A/N I started this story three weeks before "A Slice of Kevin." So now I guess it'd be considered AU. Not always a bad thing, is it? Written purely for the sake of self indulgence.
A Patch of Blue
At first the world hit Castiel with the cold dampness of rot and organic decay. Decades, centuries and millennia of dirt, rocks and rotting vegetation blocked his way to fresh air and sunshine. Refusing to give up, he scratched and scrabbled at the debris until a precious patch of blue constricted his eyes to a pinprick of pain. He gasped and squeezed his eyes tightly. So close. So sweetly close. The chill of autumn air greeted the angel through that last five inches. Blind or not, he pushed through until he crawled out, greeting cold hard ground, several nearby trees and children's voices.
Freedom. It wasn't home, not by any means. But he escaped Purgatory and that's all that mattered to an exhausted and battered angel. To be honest, Castiel had no clue how he escaped, only that he evaded a pack of Cerberus wolves one moment then found himself in a cavern the next.
Afternoon died into a chilled, clear evening. The city lights replaced the stars, automobiles replaced the song of crickets and frogs. But nothing replaced the creepy-fearful sensation that lurked in Purgatory's every corner and crevice. Castiel walked with a deliberate, swift pace. He did not run, could not run. Grit, grime and slime coated his clothes. Rocks and dirt wore his shoes paper-thin and left blisters on his feet. Purgatory stole his angelic powers and left him weak and vulnerable as a human. He did not know how long it would take before he reached full capacity.
Maybe it would take a long time, maybe he'll never be what he was.
Cass headed straight for the city, its lights and main streets. Not because the angel knew exactly where he was or where he headed, but because he needed to stay within public view. After all, monsters loved the dark and presently, Castiel was as good a target as a psychic.
The smell of fried food, alcohol and engine exhaust clouded the air and assailed Cass' senses like a series of slaps to the face. The food smelled wonderful, the alcohol bitter and the exhaust choked him. People who did not ignore him, rounded the angel with disdain and disgust. Someone uttered a rude comment but the rhythmic growl of a diesel truck drowned his voice.
Castiel encountered a sports store, closed for the night. Its huge window proudly displayed the town's high school basketball team, jerseys, fancy shoes and the local paper boasting of a winning streak. But all the angel noticed was the date: Saturday, November 2014. His breath left him. Just one year? He and Dean were gone only a year?
Castiel felt more time than that passed. He almost believed it. He took in one more tidbit of information: his current whereabouts: Bismark, North Dakota.
Cass turned around and leaned against the window pane. Abandoned in Purgatory, he doubted anyone, even Dean, knew he made it out. For the first time since... No memory came to him of loneliness. But he yearned for company, for a semblance of belonging. Pushing away, the angel strolled along the sidewalk, ignoring the crowds, the traffic and the neon signs.
His feet ached and he supposed it was wise to find another pair of shoes. But, no. He needed money. He needed to call Dean or someone-and then Castiel understood the irony of his situation: an angel, lost, alone and in need of rescuing. Clueless as a child, the angel considered himself fortunate he spoke American English.
Cass wandered along the streets, passing one closed business after another until he encountered a gas station with a mini-mart. Two guys around Sam's height and weight exited the store bearing beer and snacks. They eyed him coldly before passing on. Cass caught his reflection on the closed glass door and realized his disheveled appearance resembled a person without a home.
That's exactly what he was now; homeless. At least, at the very least, Castiel knew someone who could help him. He crossed the threshold and stepped aside as a lady in business attire rushed by.
"It was your directions that led me off the road, you idiot! Just send the directions to my GPS! Crap! I'm going to be late!"
Two truckers popped in. They helped themselves to huge cups of coffee and food stuffs. They paid the clerk and whisked away as swiftly. Castiel took his turn at the checkout counter. "I am in need of assistance," he stated simply.
The guy attending the lottery tickets snapped a wad of gum between his teeth. "Your car at Pump Number Six? Cuz it's not working right, anyway."
"No," Cass answered evenly. "I need to know how to contact someone. I-"
The older lady who inventoried the cigarettes glanced over her shoulder. "We don't have a pay phone here. But the drugstore eight blocks down Keeblers Avenue has one."
Castiel nodded and pushed a tired smile over his face. "Thank you." He departed, still wondering how to contact Dean without money. Did Dean even use the same phone number? Pondering his dilemma over and over, the angel traveled along the sidewalk, mindful of motorists, early morning sounds of barking dogs and of a school bus roaring in the distance.
At first Castiel kept his gaze locked onto the cracked and uneven walkway. He halted at the first street light. A large semi bearing the M&M's logo rumbled past the lost angel and something deep inside him ached. Dean loved M&Ms. Sadly, Cass retained great uncertainty regarding Dean's forgiveness. After all, Castiel's grievances ran far past lies and betrayal. He attacked Sam and nearly doomed a world to the laviathan's appetite.
The walk light lit and Castiel followed a young man in a red mohawk across the street. The person in question took a right hand turn while the angel stayed on his path, hoping to spot the drugstore soon. The pale color of dawn tinted the world in a vague grey light. The temperature dropped another five degrees as the city's nightlife slipped away and the daytime workforce emerged.
Castiel crossed four more streets before he laid eyes on a Good Value drugstore. The sky gradually brightened as Cass approached the store and found the payphones. He stood and stared, pondering his lack of finances to make the call.
A plump gal in bouncy curly hair exited her recently parked blue Focus. She jingled keys with one hand and dialed her cell phone with the other. Balancing her multitasking effort, she shouldered a large purse and set the car to auto-lock. She paused in mid-flight for the doors and redialed.
Apparently no one answered her call. She neared the front entrance, glanced at the doors and frowned when they failed to open for her. "Dang it!" she sang. "It's five-to. Should be opening." catching sight of Castiel, she offered a polite and brief smile. "Little cold this morning," she said to him.
Castiel nodded. He thought over the moment then gave the question a shot: "is there a way I can make a phone call without money?"
She lowered her cell and glanced at the pay phones. "Do you have a party expecting you?"
"Not exactly."
"Do you know the number?"
"I believe so."
She approached with both hands on her cell. "What's the number?"
"Well, I don't have any change with me. I recently returned..." Castiel stopped when he lost the logic of his predicament. He certainly could not just say 'fresh from Purgatory and they don't use money'.
Her eyes took on his dirty clothes, disarranged hair and scruffy face. "Are you back from the war?"
"The war?"
"You know... Afghanistan?" her eyes beseeched his understanding. "My sister's husband arrived like, last month. He was a wreck. He didn't tell her he was home. PTSD will really screw people up. Why don't you tell me the number and I'll make the call, okay?" Castiel gave her the only number that came to mind. She punched it in and they waited forty seconds before she spoke. "Hi, my name is Beth. I'm calling for..." she shook her head, eyes on the angel with an unspoken question.
"Castiel."
"Castiel." Beth winked at him. "He's a little lost. He's here at Good Value Drugstore at the corner of Keeblers and Lassen Ave. Just, uh, just drop by and he'll be here. Okay? Bye." she snapped the phone shut with a reassuring smile. "Well, it was voice mail, but maybe your family are still asleep. Just stay here, Castiel. I'm sure they'll find you."
"You're very kind, Beth. Thank you."
She reached out and gently squeezed his arm when the drug store doors whooshed open. "Oop, gotta go!" and off she went.
Castiel waited. People came and left like seagulls feeding on the beach. Three hours turned into early afternoon and from there into early evening. Vehicles came and left. People gave him an occasional glance but nothing more. Night returned and the parking lot lights switched on. The store closed and the manager departed for the night.
Castiel knew at this point either someone drove a long way to get to him or he gave Beth an incorrect number. Perhaps no one knew he waited. Still, the angel chose to remain. He was, after all, in North Dakota, Bobby's house in South Dakota.
"Well of all things ta find in da city!"
The unmistakable scent of sulphur proceeded a group of ruffians as they rounded the drugstore's back entrance. Two brutes fit a club bouncer's description. The rest of the group ranged from young to twenty-something, all garbed with jackets, jeans and red converse shoes. Three young men wielded scuffed batons. An older man with a long beared tapped a long knife in his hand.
The apparent leader, a muscled young man slightly taller than Dean, faced Cass and ground his teeth. His breath stank of drugs and rotted gums. A rough and difficult life calloused the edges of his demonic eyes. A sheen of sweat moistened his dark skin. The demon smirked as his groupies surrounded Castiel. "Whaddya say, Boys? Looks like da sewer rats 'r walkin' on two feet, now. Where's yer tail?" the leader's dark eyes scanned Cass and added "...Bogey."
Castiel hesitated before answering: "I have nothing considerate to say to you."
The demon nodded with a casual attitude then bore his eyes into Cass. "You know, you stink of angel. Been to a church lately?" Cass' blue eyes scanned one punk then another until the demon lost his patience. "Hey, I'm talking to you, Bogie! You standin' out here all alone and in our turf calls for a toll."
"This is not your turf," Castiel answered calmly. "Technically it is private property."
"Oooh!" the group chorused.
The demon possessed punk dropped his voice, mocking Castiel: "Technically... private property." He ground his teeth again and his voice returned to normal: "Yer splurkin' with us, Bogie an' I'm about to cram your crappy coat up yer ass. So either fork over a toll or we'll take it outta you."
Cornered and surrounded, Castiel found no options other than to fight his way through. He delivered a right-cross to the nearest ganger-banger. The head punk grabbed Cass' arm and swung wide with a calloused fist. Cass caught it and delivered a palm strike to the offender's jaw.
The rest of the men reacted like a pack of wild dogs. They assaulted Castiel with rabid enthusiasm.
A baton struck Cass' left shoulder.
The knife sliced his cheek.
Someone kick Cass' legs with steel toed boots.
Another baton bashed his right knee.
A doubled fist hammered his kidney.
Another fist bruised his wounded cheek and smeared blood.
A fist sunk into his middle.
Castiel bloodied a nose, elbowed an eye, delivered a kick to someone's gut and finally cracked someone else's jaw. Then the knife found its way deep into his right shoulder. The blade painfully scraped the bottom of his collar bone. The angel spun around and slammed his fists on either side his attacker's shoulders, breaking his collar bones.
Click-click. BAAM!
"Sonofabitch!" the leader swore, "WHO SHOT ME!?"
At first Castiel thought a patrol officer arrived to break up the fight. The shot gun thundered off two more times, spreading agony among the thugs. They screamed as though in madness and scrabbled away in torment, swearing and cursing.
Trembling, Castiel dropped to his knees and laid a hand over his wounded shoulder. With a swift jerk, he yanked out the knife. Accustomed to bleeding in Purgatory, Cass did not question why he bled now. Through the haze of shock-induced disorientation, the angel heard a familiar voice. Looking forward, Cass met a set of gentle hazel eyes and a face framed with long straight hair.
"Cass!" Sam said softly. "How the hell did you get here? Dean said you were lost in Purgatory." Castiel lipped Sam's name but no sound emerged from his dry throat. Dean's little brother stood and aided his friend. "Can't stay here," Sam announced as he led the angel to his 'borrowed' car. "We'll take you home, get you cleaned up."
Castiel slumped into shotgun, his expression lost with perplexity. Sam tucked the shotgun under the seat before claiming the driver's side and started the car. Cass pushed sound out his throat, "S-Sam, when did you get the call?"
"The call?"
"Beth. A woman named Beth. I gave her a phone number."
"You called me Cass."
The angel blinked. "What?"
"You called my number."
Trembling, Castiel waded through his fuzzy memory. "But I don't know your number."
Sam smiled then dropped it. "It was your voice, Cass. You called my cell just an hour ago."
Confused and troubled, the angel found nothing to answer. He settled more comfortably in his seat. Sam squeezed his left shoulder and tension left him with a sore and weary-stricken body.
At least now he was home and with his family again.
Fin.