He awoke to cold against his face, his wings, his whole body. Castiel never felt this in heaven. Having a mind shrouded in thick fog didn't help either. He looked up to the sky, which was a dull grey, but hurt his eyes all the same.
Inhale, wheeze, repeat. Angels didn't have to breathe. His body shifted against the ground, feeling the light ice pack against his coat which did little to protect him from the bitter cold. A groan escaped from his numb lips and ebbed to a low wheeze that crushed his chest.
So this is what Earth is like, Castiel thought to himself bitterly. The angel moved to stand, but couldn't. His legs were frozen, numb. How long had he been there? The furious eyes of Michael the archangel burned in the back of his skull. Godless eyes.
How could there be no God?
The thought sent his heart racing. Heaven ruled by a tyrannical archangel was a road map to destruction of the kingdom itself. He shut his eyes tight, feeling his chest tighten. Something hot ran down his cheek. Human tears. Michael always preached that becoming human was worse than death itself, and for a brief second, Castiel agreed. Another cough, and he was shivering.
"Who's there?"
Oh, Lord help him.
The voice was deep, husky, very human. He tried to move, turned to speak, but then he realized something terrifying.
Michael had cast him to earth as a human. A human with huge, black, feathered wings. He had never thought twice about the mass of muscle and feather on his back, they've just always been there. But how would a human react to this? What could he ever say?
The man's crunching footsteps came closer. Castiel heard an odd sound in the distance, a mixture of whimpers and growls. He wouldn't turn around to see the man's face. Act dead, yes. Maybe then he'll just be left alone.
As if his human body mocked him, he coughed again. And again. Phlegm rose in his throat, making him gag. So much for acting dead.
The footsteps immediately picked up pace, louder and louder. Then they stopped abruptly. "What the..." the voice diminished into a breath, which came fast from the man's running. "You're..." More coughing. "You need help. Jesus, I'll be back, hang in there."
The man was gone, but hastily back. Castiel couldn't find it in himself to even move. Behind the strange man were the whimpers again, mixed with nervous huffing. Castiel shivered, flexing the joints where the wing met his back in order to possibly thaw his numb skin. His body shifted painfully against the ice.
"Hold still," the husky voice whispered. "You'll be alright. Just-Just give me a second."
Castiel finally turned his head to see the man's face, but was instead face to face with a wide-eyed wolfish dog. With a whimper, the canine ran his smooth, warm tongue over the angel's forehead leaving a wet trail. Castiel squinted and grunted. "Toby!" The man called from a few feet away, his voice stern and powerful. The dog digressed, tucking it's tail between it's legs. "I'm sorry. Can you sit up? We need to get you warm." he knelt down and Castiel was face to face with him. The man had a square jaw and stubble that hadn't been shaved for a couple days. His eyes were striking green against the worn skin.
"No..." Castiel groaned, coughing up more slimy phlegm. Embarassing. "Let me help you..." he said quietly, kneeling down. He tucked one arm under Castiel's neck, while the other gripped the small of his back, right between his wings. Like they didn't phase him. As soon as he started to lift, Castiel screamed. Every one of his joints was on fire, his chest hurt with a weight that felt like thousands of pounds pressed against it. Letting out a groan, he bit his lip and shut his eyes tight, letting the man do what he needed. "Easy, buddy. Deep breaths."
