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The transformation into his former self wasn't happening fast enough.
It was becoming obvious that Castiel's original plan of sitting under the drip until he was full wasn't feasible. He was barely angel enough to notice, much less enough to circumvent his need for bodily functions. His body became cold and hungry, his eyes tired and limbs shaking with the stress of sitting still for too long. He would have to leave to obtain food. So, as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, Castiel stood, fractionally more of an angel than he was before.
Castiel's path had taken him through this world in some pretty terrible conditions before-drunk off his ass, covered in blood, reeling with disillusionment, possessed by a hoard of leviathan and dripping ink colored blood everywhere-everything from nearly human to eldritch abomination and everything in between. Even at his weakest though, he had always managed to make his own way in the world before.
Not so, in his current condition.
Castiel had left his various clothing items lying around the floors and pews to dry throughout the day as he meditated-(brooded, his inner Dean corrected)-under the drip. All but the tan coat were completely dry by the time hunger drove him up and out of the pool, but only the white, button up under shirt was remotely wearable on his small frame. It hung down to his knees though, and therefore covered Dean's vague description of the minimum coverage necessary for Castiel to be considered 'modest' by human standards. He hesitated on the shoes. While Dean had never specifically mentioned feet coverage being necessary to pass for convincingly human, Castiel had never seen a human in public without shoes...but his adult sized footwear were completely unacceptable, Cas wouldn't be able to take a single step without tripping. Castiel ultimately shrugged, and compromised with himself by pulling on the baggy black socks. He rolled the sleeves up to his wrists, grabbed his wallet from his coat pocket, and went on his way.
The front doors of the church were locked on both sides, but the side doors were only locked from the outside. Castiel made his way through a dingy alleyway and picked his way carefully through back alley trash and out onto a slightly busier street. Here, he paused to consider. There were a few other dilapidated businesses around, a few of them even still functional, but most of the human foot traffic seemed to congregate around some livelier looking businesses up the street. The architecture here was strange too, along with something about the signs...with a bit of thought and pondering, Castiel realized they were in a different language from the one Dean spoke-English. This language's name was...Castiel dragged it up from the well of all living languages that all angels knew...Nihongo, Japanese. Castiel took a moment to feel grateful that he never seemed to lose the ability to speak any language, no matter how powerless he became-it was one of the least of an angel's many gifts, but it would be so troublesome to do without, now that he considered it. God must have left him in a different country then...how strange. Usually, anything of significance happened in America these days.
Castiel walked past a tiny convenience store, a nearly empty laundry mat, and no less than five other abandoned buildings, and headed further up the street to the bars and nightclubs and the all night diner he could see in the distance. The street he began his journey on had barely more than one or two passerby, but the last rays of sunlight were just sinking below the horizon when he stepped onto the street with the nightlife, so foot traffic picked up noticeably, as did the attention Castiel felt directed his way. Castiel was used to getting stared at by humans, but he was getting a few more stares than usual today. Usually, Castiel didn't start getting stared at until he tried to interact with the humans. Castiel himself barely paid any attention to those he passed by, keeping his eyes more focused on not stepping in gum or puddles or glass on the sidewalk, but out of the corner of his eyes, Castiel absently noted that there was an unusual variation in the hair colorations found in the people of this country.
Castiel had managed to find a decently clean looking late night dinner, situated to the left of a bar, to the right of a small casino, and across the street from a strip club. Glancing through the large front glass windows of the dinner, it looked like a small brawl was going on between two large and likely drunken, male patrons inside-previous patrons of one of the other nearby businesses, probably.
Castiel felt there was a pretty good chance the participants were human, and therefore the purview of human law and order enforcers, rather than an angel or a hunter's problem-and even if Castiel was for some reason stuck by the sudden urge to stop the humans from hurting each other, he was in no condition to enforce his will in the situation, being so small and powerless right now. Like a good half of the other patrons in the dinner who were watching the fight like it was free entertainment with their meal, Castiel came to the conclusion that as long as he stayed on the other side of the restaurant, the fight was unlikely to become his problem.
Castiel was fingering his wallet and considering what the fastest thing he could eat was as he was about to follow a blue haired stipper through the front door, when he was suddenly snatched up under his armpits. Castiel's eyes snapped wide and his mouth fell open in surprise and alarm. He had never experienced something like this before. It was distinctly unlike flying-and not in a good way. His legs dangled over nothing as his perspective changed suddenly-whoever had him was taller than Castiel's vessel-his body-used to be. Cas did not like the sudden loss of autonomy.
"No." A deep gruff voice said plainly, from above and behind him. "That's not happening."
Castiel wiggled, and when that did nothing, twisted his head around. "What-?!" He started, catching a glimpse of long black hair, but stopped as the sound of a whip crack split the air. Castiel's head whipped back around to the front.
The stripper, dressed in a combination of black leather and white body paint-(or was that latex? It was thinner and more form fitting than any cloth spun by human hands Castiel had ever seen)-had pulled a bull whip from somewhere and used it to catch the attention of the patrons fighting in the diner.
"I got a call that some of you have been very naughty boys..." The stripper said with a sultry voice in the sudden quiet of the establishment, before the glass door of the diner front swung closed behind her and muffled the sounds within. As the stranger who had scooped up Castiel turned away, Cas was able to catch a glimpse of the defined muscles rippling under the stripper's skin tight clothing-muscles like that were a sign that a human was slightly more dangerous than most, Castiel had learned.
Castiel turned his attention back to the situation at hand, and his head back to try and catch a glimpse of the stranger holding him-the man was holding Castiel quite awkwardly away from his body, the way Castiel had once seen Dean hold a favored leather jacket away from himself, after getting it covered in monster blood. "Put me down." Castiel demanded firmly and calmly, though it came out less of a command and more of a whine with the new timbre of his voice.
The stranger ignored his demand. "Kid, are you not wearing any pants?" The man's tone was tinged with the same exasperation Dean put into saying "Cas, are you going to sleep in that suit?"
"No." Castiel answered, though he didn't know why he answered-Cas failed to see how this was any of the man's business. "Put me down." Castiel demanded again, wiggling some more and prying his little, infectual hands at the man's fingers around his chest and under his armpits.
"Cut it out kid..." the man grumbled, "...where are your shoes?"
Castiel refused to answer this time, but the man didn't press him. Cas didn't have to struggle long-the stranger didn't take him far, only to the mouth of the nearest ill used alleyway, of which there many in the area. The man dropped him gently to the ground, a place clear of any glass or splinters or garbage-of which there was much in these back alleys-Cas swiftly turned to face the man after being released. He found the man crouched down in front of Castiel, closer to the now child's level, though still a head taller, even like this. Cas had seen humans address human children in a similar position like this from a distance before-but he had also seen monsters crouch like this before springing for a man's throat.
The man's face was scruffy, like Dean's sometimes was, but that's about where the similarities ended. This man had dark eyes, almost black-no, they were black-and he had long scraggly hair. The eye color was unusual-Castiel had gone out of his way to learn what was usual and what was decidedly not, when it came to human eye color. Without an angel's sense of the world around him, the eyes were often the best way to catch a monster, since most supernatural beings began evolving human guises centuries ago. Very few monsters had perfected hiding their eyes, though, the windows to the soul...or the lack of one.
This man's eyes were black-not a very dark brown, like what would normally be considered the darkest possible color for the species, though they were not the all black sclera of a human possessed by a demon, either. This man's eyes were coal black, barely distinguishable from the pupil by the faint strands of dark grey in them. They were as dark as the long black strands of hair framing the man's face and falling into the man's eyes-was he trying to hide them? Looking Castiel straight back into his own deep blue eyes was not a great way to go about that.
Castiel belatedly considered that maybe he should have run as soon as he had the chance-it was not a well ingrained human instinct in Castiel...there had been so few times in his long life where physically running away had been the best move; he usually either had the ability to teleport away, or else was facing something that it would be a bad idea to turn your back on.
Well, it was too late now. Better to press for answers, at this point.
"What are you?" Castiel blurted out after staring straight into the man's eyes for probably a bit too long to be polite. Cas was surprised when man answered-in Cas's experience, even the lowliest of supernatural beings liked to drum up an air of mystery using evasiveness-Castiel himself had been guilty of this more than once, according to Dean.
"I'm a hero." The man stated; despite his bluntness, Castiel was still somehow left blinking and with a slight tilt to his head at the actual contents of the answer. "Where are your parents?" The man continued, without waiting for a response.
Castiel didn't see any particular reason to lie. "My Father just left again-he's always absent." Castiel answered, though he left out mentioning that his Father was the God of All Creation. "What do you want?" Castiel asked the man. Did the man somehow realize that Castiel was not what he appeared to be? Is that why he picked Cas out of a crowd?
The man's answer surprised him. "I want to make sure you're safe." The man stated, dark eyes peering solemnly down at him.
"I'll never be safe." Castiel replied, brows furrowed. His response came instantly but also absently, just stating a fact of life, while Cas focused more attention on considering the man's answers to his questions. The dark man blinked and furrowed his brows though, leaning back slightly in surprise. Castiel blinked up at the man, then considered that would be a bit of an alarming statement from a normal human child-though Castiel wasn't interested in keeping up a human pretense around this creature. Just to move the conversation along though, Cas blurted, "I'm as safe I can be right now." Short of walling himself up in the bunker, that is, but even then...
It was true though, what Castiel had first said; while there had been times in Castiel's life where he had felt safe, or had been as safe as he was capable of being, he had never truly been safe.
Castiel chose to pursue answers again. "Why do you want me safe?"
An ally of the Winchester's that Castiel hasn't met before? They were always meeting new people while Castiel was away. Or something more sinister? A creature Castiel had wronged in the past, and who wanted to drag Castiel safely back to enact his revenge in some creature layer?
"I'm a hero." The man said again, peering at him darkly through strands of his hair, a sudden air of exhaustion dragging around his shoulders. "It's my job to keep people safe."
"I'm not a person..." Castiel corrected him, once again making eye contact with the man-Dean once told him the way he made eye contact was too intense, had tried to advise Castiel to only keep eye contact for a second or two at most. But Cas wasn't always very good at doing what Dean told him to do, and Castiel wanted to call the man out on this pretense of humanity and on with things. "...and I know you're not a person, either. I can tell by your eyes...are you even trying to hide it?"
The man blinked. He didn't seem to know what to say to that.
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I might have promoted this story before, but I've updated it a couple times sense then, so check out Haunted, an Izuku-with-a-ghost-quirk fic by me! (mind the tags on this one, though) And if you liked this fic, you might like my others, so check them out, too.
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