Title: Going Home
Word Count: 994
Rating: T for slight language
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
Summary: Castiel is hiding out in Purgatory, doing his best to keep away from Dean to keep the hunter safe. He listens to his prayers every night, but this one is different.
Notes: I wrote this really quickly, so its probably not that great. I'm just living in my own world and writing down my feels that's all. This is a little adventure in Purgatory.
Cas stops for a moment, chest heaving, eyes frantically searching the clearing for anything that might want to bring him harm. He's fully alert, hand gripped tight around the angel blade and weapon at the ready. Slowly, he turns in a circle, looking deep into the blackness.
There's nothing there, at least not now. The angel can't sense anything nearby and he almost collapses from the relief. His shoulders droop as he lets out a breath, lowering the angel blade but still keeping it in a position to strike if need be.
Castiel has been running for what felt like days, but was most likely just hours. Who knew in Purgatory? Time didn't flow normally; hours seemed to stretch on for weeks, weeks for months. It was always hard to tell if the day had progressed at all. The sun never rose very high in the sky; almost perpetual twilight is what he had to look forward too to guide him through.
The angel takes a staggered step forward, pausing briefly to glance around again, searching the forest like a small animal would for a larger predator, head raised and eyes alert. He crouches low for a moment, testing the waters, one would say. After a moment of no disturbances, Cas continues on his way, keeping his stance defensive and low.
Cas moves as silent as possible through the brush, eyes always scanning the area that lie ahead of him. Even if there aren't any red eyes peering out at him at this moment, he still can't let his guard down. The things that are hunting him are as old as time and are very wise, they know how to lure prey into false comfort.
If it wasn't for his grace, Castiel would probably be dead by now. After all, it is his holy essence which makes him alert to immediate threats. It pings inside his head, makes it known of an enemies direction, like a warning bell. Also, it gives him the strength to keep moving on. He knows without a doubt that if he stays in this world of monsters much longer, his grace won't mean much any more.
Each day that passes, the angel feels himself grow weaker. He's easily fatigued, running at full tilt for hours on end becoming near impossible. His head always aches, his eyes always tired. Castiel is not used to feeling this close to human. Purgatory really does bring out the worst in a being, he assumes.
After a moments walk, he comes upon a clearing where a stream lies, halting in his tracks. Castiel knows better than to just wonder out in the open without making sure the area is secure first. He takes refuge in the shadow of a near by tree, its trunk gnarled and rotten, roots breaking through the loose dirt and reaching for the sky. The angel brings his trusty weapon up, preparing to circle tree's base when he hears it.
A far away voice whispers his name, the utterance enough to knock Castiel off balance. He squeezes his eyes shut, leaning back against the tree as the breath leaves him in a whoosh of air. For a moment, he pleads with the voice to stop, not wishing to hear the desperation it contains. He can't bear to hear it, it breaks him apart.
Castiel wants so desperately to just take off to it, to give it what it wants, but he knows he can't. If he follows his heart, they'll both wind up dead. It's best for him to just stay where he is and far away from what matters most. His fists clench, nails biting hard enough into his skin to leave tiny crescent marks but he doesn't seem to notice. As the voice continues, he feels his knees give way and he's sliding down to the base of the tree, half hidden by the twisted roots, angel blade forgotten at his side.
"No," Castiel whispers to the wind, head down and eyes shut tight. He repeats the refusal, shaking his head, but the voice goes on. It's deep and as rough as gravel, sending a shiver down his spine. Usually, the tone is pleading, but tonight it's different. There's an urgency to it, making it almost sound giddy instead of grave. The angel finds this odd, but can't put his finger on it until the last words are uttered and the prayer is ended.
As the intimacy of having someone speak inside his head and solely to his grace fades, Castiel finally begins to realize what this last prayer entails. He snaps his head up before quickly rising to his feet, using the tree behind him as support. The angel looks into the distance, but he isn't seeing the forest before him. He sees a familiar person standing just on the edge of the copse of trees, weapon slung over his shoulder, legs parted slightly in his usual stance. There's a smile on his face, something Cas hasn't seen in forever and he knows he's imagining it. Even so, he can't bring himself to leave this vision as the words replay, over and over like a broken record, in his head.
Cas, please tell me you're still alive. Give me a sign, man. I've been praying to you for awhile now, God dammit. Why won't you at least let me know you're still hangin' in there? Jesus, Cas, I hope to God that your feathery ass can hear me because I'm coming to find you. I found a way out and I won't leave this place without you, you son of a bitch. And I think I'm finally on the right track. If my sources are right, which I'm sure they are- I've been uh… going back to some of my old roots in interrogation- then I know where you are. Just don't leave. I'm going to get you and then we're going back, together. We're going home.