Chapter 1: The Troubles of Life are Many

Castiel cursed to eternal damnation whoever it was that invented alarm clocks. Four months human, and he had yet to become used to either sleeping or waking. When it was time to sleep, he'd lie there for hours before sinking into ceaseless nightmares, or he'd get fed up and drink himself to sleep, only to have a terrible hangover the next morning. Either way, coffee was an essential, if he didn't want to be late for work, and he was always tired anyway.

Castiel shifted in his small, hard bed, trying to find that same comfortable feeling he'd had right before the alarm on his phone had jolted him awake. Giving up, he rolled over onto his back, and stared at the ceiling, the heaviness of his eyes telling him he hadn't had nearly enough sleep...then again, he never did. He rubbed his hands up into his coarse hair (he needed a shower, damn) and sighed. There was discolored patch of mold above him, and a crack ran right through it. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

He'd certainly fallen far, both literally and figuratively. Castiel wondered if anyone looking at him now, Cas Novak, who cleaned floors at a community center and lived in a tiny room that often as not had him hitting his head on the slanted ceiling, had ever been something more? Who would ever see this man who drank too much, and never smiled, and sometimes sobbed all night and think, there was a servant of the Lord.

He huffed, and pushed himself upright. Not likely.

Turning his mind from those thoughts, Castiel stretched his back, feeling the scrubbing of the night before (someone had gotten soda all over the floor in the center's kitchen, and then proceeded to track dirt all over it). He picked up his cheap phone, and then groaned aloud.

5:00 PM.

He worked the night shift, but he usually tried to get up before sleeping the whole day away so that he could do his research and run errands...so much for that today. His shift started at six, and he'd have to hurry if he wanted to shower and eat. Castiel shoved the rest of the sweaty covers off, and staggered over to his tiny bathroom.

It had been strange set of circumstances that led him here, living in a rented attic room, cleaning a community center for a living, in a small town in Illinois. After leaving the diner, Castiel had had no idea of what to do; no money, no food or water and no help. Dean lingered in the back of his mind, but Castiel just couldn't go back. Not after everything he'd done to Dean, not after doing everything that Dean told him not to do, again. He'd chosen wrong, trusted the wrong person, and screwed everything up, as usual. No, Dean was better off without him. Castiel had told himself that he'd get by. And, due to the kindness of others, mostly he had.

He'd spent the first few nights on the streets, huddled into doorways to try to keep warm in the cool May darkness. He scavenged food, and spent the small bit of money he'd had. Then, on the third day as a human, dirty and starving, he'd found another homeless man. With a smile, he directed the tattered Castiel towards a soup kitchen in a community center a few blocks away. He'd gone, and received food, clothes and more kindness (sending him to tears again, as he'd never before realized just how good humanity could be).

Castiel had ended up staying. Advice and a bed to sleep in, turned into doing odd jobs to pay for his keep, and then when a janitor resigned, a full time position. With that came more money, and he rented this room on another tip, within a few blocks of the building he worked in, and close to grocery store and most exciting, the library. His boss, Angela was willing to overlook his lack of papers, and his landlord had never even asked. Some day, he knew he'd have to get legal documentation, but for now he had a job, and income and a roof over his head. It was probably more than his siblings had.

And that was his long term goal. He wanted to get into a place where he could look for his siblings, help them. At the library, he's learned how to use the computers, and so he spent his days off researching, making list after list of possible locations of his family, checking records all over the world, trying to find them. It was lucky he could still understand the languages of the world, as he often found himself traversing news articles in Russian, Mandarin, Spanish or Arabic. His immobility chafed at him, so he was saving money for driving lessons, and then eventually to buy a car.

All in all, for having nothing but the clothes on his back four months ago, Castiel thought he was doing rather well. Not comfortable, not happy by any means...but alright.

His humanity was an unending source of hardship, with painful or uncomfortable new things every day. Castiel thanked ...whoever, for the woman at the library for showing him the internet, for not only had it been useful in his work locating his siblings, but also in adjusting to this human life. Thanks to google, he knew what sort of things to buy at the store, things that would save him money, and last a while, while still feeding him adequately. He learned to cook simple things, and how to treat the cold he developed a month ago. He learned various remedies for his insomnia (not that they did much good) and that he probably had PTSD (since he couldn't afford a therapist, not that he could tell them anything without being locked away, he decided to ignore this particular bit of information). He tried not to remember what he'd read of the results of self medication when he downed another shot before bed, or swallowed over the counter anxiety medicine. It was effective, and that was what mattered.

Once Castiel had eaten and packed a snack for later, he headed off to walk the few blocks to work. Castiel didn't live in the best neighborhood, but it was usually only the walk back in the dead of night that he felt the need to keep his hand on his silver knife (a purchase which he'd made as soon as possible, as he hated to be so unarmed). He clocked in on the dot, said hello to the receptionist as she packed up, and went to gather his supplies. The cleaning he found to be extremely boring, but at times the satisfaction of a shiny floor did make him feel he was doing something worthwhile. He scrubbed, or mopped or polished while listening to the little radio he'd inherited from the previous janitor. Not much played in the middle of the night, but he did have a few favored stations.

Castiel rolled up the sleeves of his blue jumpsuit, and started on his task list for the night. He took frequent pauses to drink the coffee he'd brought until it was gone, and he felt a little more alive.

It had been bad trying to sleep that day. He'd gotten home from work about three in the morning, and fell into his bed, only to be still awake hours later. He'd finally passed into an uneasy sleep, punctuated by nightmares and terrors that left him guilt stricken and sobbing. He gulped a too large quantity of liquor, but even that hadn't given him the oblivion he's craved, instead he'd just had less linear and more terrifying nightmares.

Shaking his head, he focused on cleaning, and turned up the music. Castiel actually enjoyed this part. Past a certain hour, he was alone in the building, and he found the solitude pleasing. He'd blast the radio, allowing the hosts to chat with each other, or play various types of music through the long lonely hours. He was indiscriminate as far as genre, except he avoided the rock that reminded him of Dean, and most things he found himself humming along.

Right now the station he'd chosen was just switching to "a long set of love songs for you and your honey..." when it was interrupted by a burst of static. Castiel stopped his mop, and turned to squint at the box radio. The signal here should have been fine; he'd never had a problem before. Castiel stepped towards the cart where the radio was placed, as the static increased, blocking out most of the song playing. A shiver of unease was starting to thread through him, as he pondered all the things that made radios crackle. (He tried not to think about how he'd been included in that list until a few months ago). It wasn't angelic, could never be again, and so far as he knew Hell was closed (he also tried not to think about what that could have meant for Sam Winchester). Ghosts?

Reaching into his pocket, he grasped the silver knife, despite knowing how little defense it actually was. He wished furiously for his grace or even just his angel blade, but that had been lost when he fell. Castiel hadn't hunted as a human, he'd never thought himself qualified, and frankly he was concerned about getting himself on his feet, rather than seeking out the monsters still left in this world. He didn't live in ignorance; he had salt lines and sigils for protection at his apartment, but he'd never thought to make heavy precautions here at work. He supposed (he made a face) one had to account for human error.

He turned to get the road salt from the supply closet, but before he could even rotate completely, the radio snapped off, and every hair on his body rose. Castiel whipped around, and saw a figure standing by his cart. Not a ghost, but a man, dressed in black jeans and leather, and grinning maliciously. His lingering instincts (he wasn't sure if it was just human, or if there was some speck of angel still left) could tell that he was wrong. A blink, and beetled black eyes confirmed him a demon. Out of Hell? iHad/i Sam closed the gates?

"Well, well, well," He said, stepping closer. Castiel edged sideways, keeping the cart between them. "When I heard there was an ex-cloudhopper scrubbing floors around here, I never expected it to be famous old Castiel. Not so angelic anymore, are we?"

Castiel felt a rush of ice go through him, both at how quickly he'd recognized him, as well as at the implication that the demons were hunting falling angels.

The demon laughed, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets.

"It's Cas now, right? I know how much you liked the nickname your boyfriend gave you."

Castiel fingered the hilt of his blade, standing very straight. He tried not to react at the mention of Dean.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure." He said mildly. The demon laughed.

"We've not met, but I heard a lot about you from Crowley."

"So you're working for him?"

He blinked at Castiel, and then burst in a hard laugh, his hand coming up to rest on his stomach.

"Whoo, no. Wow, you're really out of the loop." He said, pretending to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes. "Crowley's gone, last I heard. Humanized and killed by your Sammy. No, my name is Abraxas, and I serve Abaddon."

Castiel furrowed his brow.

"She's been missing for decades." But Abraxas was shaking his head, smiling widely.

"Not so, my dear angel. She's returned, and she's implemented much change down below. She released the old generals. Myself included," He gave a little bow, and then a strange full body shiver. "Oh, it's so good to be upstairs again. It's been so long."

Castiel shifted to the side, as Abraxas slid closer to him, still using the cart as a barrier.

"So, what do you want with me?" Castiel asked.

Abraxas put his finger to his chin, wincing dramatically.

"Oo, well orders are to kill any of you wing boys we find," He laughed when Castiel couldn't hide a flash of alarm for his siblings. "But, seeing as it's you, and Abaddon had a ithing/i against those Winchester boys, well... I'm thinking that might call for a different plan of action."

Castiel's heart was hammering, palms slick fisted in his pockets. He was far too aware of the distance between them, at how easily the demon could cross that and attack. He didn't enjoy this human reaction in the face of danger. There was a separate pit of fear and worry that churned up when he spoke of Dean.

"Dean doesn't know I'm alive." Castiel said, but Abraxas clicked his tongue regretfully.

"We'll just have to fix that, won't we?"

Abraxas flung his arm out, sending the cart slamming into Castiel's side. He gasped, grabbing the sides, trying to ride it back. His radio smashed to the ground, earning him a little pang of sadness. The cart skidded down the hallway, with Castiel on the front of it, before banging into a wall, causing Castiel to let go with another gasp. He stumbled to a stop, his side smarting, but still on his feet.

The demon was standing, watching with glee, but moved forward as Castiel shook off the effects. Castiel didn't wait for Abraxas to come closer, but lunged, pulling out the blade he'd been hiding, the silver flashing before burying itself in Abraxas' torso. Unfortunately, Abraxas had quick reflexes, so it ended up higher in the shoulder, rather than heart, but Castiel grinned as his spell work became evident in the way the demon gasped and gripped the hilt.

He hadn't been carrying just a regular silver blade, effective against many things, but not all. No, Castiel had put some personal touches on it, sigils and spells which made it ten times more useful. It still wouldn't kill a demon however, but he hadn't actually intended for that to be a function, since he'd thought that Hell was closed. Either way, Abraxas looked furious, as he pulled the sparking blade out of his shoulder, and tossed it away.

"You little cretin." He hissed, and swung his arm in a punch, catching Castiel across the jaw. He spun, staggering, but still not falling, until Abraxas gave a shove of demonic power, slamming his back into the floor. The breath got knocked out of him, and Castiel felt the water from his mopping soak into his shirt, as he skidded through the puddles.

Castiel gasped, scrabbling to pull himself upright. Abraxas was down the hall, a hand to his bleeding shoulder, and a snarl on his face.

"Oh, it's almost disappointing, honestly. You got in a lucky hit, but even the other fallen angels I've killed fought back more than that."

He reached Castiel, half upright on the floor, and dragged him to his feet. His fingers nearly tore his jumpsuit as he pulled him close, and then sent another punch to Castiel's face, splitting his lip. Another, to his cheek. Another, to his eye.

"Frankly, I don't know what Dean-o sees in you." Abraxas said, his face inches from Castiel's bleeding one. Castiel sneered, and spat a mouthful of blood and spittle into Abraxas' face. With a cry of disgust, he shoved Castiel back, stomping his chest to the ground.

"Urgh!" He wiped it off with his wrist, and then used the same arm to drag him up again, and backhand him across the floor. "You disgusting creature!"

Castiel smiled grimly, and pushed his feet underneath himself, making a running break for it. Abraxas lunged forwards,

"Oh no you don't, little bird." He caught hold of Castiel's elbow and yanked. Something in his shoulder gave with a sickening pop, followed after by a wave of agony.

"Arrgh..." Castiel tried to muffle his groan of pain, panting, he glared at Abraxas. Abraxas simply smiled, still gripping Castiel's weirdly numb arm. He patted Castiel's cheek.

"We're going to have some fun, and then I'm calling your precious Dean."

Castiel felt of flood of alarm, trying to get away from the significantly stronger demon. He wished he was still an angel, simply to stop feeling so weak all the time. He'd have been able to break this creature, but now he could only pull against his iron grip, uselessly.

Abraxas was now using Dean as a taunt. He'd tell him about Castiel's survival, hurt him further than Castiel had already done. This wasn't what he meant to happen!

He didn't have further time to think, as Abraxas pounded his fist into his side with a force far stronger than his now human strength. He fell back, gasping, seized up by the pain. He dragged him up again, and then threw him into the large double doors that led to the outside. His coughed as his ribs took the impact, groaned. His shoulder shifted, and he tried not to cry out.

Once more, Abraxas picked him up by his jumpsuit, and swung him around, throwing him through the window next to the doors, shattering the glass. Castiel felt the shard slice through his exposed skin, though he tried to keep his eyes shut. He landed on the grass, with the broken glass sprinkling around him.

Agony sparked through him. He'd landed on his shoulder, and his wounded arm was twisted underneath him. The arm was numb, but the joint was white heat. He couldn't catch his breath. Castiel was bleeding from multiple places, but he couldn't feel them in favor of the pain emanating from his shoulder.

Crunching footsteps warned him of Abraxas' approach, but he couldn't do much more than try to shift, pushing himself over onto his back. It was all he could do to keep breathing, the loose glass slicing through his fingers as he tried to scramble backwards.

Abraxas grinned down at him, and lifted a booted foot to press down on his sternum, hindering his already labored breathing.

"Look at you," He sneered, then he clicked his tongue. "That was easy, wingman."

He knelt besides Castiel, and started running his hands along his body. Grunting, a new alarm in his chest, Castiel struggled backwards, batting at his hand with his uninjured one. He slapped Castiel across the face, blacking out his eyes for a moment. He barely heard the demon's words.

"Calm down. I'm not into feathers." He snapped, and then shoved a hand into Castiel's front pocket. Then, through Castiel's spinning gaze, he saw his phone in Abraxas' hand, and heard the beep of his dial.

Ring, ring

It was on speakerphone, and for a frozen second, Castiel thought no one would answer, that perhaps he'd remembered the wrong number, or that Dean had changed his contact information since Castiel had had it. But then-

"Hello?"

Castiel's heart clenched at Dean's voice, sounding just the same. He gulped a breath.

"Dean! Don't listen-"

Abraxas kneed him in the ribs, the same side that already pounded by the door, and he cut off his warning with a grunt of pain.

"Ca- Who is this?" Dean demanded. Abraxas laughed, and pulled the phone closer to his face.

"I've found a little bird that belongs to you, Winchester." He purred into the mouthpiece. Dean erupted, shouting.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch? What have you done to Cas?"

Cas gained some ability to breath again, but he was sure his gasps could be heard through the phone.

"I'll let you find out. This phone has plenty of battery, and I'm sure you've got the technology to find him before he bleeds out." Abraxas listened to Dean's cursing, and orders to Sam, the typing of keys with a pleased smile.

"Cas, you hold on!" Dean yelled, "Sam, you got his signal..."

Abraxas took hold of the front of his suit again, his favorite place apparently, and jerked him further upright, putting the hand holding the phone behind his head, and clenching into his hair. His shoulder shifted, and Castiel gritted his teeth.

"A parting gift, my little bird." He said, and then smashed his lips against Castiel's, teeth rapping together, and Castiel's blood slicking between them. Castiel grimaced, snarled, but then something icy cold seemed to travel from his mouth to Castiel's. It felt evil, forcing its way down his throat. Fear and panic made him wrench away, gagging, but whatever it had been was already calming, twisting inside him before the feeling faded. Abraxas' smile widened, and he licked Castiel's blood off his lips.

Dean was still shouting on the phone, but Castiel could do nothing but wretch, trying to keep down his dinner. Abraxas lifted the phone again, watching Castiel writhe on the ground.

"You can have him back for now, Dean, until Abaddon decides the best way to destroy you. Consider this a warning."

He finally stood, dropping Castiel's phone near his head. He sent Castiel one last wink, and then walked off.

For the first time, Castiel heard the alarms ringing from the building, probably from when he'd broken the window. The police would be here soon, he was sure. He idly wondered if he'd lose his job.

Then Dean's voice came again from the phone, panic clear through the speaker. Castiel slowly moved his hand to clumsily grab it, drag it to his mouth.

"Cas, are you there? We're coming to get you, man! Answer me, you son of a bitch!"

"Dean..." Castiel managed, his voice ragged with pain, mumbling through his cut lip, and the memory of that evil kiss. He spat, blood and spit on the grass.

"Cas, where are you?" Dean sounded desperate, as much as he had that night in the crypt.

"Dean, stay away. Don' come..."

Dean shouted something back, but the world was spinning around. The alarms and Dean's voice blurred into white noise, and then the his eyes went fuzzy, and slipped closed.