A/N: Chapter has been updated!

It has been 1 week, 2 days and 12 hours since the angels started to fall.

Castiel leaned over the sink, his pale hands clutching the rusted and tarnished taps as he stared at into the grimy mirror. The face that stared back was almost unrecognizable, except for the brilliant blue eyes beneath the dark eyebrows.

His hair was matted and greasy; a wild tangle that looked like it could house live insects. There were puffy black circles beneath his eyes and his lips were cracked and dry. Coarse hairs were sprawling over his jawline, a scruffy and untamed mess.

He gingerly twisted one of the taps, unwilling to touch the strange green stuff that was forming over the metal. It gave a piercing squeak as a jet of water shot out of it. He splashed his face then scrubbed it hard with a towel, opening his eyes and hoping to see the old face he remembered looking back at him. At least some of the dirt has gone, he thought bitterly.

The smell of urine was growing unbearable, so he quickly left the gas-station restroom and set off. He walked without any real direction, his stomach growling with hunger almost consistently, even when he got a cheap sandwich from a seedy gas-station like this and chewed his way through the bland bread. He delved into the pocket of his trench coat, withdrawing a handful of coins and one scrunched up bit of paper. He had hardly enough for a proper meal, let alone a room at a motel.

He had no idea where he was, having crashed into a forest and stumbled blindly out onto a road, where he had stood for an entire night, before a man pulled over and offered to drive him to the nearest town. Castiel hadn't even bothered to listen for a name.

He stopped where he stood, causing a bit of a grumble as the woman behind him had to quickly halt to avoid bumping into him. She shot him an angry look as she went past, jabbering on her phone. He thought he saw her do a slight double take as she saw the dishevelled state he was in, but then she was gone. Another fleeting glimpse, as so much of humanity was.

The loud screech caught Castiel's attention. A bus had pulled up at the station a little way down the road. The screen over the front window read 'Kansas'.

Castiel didn't even think. He staggered onto the bus and fumbled for his money. "Is this enough to get to Kansas?" His voice was hoarse from thirst and disuse. The driver glanced at the feeble sum in Castiel's hand then he looked him over.

"Yes." The driver lied, taking the coins but pushing the note back to Castiel. He suspected it was all the man had left.

The bus was relatively empty, and Castiel chose a seat near the back, sitting beside the window. The backs of his thighs felt damp against the seat, and he shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to deal with this. He tried to inconspicuously tug at them, but the small space was rather restricting.

"You okay there, buddy?"

Castiel glanced round as he uncrossed his legs. A man a few rows behind him was watching him over his newspaper.

"Fine, thank you." Castiel cleared his throat as the words came out cracked and dry.

"You going to Kansas?" The man folded up his newspaper, looking at Castiel intently.

"Yes." Castiel was still not well-trained in social communication.

"Do you live there?" The man, Castiel observed, was middle-aged, with thinning hair, a shirt sporting the logo of a baseball team and a beer-belly. He didn't seem a threat, but Castiel eyed him warily.

"No, I'm –" He suddenly fell silent as he realised he didn't know what he was doing. Or, at least, why he was doing what he was doing. "…visiting friends." He concluded.

"You don't look too sure about that." The stranger got up, moving to sit in the seat across the aisle from Castiel.

"I am unsure whether my friends still live there."

The man went silent for a moment then smiled, showing yellowing teeth. "Well, at least you're not going for your lousy job!" He gave a loud, barking laugh. "I'm Phil, by the way." He held out a large hand. Castiel shook it briefly.

"I'm…Jimmy."

"Nice to meet you, Jimmy!" His grin widened. He was in the business of unfurling his paper, doing the strange shake that humans did to get it straight, when Castiel interrupted him.

"May I borrow your newspaper?"

"Sure, here." Phil passed it to him. Castiel glanced at the front page. A large title read "Wish Upon a Star" with a picture of thousands of lights shooting across the sky. The report went on to describe how professionals were baffled at the number of shooting stars, but it seemed no one had unearthed the real reason. Castiel wanted news of his brothers and sisters. He wanted to know if they, too, had lost their grace.

"Funny story, that one." Phil said. Castiel tore his eyes away from the newspaper and tried to smooth out the frown on his face. "Shooting stars. Not just at night, though, that's the weird part. Well, one of the weird parts."

"Thank you." Castiel handed back the newspaper and turned away, peering out the window. The sky was a bright cerulean, but even as he looked, a blazing streak of light shot across it, disappearing over the horizon. He closed his eyes and said a silent word for his fallen brother or sister.

Castiel didn't even realise he was absolutely exhausted until he felt his consciousness slipping and he drifted off into a sleep disturbed by screams, blood and burning balls of light.

"Jimmy? Jimmy!" Something was heavy on his shoulder, shaking him.

Castiel blinked, lifting his head up and wincing at the stiffness in his neck. The bus was dark, illuminated by a few too-bright lights that warded off the suffocating ebony of night.

Phil's round face swam into view before his bleary eyes. "We're almost there, mate."

Castiel started. How long had he slept? "Kansas?"

"Where else?"

Castiel rubbed his brow, sitting upright and feeling his joints pop. He suddenly felt a wave of panic crash over him. Kansas had seemed so far away, the future not so daunting when he couldn't even see the finish line. But now the red tape was almost there, and what lay beyond was a sea of uncertainty.

As the bus slowed to a stop in Topeka, Kansas, Castiel got to his feet and gave a sudden lurch. His legs seemed to have seized up from sitting still so long. One began to feel strangely tingly. Then, a shooting pain rushed through his leg and it felt like it was prickling and burning at the same time. He had no idea why his body was doing this and he tried to move, but feeling more pain as the leg collided with the floor.

"What's wrong?" Phil interjected from beside him.

"My leg…sudden pain…" With Phil's help, he hobbled off the bus and they stood on the sidewalk. The pain was wearing off, leaving him with a leg that felt much like usual.

Phil chuckled. "Got pins and needles?"

"What?" Castiel's brow furrowed. He didn't think he was carrying any of those objects, but he checked his pockets. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

Phil guffawed, placing a hand on Castiel's shoulder to steady himself. "That was a good one!"

Staring perplexedly at the bizarre human, Castiel tried to extract himself from the arm that was pushing down on him.

"Ah, sorry, I expect you want to be going." Phil wiped his eyes, beaming.

Castiel nodded. "Could you point me in the direction of Lebanon?"

"Sorry, pal, I'm not from 'round here. Can't you look it up on your phone?"

"I don't have one."

Phil seemed to be realising that Castiel, or 'Jimmy', wasn't completely normal. And that was aside from the ragged appearance. He eyed him with a look of what seemed to be pity then took out his cellphone and tapped it a few times. Castiel watched him frown at the screen.

"Uh…you sure you planned your route right? It's just…Lebanon is about 200 miles from here."

Castiel's shoulders slumped. He had allowed a faint glimmer of hope to cross his mind, a hope that he would have somewhere to stay; somewhere with the only people he wanted to see. Three words crept onto the end of that thought – somewhere with Dean.

"You know what…I realise you hardly know me, but I can't leave you here. I can give you a lift, the company's given me a car, it's waiting for me at the office." Phil was speaking quite quickly and uncertainly, perhaps still not sure if he should offer this bedraggled stranger a ride.

"No, I can't accept that, I –"

"Just wait here, I'll get the car." And without waiting for an answer, Phil turned on his heel and left Castiel standing alone on the pavement.

The night air was hot and humid and Castiel felt his clothes sticking against his skin. He was growing weary, his legs starting to ache. He didn't understand this. He had stood at the side of a road all night once before, as he waited for Dean. He didn't allow that thought to continue. He was still avoiding all thoughts of that name.

Phil had been gone a long time. Castiel wondered if he had changed his mind and gone to his hotel room or wherever he was staying, ready to sleep off the long journey and push aside the thought that Castiel was stood here waiting. He was just an unkempt, probably quite smelly man who was of little consequence.

But then with a flood of light, a car rounded the corner and pulled up beside Castiel. It was a sleek vehicle, made for speed than durability. The door swung open and Phil leaned out. "Come on then, we haven't got all day."

Castiel slid into the passenger seat, the leather immediately gluing his sweaty body against it. Phil switched the radio on and it blared out a song Castiel had never heard, something with too loud a bass and not much of a tune.

As the car sped off down the road, Castiel's mind started to wander. His experience with cars was limited, but he disliked the way this car smelt so clean. The radio was blaring out the wrong music. The seats were too high and rigid. But what he disliked most was that the wrong person was sitting behind the steering wheel.

He could already feel the weight of sleep bearing upon him, but he felt it would be impolite to fall asleep when he was depriving Phil of that. Instead, he tried his best to maintain the small talk that Phil initiated and keep his eyelids up at the same time. Phil asked a lot of questions. About 'Jimmy's' family, his friends, his job, his house – Castiel could not answer truthfully, so he lied and hoped he only sounded so false because he was tired. Phil was particularly interested in the friends Castiel was going to meet.

"So what are their names?"

"Sean and…and Don." Castiel muttered, stifling a yawn.

"Good friends of yours?"

"Yes. They are like my family." A lump rose in Castiel's throat at that, but he did his best to ignore it.

"They live pretty far out."

"They like the seclusion."

"So, what, are they a couple?"

Castiel did a double take. "No, they're brothers."

"So, between you and me, which do you prefer?"

"I…I don't…" Castiel stuttered, bewildered as to how to answer. Phil simply chuckled and moved on to another question.

Phil also talked about himself a lot, about his wife and his two children. He was in the middle of retelling the story of his son's last baseball game when Castiel realised what was playing on the radio.

He didn't know the name of it, nor the singer, but he recognised it immediately. He'd heard it many times, blasting out of the radio of the Impala, and Castiel remembered the way Dean would smile as he sang along.

Phil stopped talking as he realised Castiel wasn't listening, and he saw the way his fingers tapped along in time to the music. "You like this song?"

"It reminds me of someone."

"What kind of someone?"

The corners of Castiel's mouth turned up into a tiny smile. "Someone with good taste in music."

Phil chuckled. "Does this girl know how you feel about her?"

Castiel's eyes widened. "It's…not like that."

"Really? Because buddy, you sure look like it."

Castiel swallowed and said nothing, setting his gaze firmly on the road ahead.

The sun slowly began to inch over the horizon and Castiel hoped there was not far to go, though his stomach churned at the imminent prospect.

"Nearly there." Phil remarked as they passed a road sign that stated it was 20 miles to Lebanon. Castiel nodded, more to himself than Phil.

Lebanon was not a very large town, tucked away in a remote part of America. Phil raised his eyebrows slightly as they drove into the centre, probably wondering what would inspire anyone to live here.

He pulled to a stop beside a small diner and turned to Castiel. "Will you be alright from here?"

"Yes, thank you very much." Castiel was certain this man had exceeded the phrase 'kindness of strangers'

"Don't mention it." He waved a podgy hand and grinned. "Hope you find your friends. And here, have this." He handed Castiel the newspaper. It was crumpled from being squashed in his pocket.

"Thank you, again. Safe journey." Castiel opened the door and made to get out.

"Bye, Jimmy. Or should I say…Castiel."

Castiel hit his head on the doorframe as he jumped. He sunk back into the seat. "What did you say?"

"I must say, you kept up the act well. But, really, Castiel, no need to lie to a brother." His grin widened.

Castiel's mouth hung open. "You're an angel?"

"Well, I guess we don't get to call ourselves that now." His smile faded slightly. "I was a cherub."

"Brother, there are no words –"

'Phil' held up a hand to stop him. "Castiel, I do not hate you. I do what I can now without my powers. I help others and try to bring love as I always have. I wish you all the best, Castiel."

Castiel could only nod and he slid out the car, watching his brother turn and drive away. He stood motionless, watching the empty road, a loneliness gnawing at his insides.

He slowly turned away, looking around. He knew the bunker was away from the town, but he had many directions to choose. He took the road closest and walked down the empty streets, feeling perspiration dewing on his neck.

The countless steps he took would have been nothing before. He would not have felt this gasping in his throat for water, nor the searing in his muscles at the exertion. He was sure he must have gone the wrong way when he saw, unbelievably, the deteriorating building and beside it, the small door that lead into the bunker of the Men-of-Letters. He staggered forwards, hardly daring to believe it true. After so many miles, so many hours, it was actually here.

And as he neared the door, every supressed thought spewed from his brain and seized his body up. They wouldn't let him in. He had betrayed them too many times. He was no longer their friend, their family. He was a stranger. A monster.

His hand didn't even look like his hand as it knocked against the door.

Dean lounged in a chair, watching Sam and Kevin hunched over their laptops and books as he drained the last few dregs of beer from his bottle. He set it down and got up, stretching. Then, he heard a strange, very quiet, tap.

He froze, mid-stretch. "Did you hear something?"

Kevin looked up. "No…"

"Hmm." Dean rolled his shoulders back into place and made to sit down when he heard it again. "Is one of you tapping?"

"Dean, what are you talking about?" Sam snapped, his eyes still on the computer.

"I heard a knocking sound…"

It came again, this time louder. Both Sam and Kevin heard it now. Kevin's eyebrows pulled together. "I think…someone's at the door."

Dean's hand slowly slid to his gun as he crept forward. He raised it as he neared the door, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened. He unlocked the door cautiously and pulled it open.

The gun clattered to the floor as his hand slackened. His face completely drained of colour. "Cas."

Dean could only stare at the man before him.

"You…" Dean croaked, swallowing hard. "You're…" He wasn't sure how to finish that. Alive? Really in need of a shower?

He looked into Cas' brilliant eyes in the way that he remembered from times that seemed years away. How he felt he couldn't look away, as if something was drawing him to those eyes.

"Dean." Cas' voice was hoarse and gravelly. Dean finally took in his appearance.

"Cas, you look awful, man."

"I realised."

"You…you better come in." He stepped aside to let Cas pass, trying to make enough room that their arms wouldn't brush.

Castiel followed Dean down the dimly lit corridors, noticing how the other man kept slightly ahead of him. He could feel the tension biting the air between them.

"Sam and Kevin are down there." He gestured down the corridor, turning and walking the other way.

"Kevin is here?"

"Yeah, he doesn't really have anywhere else." Dean cleared his throat. He had cleared his throat several times in the last few minutes, and Castiel was sure it wasn't necessary. "I…uh…I'm not sure if the room you had last time is ready."

"That's alright, Dean."

Dean nodded, stopping and turning to Castiel. "Look, Cas –"

"Dean, can we talk later? I feel…dirty."

Dean's throat clenched. "Yeah…sure, Cas."

He started walking, but kept beside Castiel. "This is my room." He said as they passed a door that was slightly ajar. "And this will be yours." A little further along the corridor was another door, this one closed. "This was just my bathroom, but I suppose we'll share. I…uh…I'll sort your room out while you wash. There should be a spare towel and robe in the cupboard."

Castiel smiled. It felt strange, he had not had reason to smile in a while. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean nodded, his eyes on Cas'. "Sure. Sure."

Castiel was almost undressed, except for his underwear. He hadn't seen his body before, not like this – when it was something that would scar and he had to protect. When it was him.

Castiel sensed the same smell he'd noticed on Dean in the air of the room. It was clean and quite orderly, not what he'd imagined of Dean. He slid off his boxers and stepped into the shower.

The sensation of the warm water running over him, washing away the dirt and sweat of the last days, was indescribable for him. He now understood why humans took so long to shower with the bliss this was. Such a simple thing, water running from a faucet, yet so essential to man.

He rinsed until he was sure he had no excuse any more to stay there and his fingers were wrinkly. He stepped out the shower, a cascade of water falling from him. He took the towel he'd laid out and dried off, feeling amazingly fresh. What was the human phrase? 'As good as new'.

Dean smoothed down a corner of the bed sheet he'd just laid absent-mindedly.

What are you doing? He thought to himself. Tell him to leave. It's been enough.

He sat down on the end of the bed, noticing that the mattress was considerably harder than his and wondered if he should try and find a better one. Why do things for him, after all he's done to you? There it was again, the voice. He could never get rid of it.

The door opened and Dean hastily looked up. Cas was wearing a dark blue robe and his hair was still slightly damp and tousled. Dean diverted his eyes, since Cas was not exactly dressed.

"You know, showers are an amazing invention." Cas seemed unconcerned by the fact that he was only wearing a robe.

Dean chuckled. "You would say that if you hadn't washed for…how long has it been? A week?"

"Just over." Cas walked over and sat beside Dean. Dean wasn't entirely sure how to act. This, Cas being human, was such new territory, he felt like he was in a mine field and had no idea where to step. And, after everything, he had no idea if he even knew who Cas was.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" Cas yawned as he spoke.

"I…" Dean felt like the words were being swallowed before he could say them. "What…what happened?"

But he got no answer. He turned and saw Cas lying fast asleep beside him. Smiling to himself, Dean got up, turned the light off and left Cas curled up in a bath robe at the foot of the bed.

Dean walked sluggishly down the small corridors, rubbing the back of his neck in agitation. He could hear the TV blasting out what sounded like Star Wars from the living room and knew he had to make some explanation. Truth was he didn't know what to say. He didn't even know if Cas would still be there when he went back in the morning.

"Dean!" Kevin said, hearing his approach and turning the volume down slightly.

"Who was…" Sam's voice got quieter as he caught Dean's expression "at the door?" He finished lamely.

Dean jumped over the back of the sofa, kicking his heels onto the table in front of him and not answering. He pretended to be intrigued by 'The Phantom Menace' even though it was his least favourite – fucking Jar Jar Binks.

As the film ended and the credits began to roll, Dean felt the tension as the other two waited for an answer. Instead, he got to his feet and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Well, I'll be getting to bed."

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked.

Dean turned with what he hoped was a normal smile on his face. "Nothing, Sammy."

"Dean, we have a right to know if you're…" Kevin cast around for something to say. "Harbouring a murderer or something."

Dean's throat clenched and Kevin's eyes widened. "Oh my God, you are."

"No, it's…it's Cas." He waited for bomb he'd just dropped to detonate.

Sam was looking rather blank. Kevin's eyes had widened even more.

"What?!" Kevin exclaimed.

"How?!" Sam yelled over the top of him.

"Jeez, be quiet, you'll wake him up!" Dean sank back into his seat. "I haven't asked him how or why yet. He's sleeping."

"Dean…"

"I know, Sam. Just…wait till mornin', okay?"

"Fine."

After a long pause, Kevin piped up. "Hey, Dean, do you wanna watch Attack of the Clones?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing beats the original trilogy." He grinned and left, his mind at least distracted for a bit thinking about Star Wars.

A/N: So uh yeah that sucked but there's more to come, yays!