"Hello?"
It was raining. And it was dark. And Castiel was alone, cold. He couldn't remember – remember what, exactly? Stars. Falling stars. No, falling angels. Angels, his brothers and sisters. Oh, what had he done?
"Find a wife, make babies, and when you die and your soul comes to heaven, find me and tell me your story."
Metatron's words echoed in his ears. He had to find Dean. Dean and Sam. But where, where were they? How far was he from his friends, his family?
"Hello, sir?"
This is it.
This is what?
Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with 6 bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there. Awesome.
Team Free Will. But what free will now? What could they fight for and where were they? Where was he? Lost, dark, alone and… human. He wasn't an angel anymore, a Seraphiel. He was human, fragile and beautifully human. Why would Metatron do this? Questions. He had too many; and all without answers.
"Sir, can you hear me?"
He finally looks up, unable to ignore the voice distracting him from his thoughts any longer. Blinking, he takes in the stranger's appearance – blonde hair, green eyes, concerned look and a glowing necklace. Wait. Castiel blinks again, tilting his head at the stranger, no, woman. Yes, the necklace is glowing but she isn't wearing it – her brunette friend with a pair of sunglasses, standing behind her with the agitated expression aimed at the phone in her hand, is.
"What…" His voice is hoarse, how long has it been since he's talked? Castiel takes in his surroundings. How long had he been sitting here against the brick wall, in the rain, bathed in streetlight?
The woman stares at him sympathetically and gives him a sad smile, "Let us help you."
"I don't need help." He grunts, turning away from the blonde.
"Clara, let's just go." Castiel finds himself peering over at the dark haired woman, silently questioning her accent – it isn't American, it's somewhat foreign (to be honest it almost sounds like Balthazar's, oh, his dear old deadfriend Balthazar), it's confusing.
"But you said-"
"I know what I said, but he doesn't want our help." When she peers over her glasses to lock eyes with him, widening slightly at the sight of him, Castiel finds himself surprised. Her left iris is a deep blue bordering on green colour, like sea waters calming after a storm, while the other iris is a burning ember. He almost feels as if he's an angel again, powerful and strong; he could find Sam and Dean within a heartbeat. He wonders how her glance can be so strong; but those mismatched eyes look away and he is feeble and weak.
"I'm not leaving him here," this 'Clara' growls and turns back to him, "Come on, sir."
He finds himself giving in to the arms that help him stand and help walk him to a small modern car (but it's not the black 67' Impala he wants to see). Castiel knows that he shouldn't allow these strangers to help him because Dean said he shouldn't trust strangers but as Clara slips into the driver's seat and the raven haired woman helps him into the back, apologising profusely for her friend's odd behaviour before he closes his eyes and places his head on her shoulder, rendering her silent until the car starts driving, he can't bring himself to care.
"What's your name?"
"Sir?"
"Hello?!"
"SIR!"
Castiel opens his eyes and blinks until the blonde, Clara comes into focus and in the corner of his eye the dark haired woman's face displays some kind of hidden concern. Should he tell them his name he wonders? What kind of other information could they manage to get out of him if they knew something so simple yet so powerful as his name?
"What's yours?" He manages to muster.
Clara is unimpressed, "I asked you first."
"I asked you second." Castiel retorts, triumph in his bitter eyes.
There is silence until the brunette rolls her eyes and lets out an annoyed sigh.
"Her name is Clara; we work together with many others at a hospital for, well, your kind." Castiel glances up at her from his sunken position, his eyes ask what feels to be a forbidden question – yet, one she answers, "My name is-"
She is interrupted by a car behind them, blasting the horn, to which Clara merely grunts at.
He attempts to sit up in the moving car, his eyes waiting for her answer.
She sighs, glancing at Clara who is watching them from the front seat in the rear view mirror, "You can call me Dri."
Castiel nods and pressed his hand to her wrist, trying, wishing that his angel powers would return and he could see more than this pretty face. When he hears the blonde coo from the front seat he jerks, releasing her wrist as if it burned to touch.
"Keep your eyes on the road." Castiel growls, trying to cover up his falter – but Dri sees through it whereas Clara does not – Dri helps him sit up and he has to bite his lip to keep the tears (tears, what tears, since when could he cry – The angel of the lord, soldier of god?) at bay because he used to say that to Dean with Sam in the passenger seat and he in the back of their old Impala (he misses that car, he now decides).
He wants to cry, but he doesn't he's strong and brave and he can go on, but the calm and soft voice repeat its former question, Clara never took her eyes off the road, "What's your name, sir?"
He looks to Dri and she's staring out the window, but still he takes her hand in his (she's cold, is it cold outside, is it cold in this car? He can't tell anymore) and she doesn't pull away even when he settles into her shoulder, in fact she runs her hand through his hair comfortingly before resuming her glance outside.
"Jimmy. My name is Jimmy Novak." He isn't sure whether he's repeating it for Clara and Dri or more to himself.
(A few moments later, he presses his lips to the shell of Dri's ear and almost like a desperate plea he whispers his name, his real name)
"Jimmy isn't my real name." His voice low and rumbling, she shivers at his closeness but gives him a knowing look.
"I know."
He doesn't ask her how or why or when but instead he just says his name, "I'm Castiel."
This time Dri is the one who squeezes his hand and a sad smile graces her lips, "I know."
He finds comfort in the two young women and their care for him, and he still can't bring himself to be wary – about them or about anything.
(Not even when he wakes up and he's back sitting against the same brick wall, in the rain, bathed in streetlight though this time with a sense of calmness in his mind.)
But where are they?
Dean and Sam Winchester, his family.
Where is he?
Castiel, former angel of the Lord, once warrior of God.
And where is she?
The woman with the brown hair, mismatched eyes and the seals of heaven and hell tattooed on her wrists.