Castiel's eyes fluttered open, stirring from restless sleep and aching from his position still laying on the floor. A soft glow illuminated the outline of the door, barely seeping into the dark and cold of the room. The weight fell heavily on his chest as he pushed himself up, a grunt in discomfort from the stiffness in his muscles. Gingerly, a hand moved to rub his right arm to dismiss the soreness, but the small relief did nothing to remedy the drain in his whole system of fatigue and sorrow.

His eyes fixated on the dried blood on his forearm, yet another cruel reminder of his fate. He forced a steadying breath, taking in the musky scent of doors too long closed. He slipped on his shoes, feeling the chill of the floor seep through the worn soles. As he rose, he instinctively clasped the hilt of his angel blade, the cold metal a familiar weight and presence.

With another deep breath, he turned to the door, each step feeling like another nail driven into his side. He glanced back at the room, where the only evidence he had been there at all was a few tiny blots of dried blood at the foot of the bed. Fitting.

As he twisted the rusty handle into submission, the light from the hallway forced him to squint from the brightness as he opened the door, wincing at how it attacked his eyes. The perpetrator was one lonely lightbulb lit in the hallway; the rest of the path still cast in dark blue shadow. With one final glance at the room and the bed he wished he slept in instead of the hard ground, he began his trek to the main rooms, and the inevitable exit.

Castiel's footsteps faltered as he reached Sam's room, listening quietly to the brother's deep breaths seeping through the closed door. It produced a small melancholic smile that the younger Winchester was getting the rest he needed. He stood there for a moment, hand suddenly inches away from the doorknob, a selfish desire to say goodbye yet the knowing fear of disrupting the man's slumber.

Looking over the worn wooden door, he recoiled slightly, taking a few steps backward. He had already caused the other so much agony, tearing the wall in his mind, the man deserved any peaceful sleep he managed to acquire. Quietly, he whispered "Goodbye, Sam," his voice barely making a sound in the silent hallway and holding twinges of sorrow. He turned away from Sam's room, the hole that had been growing steadily seeming that much emptier.

The hallway seemed to stretch onwards, a path of endless abyss as he continued forwards.

It seemed the prophet was still awake, the light from his room still shining into the darkness of the hallway through the cracks between the door and doorframe. He hoped, for all of their sakes, that the tablet would lead to a solution.

The silence weighed heavily on him as the only sounds came from his footsteps resonating softly. The quiet was only amplified when he passed Dean's room, where not one sound escaped, furthering his assumption that the glow spilling in from the end of the hall was where the other man resided. The light beckoned him further, its warmth such a contrast to the deep dark somberness that had long since settled in his core.

Stepping out of the shadows and into the soft lighting, Castiel couldn't help but note the dust particles floating through the air, as well as the scattered books and papers on the table. The scent of old paper and the faint remnants of whiskey wafted throughout the room.

Castiel's gaze softened as he took in the sight of Dean, slumped over at the table with that bottle of whiskey in front of him, empty beer bottles on the table as well. His face was worn, head resting on the table, and even in sleep a look of concern covering his face, tension evident throughout the hunter's features.

He could not help but think about what dreams the elder Winchester was wrapped in. He wanted to believe it was someplace calm, like the lake he had previously dreamed of, or maybe a good memory with his brother. Based on the furrow of Dean's brow, however, Castiel was sure that the man's time of rest was riddled with some type of torture.

It was on instinct that he began to reach out with two fingers just as Dean twitched from his dream, to ease the nightmare away and give him some peace. He stopped just short of Dean's forehead, the reminder of his condition the dried blood on his arm, taunting him to make a move, to try and fix a problem that he had no chance of mending. Castiel's hand still hovered in the air, fingers held out and desperate to provide Dean with a respite from the darkness that plagued his mind. However, the reality was harshthe battles were now completely out of Castiel's reach.

With a quiet sigh, he withdrew his hand, fingers curling into a fist and straightening his back. It was a painful reminder of just how useless he'd become. He lost the ability to defend the Winchesters from the demons that looked to devour them both awake and asleep. It was an inescapable truth that was ripped from his chest and laid out in front of him; the fact that he was no longer capable of being the guardian he was designed to be.

And more than that, that without his grace, he was no longer wanted.

The guilt of all the pain he had caused coursed through him, all of the times he had failed, all the times he had let the brothers down, let his siblings down, and forced the world into chaos. He had promised to protect the Winchesters, promised to protect humanity, and yet here he was. He hesitated slightly as he picked up the discarded jacket from the table, gently settling it over Dean's shoulders. It felt like absolutely nothing, but he had nothing else to offer.

He took a few quiet steps backwards with a heavy heart, picking up the few things of his from the table. They had been taken out of his pockets from his ruined clothes when he arrived; a few dollars from kind strangers, his fake ID badge, and… well that was it. Castiel's fingers curled around the meager possessions he had left, their value close to nothing and yet he still tucked them into his pocket, unable to part with the memories.

As he turned away, a surge of emotions threatened to paralyze his steps. He had been so sure that he was part of this family and now he felt like he was an intruder, an outsider, a broken piece that couldn't fit. The ache of longing begged him to stay, to try and reason, but deep down he knew that his absence was not only necessary, but desired. The Winchesters needed to be free from the mistakes he would undoubtedly make again, they didn't need to run the risk of more consequences.

He moved towards the stairs, pausing before the first step, his hand hovering above the light switch as he looked back to Dean whose expression was still etched in worry and weariness. With a click, darkness enveloped the space. As the shadows covered the room, Castiel could not help but stand there for a moment, hand still lingering on the switch. He closed his eyes as the weight of the silence pressed in, trying to steady the unease in his heart, searching for the strength to continue the ascent.

Keep them safe. It was silent and uneasy, and he really wasn't sure why he was doing it anyway, but it was a prayer, nonetheless. He didn't know who he was praying to, and he did not think that anyone was really listening to his plea, but he prayed anyway. Please. Just keep them safe.

Slowly, Castiel slid his hand away from the light switch, turning away from the room. Each step up the stairs felt like another divide, a finality he did not want to admit. The bunker that for a few hours he thought would be his sanctuary now taunted him by the weight of his foolishness. It's shadows almost seemed to be pushing out Castiel, tugging him towards the door.

With a soft push, the door creaked open, the cool early morning air brushing against Castiel's face, the rain a soft drizzle. The clouds covered the sky, the stars had no chance to pierce through the coverage, but not even the clouds could eliminate the softest pale pink tint in the east. With a mix of trepidation, Castiel stepped out onto the path, the door closing behind him with a click.

The rain fell gently on his skin, slowly soaking into his clothes as he paused, looking up towards the heavens. The soft sting on his left forearm caught his attention, looking down to where the blood had dried but was now slowly washing away in the water. Gently, he rolled down his right sleeve of his jacket, rubbing the red substance away.

When all that was left was just the small scratches that had already begun to scab over, he rolled down his left sleeve, feeling the dampness seep into the fabric as more raindrops fell from the sky. He then tugged his hood over his head to defend against the soft chill of the wind as he began his trek to the main road.

A faint sound caught his attention on his path amidst the stillness of morning. A single bird was singing its song, melodic notes piercing through the sound of rain and darkness with a touch of hope. Castiel couldn't help but listen to its cry as he kept walking; the bird's song felt so out of place as if it did not belong here when the rest of the world seemed to want to grieve and live in somberness. The bird sang on anyway, regardless that the rest of its kin did not.

There would have been a time just a short while ago that he would have been able to locate the resilient creature, would have been able to determine why it sang the way it did; was it praising the end of the storm or was it a call for its mate? Did it get knocked off its path in the wind and rain last night, was it trying to find its way back home? He couldn't know these things, not now; but he could still appreciate the songbird, the unwavering tones that rang clear.

He couldn't resist the urge to look back once more at the bunker, the place that had served as a refuge for a night. He had lost many of his brothers and sisters the first time he rebelled, and with this forced fall, he had lost all of his angelic brethren. Now as he was looking towards the bunker, he couldn't help but think about how he lost his other family as well. With some twisted sort of resolve, Castiel's gaze was torn from the building, his attention to the road at his feet, each step leading him further away.

Even as the solitary melody of the bird drifted farther away, the tune of its song continued deep in his heart.