He had thought about leaving a note, a goodbye, but it seemed superfluous. What could he say that they didn't know already? He hadn't left a note, hadn't taken anything save his coat. He would not take from the Winchesters, he had done that enough.
Cas walked along the side of the road. Icy sludge filled his shoes in seconds. Soon he had lost the feeling in his toes entirely. The cold tore through his trench coat as if it were nothing. His humanity would be the death of him if he did not find shelter soon. He held out his hand, thumb up as he had seen people do on television.
It was not like in the television. Car after car tore past him without stopping. He might not know much about being human, but he knew that if someone didn't stop for him soon he would die. He already felt the numbness creeping into his fingers and up his legs, insidious harbingers of an icy death.
He did not want to die. Even now, even when he had nothing but the clothes on his back, even when he'd lost the most important people in the world to him, he wanted to live. He supposed it was that impulse, as old as humanity itself to carry on; to fight or flee. It seemed his nature had driven him to the latter.
As headlights passed, light chased shadow across his path. He imagined making this trip with Sam and Dean -with Dean- in the Impala. The heat would be on. Sam would be complaining about the radio. It's too loud; he would want to sleep. Dean would mutter, "bitch" under his breath and Sam would return with "jerk" and the whole thing would be settled, usually Sam's way.
But he was not in the Impala. He was not with Sam and Dean. He was just Cas, alone.
"Hey! Hey, you with the trench coat!"
Castiel turned around, and was blinded. Headlights, brighter than sunlight, were shinning into his face. He blinked, rubbed his eyes. The shape of a pickup slowly took form. He walked towards it.
"Get in." The driver, a woman, young, she might have been pretty, gestured for him to open the passenger-side door. Once he was inside she scolded him, "the hell you think you were doing out there in those clothes?"
Castiel shrugged. The whole breed of non-Winchester humans were a frightening bunch.
"Okay, keep your secrets. Any place in particular you looking to go?"
Cas thought about it. He had no home and no money. But he could have a job, if he could remember where. "Joyful Valley," he said, "it's in Wyoming."
The Woman chuckled. "Well it's your lucky day isn't it? I'm heading into Cheyenne. That's on my way."
"Thanks." Castiel settled into his seat.
"What's your name anyway?"
"Castiel."
The woman laughed, "Weird name. You amish or something?"
Castiel said nothing.
"Look, you got a right to your secrets, but I've got to ask, you aren't a murderer or anything are you?"
"No."
"Okay. Sit tight, we've got a long drive."
He must have fallen asleep somewhere along the way. What he dreamed about he could not for the life of him remember, but it must have been pleasant because when he awoke he was instantly disappointed. The sun had not yet risen and the world was still the eerie white of moonlit snow.
"Good morning sunshine." The woman turned to him. She looked tired but not unfriendly.
"Morning." Castiel looked down at his soaked and wrinkled clothes, evidence of last night's flight. Sleep had not cleared his mind a bit, he still wasn't sure if he had made the right decision. It didn't matter, it was his reality now, right or not.
"Joyful Valley's about ten minutes away," she said, "you got a place to stay once you get there?"
"No."
The woman looked at him in silence for a moment. "You sure you'll be alright?"
"No."
There was concern in her face, and pity, and just a hint of mistrust. "You want me to drop you at the men's shelter?"
"What's a men's shelter?"
The woman sighed. "I guess you'll find out when we get there."
Several minutes later, the woman pulled up in front of a low, utilitarian looking building. It declared itself to be the Joyful Valley Men's Shelter. Joyful Valley, as a town, was about as joyful as the hunched, concrete façade of its men's shelter, grey and dead and unforgiving under its snowy shroud.
"Look, I like you, you seem like a sweet guy. How about this, I'll drop you at the shelter and, because I'm worried about you, I'll give you this."
The woman handed him several twenty-dollar bills folded inside a piece of paper. Kit Fisher, it read, and that was followed by a phone number. Dean used to love getting women's phone numbers. Cas might have appreciated the gesture more if he'd had a phone.
"Call me if you ever need anything."
"Thank you." He said, squinting down at the gift.
As he moved toward the door, Kit reached out her hand, "Do you ant me to walk you in?"
"No," said Castiel, "I'll be alright." That was the first lie he had told in a very long time.
Dean's existence had never been a stable one. Comparing his life to a house of cards would probably be too generous, but it will do as a metaphor. Dean had gone to sleep that night with his house intact, fragile, temporary, but whole. He did not feel it collapse. It must have happened sometime in the night. One little card had slipped away, one card without which he structure could not hold.
He didn't realize that his world had come crashing down, until he saw the empty couch. He called Cas' name, checked the bathroom, the hall outside.
There were things he could have told himself. Cas is out for food, Cas is out for ice, Cas will be back in a minute with a squint in his eyes and his mouth in a straight, hard, line just like always, just like normal. But there were words hiding in the back of his throat. Words that he had exiled from his brain. Those words were: Cas is gone, Cas is not coming back. And deeper still: It's your fault. Cas is gone because of you.
"Dean what the hell?" It was one of those rare days when Sam slept later than Dean.
"Cas is gone."
"What?"
"He's gone."
"How? When?"
"The hell should I know? His bed's empty. He's not anywhere."
"What?"
"Are you stupid or something? Cas left. He ran off."
Sam sat still and quiet in his bed, staring across at the empty couch. Sam suggested the same things he had tried to hope. Dean just stared. It might be true that he had missed the angel in Cas. He sometimes caught himself beginning to pray to a man who was just a man. He wished he could do that now. He wished that he could close his eyes and call without words and Castiel would answer with a flutter of invisible wings.
"Dean- what're we going to do?" Sam began to slide out of bed.
"I don't know what we're going to do, but I'm going after Cas."
"Alone? Dean, why?"
"Because it's Cas," he said, "and he always came when I called."
"Dean wait," Sam cried after Dean, who was already lacing up his shoes, "You don't even know where he went!"
But Dean was already pulling on his jacket and closing the door behind him.
The Impala was like a damn freezer when he got in. The snow in the parking lot was still untouched. He defiled it with his tire tracks, pulling out quickly and scanning the road.
What should he look for? Footprints? No, the new coating of snow would have hidden them. What then? He continued up the road from the motel, looking desperately for some kind of sign. How far could Cas have gone on foot? He wouldn't have made it far in this weather, and at night. The thought entered his head, unbidden. What if Cas didn't know his limits yet? What if he had ignored the cold? No. No. He was going to find Castiel, and he would be alright.
He drove on a ways, looking for something, anything. He tried to prepare himself for something he prayed he wouldn't see. A crumpled figure on the side of the road, inadequately wrapped in a trench coat.
He had driven for almost an hour before he finally pulled over to he side of the road. His chest was heaving, his heart pounding. It was as if a spring, coiled tight in his gut, was about to burst free. When it did, it was with such force that it forced a scream through his lips, a string of obscenities that would have scared Cas half to death if he were there.
At last, breathless, hopeless, spent, Dean collapsed against the back of his seat.
There was so much more he wanted to get out of it but, "damn it Cas," was all he could muster.
Author's Note: Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! I should probably explain that I'm going to be updating this twice-weekly for the near future. Sundays and Thursdays. Once school starts up again I will have to do it weekly (probably Sundays) so... that's the schedule.