Castiel swayed in the park, balance uneven from the vicodin taken a quarter of a mile back. He felt the cool grass beneath his feet, blades sticking between his toes. The air carried the scent of families grilling nearby making his stomach rumble. When was the last time he ate? Two miles back was a small diner where a man had tossed him half of a sandwich. Gone, along with the change he collected.

A crowd formed to stare at the man as he pulled a small, tattered notebook from his pocket. Perhaps a sermon to pull in some income, or at least open the heart and minds of the town. His cardboard wings fluttered with his movements, the straps making him appear rigid. The man proceeded to read the passage scribbled in messy ink.

"Gather 'round for the words from our father," he began. A light tug on his back broke his concentration. A child, no older than five, played with his wing. "Come child, take a seat and hear the gospel." Castiel guided the boy with a gentle palm on his back.

Before the boy could move a woman, his mother, was pulling him in her arms and exiting the park. Castiel watched as they made their way to a nearby daycare center. Soon the remaining crowd was groaning and making their exits as well. To each their own, he thought.

The wind picked up as the sky darkened. There would be rain tonight. Castiel shivered as the light cotton draped loosely from his skin. He pocketed his notebook and made his way across the field. Today may have been unsuccessful but tomorrow could hold promise of a better sermon.

An alley between a local bar and deserted bookstore served as shelter for the night. Sleep never came easy for Castiel and tonight was no better. Wind tugged at his wings he used as a make shift blanket and the corridor served no protection from the rain. Never the less, he was used to this and would make do.

Thoughts of his childhood, where he was going, what was his purpose clouded his mind, making him restless. He watched a cat nearby, timid from his presence. It picked at small scraps of food near a dumpster. Castiel thought of his siblings he'd little contact with since leaving. He tried to remember how old his younger sister, Anna, would be turning in a few weeks. If he could find resources to send her a letter, let her know he's still alive.

The cat found her way to his side and then sniffed him before licking the rain off his nose. He lay a gentle palm on her head as she nuzzled against him. He wished he had something to feed her or himself. She was warm and comforting and reminded him of home, the aroma of coffee filling his room before he traveled to the kitchen to get breakfast. He shook the thought away before it had time to fester.

A wet sound startled him into hiding beneath the wings, with Grace (he finally decided should be the cat's name). Footsteps drew closer and he remembered stories of men stabbed in alleys and children being abducted off the streets and how no matter how long he wandered the roads he was still in danger. He squeezed his eyes as if he could will the stranger away.

Light broke his concentration as he quickly realized someone was lifting the wings, his protection. He swallowed a lump in his throat and murmured a quick prayed. A rough palm shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes to his possible murderer. Green eyes peered into his blues but they did not scream run as he initially assumed. The man was large and tired if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by.

"Buddy, hey, it's okay," his voice was gruff but calm, but Castiel still clutched Grace to his chest.

"Come on, I can't have you sleeping outside of my bar," he said.

"Oh," Cas averted his eyes to look at the sign above his head.

"Yeah, oh, now come on," he extended a hand.

Castiel replaced his wings and scooped Grace into his arms. He will have to find a new place to rest tonight. Maybe the park had a bench under a tree that would suffice, but he would have to hide his possessions if he did not want to be pick pocketed in his sleep. He will be forced to leave once dawn comes and park rangers begin their routes.

"You look like you could use a shower," the stranger eyed him over before adding, "and something to eat." Castiel is taken aback. Was this a proposition?

"I'm Dean," he said and began to shake his hand he soon realized he was still holding. "And you look like you could use a hand," his smile lit up his eyes. Or it could have been reflecting from the sign above him but Castiel believed it was all Dean.

"Thank you," was all Castiel could muster.

Dean walked him to a nearby apartment complex, fortified with a fence and a door that required a key just to get to the stairs. The building wasn't large or elaborate but Castiel suddenly felt out of place, lesser in some way. He palmed the pills in his pocket and remembered who he was and what he did for a living.

The fluorescents of Dean's apartment nearly blinded him and seemed to be a surprise to Grace who was now fighting to get out of his arms. The room was small, holding a couch, table, tv, nothing luxurious. Castiel wondered how much time Dean spent at home. A layer of dust covered a book shelf that was hardly used he assumed. He stood uncomfortably in the space trying to calm Grace before setting her on the ground.

Dean emerged from the kitchen holding two cups of tea and pushed one into Castiel's hand. He took a sip of his before rummaging in a closet and pulling out a set of blankets, a towel and a spare tooth brush. Castiel set his cup down and accepted the items unsure of what to do next and Dean had this way of staring that made him want to run and kiss his feet all at once.

"Castiel," he forces out, voice gruff from the weather.

"What?" Dean looked like he could peer into his soul and it made Castiel want to climb out of his own skin.

"My name," he stammered. "It's Castiel."

"Well Castiel, this is my home. It ain't much but you're welcome to stay." He placed a palm on his shoulder and led him to another room that connected to an even smaller bathroom. He started the shower and tested it before fidgeting with the dials. He directed Castiel to the soap, the wash rags, and toothpaste. The lights burned Castiel's eyes causing him to rub them until he saw stars.

"Why?" he asks, tone more aggressive than he means. Just ten minutes ago, he was lying in an alley, using a cat as a blanket and praying his last prayer. In his experience, strangers did not lend a hand unless they wanted something in return, and unspoken deal. Castiel could not go back to that, or so he'd been telling himself since he picked up this role of preacher. Why had he let him lead him here anyways? Because he was scared, he believed this man was going to end him and thought it best to just listen and do.

"Why, what?" Dean asked taken aback. The look was so innocent and Castiel couldn't look him in the eyes anymore. He fixed his gaze on his lap before talking again.

"Why would you let a stranger in your home?"

"Well," Dean adjusted to lean against the doorframe. "My dad, he uh, he didn't teach me much growing up but if there's anything I've learned from him it's to help people out. And you looked like you needed help." His smile returned and his eyes were bright again.

"You hardly know me," it dawned on Castiel how little he thought he deserved this. Now this man is standing in front of him with open arms and Castiel thinks of his father. The way his eyes burned through him when he had finally had enough of Castiel's disobedience. He thought of the way Anna looked when he told her he was leaving. How Gabriel tried to lighten the mood with a joke that did not go over well but it still got Anna to stop crying. It was like a punch in his gut and he had the grip the edge of the sink to keep himself vertical. He runs a hand through his hair, remembers inhale, exhale.

If Dean noticed his internal struggle, he did not show it well. He just patted him on the back and said dinner would be ready in ten before shutting the door behind him.

Castiel peeled off his wings first, setting them gently on the floor. His clothes followed, tossed into a basket Dean informed him to, stating he would wash them. A set of Dean's spare clothing would do him for the night, a pair of sweatpants and an old AC/DC t-shirt with holes in the neckline from wear. When Castiel finally steps in the shower he is greeted by a warm spray and though he was uneasy receiving help, he realizes he's comfortable. Dean has shown him nothing but kindness nor want of something in return. When emotions begin to knot in his chest, Castiel decides to sit for the remaining of the shower.

Dinner consists of reheated pizza and a couple of beers. Dean's life really is not luxurious. All the more reason Castiel feels guilty. There is the soft hum of a rerun of a show Castiel has never much cared for in the background. The couch is soft and pliant beneath him and he begins to relax before a fit of sneezes nearly sends him to floor. Dean's pointing an accusatory finger at Grace and covering his nose.

"If that's gonna stay here you need to get her bath man," Dean says.

Castiel nods before being thrown into a fit of laughter because up until now Dean's been this angelic creature in his eyes. Now he's sliding away from Grace and tossing bits of crust to get her as far away as possible. He says something about needing a litter box now and Castiel feels like a burden again.

"We can take her to a shelter, if she's a hassle," he says sheepishly. He'd rather not part with his new friend but already feels like he's asking for too much. Now Dean has to accommodate for him and Grace.

"No, it's fine man," he says between chewing his pizza. "Just try and keep out of my room, okay." Castiel breathes a sigh of relief and wiggles his finger in front of Grace.

When Dean's decided he's tired he turns out the lights and asks if Cas, a nickname he hadn't heard in months, years even, is okay on the couch. Cas is grateful so he grunts a reply and burrows in a cocoon of blankets. He thinks he hears Dean chuckle at him but it's late and his heard barely hits the pillow before he's asleep.