Author's note: hey hello hi. first destiel fic. this could go really well or really bad or majorly bed. i mean, it could be a total train wreck...yes, well...enjoy.
-prettypentagram

Let's Start in the Cemetery.

There was no one to hold Castiel, so he lay across her grave. He found respite in the cold grass with his arms outstretched and his eyes towards the stars. She'd loved the stars- wanted to travel amongst them one day, but that dream was over. She would lay beneath them forever now.

Frost melted underneath him, clinging to his clothes. His skin turned to gooseflesh as the clouds began to roll in. He shivered at the cold, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of the alcohol again. All that remained was the burn in his throat and the ringing starting in his ears.

Castiel rolled over slowly, but the nausea had begun as well. He used her gravestone as a crutch to pull himself up from the ground and started to stumble away, mumbling a miserable farewell.

He walked down the hill, away from her grave. Shaky hands scraped against the rusted chain fence when he hopped over and fell hard on his knees. It would be a long walk, even if he took the shortcut. He just hoped that he wouldn't pass out on someone's lawn like he had a few weeks before.

When the lights of the gas station came into view, Castiel knew that he would fortunately make it home before his body gave out. It was only a couple short blocks after this point, and he could almost feel his mattress conform to him.

If it were not for the alcohol in his system, he would have seen the guy in the empty parking lot. Castiel would have easily spotted the guy before and quickly turned around to take another path. The other way would have taken a much longer time, but he was sure not to run into anyone there.

"Yo, are you holding?" the guy asked, quickly making his way across the lot.

Castiel only knew of the boy in passing. He would always be there hanging around a crowd of people who never really cared if he was there.

"No," Castiel said, shaking his head without faltering his steps.

"C'mon, man," the boy said putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I just need something to get me through the next couple days."

Castiel shook the hand off, finally stopping and turning to him. "I said no."

"Brady just got a few Xanax off you a couple hours ago-"

"That's because I know Brady. You can fuck off."

Castiel continued walking, but the boy came from behind and slammed Castiel into a gas pump. The wind was knocked out of him as his side landed on the pump's handle. He gasped for air only to have it taken away again as a fist met with his stomach. Castiel groaned. He could see the anger in the brown eyes staring back at him just before another fist made it to his mouth.

"Hey!" a deep voice said as the door of the gas station opened.

His attacker looked briefly behind him. He searched Castiel's pockets and found a large baggy in one. "Thanks, you little faggot," he spat just before taking off in another direction.

Castiel heard the pounding of boots stop in front of him as he slid down on the ground, breathing hard.

"Are you okay?" another stranger asked.

Castiel took the man's outstretched arm and got to his feet with the stranger's assistance. Castiel nodded, dusting gravel off the back of his pants. "Yeah, I think so."

"Do you want me to call the cops or something? I think he grabbed your wallet."

Castiel didn't bother looking because he knew that his wallet was still firmly in his pocket.

"No, he just got some loose change out of my pocket," Castiel lied. "It's not a big deal, really."

"Seriously, alright, I saw a surveillance camera right by the door. Bet it just caught the whole thing."

"You've watched too many episodes of Law & Order. That camera's been busted for weeks. Just as well, though. The footage always looks like a bad claymation movie."

Castiel spat blood onto the ground and hoped there wouldn't be a tooth mixed in there somewhere.

"Well, shit. I dunno," the man ran a hand through his short, brown hair to the nape of his neck. "I can't just leave you here. Let me give you a ride home."

Castiel looked up at the man to reject his offer once more and was met with the biggest green eyes he had ever seen. His lips pursed slightly and his eyebrows knit together with palpable distress. The slight cleft in his chin trembled in the cold; he grit his teeth, drawing attention to his strong jawline with every flex. In an attempt not to appear anxious, Castiel feigned apprehension as he minutely nodded his head.

"Yeah?" the handsome stranger asked for a confirmation.

Castiel nodded again, "Yeah- yes, if it's not too much trouble."

The strange man motioned for Castiel to follow with a quick flick of his hand. They'd walked only a few feet away to the only car left in the gas station. From the shine on the car, Castiel could tell the owner took great care. The moon hung over the black Chevy Impala as if it were a spotlight.

"What year is this?" Castiel asked, running his fingers over the cold chrome of the side view mirror. "'62? '63, maybe?"

The stranger chuckled a soft, innocent laugh that also bordered on disdain, as if Castiel had committed some form of blasphemy. "'67, actually."

Castiel nodded, waiting for the doors to be unlocked. He hadn't noticed how much pain he was in until he'd sat down in the passenger's side. Spasms in his back took away his breath for the second time that night, and he loudly gasped as the driver slammed his door shut.

"You sure you're okay? Hospital really isn't that far outta my way."

Again, Castiel gave a single nod before the car took off, "Just fine."

He gave fairly simple instructions through, and with each turn of the car, he found himself holding in groans. Thankfully the car was dark, so it was difficult to tell that he was turning a deep shade of purple from holding in his breath.

"I'm Dean, by the way," the stranger announced, speaking over the loud hum of the engine. He chuckled again, almost nervously. The uncertainty in his eyes made him appear as young as Castiel's peers, but the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes made him appear a bit older.

"Castiel," the injured passenger responded.

When a torrent of silence filled the car, Dean reached over to the cassette player and pushed a button to turn it on. Lynyrd Skynyrd pulsed low through the speakers; it was just enough to fill the awkward still in the car for the rest of the ride.

"Just stop right at the grey mailbox," Castiel said, giving his last instruction.

"This isn't your house, is it?" Dean asked as the car came to a halt at the mailbox.

Castiel shook his head with a forced smirk, "No, but my place isn't too far away."

"I can umderstand that. Hey, just make sure you get yourself checked out, okay? He could've cracked your rib, or you could've pinched a nerve- anything."

"Yeah," Castiel breathed. "Thank you…for the ride."

"Take care."

Castiel pulled himself out of the car and gently shut the door. The driver waved politely before speeding off down the quiet road. Castiel waited until the car had turned the corner before continuing to walk down the road. He turned the corner in the opposite direction and saw his house coming into view. His home was at the very end- a light brown, two-story condo with a stone walkway and accents. As Castiel limped onto the wet grass, the front door opened. There stood a dark-haired girl, wearing an oversized t-shirt that probably belonged to him.

The girl folded her arms across her chest, making the shirt rise higher on her pale thighs. A grin grew wide on her heart-shaped face before she said, "And what sort of time do you call this?"

Have you ever done anything reckless with a complete stranger?