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
( ... )
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.
Comments 95
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 ( ... )
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
Leave a comment