After Joyful Valley, there had been a haunting in Ohio, now something in California. Sometimes he slept in a shelter, more often on the street. The supposed ghost back in Iowa City had turned out to be nothing, but there was good begging and he had been able to buy a sleeping bag.
It had been two weeks now. At first, he had had to work to tear the image of Dean from the place behind his eyelids. Now the pain was more of a dull throbbing. Dean was not there. Again. There was no Impala, no Sam at his laptop. Again. Still Castiel carried on. He had the knife he had taken from the Joyful Valley demon. It was alright in a fight. That, and the salt, iron, or what have you, that he found on the spot, and he had turned out to be a decent hunter. Decent enough to get by.
He had been so useless to Sam and Dean –to Dean- that he ad cursed every fiber of this useless human form. He wasn't so useless now. If Dean could see him -what? What would Dean do? Would Dean consider him worthy now? Perhaps, but Castiel was sure, utterly and terribly, that he would never see the hunter again.
Probably better. Not that he admitted it, even to himself, but no matter how good of a hunter he became, there was the inescapable fact that the job was killing him. He didn't heal anymore. At least, not the way he used to. If he was stabbed, he had stab wounds. When it snowed, and his sleeping bag was not enough to fight off he cold, he got blisters from frostbite. No matter how well he fought monsters, his own mortality was not something he could fight, and it was closing in. He hadn't eaten in a few days. His center could not hold, his stomach threatened to implode.
"This is where I'm dropping you, okay kid?" A small main street lined with mock-old west buildings.
"Thank you." Castiel mumbled, taking his sleeping bag in one hand and climbing out of the car.
Doors, California. Something had been snatching school children off the streets. Local authorities claimed it was a serial killer. Castiel was sure it wasn't. If Sam and Dean were here –if Dean were here- they would put on costumes, FBI or something, and the citizens, authorities, everyone would tell them what they wanted to hear. Not so for Castiel on is own.
He looked awful, smelled worse. His trench coat and dirty shirt hung off of him like a banner bereft of wind. He had no costumes, no fake ID's, and heaven knows –for lack of a better saying- none of the Winchester's natural charm. If he were to investigate, he would have to turn to those sorry souls who were as bad off as himself.
There was an alley leading off Main Street, the sort which housed the refuse of society, which he now counted among. Sleeping bag in hand, knife up his sleeve, he went in.
"Who's that? Who's there?" A voice issued from the darkness.
"Hello," called Castiel.
A man, grizzled despite his appearing to be only middle aged, emerged from just beyond where the light reached. He looked at Castiel first with distrust then, recognizing one of his own kind, with something amiable.
"You look like hell." He said, "Here, sit." He indicated a spot against the filthy brick wall.
Castiel sat.
"I'm Bradley." He introduced himself in a voice that sounded like he ate cigarettes for every meal.
"Castiel."
"What brought you out here, Castiel?"
"Work."
Bradley snorted. "What the hell kind of job do you do looking like that?"
Cas didn't answer.
"Okay then, don't answer."
"Can I ask you something?" Castiel asked abruptly.
"You can ask."
"What do you know about the kidnappings?"
"Aw, come on man, did someone put you up to this?" The other man was agitated, "go ask that crazy hobo to tell his crazy story! Jesus man! I thought you seemed cool."
"No. No, I promise, I'll believe whatever you tell me. No one put me up to anything." Castiel reassured him.
Seemingly appeased, Bradley leaned in secretively, "Okay, well, this is going to sound totally crazy, hell, it had me thinking I was crazy for a while, but then I thought about it more, and I'm sure, I'm sure I'm right."
Cas gestured for him to go on.
"Okay, so, you know that third kid who got snatched? The little ginger kid. Okay, so this kid was walking home, he cut down this alley. Dumb ass thing to do, go down a dark alley, but he did it and I didn't want to creep him out so I kind of hid. So the kid was walking along fine until, out of nowhere, this lady comes up behind him, and I swear, I never even saw here coming, she grabs the kid and then, poof."
"Poof?"
"Poof. She just disappeared, right into thin air with the kid. I told that to the cops when they asked, figured it was better to just be honest, and they pegged me as crazy. But I know I'm not crazy, I know hat I saw and if you don't believe me then you can go suck a-"
"I believe you." And Castiel did. Already he was trying to figure out what it must be.
"Seriously? You're a good guy, Castiel."
"Did you see what the woman looked like?" He pushed further.
"Yeah actually, that's where it gets weirder. See, you know that bench at the bus stop across the street?"
Cas recalled it. It had featured an advertisement for landscaping artist Kitty Fisher. The name sounded vaguely familiar, and the photo, the young, pretty blond woman, smiling a closed mouthed, all-business smile, jogged vague but not too distant memories.
"Well I could have sworn it was her, only apparently that chick was in Wyoming or something when it happened so it couldn't be her. But it looked just like her man, I swear."
"I believe you." Castiel said, mind working furiously, trying to place the name and face.
"It's about damn time somebody does. I don't want to sound like a nut job, but I think there might be something supernatural going on here."
Castiel nodded. He wondered what Dean would do if he were here. No doubt he would laugh at this man, tell him he really was crazy then use the information he gave them. Then he banished the thoughts of Dean as best he could.
"Want some?" Bradley held out a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.
Cas shrugged and took a swig. He felt the noxious liquid burn all the way down.
"Good stuff, huh?" Bradley asked. "Look at us, two guys, screwed over by the world, drinking piss out of a paper bag."
But Cas wasn't listening. The stuff must have been stronger than he was ready for, because he felt himself detaching from his body. Bradley seemed to shimmer and fade, along with his chorus of, "hey man, are you okay? Come on man!"
All was swallowed by the dark and the silence. He slept for several hours at least. When he came to, Bradley had gone and so had the sun. The alley was dark and faded to absolute darkness as it went further back. Tonight Castiel would not be sleeping in an alley tonight, in fact, he wouldn't be sleeping. He would be hunting down the thing called Kitty Fisher.
Damn it. Damn it. Sam was right. Damn it. He didn't want to say it. He hadn't articulated it, even in his mind. Damn it. He told himself that it was just a product of lack of sleep. He hadn't slept in days. No. Damn it. That was the worst part, there was no denying it, it just crept back in again, asserting itself as law, as fundamental fact. Gravity held Dean Winchester on Earth, Dean Winchester was in love with Castiel. Damn it.
He had been chasing Cas for two weeks now. It was killing him. He had been denying himself sleep, letting coffee and whiskey battle for supremacy in his body, then drowning the victor with a sizable dose of the loser. He couldn't keep up like this, but he could not let himself lapse back into sleep, so vivid were the dreams, he couldn't take them. Cas dead, Cas bleeding, Cas in his arms, no. He couldn't think it.
One of the phones rang. The sound was so sudden, so jarring, he nearly crashed the car. Caller ID said it was Sam.
"Dean!" Sam's familiar voice sounded alien in his addled brain. The younger Winchester had called once before since Joyful Valley. It was only to say that he was working his own case and Dean could pick him up when he was ready to work as a team again.
"Sam, hi!"
"Where have you been? I've tried you three times already. I was starting to worry about you."
"I'm fine Sammy, what's up?"
"Look, I think I might have a lead on Cas. I was checking-"
"Wait, since when do you care about finding Cas?"
"I felt bad, okay? It doesn't matter. Any way, He's somewhere in California."
"How do you know that?"
"Well, you said Cas was in Iowa City last week? Well I was checking some security footage from the area, and I saw this guy, dark hair, dirty trench coat, it had to be Cas. Anyway, he was getting in a car. I worked a little magic, and I found out it got a speeding ticket just over the California border and the camera that picked it up, I made a call and I got the picture. Cas was still with him."
"You are such a nerd Sammy. Thanks."
"Oh, and hey, when you find Cas again, tell him I'm sorry, okay? I guess I may have been kind of hard on the little guy."
"I will, thanks Sammy, you're a life saver."
"No problem. See you soon."
"Yeah."
This was it. He had started to lose hope again, started to think that this was the time he wouldn't be able to catch up with Cas, because this time Cas would be dead. Sam had saved him from despair. He was going to find Cas, and this time he would not be too late. He knew he could find him because there was only once possible case in California. For the first time in days, Dean felt a little of the worry lift from his shoulders. Just enough that he could carry on.
Author's Note: Hello readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry it was a wee bit late, I'm on vacation so I've been away from the computer all day. Any how, this is looking to be the ante-penultimate chapter (3rd to last) and I finally figured out how it's all going to end and I think you'll all enjoy it. Just letting you know. As always, tell me what you think of the story, thanks for reading!