company. For rest. For somewhere dry and warm. For a brief sense of safety.
"We have warding." Dean argues half-heartedly. They both know Castiel has won.
"They'll find a way. It is not possible to stay hidden all the time. You, of all people, should know that." Castiel admonishes.
Dean sighs. "Just… stay safe, buddy. And just because you can't visit doesn't mean you can't call. It'd be awesome if you'd remember you had a friggin' phone."
Castiel take a few moments to try and decipher what Dean means but is unable to find a plausible translation. "I do remember I have a phone."
Sometimes, when Castiel doesn't understand, Dean finds it humorous. This time he sounds impatient. "I mean, would it kill you to call every once in a while. Give us an update on the search for the Big Guy. Or just tell us that the God Squad hasn't caught up with you. Christ, Cas. Half the time we don't even know if you're still breathing."
"I don't breathe." Castiel hasn't fallen that far. Yet.
"It's a figure of speech!" Dean growls. "Just call occasionally, okay?"
"Okay." Castiel decides the conversation has come to a close. Besides, his brothers are nearing. He ends the call and continues his trek through the cold snow. Alone.
