A/N: Thanks to all that commented! I'm glad you guys are interested in Castiel's story! It's a gloomy one, that's for sure... ;)
After paying for both his, and Castiel's, coffee, Dean had gone back to the police station, unsure what else to do. He was too frustrated to go home. Not because of the damn coffee, but because he still had no answers, and he already had a growing list:
1) What was 'Castiel's last name (or, real name for that matter)?
2) What had happened to him?
3) Why was he so afraid of sirens?
4) Did he have a change of clothes somewhere?
5) Was he homeless?
6) Why did blue eyes plague Dean's thoughts?
Dean planned to find out, by Castiel himself or other ways. So, he did was anyone else would do in his situation: he asked a professional.
"Are you out of your damned mind, you idjit?" Dean sighed deep, rolling his eyes, his hands pressed against Bobby's beat up desk top. "You want me to investigate your flighty angel?" Dean blushed then, sputtering a bit, looking away.
"He's not my angel—"
"You do realize what Castiel means, don't you?" Bobby snapped quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. The older man watched Dean closely, amused at his red face, and annoyed at his stupidity.
"Please, won't you share with the class?" Dean asked sarcastically, plopping down in the old chair opposite of Bobby's desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking Bobby, and raised one eyebrow, waiting impatiently.
"Don't be cute, Dean," Bobby sneered, pushing Dean's feet off his desk. "It means 'The angel of Thursday.'" Dean's eyebrows furrowed and he sat up in his chair, confused and getting even more annoyed by the second.
"'The angel of Thursday?' Why? What does that even mean?" Bobby sighed and looked Dean head-on, not letting Dean's downright prissy mood put him off.
"I'm surprised you weren't interested in the name to begin with. I mean, how many Castiels do you think are walking around? It ain't the most common out of the peanut gallery!"
"He's a weird, dorky, little guy, okay?" Dean sighed, thinking on the blue-eyed man, looking off into the distance. Bobby turned in his chair, wondering what Dean was looking at, one eyebrow raised high. "It suits him, honestly…different." Bobby's mouth quirked upwards then, his other eyebrow rising to meet the other high upon his forehead.
"Oh…I get it. You're interested in a slice of angel food cake, are ya?"
"What—are you craz—?" Dean stammered and Bobby hummed, cutting him off.
"Well…This'll be good for you and funny as hell for me." Before Dean could ask what the hell he meant, Bobby stood, the other man patting down his rumpled suit. "So, how 'bout you look up the meaning behind the name, eh? Get back at me tomorrow." Dean stared up at him, open-mouth, like a fish. "Well? You're technically supposed to be on leave, so scram boy!" Dean closed his mouth then, getting up silently.
"Oh," Bobby said, placing one hand on Dean's shoulder, stilling him. "Try looking up Cassiel, first." At this point Dean could only nod his head, the man knowing that he wasn't going to get anything else out of the man.
Dean sighed as he opened the door to his apartment, more or less throwing his leather jacket on the dining room floor. He scrubbed his short hair with one hand, rain drops spraying the vinyl floor. The trip home was hazy, and he felt pretty damned happy he hadn't crashed on the way home because of how hard it had begun to rain, and not to mention just how his brain was just so done for the day.
He went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, stopping to look at the time before taking a long sip. 5:34. Right, food. "Sam, what do you want for dinner?" He waited for a minute before his eyebrows furrowed. Sam was usually home by now. Either he was in his room, ignoring him, or he was off…somewhere.
"Sam?" Dean called again, standing in the kitchen feeling like a dumbass. He cursed under his breath when he saw a yellow post-it stuck on the dining room table. He snatched it off and read it quickly:
I'm going over to a friend's house for a few days. Exams.
Sam
Dean cursed out loud now, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the trash can. Right; yeah, okay. It was early March, and Dean knew that exams wouldn't be for another month. He'd checked. Sam was lying to him.
"You child," Dean sighed softly, the cop looking at his trash can sadly. He knew where Sam was…he was home. His bones felt heavy where he stood, his beer forgotten in one hand. He wouldn't be able to taste it anyways, not anymore.
Every instinct told him to jump into the impala and hightail his ass over to where Sam was. Only…what right did he have? What right did he have to keep Sam away from their mother; their mother who loved Sam so dearly?
Dean sniffed loudly, allowing, and hating, how his eyes welled up. He clenched his jaw, and licked his bottom lip, not allowing one tear to fall. How many more tears could he weep for his family until they loved him again, if they ever had?
Dean stared down at his beer then, the can lifting to his mouth so fast he busted his top lip on the rim. He may not be able to taste it, but he'll be able to feel something later, and that's all that mattered.
No. If Sam wanted to be with her for a night, he would let him. He would let him because he honestly felt like he could not handle seeing his mother at that current time. He hadn't had enough alcohol to be able to see his mother's sympathetic, accusing, eyes look upon him. No. He would get Sam in the morning.
Dean more or less stumbled to his couch then, not drunk, but hopeless. He allowed his brain to think of Castiel instead, of his mysteries. The cop drained the last of his beer before he pulled out his laptop, listening to the sound of the rain hitting his small apartment window as he waited for it to turn on.
Castiel stood out in the rain, looking up in the greyish white sky, his blue eyes brighter in the blistery mess. He was soaked to the bone, his trench coat a dark brown weight that clung to his lithe form, wrapping around his legs. All around him people were rushing along the street, umbrellas covering their heads from the miserable March rain, going home to their families.
Castiel couldn't seem to be bothered by it all as he closed his eyes with a sigh, allowing the rain to run down his face, drip down his eyelashes, and cause his body to tremble with cold. He opened his eyes, blinking as drops of rain blinded his brilliant blues for a quick second.
"Are you okay? It's freezing out here!" A voice rang out over the hard pour, and Castiel blinked from his daze. He hummed in disappointment when an umbrella covered his head, his short brown hair dripping cold droplets upon a red coat. He looked down to find a red-head looking up at him like he'd lost his mind.
The red-head gasped and Castiel blinked hotly. He was crying. "Forgive me," Castiel murmured, not knowing when the tears had begun. He wiped his eyes with a shaking hand, chilled to the bone. The red-head shook her head, her eyes tender. She tugged on Castiel's sopping wet coat, pulling him away from the crowded street and under a shop's awning.
"Before I say anything else, I want to introduce myself. I'm Charlie Bradbury." Charlie smiled and closed her umbrella, giving Castiel her undivided attention. "You know, you could catch your death out here." Castiel looked at her silently, his upper lip twitching with what looked to be the beginnings of a smile.
"Not possible, miss," Castiel said as he looked out and up at the sky again. "That possibly has long since evaded me." Charlie's mouth thinned out then, unsure of how to take that information. Was this man suicidal?
"Perhaps now is the time to tell you that I'm a cop…Okay, so I work mostly behind a desk, but still a cop." Charlie rustled through her Star Wars purse and flashed her badge, huffing when it flashed upside down. She blushed and stuffed it back inside. So much for smooth. "Like, meaning, if you want to talk about anything, you definitely can!" Castiel cocked his head at her, his lips definitely curling into a smile then.
"That is very kind, but not necessary." Castiel said and Charlie couldn't help but smile at his gummy one, despite the heavy sadness behind his eyes. "Thank you for sharing your umbrella, Charlie," Castiel told her, Charlie feeling like he would have preferred to stand out in the rain. Castiel turned to go, but Charlie stopped him.
"Whoa dude, I told you my name, and I totally trust you not to be a serial killer here. What's yours?" Castiel blinked at her, standing in the rain again.
"…Castiel." Cas murmured, barely a hum over the rain. Charlie blinked wide, a wide smile spreading across her face.
"Like, Castiel the angel, Castiel? Dude that is totally rad! My mom used to tell me that story—of the archangel, you kno—hey!" Charlie huffed as Castiel walked away from her to disappear into the hustling crowd, the man lost in a cloud of black umbrellas. Charlie stood on her toes, looking for him. When she didn't see him, she clicked her tongue, pulling her Always, Harry Potter, umbrella back over her head.
"Please don't be a serial killer," Charlie murmured under her breath, finding comfort in the fact that Dean would avenge her death if he were.
Castiel wandered down a dark street soon after leaving Charlie, the man sparing one last look in the bustling, livelier, street behind him before he started walking again. He stopped at an intercom, pressing the button under the letter N. A muffled bark drew his attention and the man paused, looking down with a smile when a muddy lab wagged its way over to him, sitting down right in front of him.
"Hello again, my friend," Castiel murmured and ran a soothing hand down the stray dogs head, scratching behind its ears. The dog was as wet as he was and he shook his body, spraying mud and whatever other gunk he had on him onto Cas who laughed and shook his head in response, his hair standing up in dripping spikes. The lab panted, and whined, pawing at Cas who smiled and nodded. "Just this once, then…to get you out of the rain. I must warn you now; I have nothing for you to eat." Castiel pressed one finger to his lips as he opened the door, dog in tow, and rushed up the stairs, leaving the door wide open.
He did the same to his own apartment door, wide open. The lab looked back at it once before following Castiel into the apartment, tail wagging. The apartment had very few things, two to be exact: Castiel's blow-up mattress, and one weary lamp that sat near the bed on the floor. The kitchen had a simple oven, a microwave, and a tiny fridge, but none of them looked used. It was hardly an apartment, more like four walls…a prison.
Castiel ran one hand through his wet hair, sighing low in his throat. He looked at the lab by his legs and smiled, toeing off his soaked shoes and walking into the bathroom, turning on the hot water at full blast, and turned a wobbly knob for the shower. As steam began to fill the room, Castiel slowly began to try and pull his clothes off his clammy form, his trench coat dropping to the floor, forgotten.
He paused for a second, his fingers trembling upon the third button of his dress shirt, and it wasn't because of the cold. Castiel sucked in a deep breath before he hurried through the remaining buttons, his eyes unable to pull away from the horrid red gash that marred the tan skin down his right side. It was long, and deep, the scar sunk into his skin as an everyday reminder…reminder of that day. Castiel tenderly touched it, his fingers dipping in slightly.
…Da…!
Castiel winced openly, his hand whipping away from the wound altogether, choosing to grip onto the dirty sink rim. Behind him, the dog whined in worry.
"No," Castiel huffed and fell to his knees, his hands still gripping the sink, trembling. The dog hurried to him, lapping at his chilled face and pained expression. Cas threw his arms around it, burying his face into the dog's matted fur, like a small child. "No." Behind him, the shower continued on, and the door to Castiel's apartment still stood wide open, forgotten.