October, 2015 - Camp Chitaqua, NY

From start to finish it was just another day at Camp. He'd made the few sales that were lined up for the day and now he found himself making his way to the canteen for dinner. As he ducked inside he could almost hear Chuck's aggravated voice from the supply room, fretting about their dwindling supply.

One of the safe havens nearby gave out an S.O.S a few days ago, causing them to take on more people than they were capable of handling. Cas had gone on the first retrieval mission, helping to clear the neighboring camp of the visibly infected before stalling just long enough with his comrades to find out the last of them. Without a thought, or show of emotion, they dispatched the unclean as easy as one might change their socks. The whimpers from the afflicted's nearby family members were not lost on him however and would likely stay with him for some time.

Cas helped survivors, mostly injured into the bed of his truck before securing the tailgate and readying to make way back to base camp. The drive seemed to drag on, the short miles between the camps stretching into an endless expanse. Reaching to the cup holders he fumbled a bit before managing to procure a Vivance and sent it down the hatch sans water. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel he had continued on, following the small trail of tail lights in front of him.

The following night he'd opted out for the scavenging hunt, stowing away in his cabin to try and forget the faces he'd blown away twenty four hours ago. He knew, deep down, that what he had done was the right thing; it was for the protection of his fellow Humans, how could it be wrong? Although he was loathe to admit it he carried a great deal of grief for the things he had done in his time at Camp Chitaqua. Sure the people -monsters he killed were a threat but they still had family and friends that would be grieving.

As he shambled up to the dinner line he grabbed a plate and silverware, drumming a mismatched beat into the ceramic with his pointers. Dipping into the first serving tray he paid no attention to the food or the slop sound it made as it hit his plate. He was lost in memories, Jimmy's memories to be exact. For him to have so much blind faith to just throw himself away was something Cas had always respected. Jimmy had left behind a family several times at Castiel's beckoning call and it was something he felt slightly guilty for now. Now that he understood what the crushing weight within his chest was he wished he could take it back. He knew without a doubt he would never be able to change the events that unfolded them into this existence, but a boy could dream, no?

If he had to he wouldn't have been able to recall what he'd put on his plate, it was an identifiable substance, one he'd certainly been greeted with before, but he was too lost in thought. Flashes of light and color that formed into memories of a life he never lived.

Cas sat alone tonight, his ladies did their best to beckon him to a nearby table, but he declined politely with a shake of the head and a warm smile, preferring to keep to himself for the night. Shoveling food haphazardly into his mouth he looked around at the different people in the room. He couldn't recall most of the faces, a few stuck out from the crowd as they talked and laughed amongst themselves, doing their best to keep spirits up. That was one thing Cas had always admired about the Human race, their ability to adjust and survive.

Tearing a scrap off of partially stale bread he pushed it around in his dish before nibbling at the ends. Staring down into his dish he sighed things here were good yes, but what he wouldn't give for a little variation. Pushing himself up to stand he brushed his leftovers into the slop bucket beside the dish return and made his way back to his cabin.

"Cas." It should have sounded polite, perhaps with an air of questioning to it. But it wasn't. It was a demand, just like it always was.

The voice nearly scared him out of his boots, but he knew who it was. He didn't turn around. "What do you want, Dean?" It was no secret that since the fall Dean Winchester had only been interested in what other people could give him. Especially Castiel.

"We need to talk." His voice came out in irritated huffs of steam on the chilled night air and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Cas chuckled as he opened the door, the room was dark but he knew the way to the nightstand. Quickly he turned the led lantern on, the room brightening considerably despite it's small size. "That can't possibly be what you're going with." He knew Dean and he knew, without a doubt, that the eldest Winchester didn't just want to talk -if he had, he would've sent Chuck to summon him to his cabin. Leaning on his dresser he folded his arms against his chest, "Spit it out, I know there's something you're wanting and I, personally am ready to get this over with as soon as possible."

Dean didn't move, didn't even flinch at his once could-be-brother's words. His lips flattened into a thin line and he adopted the same stance as the ex-Angel, shoulder anchored to the door frame. "Sorry to interrupt your little self medication ritual, Cas-"

"Pfft," Castiel cut him off with a snort, "you're one to talk."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and settled for clenching his jaw. "I got some bad news."

"Is there any other kind these days?"

It had been a while since he'd spoken to Cas, he almost forgot how infuriating the human version was. "Look-" His voice came out harder than he expected and he swallowed back a shout of impatient rage before continuing, "it's been a long fucking day, man. So just, listen up, Alright?"

"As our fearless dictator wishes." He knew he should've stopped himself, but he couldn't help it, he gave a low, sweeping bow. Before he could right himself he was pressed roughly up against the wall, the back of his head thunking into the wood, Dean's hands wrapped tight around his throat. As he struggled to breathe his eyes fell to his assailant's arm, checking for the mark. He couldn't see past the sleeve of the jacket Dean was wearing. Bringing a hand up he pressed frantically against the fabric, cursing to himself -because he was truly incapable of speech at the moment- as the angry red mark of Cain came into view.

This only incensed Dean and he jerked Castiel forward so he could have the satisfaction of pressing him into it again. He watched his former sidekick's lips began to darken before he spoke, words hissing out as if they were from the Devil himself. "Got some new wounded in today." He spoke of the injured survivors of this morning's raid as if they were grocery items. "Your teaching cabin is forfeited until further notice."

Castiel's vision began to dim as he fell to the ground, his forehead hitting the steel toe of Dean's boot. He coughed, hands rubbing against the forming bruises on his neck. "Prick!" He shouted after him. The door slammed and he went from his knees to the fetal position, focusing on regaining his breath.