Authors Note:
Hey everyone! So this is my first fic in a very long time. I appreciate any cc.
This story is my take on Season . I know this is like beating a dead horse, but bear with me.
Will contain violence, harsh language etc. Rating may change later, I am not sure yet.
Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own any of this and belongs to Kripke and CW. Not my bbys
Everything hurt.
Not just physically. But the aching in his back and pounding in his head was offset by the deep, milling anxiety that twisted in his gut like a knife. Stumbling against the blinding pain, he started walking.
It took him a few miles to realize Jimmy's shoes were not made for comfort; what shook him more than the biting pain was the realization that after these years, he felt it.
The silence was deafening. No longer could he hear the heavenly host, the constant chatter was replaced with the unfamiliar sound of buzzing insects and normal happenings of the woods he was so painfully exiled to. The deep dark of the night made it all the more foreboding; Cas jumped at a few large sounding noises, his heart thumping in his chest wildly. The anxiety, the fear coursed through his veins as he picked up his pace. Nothing was right; he wasn't supposed to feel this way. Not the pulse pounding terror that he felt alone in those dark woods.
And so he walked.
Castiel was becoming more and more aware of the gnawing sensation in his stomach, the parched feeling on his lips and tongue. It was in that moment of quiet desperation that he noticed civilization up ahead- not much but an old gas station with a lone flickering bulb that barely illuminated singular gas pump, a closed dollar store and a 24 hour Laundromat. Looking around quickly, he darted, limping slightly as his sore feet begged him to stop moving altogether. The bell jingled too loudly for his taste as he opened the door to the Laundromat, surveying the surroundings for danger. His ragged breath served only to remind him how human he was, and how very much alone and fragile this new body was. He didn't want to push it.
"Hello?" He ventured. Nothing came from the building, it was dead silence and his footfalls echoed in their wake.
Catching his reflection in a reflecting mirror overhead Cas realized how bad he looked. How abnormal. Blood splattered over his collar and down his white dress shirt.
"Am I bleeding?" He thought to himself, bringing a shaking hand neck and wincing as he found a large gash near his collar bone that had torn through his once white dress shirt. His clothing was in a distressing state of disrepair. A few buttons missing from the shirt, the faithful trench coat hung off him, damp and muddy, revealing the length of his travel in that night.
Toeing off his shoes, he winced as his bare feet came in contact with the ice cold tile floor. They were sore and swollen, Jimmy's Sunday shoes doing nothing to cushion them in his journey. Glancing around again fearfully and swallowing the bile that threatened to rise as his stomach once against panged with hunger, he tossed off the offending articles. It wasn't until he was shrugging off his blood stained shirt that he nearly doubled over in pain; his back ached. Deep, down to the bone pain radiated off him as he contorted his body to fling the shirt to the floor.
Castiel glanced again at the mirror and cocked his head at his reflection. His pale skin practically glowed in the florescent lighting, but large black and blue bruises crawled up his back and painfully around his ribcage. He watched with morbid curiosity as they booked with every breath he took in, his rib line peeking through the dark expanses of injured flesh.
He literally fell. Metatron had done nothing to assist with a smooth landing. His back ached as he arched it, and stopped as the crippling pain overtook him. After a moment, he stopped looking. Leaving on his pants he threw the soiled items into an open washer only to realize he had no money. Not that that matter, he had no idea how to use the old, rusted contraption.
It was there, while he was contemplating his move from there that the small, chiming bell from the front door went off.
Cas's head whipped up to see a large man, a ripped suit and a fierce expression that bruised his angry face.
"Castiel." It wasn't a question.
Castiel felt pure terror as he realized he was weaponless; Metatron had taken his angel blade.
"Please, brother, I never meant-"He tried reasoning, stumbling over his words.
A choked laugh came from the fallen angel before him as he moved forward.
"You never do, do you?" He was getting closer. Too close. "Yet hear I stand, my wings burned off like something damned and you stand here to tell me you didn't mean too?" His face was red with uncontrolled hate and fury.
"Brother ple-"A large meaty fist swiped Cas's face with deadly accuracy, the force of the blow pushing his already abused back into the washing machines.
Cas looked up, blood pouring out of his nose as he held his face. He never felt pain like this, not from something like a broken nose. When the angel came to swing again, Cas brought up his left arm, deflecting the blow but pushing him further into the machines. He grunted as pain exploded in his arm and now chest as his brother left a punishing blow to his exposed ribs.
A glint; the angel still had his blade and was brandishing it for the killing blow. Cas felt adrenaline course through him, stronger than his anxiety, stronger than his regret and pain. So he pushed.
The fallen angel's eyes widened as Cas pushed him into a small vending machine behind them, the glass shattering with an ear piercing snap. The surprise was all he needed; he maybe out muscled but not outsmarted. The blade was loose in his brother's grasp, so quick as he could with he was sure was a fractured arm, Cas pushed the blade under the tender area of his attackers neck.
He stopped, his chest heaving with exertion.
"Brother." He gasped, pushing the tip of the blade closer to his throat. "Do not make me do this. I can fix this!" He gritted out. He needed him to know, he needed them ALL to know that he would fix this.
The angel smiled sadly. "No Castiel. You cannot." Cas tried to move as he saw the dangerous glint in the eye of the once celestial being, and managed a loud "NO!" before the angel fell hard on the tip of the blade, slicing up and through him, impaling himself on his own weapon.
With shaking hands, Cas lowered the deceased angel to the floor. It was a blasphemy; no blinding light, no scorched wings or telltale sign that the supernatural creature had passed. Only a ragged breath and the pouring of crimson on a dirty Laundromat floor in rural Colorado.
He sat there for a moment, maybe an hour, he wasn't sure. All that he knew was that he was cold, his body betraying him as it shivered in the early morning temperature. He knew he had to leave. Someone would be there eventually. Realizing his clothing was still destroyed, he walked numbly over to a large sign that said Lost and Found. Digging through cheap towels, underwear and old magazines he found a white shirt and worn hoodie which he quickly pulled on. They were a little big, but the rough cotton seemed to help his trembling flesh. He also swiped a pair of mismatched socks and with a grimace, pulled them over his swollen feet. Cas stepped gingerly over the blood on the floor, his heart seizing as his attention was once again brought to his fallen brother. Dead. Because of him.
He choked out a sob as he re-tied Jimmy's old shoes, the weight of his sins bearing down on him, causing more pain than the broken nose or the fractured arm. Standing up he quickly grabbed the discarded weapon and stuffed it awkwardly up his hoodie sleeve. About to walk out the door he noticed the broken vending machine, the contents spilled on the floor. Water, cheap off brand chips and assorted sugary confections littered the floor. Shamefully, he bent down and scrambled to pick as much of the fallen merchandise as possible, realizing with overwhelming guilt that he was stealing. But his hunger was taking over him and his rational thought was replaced with his basic urges.
Dawn was approaching too fast, the dew of the morning clung to the glass windows and to the grass outside as he trudged along, still limping. Chugging, and nearly choking on the lukewarm water he had just stolen, he felt a curious weight in his pocket. Furrowing his brow, he pushed the water into the bulging hoodie pocket of junk food and reached into the dirty pant pocket.
His phone.
Castiel reverently stroke the cracked screen, the battery sign only a bar away from completely shutting off. He pushed the few buttons Sam had showed him, his heart stopping as he saw the name Dean Winchester before him. He could call Dean. Tell him what happened.
He felt his heart drop as he realized he didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve to be saved; he didn't deserve the Righteous Man to come swooping in as he always did. He and Dean barely parted on good terms from his last disastrous display of his lack of faith in the older Winchester. He still felt the heavy burden of the Dean's disappointment.
But at that moment, all Castiel wanted to do, was go home.
AN: If you guys like it let me know! I update pretty frequently, so if there is enough interest I will continue. :)