Archive of Our Own ^beta

A gut-wrenching fear overwhelmed Castiel when it felt like he was on fire. The former angel of the Lord rested on a cold, concrete step of a run-down apartment block, barely missing the rain soaking his body fully. Just around the corner from the homeless shelter that had turned him down, it felt miles away—a cruel tease, just out of reach.

The pain ignited soon after he found the dubious luxury of resting on that step.

Castiel bore no ill will toward the shelter. They were overrun, especially with homeless youth and young families with nowhere else to go. Chaos reigned there during his short stay, and Castiel, not wanting to feel like a burden, left quietly with a broken smile and his small duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

After all, they had asked him kindly.

Now, burning pain spread through his chest. Desperation clawed at his lungs as they begged for oxygen. Arms shaking, Castiel struggled to prop up his weight, and he soon collapsed against the concrete. The bannister pressed sharply into his temple, compounding the agony. He clenched his teeth as dizziness swept over him, nausea layering on top of the suffocating tightness in his chest. Each rasping breath felt like fire, and the world swayed precariously.

Tempting as it was, the thought of sleep brought only anxiety. Castiel feared the nightmares - particularly those that had driven him to drink and blur the memories of his failures, nights he drowned in cheap liquor or numbed himself with pills in desperate attempts to escape flickering images of betrayal and torment. Those early months on the streets left him scarred, some wounds more visible than others. He had fought to keep his dignity, but the battle was harder when his own mind was the enemy.

He was shaking.

He gasped, trembling, as people passed him by, their gazes carefully avoiding the filthy, broken man clutching his throat. To them, he was a drunk—a nobody. He knew this, but he still hoped for a slither of kindness. Castiel’s cracked nails dug into the step, the pressure splitting two of them, but the pain was faint compared to the suffocating weight in his chest.

Castiel couldn't face Lucifer's taunts either. The devil, his brother, still somehow managed to claw his way into his dreams. Castiel was never dragged to hell, he was well aware of that. However, Lucifer’s imagined presence was strong. His whispers, screams, and punches left real marks when he woke. Of course, he never told Dean for fear that Sam would overhear. He didn't want to scare away the younger Winchester. He didn't want to scare away the older Winchester either. Dean would've called him a 'sissy', he was sure. 

Bit late for that now, a voice close to Dean’s snarled in his ear. 

That last bitter thought echoed through Castiel's mind as the world went dark.

.......

Dean’s boots echoed sharply against the cold concrete floor of the bunker, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. He had told Cas to leave. No, not told—forced. The words had felt foreign in his mouth, bitter and wrong, but Ezekiel’s warnings had left no room for argument. Protecting Sam had to come first.

But that didn’t mean it felt right.

Dean’s memory replayed the scene in agonising detail. Cas standing in the middle of the room, shoulders squared as if bracing for impact, his duffel bag hanging loosely at his side. He had looked more human than ever, vulnerable in a way that made Dean’s stomach churn.

“It’s not safe for you here, Cas,” Dean had said, his voice colder than he intended. “You need to go.”

Cas hadn’t argued. That was the worst part. Just nodded, his expression unreadable, and turned to leave. Dean remembered the sound of the bunker door shutting behind him, the finality of it cutting through the silence like a blade.

.......

It wasn’t until Castiel awoke to the persistent patter of rain just inches from his feet that he realized he wasn’t drenched. Blinking against the darkness, he found himself under an archway, a makeshift shelter from the downpour.

Castiel had to fight for his breath as he tried to convince himself that he was okay. The emptiness echoed fiercely against his chest, his mind desperately begging him to reason, to call Dean and plead for him to take him back. 

The fear kept Castiel from that call.

The patter of rain hitting the concrete floor just a few inches away from his feet relaxed him somewhat. His body ached as he shifted slightly, his eyes catching movement beside him.

A dog.

The scruffy, thin animal stared at him intently, head tilted in a way that mirrored curiosity. Castiel blinked, unsure what to do as the dog edged closer, tail wagging hesitantly. For the first time in days, a small smile tugged at Castiel’s lips as the dog nuzzled him, its warmth cutting through the chill.

Feeling the world coming back into focus, Castiel felt an added weight and warmth on his lap. Looking down, he found himself covered in thick layers of tattered blue, black and red blankets.

He was utterly confused.

“Isro, settle down,” a gruff voice muttered, startling Castiel. He stiffened as a bundle of similarly patterned blankets shifted nearby to reveal a man, his clothes as tattered as his dog’s collar. The man rubbed his eyes, his face lined with hardship and exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel stammered, scrambling to gather his things."I seem to have intruded upon your space. It was not my intention."

“Stay put,” the man interrupted, holding up a hand. “You look like you’ve had a rough night. And Isro doesn’t take to just anyone. He’s got good instincts about people.”

Castiel hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The man’s eyes softened as he noticed Castiel’s uncertainty. “You had an asthma attack, son. Don’t rush off just yet. The cold ain't gonna do you no favours if you freeze your ass out here alone.'

Asthma. Castiel frowned. He hadn’t known his human vessel had such vulnerabilities, though it explained the relentless pain and inability to breathe. He sank back onto the step, nodding his reluctant thanks.

.......

‘Sam?’

‘Sam, come on’

‘Sam, goddammit, open the damn door!’

‘…Sammy?’

Sam wasn't talking to him. Who could blame him? Dean didn't exactly give him a good enough reason for Castiel leaving without a word. Sam straight-up yelled at his brother when Dean told him what he left Cas with.

‘Almost nothing,’ Sam snarled, ‘We have this entire bunker full of crap that could kill an archangel and we couldn’t have protected him or protected ourselves against whatever’s coming for Cas?! Seriously Dean? You left him with nothing. Do you even know where he is?’  

He told Sam that Cas had his number and that he would call if he needed anything. But somehow, they both knew that wasn’t true. Dean didn’t bother to defend himself. He couldn’t even tell Sam what direction Cas went, not that he would’ve told him if he knew. It was either him being an asshole and Cas staying strong until Sammy got better, or Sam getting killed by the dickhead of an angel inside him.

‘You’re his best friend Dean. Goddammit, we’re his only friends! He doesn’t have a freaking clue what goes on out there!’

To be honest, Dean was surprised at the ongoing outburst. It never registered that Sam and Cas were anything close to what Dean was with either of them. He fucking hated it. It only added to the constantly growing guilt.

Dean could only shrug his shoulders and say there was nothing he could do, that he tried his best for Cas to stay but it was up to him. He wouldn't push Cas into coming back if he didn't want to.

But Dean knew he did.

And Sam knew that was complete bullshit.

Hence the silence.

Dean felt like shit. He left Cas to hang out to dry but he couldn't let that dick with wings leave Sammy to die. 

But you just threw away your only friend.

Cas needed him, both of them, too.

Dean didn't need the reminder.

.......

The man offered Castiel a tin of cold soup, an act of kindness that made his chest tighten with emotion. Castiel accepted it with both hands, murmuring his gratitude. Isro watched intently, his tail wagging as Castiel ate in silence. The man smiled faintly at the odd companionship, breaking the quiet with a chuckle.

“You seem new at this,” he said, nodding toward Castiel’s sparse belongings.

“I am,” Castiel admitted softly, his words measured, carrying a formality that hinted at something deeper.

He was new to everything. 

The man’s laugh deepened, though there was no malice in it. “For someone who speaks like you, it’s a wonder how you ended up here.”

Castiel’s smile faltered. “Bad luck. Or perhaps my sins have caught up with me.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and he froze, fearing he had revealed too much.

“We’ve all got sins,” the man replied simply. “But out here, it doesn’t matter much. Doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

Castiel fidgeted nervously, "no, you don't seem to understand...I have let my family down. I betrayed them..." he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. 

"I-I don't expect forgiveness and I certainly do not expect compassion but...it is nice to know that I am, at least, not alone." Castiel’s chest ached with an emotion he couldn’t name.  They sat in companionable silence, the rain providing a soothing backdrop.

“Forgiveness is hard to find,” the man said after a while. “But if the Almighty can forgive, why can’t his children?”

Castiel nodded hesitantly in agreement. He missed this form of guidance from his brothers and sisters. He had nowhere left to turn to now. In the silence, his mind wandered to the Winchesters, to the friends he had failed, and to the home he had lost.

Castiel soon felt a chill, causing him to tighten his hold on the blankets resting on his lap. He suddenly felt the need to continue the conversation, so he tilted his head and asked, "You are a religious man?"

The man smiled, "yeah. That's the one thing I've sworn myself never to give up. And I've given up a helluva lot."

"I'm glad you still have your faith."

"Yeah, well, where would I be without it?" The man laughed, and Castiel felt like he missed some form of inside joke. The ex-angel just watched the cup in his hands intently. Best not to delve deeper into it.

"How'd you lose it?"

Castiel looked up from his lap, confusion etched onto his face.

'Uh, sorry?"

"Your faith. It's obvious that you lost it, boy."

It is? The thought troubled him more than he thought. 

"I uh-" How was he supposed to answer this? "-I needed my faith a long time ago... but I... it never came through for me. I put all my strength into helping my friends and my father but my faith faded away after a while, after everything slipped through my hands."

The man hummed. "Crap happens when you're least prepared for it...But y'know what boy?" Castiel glanced up at the man, seeing the excitement hidden in his eye, "that's when your faith is tested. That's when your strength comes into play."

The man stood from his seat beneath the archway, seemingly done with the conversation. His large frame bore over Castiel, but even though his vessel was now graceless, defenceless, he felt no real threat or danger. If anything, he felt a strange sense of peace. 

Heavy with exhaustion, Castiel could not fight against the weight of his eyelids. Although anxiety crept into his chest, he felt somewhat at ease with his current company. Before sleep could take him, Castiel whispered to them both, "Thank you for your kindness. I...I wish I could return the favour."

"All is forgiven, Castiel."

Before Castiel could register the meaning behind those words, his world faded into blissful peace. 

.......

When Castiel woke again, the man and Isro were gone. Blankets were piled neatly beside him, and a small, steaming cup of coffee rested near his hand. Castiel’s heart sank as he realized they had left without saying goodbye, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Their kindness had eased a burden he hadn’t known he carried.

For the first time in weeks, Castiel felt the faintest flicker of hope.

                                                       .......

The blank and cold stare told Dean that Sam was officially out of the building as the angel stiffly approached him. He hated the absent look his brother gave him, knowing that somewhere in there, Sam was innocently unaware of the dangerous predicament Dean forced him into. Dean knew he had to come clean, and pretty soon too, but his gut told him to keep this quiet for as long as possible. He and Sam were only just starting to fix things between them, some pretty big trust issues for starters, and to blow the cover on that would wreck all of it.

Particularly Cas’ situation.

That Sam was still holding a suspicious grudge over.

Ezekiel told Dean with his monotonous tone that Cas was in danger, that the flock of headless angels had located him and were seeking a deranged sense of revenge.

Of course, Dean yelled. Confused as to how Castiel could be tracked so easily. Dean had just assumed Cas knew what he was doing. And it wasn’t as though he had the time to call him himself; he had to keep an eye on Sammy, and Dean feared the consequences if Ezekiel caught them talking. It was Sammy on the line here. The call could wait until Dean knew Sam was safe.

But…

You’re a coward, that’s what kept you from that call, a small voice sneered, sounding suspiciously like Sam.

Chances were that the angels were preparing for torture, needing a way back into their little Heaven coop. They believed Cas was purposefully hiding the secret to breaking the spell, which was complete bull but try telling the robotic dicks that.

The announcement surprised the hunter. Well, he knew that the bastards were already pissed at Cas but the fact that Ezekiel told him left him utterly confused. It didn’t follow the guidelines of angelic dickness. Or just general sense really. Why kick the person who could get you killed, only to warn them of their impending doom?

It worried Dean a little…but that wouldn't stop him from saving Cas. 

As Ezekiel crawled back into the recesses of Sam's mind, Dean turned to his brother, his resolve hardening.

"We need to go find Cas", he said, his voice carrying a weight that left no room for argument. Strangely, Sam did not question the cryptic warning—its ominous tone and unclear source—and Dean suspects Ezekiel's unnerving influence. 

For once, this wasn’t in the forefront of Dean’s mind.

Castiel was.

"Let's go, Sammy."