Castiel ran. He wasn't sure what he was running from, all he knew was that as soon as his big brother had heard the men outside their cabin, he'd shoved the young angel out the door and told him to run.
"Don't you dare fly, Cassie. You have legs. Use them. And so help me, if you get caught, I'll never forgive you." The back door had been slammed and the lock bolted before he heard the crash of the front door and smelled the sickly scent of incense. Not having any other option, Castiel ran. Unfortunately, he didn't quite make it far enough to avoid hearing the scream that could only have come from his brother Gabriel. He faltered, but he heard shouts of the men, telling them to search the forest for others, and he bolted, tears started to run down his cheeks.
He jumped and ducked through the twisted path of roots, as familiar to him as his hidden wings. He was raised in these woods. They would keep him safe from the wicked hunters, right? He couldn't get caught. Not after…He blocked that thought. If he thought of his brother, he was liable to break down.
Eventually, the sound and scent of the hunters faded. Cas had been running for a while. It felt like hours. He hadn't been aware his body could maintain for that long. His entire being hurt, but he was unwilling to slow down. His child-like mind still spinning with hidden terrors. Eventually the decision was made for him as his exhaustion dulled his senses and he tripped on a tangled root. Too scared to use his wings, even now, he landed hard, his ankle twisted painfully. He bit his lip to keep from crying out and tasted blood.
He sprawled, his body hurting too much to move. His wings appeared, as he didn't have the energy to hide them anymore. Castiel curled up, whimpering as ankle moved, shooting pain up his leg. He didn't know how to heal himself yet. Gabriel hadn't yet taught him how. He'd never needed to. He'd always been there when his clumsy little brother managed to bang himself up. But now…Castiel was alone.
He couldn't help it. He started to cry. He curled into a ball, the pain in his ankle only serving to strengthen the flow of tears. His wings flexed, curling around him, sheltering him, and muffling the sound. He silently thanked every god he knew, even though he believed in none, that his wings were a deep midnight black. It was an oddity when most feathers were white or a beautiful vivid coloration, but he was grateful. They hid him better than any concealment he could muster right then.
Eventually the flow of tears stopped. The young angel reluctantly uncurled, wincing at the pain. He was hungry, thirsty, in pain, and mourning. But mostly, he was tired. He'd been running for hours, and he was exhausted. Thankful his wings had grown big enough to carry him, he used them to support himself on his weak ankle before lifting himself into the tallest tree cover he could find. It was risky sleeping in the open, but he hadn't heard the hunters in a while. He settled into the canopy about 50 feet of the forest floor and curled into a crook near the trunk. Exhaustion claimed him and he passed out almost immediately as the midnight sky slowly began to lighten.