He'd wandered around for a while, still dressed down in comparison to his normal attire and wearing just a t-shirt, jeans, and a loose jacket over the the outfit. His trenchcoat had still been in his motel room, as well as two small paper bags of his things, mostly gifts from Bobby and other trinkets he'd acquired that were of sentimental value to him. He knew he couldn't take them, not on a long walk into nowhere.
The motel was a six mile walk from the nearest city and there Cas managed to come across the reason why Florida wasn't as great as he'd considered it to be. He was dragged into an alley way and mugged and while he had enough combative experience to knock a few of them on their ass, the gang life always came with back ups and he was torn asunder and beaten into a pulp there where he was robbed, mostly of his fraudulent cards and the few spare dollars that he still had.
This was after three days of hunkering down in gymnasiums and libraries. By the dawning of the fourth day he was found in the alley just sitting there, seemingly thinking while blood laden and when he realized he could trust his company he asked to be dropped off in a church in town, where he fell asleep in one of the pews with his jacket bundled beneath his head. He'd already spoken with Bobby who ensured him that he'd help, he saw no reason to bother anyone else, he could endure.
Falling back into old ways, Dean's 'look down every street' method got too frustrating after all of five minutes. He pulled over and did what he had to, the lady on the other end of the line helping triangulate Cas's cell. He figured he was lucky the ex-angel had been taught about those while he was still an angel.
Now in the right area, he didn't stop until he reached the first place he figured a homeless, former angel would be. House of God. Fate wasn't on his side, the fact that he'd looked in no less than six churches before he found a familiar looking bundle curled up on one of the pews in the seventh annoying, the sun now roasting the streets and sidewalks as it approached mid-afternoon.
Castiel was too exhausted from his four days as an outcast to notice Dean's familiar footing against the marble or even the attending pastor cantering up to Dean and asking, "May I help you?"
His face, by this point, looked considerably bruised purple shadows lining his cheek, jaw and the bridge of his nose. Lines and freckles of dried blood following.
Dean, having gotten in his own scraps, probably wouldn't be ignorant to Cas sleeping on side of his body as opposed to his back, favoring the comfort of it, like he'd been kicked in the chest. He was oblivious though, resting away his burdens.
"Is there something you needed?" The pastor looked from Dean, to the man that had been dropped off hours before and then back to Dean.
Frustrated and hot but not caught completely off-guard, Dean looked up at the pastor who was suddenly in front of him and managed to school his features into something more serious and less pissy.
"Detective Hammett. Been lookin' for this guy for a couple hours." He paused then, fished out his fake ID and flashed it before tucking it back inside his jacket pocket.
"Looks like he needs to see a doctor." He had no intention of taking Cas anywhere near a hospital, his own experience with a first-aid kit and alcohol more than enough to fix his friend up.
The pastor only nodded briefly. "He seemed genuine," he managed. "Otherwise I would have called the authorities myself, it seemed one of the denizens beat me to it."
The pastor walked away after that allowing the detective to do as he needed, he receded into the back of the church to go over church business and the sermon for the weekend.
Pleased at least that the pastor wasn't going to make this difficult, Dean's jaw tightened as he looked over the beaten, passed out form of the other man. He figured it must suck having had self-healing abilities only to learn later how much it stings like a bitch getting smacked in the face.
Checking the whereabouts of the pastor once more, he leaned down, hand coming to rest on a shoulder he assumed hadn't been injured. Recognizing the way Cas was lying on one side, he was as gentle as possible.
The angel knew that voice well enough to allow it to rouse him out of his post-beating stupor. He blinked back a bit, because his head hurt, and his vision was clouded, but he still managed his characteristic head cant.
"Dean," he paused and swallows a bit of the metallic taste of his own blood. "What are you doing here?"
"Thought I'd come talk to the big guy. The hell do you think I'm doin' here?" Dean replied, quiet enough so their conversation was private, but the annoyance was a little too hard to hide. He glanced back to the pastor, eyes making sure they weren't about to get questioned and then back to Cas.
"Get your shit together, Sleeping Beauty. We're leaving."
The angel followed Dean's orders for the most part, standing up and placing his small jacket back over his shoulders before running a tired hand through his hair. He didn't know enough about human dynamics to guess that he was likely concussed, just that his head was throbbing, his vision was skewed and he was having a hell of a time keeping his eyes open.
Unable to help the frown at Cas's obvious difficulties, Dean's hands were tied, the pastor at the back of the church still believing him to be a detective. The only option available to him was wrapping a hand around the former angel's shoulder to try and keep him upright and a few steps in front of him.
"Thanks." He mentioned to the pastor as they passed, didn't let out the breath he'd been holding until they were down the steps and standing on the sidewalk, the Impala glistening in the sun.
"Get in." The short, tight words were borne of both guilt and anger, the fact that Cas could be dead by now not lost on him. He knew his friend had been lucky not to have worse done to him.
The angel opened the familiar door of the impala and sat down on the leather seat, letting his head fall back against the seat for some support. He turned his head toward the driver's side to watch Dean get in, but said nothing, feeling his own guilt for him having to be back with him when he didn't want or have to be.
Firing up the engine, Dean said nothing either, mouth snapped shut and jaw working hard as his teeth ground together. He wasn't sure who he was more pissed at; Cas for thinking he could take care of himself or himself for thinking the same. Today had proved them both wrong.
The few minutes of silence turned into a longer stretch, the drive not doing much to settle his mind. It wasn't until he stopped at a junction 40 minutes away he finally opened his mouth.
It took a long time for the angel to regain some smidgen of coherency and when he did he noticed the city fading into country side from the window. He didn't speak until Dean did.
"Where are we going?" He said softly. "If at all possible I'd like to be returned to my room."
"No idea." Dean snapped back, frown deepening only for the fact Cas had completely avoided his question. He already knew the answer, anyway. Not wanting to inspect it any more than he already had, he rolled his eyes and glared out his open window, arm resting along the already hot metal framework.
"I don't think you can deal with going back there." He finally said, words still firm but lacking the sting they'd had before. "You're like a kid, Cas. You can't look after yourself. You could be lyin' out there dead right now. You do understand that, right?"
He frowned. "I'm not a child," was his first response. His voice as deep as it had always been. "It's in my nature to expect the better of your species, but it's like roulette I never know what I'll end up with. In the end I was both wrong and correct."
The angel bent his hurt knee and tightened his jaw. "I do not need your supervision, I refuse to be treated as a burden, especially when before I lost my grace- for you this situation was often reversed."
"You can barely walk in a straight line. And that's sober, dude." Dean could hear the words coming out of his mouth, fast and bordering furious. He knew he should be keeping them to himself too, but they were falling all the same, breath coming short and sharp between each sentence.
The motel was a six mile walk from the nearest city and there Cas managed to come across the reason why Florida wasn't as great as he'd considered it to be. He was dragged into an alley way and mugged and while he had enough combative experience to knock a few of them on their ass, the gang life always came with back ups and he was torn asunder and beaten into a pulp there where he was robbed, mostly of his fraudulent cards and the few spare dollars that he still had.
This was after three days of hunkering down in gymnasiums and libraries. By the dawning of the fourth day he was found in the alley just sitting there, seemingly thinking while blood laden and when he realized he could trust his company he asked to be dropped off in a church in town, where he fell asleep in one of the pews with his jacket bundled beneath his head. He'd already spoken with Bobby who ensured him that he'd help, he saw no reason to bother anyone else, he could endure.
Reply
Now in the right area, he didn't stop until he reached the first place he figured a homeless, former angel would be. House of God. Fate wasn't on his side, the fact that he'd looked in no less than six churches before he found a familiar looking bundle curled up on one of the pews in the seventh annoying, the sun now roasting the streets and sidewalks as it approached mid-afternoon.
Reply
His face, by this point, looked considerably bruised purple shadows lining his cheek, jaw and the bridge of his nose. Lines and freckles of dried blood following.
Dean, having gotten in his own scraps, probably wouldn't be ignorant to Cas sleeping on side of his body as opposed to his back, favoring the comfort of it, like he'd been kicked in the chest. He was oblivious though, resting away his burdens.
"Is there something you needed?" The pastor looked from Dean, to the man that had been dropped off hours before and then back to Dean.
Reply
"Detective Hammett. Been lookin' for this guy for a couple hours." He paused then, fished out his fake ID and flashed it before tucking it back inside his jacket pocket.
"Looks like he needs to see a doctor." He had no intention of taking Cas anywhere near a hospital, his own experience with a first-aid kit and alcohol more than enough to fix his friend up.
Reply
The pastor walked away after that allowing the detective to do as he needed, he receded into the back of the church to go over church business and the sermon for the weekend.
Reply
Checking the whereabouts of the pastor once more, he leaned down, hand coming to rest on a shoulder he assumed hadn't been injured. Recognizing the way Cas was lying on one side, he was as gentle as possible.
"Cas?"
Reply
"Dean," he paused and swallows a bit of the metallic taste of his own blood. "What are you doing here?"
Reply
"Get your shit together, Sleeping Beauty. We're leaving."
Reply
"Very-" he winced. "Very well."
Reply
"Thanks." He mentioned to the pastor as they passed, didn't let out the breath he'd been holding until they were down the steps and standing on the sidewalk, the Impala glistening in the sun.
"Get in." The short, tight words were borne of both guilt and anger, the fact that Cas could be dead by now not lost on him. He knew his friend had been lucky not to have worse done to him.
Reply
Reply
The few minutes of silence turned into a longer stretch, the drive not doing much to settle his mind. It wasn't until he stopped at a junction 40 minutes away he finally opened his mouth.
"What the hell were you thinking, man?"
Reply
"Where are we going?" He said softly. "If at all possible I'd like to be returned to my room."
Reply
"I don't think you can deal with going back there." He finally said, words still firm but lacking the sting they'd had before. "You're like a kid, Cas. You can't look after yourself. You could be lyin' out there dead right now. You do understand that, right?"
Reply
The angel bent his hurt knee and tightened his jaw. "I do not need your supervision, I refuse to be treated as a burden, especially when before I lost my grace- for you this situation was often reversed."
Reply
"You were just flat-out wrong."
Reply
Leave a comment