A gut-wrenching fear overwhelmed Castiel when he felt like he was on fire. The former angel of the lord was resting on a cold, concrete step of a run-down apartment block. It was only around the corner of the homeless shelter from where he was previously kicked out. Despite this, it felt miles away. Like a tease, just out of his reach.
Then the pain ignited.
Castiel wished no ill will towards the shelter. They were overrun, especially with homeless youth and young families with nowhere else to go. They were very much in a hectic state while he was staying there and so Castiel didn't want to feel like a burden. A nobody in a warm and needed bed. He left with no more than a broken smile and his small duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.
After all, they asked very kindly.
The desperate feeling of his lungs burning for oxygen clouded his mind, leaving everything else behind. As the pain spread from his chest to his head, Castiel could feel his arm that propped himself from the floor begin to shake and falter, falling onto the concrete. The way he fell, the bannister was now digging into his temple, adding another to the pain he was dealing with. Teeth clenched together in pain, he tried desperately to breathe. He never experienced anything like this before. It had him breathless. He had no choice but stay still after the overbearing dizziness overcame him, waves of nausea overlapping the pain.
He feared the nightmares, the dread of waiting for the night was nearly enough for Castiel to copy the others. To follow those as damaged as he was into the store, just to come out with a few cheap bottles of alcohol. Only then could he drown out the flickering and violent images, the harsh and cruel whispers. But he never did. He remembered his share of alcohol, and especially Dean's, and it put him off. Castiel needed to be good at something and, at this present moment in time, the only thing he could be good at was being human. He swore to himself. Drinking was never the right answer, Sam once told him. So, he never drank.
Castiel knew perfection was impossible. A few drunken fights during his early months without a home left him with scars, some more serious than others, scattered around his body. Despite this relapse, the need to unhand the frustrations and fears his body and mind now hold, he collected himself.
He knew what was waiting on the other side of sleep, but Castiel was never prepared for them.
He was never prepared for this either.
He had never felt so out of breath in his life. Another pain wrenching reminder that he was not invincible anymore. That he lost everything. In some ways, the pain of that loss was more unbearable than the physical pain. Castiel was left watching despairingly while people walked straight passed him, oblivious or plain ignorant to his excruciating discomfort. They were clearly following the rules, not associating themselves with people like him, not allowing themselves to sink to that standard.
See, Castiel did know some social rules. Observing humanity was an already acquired habit of his, although the perspective has greatly degraded. In disregard of this, Castiel felt pride. At least he was improving in some aspects of humanity. It might've made Dean feel slightly proud, if only he were here.
Castiel tried so hard to fit in.
He only drove people further away as he clasped his throat and gasped urgently for air, one hand gripping the step so tightly that his fingers began to feel numb. Castiel could feel only a slight pang of pain as two of his nails split from the pressure, from the panic. To everyone else, he was just a drunk too wasted to get a grip on reality, a no one without a purpose.
Maybe they were right.
The three layers of clothes that he clung to were suddenly two layers too many as the heat in his lungs spread like wildfire across his skin. Castiel never knew how luxurious breathing was. It was like someone pressing an angel blade sharply into his throat but a hundred times more painful, a hundred times more terrifying. A fierce cough overcame him, fits after fits coursing through him, each wracking his body. Every time causing Castiel further pain.
Castiel had no control over this.
Suddenly he could hear thumping. Almost rhythmic if it weren't for the slight jump in speed every time Castiel couldn't get even a small gasp into his pleading lungs. It was his heart, Castiel realised. He had never felt it so erratic. Through his mumbled thoughts, Castiel immediately decided that he preferred an angel blade to the throat than an invisible threat. He assumed that it was at this moment Dean would be saying, what the former angel had come to know as, his favourite phrase 'Sonuvabitch' and the several other taboo words that he remembered Daphne always frowned upon. Castiel thought it would be called a catchphrase. Dean liked saying that. He was sure Dean would have called him a dumbass on top of it all for being in the state he was in. And maybe Dean and Sam might have aided him if it weren't for his mistakes. But Dean wasn't there. They wanted nothing to do with the former angel and so Castiel was left helpless. Defenceless. Hopeless.
He was shaking.
He reluctantly let out a sob as the pain grew, his panic growing frantically worse. Sudden, eruptive images invaded his mind. Castiel assumed it was his way of trying to rid of the pain, dulling his distressed mind. Flashes of him flying captured his mind, his black-glossed wings stretched to their full wingspan. Wide and strong, no doubt of purpose. Castiel smiled and let out a sobbed laugh at the relief of the sight. They were never the biggest nor the strongest but they were his. He loved those wings, a defining part of him, and he loved the feeling of the air moving through his feathers, past his face.
His most at peace. Oh Father, he missed his wings.
Yet he thought someon-something else would be at the surface of his mind.
Castiel shook it off as he felt a damp heat falling against his face, neck and chest. He was sweating as uncontrollably as his panicked breathing. He didn't want to admit to it, didn't want to lower himself further, but he was quite sure that it might not have been sweat falling from his eyes.
Dean would've called him a 'sissy', he was sure.
Castiel didn't know what was happening. As an angel, he never had these forms of attacks. That's what this must be. An attack of some kind. There was no one around. He was alone, in every sense of the word. Castiel wasn't good enough for one pair of eyes to pay attention to him. He wanted to laugh at the thought. Of course he wasn't, there was no point in pity.
The disdain was clear. He felt it himself.
He was just that kind of person.
The tightness in his throat and chest grew, resulting in him tearing at his throat, desperate to diminish the crushing pressure on his lungs. But no matter how hard he tried, he was slowly losing consciousness. Like a predator creeping closer and closer. It terrified him. His ears picked up a strange wheezing sound and he turned his heavy head, trying to find the source of the annoying disturbance. Only to realise once again he was alone.
It was him.
Like his lungs were crying for help.
What was happening to him?
Castiel watched as a man in a black leather jacket walked fast-paced down the street. As he came closer to Castiel, he gave a wide berth, walking in a wide half circle with his head turned the other way. Purposefully ignorant. Castiel could see his strained frown. No help at all then. Cas then realised that he was slowly losing any feeling in his arms. He tried his best to sit up but clenched his jaw as his body was betraying him. Afraid, Castiel felt his last few pieces of change fall from his trouser pocket as he slid down a step, head laid crooked from the slow fall. He hoped no one would steal it. It was the last he had, the only way to make that one phone call if he needed it.
If he knew for certain it wouldn't be declined.
Castiel could feel himself slipping further into unconsciousness, sight dotted black around the edges. Eyes wide with warranted panic, Castiel let out another distorted sob. He couldn't go back to them. The nightmares would destroy him. He couldn't face the betrayal on Dean's face, the anger and disgust in his brother's and sister's or the pain in Sam's. He couldn't face walking through the bunker door. He couldn't.
God help him, he couldn't.
Castiel couldn't face Lucifer's taunts either. The devil, his brother, still somehow managed to claw his way into his dreams. If you can even call them dreams anyway. Castiel was never dragged to hell, he was well aware of that. However, Lucifer's imagined presence was strong. His whispers, shouts and slaps became real when he woke while the echoed reminders of Sam's own torture could be felt on his own skin. Of course, he never told Dean this in fear that Sam would overhear. He didn't want to scare away the younger Winchester. He didn't want to scare away the older Winchester either.
Bit late for that now, a voice close to mirroring Dean's snarled in his ear.
That last bitter thought echoed through Castiel's mind as the world went dark.
All the while, no one bothered to check if the skinny, bearded and filthy man behaving oddly on the floor was actually okay.
...
Castiel woke up in a jolt of panic. He found the recurring dream having a worsening effect on his emotional stability every time he woke. He concluded this by counting the increasing hitched sobs and salty tears that threatened to overtake him each time he thought of what he used to have.
Power. Strength. Loyalty.
Family.
Castiel had to find his breath for an extensive amount of time and wipe his loose sleeve against his flushed cheeks. The emptiness echoed fiercely against his chest, his mind desperately begging him to reason, to call Dean and plead for him to take him back. To seek forgiveness for so many things that Castiel wasn't too sure where the list ended or where it even started. He hated the guilt and uncertainty of maybe never being able to be forgiven.
He hated the terror he felt as he realised he might never see Dean again. Abandoned once again.
The fear kept Castiel from that call.
The rawness that scarred his throat caused Castiel to take small, ragged breaths. He dreaded the thought of going through another one of those attacks. He didn't think he could last another. His eyes burned and his head ached, never having felt any lower. The patter of rain hitting the concrete floor just a few inches away from his feet relaxed him somewhat. Though It took the former angel a while to understand why he wasn't soaking. He looked up, curious. What he saw the beneath of a archway of a door. One that he failed to recognise.
A whimper.
The startling noise caused Castiel to twist his stiff neck to the right of what he thought was his last bed, the step. But to his surprise, he found a black and very wet nose inches away from his own. Castiel felt an added weight and warmth, smiling to himself since it was the first time in a while where he could say he was not wholly cold. Looking down, he found himself covered in thick layers of tattered blue, black and red blankets.
He was utterly confused.
The dog tilted his head, mimicking an attempt of getting a better understanding of the peculiar human resting beside him. Castiel could tell the dog was not in a too different position to his own, with a black but filthy and shaggy coat and was uncomfortably thin. His leather collar was barely held together with a name tag that Castiel could hardly read, some letters had been scratched off. The dog edged cautiously closer to the peculiar human, who mirrored the dog's tilted head. He found the human amusing and wagged his tail enthusiastically. Castiel wasn't too sure he felt the same way but he was relieved he wasn't alone. He couldn't help but think how lonely he must be for being content with the company of a stray dog.
There was a peaceful moment of staring at each other, each not sure what to do next. Cas was unsure of what he was supposed to do. It was a dog, what do you do with a dog? He could barely interact with humans. While Castiel was contemplating his next move, the dog shifted. In one quick, fluid motion, the dog pounced onto the confused ex-angel, licking away the stranded tears. At first, Cas was unsure what the purpose of the dog's actions were, if the dog was just hyperactive, but that was only until he unknowingly let out a hysteric laugh, temporarily forgetting his heart aching nightmare.
"Isro, settle down."
A gruff voice emerged from beneath a bundle of shifting blankets. Castiel froze. He thought he was alone, well, human wise. He shuffled backwards until his back hit the wall behind him. He didn't like close contact with human strangers. It always left an awkward and tense smile on anyone he attempts to talk to.
He finally understands Dean's need for personal space when Cas was involved.
The blankets were flipped over, revealing a tattered-clothed man. Castiel thought his hat and coat couldn't possibly keep him warm and dry due to the number of holes torn into them and the man's shoes might as well be sandals, worn out completely. The man turned to face the commotion that disturbed his difficult sleep and Castiel could see the man was in a similar state to his own; a scruffy beard, greasy hair and a look that expressed his own struggles. Castiel couldn't help but take in a breath as the man faced him with irritated eyes, blue eyes avoiding brown.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. My apologies. I will lea-" Castiel sprang into movement and began to gather up his things (which didn't take very long), and stood up, nearly tripping over the blankets on the way. Castiel heard the dog, Isro, whimper slightly. Feeling guilty, Castiel patted him on the head quickly, not wanting to keep the man waiting. He didn't even know if he was allowed to touch the dog.
Castiel didn't notice the man's eyes softening as he rushed through his departure.
"It's alright son." The man sat up stiffly, letting out a tiring breath. "You look like you need the rest. And you, uh, you can stay here if you want."
Castiel couldn't hide his shock nor his awkward hesitance, unsure of whether this man was just being polite or sarcastic.
"No, really, that's quite alright. I wouldn't wan-"
The man held up his hand, leaving Castiel to fall silent.
"I said it's fine. Isro doesn't just take to anyone so you must be alright." The man gave Cas a gentle smile and patted Isro. "And besides, you just had a bloody attack so don't go rushin' y'self." The man grumbled almost incoherently.
'A-attack?' Castiel stuttered as he slid into his own seat, forgetting his internal debate.
'Yeah son, an asthma attack. Y'did know you had it right 'cause the cold ain't gonna do you no favours if you freeze your ass out here alone.' Castiel stared at him hopelessly. It was news to him. Theoretically, it was possible. Perhaps Castiel becoming human gave him his vessel's, Jimmy's, medical problems. And being human gave him the sensitivities of one. He supposes this asthma attack could not have been as painful as a slice of an angel blade when he was an angel. He truly has fallen, Castiel realises just how far. 'Look, son, just stay here till you at least feel sturdy enough to walk on y'own.'
Castiel hesitated, unsure whether to thank him and stay or mutter a goodbye and leave. He didn't want to be a nuisance. He experienced enough due to that. Puppy dog eyes looked up at him, imitating begging which only led to guilt. Now he understood how Dean felt with Sam. The thought made him laugh softly, remembering the times when he witnessed the siblings bickering with each other. It felt familiar, so Castiel smiled at the pair of welcoming strangers and sat.
He could use the company.
...
'Sam?'
'Sam, come on'
'Sam, goddammit, open the damn door!'
'…Sammy?'
Sam wasn't talking to him. Door shut unless Dean was nowhere to be seen. He had his reasons, and Dean couldn't object to them.
He would give Dean the usual bitch face and blank him completely. When he had to, Sam would use this toneless, blank, and completely empty voice that freaked Dean out.
Who could blame him?
Dean didn't exactly give him a good enough reason for Castiel leaving without a word. Sam straight-out yelled at his brother when Dean told him what he left Cas with.
'Almost nothing,' Sam snarled, 'We have this entire bunker with crap that could kill an archangel and we couldn't have protected him or protect ourselves against whatever's coming for Cas?! Seriously Dean? You left him with nothing. Do you even know where he is?'
He told Sam that Cas had his number and that he would've called if he needed anything. But somehow, they both knew that wasn't true. Cas was too much like them. After all, they, more precisely Dean, was supposed to be his role model to humanity, no matter how ill-judged his decision may have been. Dean didn't bother to defend himself. He couldn't even tell Sam what direction Cas went, not that he would've told him if he knew. It was either him being an asshole and Cas staying strong until Sammy got better or Sam getting killed by the dickhead of an angel inside him.
He didn't give Sam any reason as to why he didn't even stop Cas from leaving. He knew how stubborn the angel could be, but at least Dean should be able to talk Cas out of it, right?
'You're his best friend Dean. Goddammit, we're his only friends! He doesn't have a freaking clue what goes on out there!'
To be honest, Dean was surprised at the ongoing outburst. It never registered that Sam and Cas were anything close as to what Dean was with either of them. He fucking hated it. It only added to the constantly growing guilt.
Dean could only shrug his shoulders and said there was nothing he could do, that he tried his best for Cas to stay but it was up to him. He wouldn't push Cas into coming back if he didn't want to.
But Dean knew he did.
And Sam knew that was complete bullshit.
Hence the silence.
Dean felt like shit. He left Cas to fucking hang out to dry but he couldn't let that dick with wings leave Sammy to die. He needed Sammy. He wasn't strong enough and neither was Sam. He couldn't let Sammy die again. He couldn't be alone again.
But you just threw away your best and only friend.
Cas needed him, both of them, too.
Dean didn't need the reminder.
...
Isro's head was resting on Castiel's lap, eyes glued firmly on the ex-angel. It was kind of unnerving but it was the most interaction that Castiel had felt comfortable with since this nightmare began.
He often wondered if this was his penance.
Neither of the homeless men exchanged names. Castiel figured they both wanted to keep their past deeply hidden. That was the rule amongst the homeless. No talk of what they used to have or how they got there. Or, at least, that was what Castiel had gathered. No one really talked to him.
The man without a name, while Castiel was intrigued with his dog, had offered Cas a tin of cold soup. It wasn't much, yet Castiel could see the man only had three more tins in his backpack. It unnerved the ex-angel how something so simple and unmeaningful to most could mean so much to people like him and the man. He knew he couldn't reject the kind offer, due to him knowing the man wouldn't accept the rejection as well as Cas' own stomach voicing its own demands. So, Castiel accepted and reached across, making sure the man could see the gratefulness in his eyes and hear it in his muttered and desparate, 'thank you'.
Castiel shifted uncomfortably once he sat down once again, though accidently jumping Isro. The dog raised his head and stood up stretching, settling down beside the man instead. Castiel regretted the movement, missing the homely warmth. The man smiled, welcoming his dog by stroking the side of his head before resuming back to his meal. He smiled, amused at the sight of Castiel's sudden disappointed and child-like frown.
'So, you seem kind of new at this.' The man nodded his head at the lack of Castiel's possessions, grabbing Cas' attention.
It was the most he ever owned himself; one shirt, a pair of trousers, a pair of shoes (nearly worn out), a jacket which wasn't very warm and a bag half full of groceries (just some bread, water and some kind of flat potato. He really didn't know what he was doing). Oh and his angel blade. All packed into a small duffel bag.
Castiel nodded softly. He was new to everything.
'Your experience seems adequate.' Castiel looked up to smile gently at the man. He only grew confused and slightly uncertain as the man let out a low chuckle.
'For someone who speaks like that, it's a bloody wonder how you ended up on the streets." The man let out another chuckle but was less enthusiastic. Castiel looked down at his lap in shame. The man was right; a powerful warrior of the lord torn down to a homeless human who couldn't even look after himself.
A wonder indeed.
'Yes well, I have been very unlucky of late." The former angel let out a defeated breath. "or perhaps my sins have caught up with me.'
Castiel hadn't realised what he said until the words escaped his dry, cracked lips. Eyes wide with the worry of scaring and losing the only companions he had made since this whole ordeal, he turned to the man in hopes of convincing him to stay.
All he saw were gentle eyes.
'Y'know, I've had a lot of run-ins with a lot of bad people and so has Isro here,' He patted a panting Isro who was wagging his tail excitedly, 'and we both knew almost as if on instinct not to place ourselves around them. That's what happens when you live on the streets, y'know. You grow a sort of...I dunno," The man started to wave his hands around. "like a radar of shitty people and you, my boy, are far off it." The man nodded to himself, proud of his creative metaphor, but he never broke his gaze off the ex-angel. 'And anyway, it ain't just you boy. Everyone living on the streets has shitty luck. Why d'you think any of us are here?'
"No, you don't seem to understand." Castiel fidgeted nervously, 'I have let my family down. I betrayed them and now I am left unforgiven... and forgotten."
He knew he was breaking the homeless conventions, but he really didn't care at this point. He broke the social conventions he had come to learn despite his efforts anyway. It was nice to have someone who would listen. The man only leant forward, eyes full of sympathy which Castiel has come to learn not to expect on the streets.
God, was Castiel thankful. And somewhat ashamed to want sympathy. But he knew he didn't deserve any of it. Why else would he be punished to live on the nightmarish streets?
"I-I don't expect forgiveness and I certainly do not expect compassion but...it is nice to know that I am, at least, not alone." Castiel's throat still burned as every word slithered through his throat but he managed to offer a small yet grateful smile towards the fellow homeless man through the mounds of blankets.
Giving a sympathetic smile towards Castiel, the kind man settled his mostly full cup of watery coffee onto the lower wall, turning instead towards the fallen angel, "Forgiveness is difficult to find, trust me I know, but don't forget that if the almighty can forgive," he glanced up at the sky, "then why can't his children?"
Castiel nodded hesitantly in agreement. He missed this form of guidance from his brothers and sisters. He had nowhere left to turn to now. His thoughts drifted to his once two best friends, sensing their distrust and uneasiness, especially Dean's when he returned to what he thought was his home. He pressed his eyelids shut tightly, hoping that the guiltiness and sorrow of losing yet another family would soon diminish from his aching chest.
He was lying to himself. He knew it wouldn't.
The pair of lost men sat there on the steps, under the shelter of the archway of an empty house, in cold silence. Castiel felt a chill reach over his neglected body, causing him to tighten his hold on the borrowed blankets. Castiel suddenly felt the need to continue the conversation, hating the idea of being alone once again, so he tilted his head in question, "You are a religious man?"
The man smiled down to Castiel, his large body arching just to see the young ex-angel's face. "Yeah. That's the one thing I've sworn myself never to give up. And I've given up a helluva lot."
The man looked over to his cup, grabbing it shakily and seeing Castiel's quizzical look, let out an almost pitiful sigh and continued "My faith, my hope. Without it, like a lot of people, would've had nothing. It kept me going, so you make sure you never lose yours."
"I'm glad you still have your faith."
"Yeah, well, where would I be without it?" The man laughed, Castiel obviously missing some kind of inward joke. So, the ex-angel just watched the cup in his hands intently. Best not to delve deeper into it. " How'd you lose it?"
Castiel looked up from his lap, shocked and panicked at the intrusive question.
'Uh, wha-sorry?"
"Your faith. It's obvious that you lost it, boy."
Is it?
"I uh-" How was he supposed to answer this? "-I needed my faith a long time ago... but I, uh, I never found it. I put all my strength into helping my friends and my father but my faith drained away after a while, after everything slipped through my hands."
The man hummed in agreement to something Cas was again missing and patted Castiel's leg in some kind of awkward comfort.
It was nice.
" Yeah, well, crap happens when you're least prepared for it...But y'know what boy?" Castiel glanced up at the man, seeing the excitement hidden in his eye, "that's when your faith is tested. That's when your strength comes into play."
The man stood from where he was sitting, seemingly done with the conversation, looking like a giant from where Castiel was seated. Castiel didn't like the new feeling that this sould have created. Intimidation. It was when those not burdened to live on the streets pushes him aside, yelling at him and the others to move, to 'get lost' when he only asked for a few cents. Although, Castiel never understood why anybody would want someone to be lost. He thought it was an odd fate to wish on someone. He remembered one time, he saw a couple of young boys kick over an old man's money pot (a soup can), nicking whatever change they could pick up. No one bothered to help the old man collect whatever little he had left, scurrying away to the next pointless destination in their self-involved lives, so Castiel stepped in. The old man was very nice. He couldn't see.
Castiel felt guilty for ever complaining about his own life.
He never once felt so vulnerable when he was full of his familiar warmth of grace. The knowledge that he was defending his righteous Father, and later the righteous man, helped Castiel fuel the burning courage to continue fighting. But even though his vessel was now empty, graceless, he felt no real threat or danger. If anything, he felt peace right at this moment. Funny, he thought, that the one place where I have nothing, I feel the most at peace.
Without another word, the man whistled calling for Isro, who quickly trotted over to Castiel and dug his head into his chest. Like a hug goodbye. Castiel returned this affection by petting Isro, digging his fingers deeply into his fur. He would miss the canine greatly.
Without looking up from the dog, Castiel whispered to them both, "Thank you for your kindness. I...I wish I could return the favour."
As Castiel glanced up, he saw the man shake his head, smiling softly at the fallen angel. Isro moved to sit beside his owner, tail wagging happily while waiting patiently to leave. Castiel couldn't help but feel heavy, a lump stuck in his throat at the thought of them disappearing down the street and vanishing out of his life. He shifted his gaze from Isro to the man, who was busy folding his own blankets on the doorstep. Castiel couldn't help but smile softly, the man still had his manners. It couldn't be helped that this man reminded him so greatly of Sam Winchester; kind-hearted, despite the type of world in which he lives, yet all manners of strength when needed for himself, but mainly for others. Of course, Castiel can see Dean in this man too, yet that is hardly a surprise as the ex-angel tended to see the older Winchester everywhere. Not that he had told anyone. It was difficult considering most things he learnt about humanity came from the hunter himself. Therefore, the gruffness of his newfound friend, as well as the inability to read the man at all was such a reminder of his old friend that his smile faltered ever so slightly. The man suddenly caught Castiel's gaze, catching his shift in mood, and his eyes burnt with something Castiel couldn't decipher.
"All is forgiven, Castiel."
And with that, the man and his companion walked away. So quickly that Castiel hadn't had time to convince them to stay. He sat, his chest aching so strongly as he watched them that his arms twitched to reach out for them. It would be a long while before the ex-angel found anyone so kind.
Those kinds of people were rare.
He made a note to himself to cherish them when he comes across such a kind.
It took a few minutes of loneliness and silence for Castiel to realise that the man left all his belongings beside him, also leaving his warm coffee beside the former angel. Castiel was going to call out to the man and raised himself to catch a glimpse of him and Isro but they were both long out of sight. Indeed, they had vanished. Guilt rose as Castiel found he couldn't return the kindness that was given to him.
He settled back down on the gift of blankets. He couldn't see it as charity. They were both of equal fates, one was not more fortunate than the other. And, Castiel couldn't help but think, it was more than anyone has ever done for me…
Even the Winchesters.
Even Dean…
Not that he expected it anyway.
It was sudden and unexpected. Castiel couldn't help but rush to put his hands protectively over his head as a throbbing jolt spread directly behind his eyes. A fierce burning sensation invaded his eyes, a more intense throb in his right, and all he could see were blurred objects and black dots. He couldn't call out, lips numb and throat sore. It scared him. Erratic breathing and feeling dizzy, Castiel gently lowered himself onto the worn-out blankets, surrendering to the exhaustion. As his eyes were gently closing, he silently hoped that tomorrow would be like today.
That someone would talk to him.
That he wouldn't be alone.
Darkness crept into his line of vision, invading his sight until it was all he could see. The last thought that echoed through his numbing mind before nothingness took over sent chills down his spine.
He never once told the kind man his name.
...
The blank and cold stare told Dean that Sam was officially out of the building as the angel stiffly approached him. He hated the absent look his brother gave him, knowing that somewhere in there, Sam was innocently unaware of the dangerous predicament Dean forced him into. Dean knew he had to come clean, and pretty soon too, but he felt a need to keep this quiet for as long as possible. He and Sam were just starting to fix things between them, some pretty big trust issues for starters, and to blow the cover on that would wreck all of it.
Particularly Cas' situation.
That Sam was still holding a suspicious grudge over.
Ezekiel told Dean with his monotonous tone that their angel was in danger, that the flock of headless angels had located him and were after him.
Of course, Dean yelled. Confused as to how Castiel could be tracked so easily. Though, to be truthful, it was not as though Dean had kept in contact with his friend to make sure he was taking the right precautions. To just check up on him in general. Dean had just assumed Cas knew what he was doing. And it wasn't as though he had the time to call him himself, he had to keep an eye on Sammy and if Ezekiel caught them talking, Dean feared the consequences. It was Sammy on the line here. The call could wait until Dean knew Sam was safe.
But…
You're a coward, that's what kept you from that call and you know it, a small voice sounding suspiciously like Sam told him repeatedly. It was like a mantra replaying over and over in his head, a little bit of guilt added to the ever-growing pile.
Dean was informed that chances were they were preparing for a torture, wanting a way back into their little Heaven coop. Apparently, they believed that Cas knew the secret to break the spell, which was complete bull but try telling the robotic dicks that.
The announcement surprised the hunter. Well, he knew that the bastards were already pissed at Cas but the fact that Ezekiel told him after making Dean kick his best friend out left him utterly confused. It didn't follow the guidelines of angelic dickness. Or just general sense really. Why kick the person who could get you killed only to warn them of their impending doom?
It worried Dean a little…
Okay, it worried Dean a helluva lot.
Just what game was he playing?
But of course, Dean wasn't going to ignore the warning. He didn't really think about it, not that he needed to. He knew the least he could do was help their angel escape death and then some. Neither he nor Sam was going to let their best friend (If Cas would still let Dean call him that, anyways) fade away without a fight, without anybody by his side.
As Sam came back to himself, and Ezekiel crawled back into his little mind-hole, Dean caught Sam up on everything he had just learnt. Avoiding minor details such as the source of the warning wasn't in the front of Dean's mind.
Castiel was.
"Let's go, Sammy."
They just weren't those kind of people.