Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Castiel never considered himself liked or popular among the angels. He was just an angel, he thought. But he couldn't know that his soul was different from all the other angels. He had something called humanity in it, and he was unaware of that for such a long time. He had lived hundreds, even thousands of years not knowing he was special. Not knowing that he was going to hear his calling one day.

Castiel woke up sweating in the middle of a street in Kansas in the middle of the day. The sun was shining so bright that he had to put his hands in front of his blue eyes. With his messy hair and crooked tie, he looked like an ordinary man who fainted from theheat on his way to his office. People stood around him, leaning in to see what could have possibly happened to the strange man lying on the ground.

"Are you alright, sir?" a young boy asked, and Castiel nodded, even though he was way too confused to understand what was going on around him.

"Should we call the ambulance?" he heard another guy asking a lady standing next to him. They seemed confused as well, but not as much as Castiel was.
He tried sitting up as he felt a few hands on his back trying to help him. Then something clicked inside him. He took a sharp breath in, and his eyes widened as he realized he had lost his wings. He had lost his wings. He had lost his wings. He didn’t breathe out, he just quickly stood up and started running.

He had no freaking idea where he was or how he ended up here, but he felt the absence of them. So he just kept running away from all the people. He didn’t care that those people looked at him, thinking he was a madman, he just ran. Then after a few hundred meters, he suddenly stopped, feeling tired. Tired?! He felt tired! He felt something something terrifyingly human.

What happened?—he asked himself, thinking this might be the end of his world. Not the end of the world, but it definitely felt like it was the end of his world.
He looked around slowly, scared of everything now. Castiel found himself standing in the middle of a train station alone. His confused and desperate expression didn’t seem to bother anyone there. He saw people passing by him, not even noticing him. He stood there, defeated. People bumped into him, muttering 'sorry' or 'excuse me." Castiel mumbled back, not knowing what else to say in a situation like this.

“Hey man, do you know from which track the train to South Dakota departs?” a stranger asked Castiel, and he just stayed still, didn’t move an inch. He looked at the man and said he didn’t know. The other guy looked annoyed and didn’t even bother to say goodbye to him. Is this really how he is going to have to live the rest of his life? In fear of what could kill him, and being the one who stands out?

Then, as he stood there, he felt a tear shedding from his glassy ocean-blue eye. He put his fingers there in surprise to feel the small drop of water under his eye and then looked at his hands. Seeing his wet finger really made him feel something.

He looked around again, and he felt incredibly small. He felt like a little bug trying to survive in a world where most people despise insects. A train just arrived, and people waited until others got off the train, then the new passengers boarded. For them, it was a casual Monday or Friday, nothing special. For Castiel, it was the beginning of his endless suffering.

He just felt something. Castiel tried to put his feeling into words, but he couldn’t say a single thing. Instead, he stuttered something and got scared by the feeling that he just couldn’t express how he felt. He then slowly fell onto his knees and collapsed on the floor in the middle of the train station full of humans. He was one of them now, but still he wasn’t, really.
He buried his face in his bare hands and started crying even more. He sobbed like a little child that can’t find its mother in the mall. But in this case, his wings were his mother, and the mall was his world.

Chapter Text

The sound of silence was louder than any other sound Dean had ever heard. Since Sam moved out to have a "normal life," the life he always wanted, Dean spent all these weeks attending different bars and clubs. He just wanted to have some fun. The day before, he got drunk in the nearest bar and left with a blonde woman whose name he didn't bother to ask. Still somehow it didn't feel right; maybe it was that his brother left him alone after so many years, or maybe it was the girl.

Now as he sat in that old chair in the bunker deep down in the ground, isolated from everyone, he just felt so... lost. He sat there in complete silence and just let himself think for a brief moment. His little brother had just left 2 weeks ago, and now that he was all by himself, he had no idea how to fill the void he felt. He looked around only to be surrounded by thousands of memories. As he looked at the bookshelf, he remembered how much Sam used to read sitting in this exact chair and how Dean made fun of him for that. As he looked at the long wooden desk in front of him, he saw himself, Sam, and Castiel plan the next hunt.

Castiel, his old friend. Dean hadn't heard from him in a while now, but he did not know how he could possibly interact with the angel. Dean and Sam witnessed the fall of angels together near the church where Sam almost sacrificed himself for humanity. Dean knew that Cas had to be on the same earth as Dean; he just tried not to care. What happened to him? Where could he be? Does he still have his powers? Is he even an angel?

Dean shut his eyes, trying not to think about Castiel. Every time his name appeared in front of his eyes, he turned his hands to look at something else. Every time a memory Castiel was in popped up in Dean's head, he tried to make himself forget it. Forget how guilty he felt for betraying Castiel like that. Forget what happened last time they met. Forget he was a traitor. None of Dean's friends thought Dean was a traitor, but Dean did. He considered himself a betrayer, someone who would stab an important person in the back unexpectedly. He really thought he was the one who betrayed and left people to suffer in their dirt. And did it matter at all what everyone else thought if I had a different opinion?

Dean slowly stood up, already feeling guilty about what he was about to do. He started walking towards the kitchen, sometimes stopping and looking down at his hands, guilt-ridden. When he reached the kitchen, he stepped to the fridge and took out a brand-new bottle of whiskey. Dean grabbed the nearest glass and walked back to the place where he was earlier. On his way back to his comfortable chair, the glass slipped from his fingers, breaking into a million little pieces on the floor. He took a deep breath, trying so hard to cool himself down, and then he lost it. He felt uncontrollable, and his anger took hold of him. He kicked his feet into the wall of the hallway and let out a loud "Fuck!" as he realized this was the first word he said alone in the bunker, and this realization made him even more furious. He then slowly sits down right next to the glass, leaning his back against the cold walls. He felt blood on his right arm as a sharp piece of glass touched him, but he did not care at all because he had survived worse. He had survived so much worse. So why does it feel like he can't survive this?

He buried his face in his hands and then looked up, facing his bottle of whiskey lying right in front of him. He didn't need a glass; he could still drink it, he thought. So he did. He opened the glass and drank for as long as he could with only one breath. He felt the familiar taste of alcohol on his lips and tongue, and he felt a little better. He then took the bottle to his mouth once again; this time he finished the bottle.

He could've gotten up to get another bottle of alcohol, because he had enough for a year, but he instead just sat there for a few minutes. This was the first night since Sammy left that he spent in the bunker and not in some random bar knocked out. And this was the 15th day in a row when he got so drunk that he couldn't even tell where he was. He stayed clear for such a long time, and he had to ruin it. Of course he had to. He always does.

As he sat there in silence, lonely, he felt the alcohol kick in, and it made him a bit sleepy. He felt his eyes slowly shut as he lay down on his side by the wall. And he fell asleep quickly. It was finally over for him. The end of the day, his personal favorite moment. And if maybe just for 12 hours he felt relaxed because he had no problems in his dreams. In his dreams there was no loneliness, no alcohol, and no Castiel. Sometimes in his worst nightmares these things did appear, but it was still better. It was better because Dean was unconscious. He didn't have to deal with them.

✡✡✡☆✬٭✭*✮𖤐✯

Twelve hours later, Dean woke up sweating and found himself lying in the middle of the galley, right by the wall on the right side. He then felt something unexpected, so he touched his jaw with his finger, feeling something dried up on his face. He looked down at the ground where he had been lying all night only to see red blood on the broken pieces of glass. As he touched his jaw again, he noticed his own reflection in a bigger piece of glass. He quickly stood up and hurried to his bathroom to check his injuries. "What a fucked-up way to get injuries in this way," he thought to himself. "What a loser," he said in his head as he opened the door to this bathroom. The shower and the sink appeared in front of him as he stepped to the sink, looking up to see himself. Then when he saw his reflection in the mirror, he took a step back.

It wasn't that he hadn't been injured worse; he had survived times nobody should. Somehow it just reminded him of some memories he buried in himself deep, deep down. It made him remember a particular texture. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach and leaned closer to the mirror to examine the cuts on the right side of his face better.

What the hell was he going to tell Sam when they met this afternoon? "Fuck," he then thought, rushing over to take a look at the clock in the hallway, realizing he had only had half an hour to get to Sammy's new house. And the ride there took around twenty-five minutes. He washed his fresh cuts with water and then quickly pulled on a different black T-shirt. He hurried to the stairs and got his keys; after that, he put on his usual black leather jacket, fixing his silver necklace with a tiny cross on it. He got the necklace from Castiel as a gift after Dean took Castiel to the local bar to get drunk after a hunt. He has worn it ever since; he didn't know why, but he felt like he shouldn't take it off. Even if he considered himself a traitor, he still missed Castiel.

As he reached his car, he looked around in the garage, feeling a pang of emptiness rush through him. He started the Impala and began driving to Sammy's new house. Dean had not been there yet; this was going to be his first time. A few days ago he memorized the way there, just in case. He never knew when Sam could be in need of help; he could be there in minutes or even less.

He didn't blame Sam for wanting a normal life; he couldn't possibly blame him for moving out and trying to start over. But Dean definitely felt pissed that Sam left him alone so suddenly. Sam told Dean that they would meet almost every other day, but Dean knew that that would not happen. He only wanted good for Sammy, so he tried to manage this whole moving and starting over as smoothly as he could, but still, right after his little baby brother left, he fell apart. He just let himself fall apart.

He pushed the button on the dashboard of the car that turns music on, and he soon heard "Sad but True" by Metallica. Music completely turned his mind off; it was like for a solid five minutes his unsolved problems went away, and it was just him, the Impala, and music. Rock music especially influenced him in every way possible. He kept driving along with a serious expression on his face as he pressed his lips together. When the song ended, another one started playing, and he concentrated on the road. This was still the first time driving to Sam's new place; even if he memorized every centimeter of the way there, he still had to pay attention to not miss anything. It was not like he wanted to be late from meeting with his brother after 14 days.

After a long, lonely ride, he finally arrived, and he parked in front of a huge house. He swiftly got out of the car so he could examine the mansion with his eyes better. The whole neighborhood seemed so normal and modern. The American fucking dream. The front yard leading to the front door looked so typical, with green grass and some flowers that were probably planted by Sam. The house had two floors, and he could see two windows on each side of the door. These windows had to light up the whole room, he thought. The whole house was white, and it seemed like it was painted just a few days ago, so blindingly white. He just couldn't believe his eyes that Sam chose to live here; it was just so unusual. The second floor had some big windows as well, and he started walking towards the front door. As he was walking, for a brief moment he thought maybe he made a mistake and this wasn't even Sam's house. But after a few seconds all his doubts disappeared when his tall, brown-haired brother opened the door right in front of him. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a grey T-shirt with a random band name on it that Dean didn't recognize.

As Dean stepped closer to give the usual hug to his brother, Sam took a step back with a confused look on his face. Dean's heart sank as he saw his brother's action, and the thought of never being able to hug his little sibling went through his head.

"Dean… Oh my god. " Said Sam as he leaned closer to Dean. "What the hell happened? " He asked with a worried expression.

Dean immediately recognized why his brother didn't want to hug him at first now. He felt relieved as he realized that the fresh wounds on his face were the reason why Sam seemed so worried and confused. He felt so relieved.

Oh, it's nothing, you know, just a... hunt gone wrong. It's okay, though, he said, knowing Sam would recognize that those cuts were fresh because Sam knew about injuries; they both did, better than anyone should. Ever since they were children, they've been hunting, and that included fighting with supernatural beings and also practicing with their father for these hunts.

"What were you trying to kill, Dean?" Sam asked as he had some hints his brother's wounds were not exactly usual.

"Uhh… a ghost… it used knives as weapons," he stated and hoped Sam would believe it and they would both leave the subject for good.

Sam suspected something different went down in that "hunt gone wrong," but his story made sense kind of, so he decided to leave it. He guessed Dean had gotten into a fight at a bar or something. He then hugged his brother tightly, as he had been missing him, even though he knew he would never admit that to Dean. Sam had a lot of work around his house, but in the evenings when he just wanted to take off his shoes and have a drink, Dean just wasn't there, and because the whole moving thing was Sam's idea, he didn't want Dean to be right. That it would be difficult and lonely living alone.

Sam invited Dean in, and Dean started admiring the house from the inside now. The short hallway led to the kitchen, where he could smell something delicious from the oven. As he turned around, he noticed that the kitchen wasn't isolated from the living room, and his thoughts from earlier appeared to be right. The windows he had seen from outside really did lighten up the whole inside space. He saw a huge, comfortable-looking couch and a TV across the room; next to the TV there was an empty wooden bookcase.

"Why is it empty?" Dean asked, curious to know the answer.

"I don't have anything to put there yet," Sam answered calmly.

"You could bring the books from the bunker here; I don't read anyway." Dean suggested.

"Then the bunker would seem so empty and abandoned." Said Sam, worrying about how his old home would look without the thousands of books lying there.

"It already feels like that," said Dean so quietly his brother almost didn't hear it, but he did, and this made him feel a bit guilty and sad.

"Anyways, nice living room, dude. You could show me around the other part of your house as well." Suggested Dean as they started walking towards the stairs that were opposite the front door, easily approachable from the living room as well. They quietly climbed the stairs, and as Dean was walking, he recognized himself in a picture in a wooden frame hanging on the wall. In the photo there was him and Sam, and they were holding onto each other's shoulders as their mouths twitched into perfect smiles. Dean remembered exactly when this photo was taken and who it was taken by. They were preparing to go on a hunt, and not just a hunt, but the 200th hunt ever. That night he and Sam got drunk, and they went to the nearest bar. They knew the owner; she was also a hunter, and they did some hunts together. She said all their drinks were on the house, so they had to get drunk, and then they seemed so happy the owner just had to take their picture.

Dean smiled a bit as he stood there remembering that moment. Sam stood there at the top of the stairs waiting for Dean to stop looking at pictures. There were pictures of them, them with their mother back from when they were little, and there he was. Castiel. Sam hung a photo of the three of them together standing in front of the Impala, except Dean, they were smiling. Sam didn't know, but Castiel's smile wasn't a real one; Dean knew it was faked. And Dean knew exactly why he was faking it. But he was never going to tell Sam, never.

As they both reached the top of the stairs, Dean looked around and saw 3 doors leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. On the right side of the stairs, there was an empty bedroom that could be basically used for anything; it could be an office, a guest room, a little place where Sam could store things, or even a child's room. Dean felt weird thinking maybe Sam would want this room for his baby one day.

On the left side there was Sam's room, he knew, because in this room there was actually furniture. A double bed in the middle along with two bedside tables with a clock and some other things on them. Next to the bed, a wardrobe could be seen with some clothes hanging out from it. After Dean digested what he saw, Sam led him to the bathroom, which didn't seem like such a big thing: a shower, a bathtub, a sink, a toilet, and some towels took place there. Sam seemed to care a lot about what Dean might think about his new home.

After that, Sam suggested going down and having a drink; however, Dean had to reject the inviting offer because he had to drive home later. So they just went down to the kitchen, and Sam took out the pie he was making earlier from the oven. Dean felt so appreciated by his brother's actions at that moment. He made his favorite dessert for the day when Dean would see the house for the first time. It was so Sam. So, Sammy.

Then they ate the fresh pie as they continued to joke around and chat until the sun went down and stars appeared in the beautiful clear night sky.

"It's getting late; maybe I should go." Dean suggested as he was still smiling from a funny joke earlier. He didn't really want to go, but it really was getting late, and last night he didn't get a good sleep, as he slept on the floor.

Sam didn't say anything because he didn't really want Dean to go, but he was tired from all the working he had done that day. So he didn't say anything, and Dean stood up and stepped closer to his brother in order to give him a goodbye hug. Dean started walking back towards the front door, and as he strolled, he viewed the nice home one last time that day. As he was opening the door for himself, they said goodbye, and soon Dean was sitting in his car looking back at the beautiful modern American house. He had a great time after all this afternoon; however, still something was off. He kept looking out the window of the Impala as he recognized a well-known feeling: jealousy. His Sammy got everything he ever wanted or was about to, and Dean was happy for him; he wished his little brother the best, yet he felt jealous. While Sam was sleeping in his new bed in his new house, probably feeling excited about the next day yesterday, Dean slept on the floor by the wall of the hallway of the ridiculously big bunker. Surrounded by a million broken pieces of glass. Surrounded by his own blood, reminding him what a failure he is. He felt jealous because he tried everything he could, and that still wasn't enough.

He suddenly started the car and put his hands on the wheel. For a moment he thought about putting on some music to distract himself from overthinking but then decided silence felt better. So he drove in silence back to the bunker, feeling a pang of jealousy and a bit of peace that his brother finally got what he deserved.

Chapter Text

It hurt. The cold and rough ground hurt. Castiel sat up, moving his head and trying to stretch a bit so his back wouldn't hurt this much. It hurt so much. It was so human-like. He was human, he thought. And he was. He still couldn't believe that he really was one of the regular humans. Just a human, he remembered fighting battles in the name of God and protecting Heaven. Being an Angel. Having Wings. And compared to that, living as a human felt like being a speck of dust. He was so lost. So lost.

It had been a day and a half since he turned human, and he spent his first days on the ground of the train station. He slept on the cold floor in the dirt, and he looked like a homeless person. He didn't even realize he was homeless; he had nothing, he was nothing. It was February, so it was cold, and his clothes were not exactly made for this cold. He slowly stood up and felt so tired. He was still wearing his usual beige trench coat with a white shirt and loose dark black tie around his neck. His pants were made from soft cotton, but still they weren't comfortable enough for him.

As he looked around, he saw a gigantic clock showing that it was 7.32 in the morning, and yet the station was busy. It was full of people, and Castiel noticed so many people passing by and running in order to catch the train. As a new train arrived, Castiel saw the new passengers trying to get on the vehicle. Suddenly he thought he should go. He didn't know where he was, but he knew this place wasn't where he should be. So he got up and started to run so he could get on the train before it left. He suddenly stopped and looked back at the part of the station where he had been sleeping last night. He was checking if he had left anything personal there that he might need in the future, but soon he came to the realization that he didn't really have anything, so he left the thought behind and started sprinting towards the train.

He managed to step on the train just before its doors closed, and he took a deep breath, feeling tired again. He was feeling exhausted again; he knew he would get tired of the feeling of tiredness in a very short time. Back in the day, when he was a noble angel, he didn't have to pay attention to these kinds of things.

He started walking on the train, trying to find an empty seat so he could sit and relax for even just a few minutes. As he was putting one leg after another, taking steps slowly, he was afraid he would fall over due to the fact that the train had already begun to travel towards its destination. He felt eyes on him, people looking at him, maybe thinking how pathetic he was. Maybe feeling sorry for him, he didn't know. He saw men, women, and children all staring at him, and it made him feel so embarrassed and guilty. He felt guilty for taking the train looking this dirty. Children looked at him with an honest, disgusted expression, and Castiel wanted to disappear. He wanted to be gone for good and never come back; he felt so awkward and ridiculous. He then noticed an empty seat right next to a teenage girl. He didn't want to bother the girl, so he stayed in the same position for a while, not holding onto anything, but as the train braked when it reached the first stop, he felt the ground slip out from under his feet. He fell. As he fell, he hit his head a bit, and it hurt, but he tried not to show his pain, and so he stood up again and took the seat next to the young girl. The girl didn't really care that someone sat next to her; she was living in her own world, Castiel thought.

He could go anywhere he wanted to, just not the place he called his home. He missed heaven, and even if it had only been a day, he missed being there more than anything. And he felt like dying when he remembered he would never be able to see his favorite place ever again.

It was the middle of February, and it was cold; however, it wasn't snowing. Castiel stared out the window, admiring how mesmerizing the view was. He was just so exhausted he felt like he could fall asleep at any minute as he continued looking out the window, watching villages and hills pass by. He then slowly closed his eyes. He tried so hard not to, though he didn't succeed in staying awake. He was immersed in a dream; he finally wasn't lost in this world of humans and their cruel minds. He was lost in a dream, where he was out on a little hunting trip with Sam and Dean. Dean. In his dream they got on well, and they made jokes and had fun hunting monsters. However, even in his deep dream, he knew that could never be reality. He was happy; he saw himself living in his mind, and it was peaceful.

"Sir?" Castiel opened his eyes swiftly and sat up, feeling a bit lost in the situation. He saw an old man in a suit that looked like some type of uniform standing in front of him. Then he realized this man was talking to Castiel. For a short moment he thought maybe he was trying to help him or maybe the train reached its final destination.

"What?" Castiel asked, still confused.

"Tickets, please!" the officer demanded, and Castiel didn't get what he said. He had no idea what he was talking about; he had never used a train before.

"I… I don't have any tickets." Cas said, feeling guilty, he was afraid he could be in trouble.

"Oh, I see how it is, Mr.," the man in the uniform said, and he started writing something on a small piece of paper. Castiel was curious to know.

"Name and address, please. I need your data so I can send you your fine later." The man told Castiel, and Cas already knew this was not good for him.

"I, uh, I am Castiel. And I do not have an address," he said while looking at the man trying to convince him to leave him alone with his eyes, but it didn't seem to work, so he just looked down at his hands, playing with the end of his dirty tie.

"Castiel, huh?" The officer said and started laughing, which made Castiel feel ridiculous. He felt like he deserved to be laughed at. He didn't understand completely what was funny about the situation, though.

"Yes, my name is Castiel," he said quietly again.

"And how come you don't have an address?" He asked, taking a deep breath, and Castiel could sense the anger building up in the man.

"I don't have a home." Castiel said, and he felt his heart skip a beat because of how painful it was for him to say this.

The man then leaned closer to him and asked him to leave the train with him. Castiel stood up, and a few minutes later the train stopped, and he stepped off of the train along with the man.

"What should I do now?" Castiel asked, and the men replied with a simple "You have to pay now."

"With what?" Cas tried to get the answer to his question, and he was so ignorant. Poor Castiel, he had no idea how the world worked, and he didn't have a teacher. He had to learn it the hard way, a little bit harder than most people.

"Money, you homeless piece of shit," the officer answered, and Castiel saw his anger and frustration appearing in his eyes. He could feel how much this man standing in front of him suffers even if he tries to not show it. He's human; he has problems, and Castiel knew he suffered, so he tried to make this man's life easier, even when he didn't have any money to pay with.

"I don't have money," Castiel replied with an honest answer, feeling a bit guilty. He looked around and noticed that the two of them were the only ones standing at the small station. The place looked shabby, and he saw two benches in the corner, but both of them looked like they could collapse at any minute. He looked back at the man only to see how angry and frustrated the officer was. Castiel saw the inspector's eyes and realized he wasn't going to get away with it so easily. The officer's jaw clenched, and suddenly Castiel felt the man's fist hit his face. He didn't expect that, and due to the fact that he had severe back pain and hadn't had a good sleep, he was exhausted. He took an uneven step back and then fell to the floor. He was on the floor again, he thought. Is this how humans have to live? Then when he looked up, he saw the man in the uniform taking a deep breath, and soon Castiel felt the man's foot kick him in the stomach. Now that hurt him. Castiel felt blood running from his nose and from his mouth, and he curled up, holding onto his stomach. He heard the steps of the ticket inspector fading away as the cruel man left Castiel by himself. He was lying in the same position for about ten minutes when the pain started to fade away a bit. He touched his nose, and he saw the red blood on his fingers. He wiped the blood on his coat and stood up slowly and staggered as he tried to walk. He had never felt this embarrassed in his life, and he has been alive for a long time now. For a slight moment it occurred to him that if this was the point of his life, maybe he should just give up and leave.

Then he slowly started walking towards the city where the train had dropped him off. A new train was coming, and the station started to get busy. He was surrounded by people staring at him, some even laughing at the misfortune of his life. He felt so useless and lost. He didn't even know where he was, but for him it didn't really matter either. He could be anywhere; it wouldn't matter. Because he didn't matter. Or at least he thought he didn't.

He looked up and saw a huge white sign saying Garden City. He didn't know where Garden City was, but he saw a city, more like a town, with ideal neighborhoods and some factories by their side.

"Excuse me," Castiel said to a woman with shiny blonde hair and glasses walking by him.

"What? I'm going to be late," the woman replied in a condescending tone.

"Could you please tell me where I am exactly, miss?" He asked, hoping this time he would finally get a decent answer.

"Kansas, Garden City." She said as she hurried away. She didn't wait for an answer; she just ran off and left Castiel. But at least now he knew where he was. Kansay. Garden City.

Chapter Text

The smell of fresh coffee made Dean stop thinking, and even if just for a slight moment, he forgot how much he hated himself. He was standing in the kitchen of the bunker, his right hand holding a cup of coffee. He had just made the morning drink for himself right after he woke up. He didn't really like coffee; he just wanted to feel like he had a routine. Like it was a normal day and he was a normal man. So he took the cup and sat down on the chair near the kitchen table. He stared down at his hot drink and closed his eyes. It suddenly hit him, right out of the blue, Castiel's expression when he first tasted coffee. Castiel said he thinks it tastes like fuel, and Dean couldn't help but laugh.

Dean let out a loud sigh, and Castiel filled his thoughts. Guilt floated into his mind, and he tried to push his guilt aside, not successfully. Cas' eyes popped up in front of him, and a sudden calmness rushed over his body. But it only lasted for a brief moment before he felt the weight of his sins again.

[Flashback begins]

Sam was sitting in the living room of the bunker; he was reading a book about wendigos. The piece of literature was written by one of the original members of The Man of Letters. He found it fascinating, and he was deeply interested. Dean and Cas went out on a hunt; they were trying to kill a ghost they heard about in the news a few days ago. They were headed to Iowa, and Dean called hours ago that the mission was successfully completed and they were on their way back home. Since the hunt was an easier one, Sam decided to stay home and immerse himself in his book. Cas had to practice, and Dean could handle anything, so he thought they would be good.

Sam didn't know when it had started to rain, but he heard the loud rain pounding on the roof, and he felt even more comfortable and peaceful in that moment. He then heard a car stopping, and he knew his family had arrived. He closed his book, waiting for the two hunters to come inside the bunker.

He heard loud shouting as the door opened, and he saw his brother step inside, soaking wet and covered in blood from his forehead to his knees. Dean seemed angry and annoyed, and Sam was eager to know what went wrong. Because something had to go wrong that got Dean looking like a mess after such an easy hunt. A moment later he noticed Cas entering the room, and he saw his face, and Sam knew Cas did something he wasn't supposed to. Cas' expression was confused, and he could see how guilty he felt even from the other side of the room.

Sam stood up to greet the two men and said, "Hey guys, how did it go?"

"What do you think?" Dean replied bitterly. He stood in front of his brother with Dean standing by his side in his typical trench coat and blue tie. "This idiot right here almost got me killed."

Castiel wanted to say something, but Dean continued. Sam felt like a parent listening to children pointing at each other. Only this was just slightly more serious than that.

"The ghost we were trying to catch was coming at me from behind with a huge-ass sword, and Cas saw it coming. This motherfucker was facing me and saw it coming. And didn't say shit," Dean yelled angrily, his voice cracking while he was looking at Castiel and turning his head back towards his brother by the end of the sentence. Dean felt truly and beyond betrayed by his friend. He thought Castiel was stupid, and he didn't understand why he didn't say something. Dean could have died or at least gotten seriously injured. Castiel was playing with his life even if he didn't know it.

Castiel tried to defend himself, but Sam cut him off this time.

"Dean, I'm pretty sure Cas didn't intend to get you almost killed." Sam said, trying to comfort Dean, but he was adamant.

"If that girl didn't jump in front of the ghost, I would have been dead by now, Castiel. Do you even understand that?" Dean asked, facing Cas, trying to find an honest answer in his eyes. "That girl died because of you," he then finally said, making Castiel flinch a little. Cas knew that, but hearing it from someone so important made him feel unworthy of anything.

"Look, I know you're an angel and don't understand what it means to be a human, but that's not an excuse." Dean said, and Cas saw the fire in Dean's eyes; he was furious.

Of course Cas knew what his mistake meant; he knew that the girl's blood was on his hands, and he knew Dean would react like this. What he didn't know is why he didn't say anything. He just completely froze and was unable to move or say anything.

It wasn't like he wanted Dean to die; never in a million years could he wish that. Never.

"I am sorry, Dean. I don't know why I—" Cas started to explain himself, but he was. cut off by Dean once again.

"No, stop. I can't listen to you; I can't stand you right now. Please just—" he started and then took a sharp breath in and turned around to leave. Dean found the way to his peaceful room and went to his bathroom immediately. He then closed the door and collapsed on the floor. He grabbed the toilet seat with both of his hands and vomited. A sudden rush of guilt rushed over Dean, and he regretted everything he said to Cas just before he left. Cas obviously had no idea what he was doing; after all, it really was his first real hunt. He was just like a child trying to learn, and Dean failed him. He really failed him.

He stood up and looked in the mirror, hating what he saw there. He was angry because he almost died because of a stupid mistake. He just stood there staring at himself, and he realized he wasn't mad because he almost died; he was angry because he didn't.

He walked out of the bathroom and sat down on his bed while looking down and playing with his big hands. He hated this. He hated that he felt like he was right for yelling at Cas, and now he was guilty. He hated himself and how he couldn't save that girl. A girl died instead of him; he should be lying there lifeless, not that innocent young lady.

Dean knew it. He knew that the ghost was behind him, but he accepted his fate. He thought he would die of a heroic act looking in those ocean blue eyes. But plans always get ruined, his plans especially.

He was sitting on his bed as a tear shed from his eye, then he heard a knock on the door.

"Dean... " he heard the well-known voice coming from a well-known person. Castiel stood on the other side of the door, ready to apologize a thousand times if that's what Dean wants. He knew it was his fault, and he was ready to take responsibility for his actions, even if it meant it would eventually destroy him.

"I'm tired, Cas, go away," he said; however, he didn't actually want Cas to leave. He heard some footsteps fade, and he was left alone. For him, time alone never meant peace. It meant being left alone with his haunting past.

Dean didn't lie when he said he was tired; he really was exhausted. Not only because of the hunt, but he felt overall tired of life. He took his blood-covered clothes off, stepped under the hot shower, and turned the water from comfortably warm to painfully cold. He stood there feeling empty as he finished washing away all the blood from his body. The blood of an innocent civil, he thought. A girl who died for his sins without even knowing. He felt sick.

When he finally put his head back on that damn pillow, he was just glad it was over. Another thing he could put on his calendar. He fell asleep thinking he was so close today, so, so close.

He didn't dream, and he felt like it was a little reward for such a bad day. He would always dream. Dean had nightmares all the damn time, but great dreams were even more painful and awful in reality. Because they reminded him of the things he could never have, so instead his nightmares haunted his nights with all the decisions he had made in the past. Nightmares were most of the time just memories he would want to forget, but for some reason he couldn't get rid of them.

…

Castiel, on the other hand, didn't sleep. He was an angel, so he couldn't possibly be physically tired like that; however, mentally he was exhausted. A soldier fighting on the other side by accident. He was lying in a bed in a room in the bunker, but nothing felt like it was his own. Not the bed, not the room, not his life. He didn't understand; he just didn't. How could he not see it coming? He replayed the actions of the hunt in his head over and over and over again, trying to figure out what he did wrong. He saw it; he remembered seeing it and not saying anything, and it drove him crazy. Dean was fully right here, he thought. Cas killed a girl who was supposed to live. He killed a girl, and he couldn't let it go.

An angel, he thought, was supposed to help and protect, not destroy.

He couldn't sleep or close his eyes or turn it off. He was just lying completely lost. He didn't know if Dean would ever forgive him or even talk to him again. He sat up to take off his coat, and he unbuttoned his shirt a bit. It was like he was running in circles. Remember. Replay. Regret. And again and again until he saw rays of sun peeking in the window. He sat up, obviously feeling guilt-ridden, and decided to make coffee, even though he knew Dean was not a big fan of coffee. Castiel thought it might be a good idea to start making up for his huge mistake.

So he found his way to the kitchen, and just as he arrived, he realized he had no idea at all how to make coffee. He looked around, and his eyes landed on the clock he was looking for. It was only 5:20 in the morning, so he was sure Sam would still be asleep. He had no help; he was by himself. He had to find his way, or else nothing would change. He started looking for something that would give him some ideas on how to start, trying to stay as quiet as he could. He wouldn't want to wake them up. If he did, Sam would be fine with it, but waking up Dean is a different thing, and he wouldn't want to risk that.

He kept looking, and he suddenly found a box saying coffee pot. He opened it and found a brief description of how to make the drink. He followed the steps, filling the bottom chamber with water firstly, then adding ground coffee to the filter basket. He found it a bit confusing, but he continued. He then assembled the moka pot and placed it on the stove for a few minutes. It didn't say anything else in the instructions, so he didn't really know what to do next. When he heard a bubbling sound coming from the pot, he took it off of the stove. He smelled it, and to be frank, he did not like the smell of it at all; he thought it definitely smelled wrong. However, he placed the fresh coffee on the table. It was now 6.34, so he assumed they would wake up soon.

He started looking for two cups for the boys. When he found two, he smiled a bit and took them out of the cabinet, but one of them accidentally slipped from his hands, and it fell in the sink. The cup shattered and made a loud sound as the glass broke. He squinted his eyes and hoped the voice didn't wake up any of the Winchesters. He was not lucky today; he heard footsteps coming fast, and he then found himself facing Dean. Dean looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, as he kept a worried expression on his face.

"I'm so sorry, I broke your cup," Castiel said, feeling like he was a burden and he caused another mistake.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked as his worried expression softened and turned into a more curious one. Of course, he didn't forget about the mistakes of the day before; however, he didn't really blame Castiel anymore.

"Uhh, I made you coffee." Castiel answered, showing a bit of embarrassment.

"I don't like coffee." Dean replied in a harsh voice, but he didn't intend to sound so mean and arrogant.

"I know," Cas said as his fingers gripped the mug tighter and he looked down for a slight moment.

Dean reached out and took the mug out of Castiel's hands; he then walked over to the cabinet and took out another mug for Cas. He sat down to the table and placed a mug in front of himself and one in front of the chair opposite to him.

"Aren't you going to have a seat?" Dean asked as he looked up with his deep green eyes, trying to understand Cas. The angel took the seat in front of Dean, and they faced each other. Dean reached out to pour a cup of coffee for Cas first and then for himself.

"I've never had coffee before." Cas stated, and Dean shook his head.

"Well, you're not missing out on too much, buddy. But give it a try," he said. "You never know."

Castiel lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip of the freshly made coffee. When he felt the bitter flavor of the drink, a disgusted expression appeared on his face. Castiel then heard Dean laughing. Something he hadn't heard in a while. He looked up and looked into Dean's forest green eyes as he smiled.

"Tastes like fuel," Cas stated as he quickly put down the cup.

Dean was thrilled. Seeing Cas trying out the drink made him genuinely laugh. And a second later he took a sip of the hot coffee himself as well. He immediately understood the earlier expression on Cas' face as he struggled to swallow the drink. It was the most awful coffee he had ever tasted, and he didn't really like coffee after all.

"Good job, Cas. This tastes great, thanks for your... effort." He thanked his friend for forgiving him for any harm he had ever done. He completely forgave Cas for almost killing him. But still somehow Dean couldn't let go of the thought that he was so close to the end, and instead of him finally gaining his well-deserved freedom, a girl lost hers.*

[Flashback ends]

*Dean felt so empty looking back at the fresh cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Memories made him feel nostalgic and even more guilty. He knew what he said to Cas about that hunt was mean and wasn't right, and he knew Cas probably took his words to heart, believing every reproach he had said before.

He was lonely and jealous of his brother for getting everything he wanted and leaving him all alone. He missed Sam, and he realized he missed Castiel too. He tried not to think too much of it, though. After the fall of angels, Castiel could be anywhere, and honestly, Dean was okay with that. He didn't think Castiel would want to find him; why would he want that? Dean was mean and aggressive, and he believed he was an abuser, and even if he missed Cas, it would be better off for Cas if their ways continued to be separated.

He stood up and left the damn coffee, as he had had enough of everything lately. He heard his ringtone from the other room, so he hurried to answer it. When he saw his brother's name on the screen, he immediately picked it up with a sudden worried look on his face.

"Sam!?" he asked; his first thought was that his brother got in trouble or he was hurt. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, uhh, yeah." Sam replied in a confused tone. "Why wouldn't everything be okay?"

"Uhm, I don't know, I just… We haven't talked in a few days, and I thought that's why you were calling me for." Dean replied.

"Oh…" Sam felt a bit guilty for forgetting about his big brother for days. He had so many things to do around the new house, but he felt like he betrayed Dean a bit. "I was calling because I was wondering if your offer is still relevant."

"Which offer?" Dean seriously didn't know what Sam meant. Dean offered Sam so many things.

"About the books from the bunker. My shelf really looks empty. I could use the books, if you don't mind".

"No." Dean stopped for a moment as he adjusted to the fact in himself that his brother was okay. "No, of course I don't mind. You can take anything."

"Great! I'll be there in an hour," Sam stated as he ended the phone call, not even waiting for Dean to agree or say goodbye. Dean honestly would have wanted to chat with him or at least ask him how he has been lately. But Sam ended the call so suddenly.

Dean went to his room to get dressed, and he found himself being excited for his brother's visit. He hadn't really talked to anyone in the last five days, so he felt like he could use some company. He got dressed quickly and went back to the living room, waiting patiently for his brother. He expected him to arrive in about 30 minutes.

Chapter Text

As expected, Sam stepped through the front door of the bunker just when Dean thought he would. Sam was wearing his usual outfit, and Dean noticed that his hair had gotten a bit longer than last time. Sam looked around, noticing Dean sitting by the table immediately. Dean had a mug in his hands, and Sam could smell the freshly made coffee.

"Hey, man," Sam smiled at Dean, happy to see his brother.

"Hey, buddy. I've missed you." Dean said as he stayed still in his chair, lifting the cup to his mouth and taking a sip of the drink. He really did miss him. In the last couple of days, he felt lonely. Silence was quite loud, and nobody was there to break it.

"Same here. So, uh, about the books. Sam started.

"Yeah, you can take anything you want." Dean replied in an honest tone.

"No, no, I..." "I just need the books," he said.

"Aren't you worried what your new friend will think when they see your books about mythical and supernatural creatures?" Dean asked, and he really was curious. He didn't ask this to make Sam feel guilty for having new friends; however, without any intention, without noticing, he did. Sam's heart skipped a beat, and it felt like he just put a knife through his heart. This question reminded Sam of why he left and what he left behind. He left his family to start a new one. He left his brother to be free. At first Sam didn't consider him starting over equal to leaving Dean, but after some time he really came to the realization that leaving to start over had the word "leaving" in it.

"Uhh, the ones I've made so far know that I'm into mythology, so I don't think that would cause problems." Sam answered Dean's honest question.

"Oh, okay." Dean said he seemed okay with it, but in reality he wasn't. He felt so bitter after hearing Sam really made friends. New friends Dean didn't know.

"So what have you been up to lately?" Sam asked, eager to know.

"Well, I was home for the last few days, but I decided to look for some work to do. I kind of miss the adrenaline. Dean stated, forming plans inside his head about his next trip.

"Alone?!" Sam asked with a serious and worried expression on his face. He didn't want his brother to get in trouble or be in danger.

"Who with? " Dean asked, looking in Sam's eyes, and his brother could capture the hurt in Dean's green eyes.

Sam didn't know how to reply to that, so instead he just nodded slowly, and he walked over to the huge bookshelf. He examined the old wood and the several antique books on the shelves as his fingers touched the dust on the edge of one of the shelves. These books haven't been touched ever since he left this place. He was worried how empty the bookshelf would look without any books, but since Dean was okay with it, he tried to let go of the thought.

"I don't think all the books will fit in your car; you should probably take the first half and come back later or tomorrow for the other part." Dean suggested.

"Right. Tomorrow I can't, but I'll come back for it three days from now if that's fine with you.

"Sure," Dean answered as he stood up and stood next to Sam, starting to take out a few books and putting them on the table. "What are your plans for tomorrow?" he then asked.

"Actually, I have a date." Sam said, and he sounded a little bit nervous about it. Dean couldn't decide whether Sam was nervous about telling Dean about the date or the actual date. However, since his little brother has always been the nervous, gentlemanly kind of guy, Dean didn't think too much of it.

"Who's the unlucky girl?" Dean joked.

"Her name is Iris, and we only met a few days ago. I went out to get some equipment for the work around the house, and there she was. Sam started, and he seemed so excited. "She was so kind and generous; I like her."

Dean smiled; a true smile appeared on his face as he was excited for his brother as well. He could see Sam's future bright and clear. His own future on the other side seemed completely unknown for Dean. He couldn't even think about what he would be up to next week, not the far future. Whenever he thought about it, he saw nothing. Something deep inside him was empty, and he didn't think there would be anything that could fill the space.

"I'm glad." Dean said, and they continued putting the books in paper boxes.

Hours passed, and they had fun. They spent the whole afternoon cleaning the bookshelves and talking and joking. Halfway through the cleaning, Dean opened a beer for himself. He offered one to Sam too, but his brother didn't accept his offer due to the fact he would be driving later that night. Dean obviously offered a room in the bunker, and when Sam denied it, Dean knew nothing would ever be the same. Being a bit tipsy, Dean was hurt over Sam's words, but he didn't show his pain. He took a moment to remember how the both of them would go on hunts, fight demons and monsters, miss their parents, and get drunk together. Now, Sam didn't do any of those things, and Dean was left alone for these. Dean missed hunts and fighting and longed for his parents alone.

He missed his parents. Mostly his mother. In Dean's eyes she was an angel sent from heaven taken too early. He didn't remember too much from her, though. But he could recall the way his mother tucked him in his bed on evenings and how she used to tell Dean angels were watching over him.

Dean could never forget his father either, but because of different reasons. He missed him sometimes, but those days were rare, and the feeling wouldn't last too long either. His memories about his father were mostly full of violence and blood. John, his dad, taught Dean how to be a soldier, and while teaching him, John forgot to be his father. His teaching methods were painful and unbearably cruel. Dean did everything he could to protect Sam, but he couldn't defend him always. Still, Dean had it way worse than his brother.

Sometimes when he was lying on his bed because he couldn't fall asleep, he felt like he was still 17. At the time, they moved towns a lot, and he didn't have his well-deserved free time. He didn't have hobbies or friends; he had knowledge. He knew how to use guns and bows, but he didn't know how to love. His father never taught him that. Dean kept his brother safe, and that kept him alive. He had tried to end it all so many times, he couldn't even count it. He was weak, though; he was a coward because he didn't dare leave his brother with a man so cruel.

John wasn't always a bad father, though. Dean loved him before he hated him. Dean would still, even to this day, slightly remember how much John used to play with Dean when he was little. He recalled how John took him to kindergarten and the playground. It felt unreal, like it didn't happen. Compared to Dean's childhood before losing his mother, after that everything went downhill. And it still felt like it was continuing to go when he was cleaning shelves with his missed brother.

As they finished their work, they packed the boxes in Sam's car, and soon they said goodbye. After Sam left, Dean kept drinking, and by midnight he was blackout drunk. Dean knew this would happen after Sam left, and because of that, he desperately wanted Sam to stay, but he didn't. Dean knew he had a problem; he just didn't care.

He fell asleep on the floor later that night.

𓆩✡︎𓆪

The next morning when Dean woke up, he didn't remember a single thing from what happened after Sam left. He found himself lying on the cold floor, and he couldn't figure out how he got there. He assumed he couldn't reach his bed last night because he was so drunk. He slowly sat up and looked around in the bunker only to see nothing had changed. He felt the well-known taste on his lips remaining from the alcohol he had drunk hours ago.

Dean's drinking problem has been present ever since he was 19. He drank before that too; however, it wasn't a problem. After some time, for Dean, alcohol was the only thing that calmed him down. Alcohol was something he found comfort in. And he wasn't interested in solving such a problem. If he dies of it, then so be it, he thought.

Chapter Text

Castiel woke up in the middle of the night, feeling something wet on his skin. He slowly opened his eyes, trying to understand what's happening around him as quickly as possible. He then sat up and stretched a bit. The cold sidewalk felt unbearable, and sleeping on it was cruel. It was his 6th day in Garden City, and since it was February, his clothes weren't the appropriate way to dress. He was cold; he was freezing, but he didn't have a place to go to.

The second day after he had been kicked out of the train, he remembered that the Winchesters bunker was in Kansas as well. He even thought about going there to get help or really just to see Dean, but since he thought Dean didn't really want to see him, he decided to stay independent. If he was being honest, he had to admit to himself he missed Dean. He missed Dean just as much as he missed being an angel, if not more. But after that girl died on that mission because of Cas... Castiel felt like his mistake was unforgivable. Even with all the efforts he made to erase his mistake, he felt like his actions were not justified and they could never be. He felt like Dean could never forgive him, even if he'd ever say so. So he forgot the idea of finding Dean and stuck to being alone and homeless for a while. Castiel didn't really have plans; he had no clue what he was going to do now. He had spent his days as a human walking and trying to find food, clothes, someone, and hope.

A wet drop of rain landed on his face, just under his right eye, as he looked up. The rain started to pour slowly and gently at first, but as soon as Cas stood up, it was raining heavily. He quickly looked around, trying to find a place where he could go to escape the rain. Unfortunately, he didn't see anything that could protect him from the cold rain, so he started running. He ran on the street as fast as he could as he got more and more tired with each step.

He was now completely soaked, his hair stuck on his forehead. He looked around once again and noticed a building that looked like a church. He suddenly was so faithful; he started sprinting towards the church, and as he reached it, he opened the door and quickly got inside. He collapsed on the floor because he was extremely exhausted. He was soaked, cold, and tired.

Inside it was dark; only one candle was burning right in front of a painting of God. He slowly started walking towards the candle, examining the place. He admired the few paintings that were there as he reached the main one. The painting was mesmerizing; probably it wasn't worth much or it was a copy, otherwise they wouldn't have left the church open. In the painting there was God in a beautiful long robe, and he was portrayed as a savior. Humans believed in him, even when he wasn't around. He left humanity, but people will never know, Cas thought. He wasn't going to save anyone.

Castiel suddenly kneeled down and did something he never thought he would ever do. He then closed his eyes and concentrated. The silence of the church melted away as Dean's harsh voice from that terrible night replaced it.

[Flashback begins]

"She trusted you, Cas! And now she is dead, you hear me?! She is dead." Dean shouted at Cas. They were standing by the highway right next to the Impala. "She trusted you, Cas! I trusted you!" Dean's voice cracked as he finished the sentence.

"I know, Dean. Don't you think it keeps me up at night? It's always in my head! The frightened look on the girl's face won't leave me alone... I'll never forget it, no matter how much I want to." Cas replied, and he also raised his voice.

Cars raced by the highway in the mesmerizing summer night. Dean and Cas were standing in front of the Impala now as they were arguing. They were driving home from simple shopping, and Dean couldn't hold it in. He saw a woman with the same hair as the girl who died, and he lost it.

In reality, Dean felt so miserable and guilty that he just had to blame someone. And Cas was there; he was the perfect person to blame. Dean hated himself for doing this to Cas, but his self-hate was so huge that he just had to vent his anger.

"I didn't mean to murder her…" Cas explained, but he knew that he didn't have excuses; he was guilty. "I know it's my fault; you don't have to remind me all the time." Cas screamed, pouring out his heart. He stepped closer to Dean and grabbed him out of anger by his arms. Dean was shocked by the sudden movement and didn't have time to react. He just stood there frozen, feeling terrible for upsetting Cas this much.

"I know it's my fault." Castiel began to say, really loud, and pure anger and guilt could be seen on his face. His hair was messy, and he looked tired. "I know that I'm responsible for that woman, and I will spend my whole life making up for this huge blunder that I've made," he stressed the words "whole" and "life," and he really did mean his words.

Cas let go of Dean and turned around. Dean just stayed still for a few minutes, thinking the fact that Castiel blames himself is Dean's fault again. Because every road leads to Rome and every mistake is Dean's fault.

[Flashback ends]

And there he was once again, on his knees doing something so unbelievable.

He never prayed before; he didn't need to. He was an angel, and praying wasn't necessary. Some people prayed to him before; they prayed for an angel to help them. And now he was on his knees with closed eyes in the dark room with only one candle burning. He opened his lips and started saying his prayer quietly.

"Dear God, I'm well aware that you will probably never get my message, but I just want to understand. Please answer my question about whyyou left. Was it not good enough for you? Was this world not enough?" Castiel sighed and continued.

"Tell me what I should do, what I should believe. I pray for peace, and I pray for Dean to forgive me for being responsible for that girl's death. I pray for Sam's and Dean's health, and I pray we meet again. Please answer me, because I'm faithful, yet I'm so hopeless. ... Amen."

With that, Cas finished his first-ever prayer, and he opened his ocean-blue eyes. For some reason he expected something to change, and when his surroundings remained the same, he felt a bit disappointed. He felt let down.

He suddenly felt embarrassed from being on his knees, worried that someone up in heaven would be laughing at him. He was worried that his brothers and sister, who are maybe still up there, would find Castiel's praying ridiculous. Someone who deserves to be laughed at.

He swiftly got up from the cold wooden floor and looked around once again. He looked down and thought that he really was pathetic for praying. God didn't listen to a word he said when he was an angel, and now that he was human…

He was alone, and since nothing was stopping him, he lay down on one of the pews. He put his soaked body down on the hard wooden pew and let himself rest. He closed his eyes, and he quickly fell asleep. His sleep was the best one so far ever since he turned human. He didn't dream tough. Ever since he was human, he had 2 dreams overall. For him this was a new experience, because angels didn't dream. Angels didn't sleep. They didn't rest. Castiel hated being a human because he felt so vulnerable and weak, but dreams were something he liked. The two dreams he had were something euphoric-feeling. Dreams took him to a universe where he was happy. In his dreams, he wasn't a human suffering; he was just purely happy.

But then he woke up to the sound of doors opening. He quickly sobered up and pulled himself to a sitting position as he scanned the small church around him. He noticed a priest walking in and stopping when he noticed Castiel. The man was dressed in the regular priest uniform, and he was about 50 years old. His hair was starting to get gray, and wrinkles started appearing under his eyes. Castiel could also notice his smile lines even sitting about 4 meters away from him. Castiel stood up, but he remained quiet; he didn't know what to say.

The priest looked at Cas, but Cas didn't see any judgment in his eyes. The priest seemed like he knew what Cas was going through, and he knew how to deal with it. The older man turned his head to the center of the church, to the painting, and walked there. When he reached the candles, he began to light up the candles in order.

"What is your name?" The priest suddenly asked, but not in an accusatory tone. He seemed genuinely curious to know. When Cas opened his lips to answer, the parson turned to look at him.

"Castiel," he then replied, and he just started to feel how cold it really was.

"Well, I am Father John Martin; I'm the parson of this church." Father John said as he walked closer to Castiel. Cas felt a bit nervous and anxious because he had no idea what the man wanted. The memory of the ticket inspector beating him up popped up in his head as he took a step back.

The man raised his eyebrows and stopped, noticing that Castiel clearly didn't like him walking towards him, so Father John stopped.

"What happened to you, Castiel?" He asked, noticing the red mark on his face that the ticket inspector left earlier that week. But Father John Martin didn't just mean the bruise; he really was eager to know what happened to Cas. He saw it in him. That look in his eyes told Father John that Castiel carried something heavy with him all the time. He knew it; he knew something broke him, and he felt that his lonely soul was desperate to be part of something. To be with someone.

"I fell," Castiel replied, pouring his heart out. He did fall; maybe Castiel just wanted to use it as an excuse to keep the thing with the ticket inspector hidden from the priest. However, he fell from heaven, and he turned human. He fell in every sense.

"I see." The parson said, and he sat down on the pew. "Do you believe?"

Castiel for a moment didn't understand what he meant, but then he knew the priest meant God. They were in a church, after all.

"I do." Castiel replied, but he didn't really know if he believed in God anymore. He knew he existed, but he didn't really have faith that he would come back to help humans.

"The exhausted look on your face tells me God has put you through many things, but you're here. You survived, Castiel." He said as Castiel sat down on the pew next to Father John Martin. "What is your goal? What are you trying to achieve?"

The question surprised Castiel, and he was stunned to speak. What was his goal? He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and looked down at his hands. He wanted peace, to be an angel, but he knew that wasn't possible. What was he even trying to achieve? He knew he missed Dean; he was alone and had no one. But he didn't know if Dean wanted to see him, and what would his goal really be worth if in the end he wouldn't be successful? Finding Dean just for him to send Castiel away sounded like hell to Cas. He wanted to live, to find something to live for. He just wanted peace, a bit of sleep, and something that is stable.

"I want peace." He said, and he thought about saying freedom, but in reality he was free; he just couldn't do anything with that. "I want to rise above it and find something that keeps me going. I miss someone, but he doesn't miss me." He finally said, as his voice cracked, saying the last words. Castiel wanted his wings back but he obviously didn't say anything about that to the man. He wanted his grace and his wings. He missed being and angel so painfully.

"What you feel is so human and profound. Maybe you feel pain now, but don't forget that the love you give won't get lost; it'll find its way back to you." The priest said as he looked Cas in the eye, he smiled at him, and Cas noticed his smile lines and wrinkles once again.

"I pray for you, and I pray that peace may settle where the emptiness lives now." The parson added as he stood up and walked back to his candles.

"I hope your prayers will be heard, Father John." With these words, Castiel stood up in order to leave the church behind, but he heard the man's voice again.

"You can lay your head down in my church each night as long as you have faith." He offered, and Castiel's heart skipped a beat. He just experienced the first act of kindness ever since he was a human. He only knew cruelty and pain, but those words hinted that maybe humanity is not so bad after all.

"I came in because the door was open, and you have to know I am beyond grateful for your offer. I don't have a home, so I would like to accept your kindness, Father John." Cas said, and he really was grateful; he was just so grateful.

"I left the door open for people like you. If a lost soul seeks peace in a church, he can't be all bad."

And with that, Castiel stepped out the door, feeling like it was a fresh start. He made some plans for his future in his head as he started walking on the street. His new goals included getting a job to earn money and to later be able to thank the parson for his goodwill attitude.

He didn't know how he was going to achieve that, but he felt relieved that he now had a place where he could sleep and rest. A place that offers safety and a bit of peace. A temporary home, where the rain would soak him and the cold wouldn't turn his face red. Where the cold and hard asphalt wouldn't be his pillow and stars wouldn't be his blanket.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

The sound of the rain pounding on the windows and the dull talking coming from the television blended together easily. Dean was lying on his bed, in his room, with beer in his hand. He didn't plan to get drunk, but the silence was tearing him apart, and beer made it a bit easier. His empty hand was resting on his stomach; he was lying there comfortably. He was looking at the television, but he wasn't focused on it.

Some boring horror movie was playing, and Dean didn't care at all. The last time horror movies scared him was when he was only 7 years old. He loved spending his time watching horror films; he was a bit of a nerd.

But the film that was on at the moment didn't catch his attention at all. Dean found it boring and predictable. So he was just listening to the sound while he was immersed in his thoughts.

The comforting sound of the rain made Dean feel so cozy and peaceful. However, after a time, the rain started to be heavier and louder. There was a huge storm outside, and from time to time he could see the sudden light flashing as lightning struck. The lightning lit up the whole room for a brief moment and then disappeared. Each time, after the brightness, Dean counted slowly in his head until he heard the sound of the thunder. This action showed how far the lightning was. His father, John, taught him this trick when he was little, and ever since he has been doing that, sometimes without even realizing it.

The room lit up suddenly, and for a slight moment the dark parts of the bedroom could be seen, and then just a second later everything went back to normal. It was dark again, and Dean started counting, but as soon as he said 1 in his head, he heard an extremely loud and resounding noise. A surprised expression appeared on his face as he realized that this time the lightning struck a little bit too close.

Anyone would be scared of it, a child or a dog, or maybe even an adult. But for Dean it was so refreshing; he stood up and opened the window by his bed to feel the unmistakable smell of the rain. He sat back on his bed and zoned out for a minute.

He took his time thinking. Every time there was a storm outside, Dean felt so seen. So understood. He resonated well with the thunder because he felt like he was a hurricane. A hurricane that destroyed so many lives and places, only to leave a mess after itself. Just like, for example, Dean destroyed the girl's life, got her killed, and then left Castiel feeling guilty when he shouldn't.

He turned his head back to look at the television, and he saw a pretty girl with caramel blonde hair screaming on the screen. He kept watching, but he didn't find it interesting.

The screaming suddenly stopped, and the television turned off without any sign. The lamp that was on the other side of the bed swiftly went out, leaving Dean in complete darkness. Dean straightened his back, and he became serious immediately. It was like his survival mode activated, and he quickly got up. He closed his window and tried to turn the lamp on, then the TV. None of them were working, so he tried to look for his phone without any success. Then another lightning strike brightened up the space, and Dean luckily found his mobile. He then heard the scary loud noise coming from the sky, and he turned the flashlight mode on on his phone.

He walked out of the room, and when he looked at his mobile, he noticed that there was no signal. He thought that this must be a power outage, and so that was the reason why all the mechanics stopped functioning suddenly.

He walked down to the place where he could try to turn it back on, but he knew that this wasn't something he could just fix. He knew he had to wait until the storm disappeared, so he turned back and walked back to his quiet room. The dark and silent halls made him feel uneasy, so he hurried up a bit.

Reaching his room, he opened the window once again and lay down on his comfortable bed. He grabbed his beer and took a sip of it.

He just lies there for hours, and it feels like forever. Waiting for the storm to be gone drives him crazy, and he can't do anything about it. His thoughts at first revolved around Sam and his new life. Dean misses him more than most things and would do anything to get his old life back. And after that, memories of Castiel flooded his mind as he put his two hands over his face.

Castiel. His deep ocean blue eyes popped up in Dean's head, and then he remembered his hair and his lips, his hands, his nose, his skin, and his wings. He wondered where he could possibly be now and what he was up to. Was he even alive?! He quickly calmed himself down, thinking he had to be alive.

He closed his eyes as a certain memory popped up in his mind, and Dean slowly pulled his mouth into a smile. He looked up at his ceiling as he remembered every detail about the cute and wholesome moment they had shared.

[Flashback begins]

It was a rainy day like this, years ago. Sam was ill, which he never really was, so it was unusual. In Iowa there was a vampire murdering innocent people, and Dean saw the weird case on the news just a few days before. He had decided to go for a hunt to end the vampire case, but since Sam wouldn't let him go by himself, Dean took Castiel with him as his partner.

When Dean parked the car outside the sheriff's office, they got out of the Impala, and Castiel took a deep breath. They were both already dressed up in their suits, and they really seemed like FBI agents. Dean gave Cas his FBI ID, and they looked at each other.

"You ready?" Dean asked. "Agent Rogers?"

"I am as ready as I'll ever be, Agent, uh, Reed." Castiel answered and smiled at his partner. Dean started to walk towards the entrance, and Cas immediately followed.

They stepped through the glass door, and Dean looked at Castiel one more time before walking up to a lady and introducing themselves.

"Good afternoon, I'm Agent Reed, and this is my partner, Agent Rogers." Dean said as he gestured with his hands, pointing at Castiel. "We are investigating the new case. Can I please talk to the sheriff?" Dean finished as he took out his ID and showed it to the woman. Castiel copied him and did the same.

"Right away, Agents. He will be here in about 10 minutes." The lady replied, and she smiled at them as she got back to her work.

Dean and Cas walked outside since it stopped raining, and they started discussing the case. Five people have been murdered so far, two men and three women. They were all found with missing body parts and basically no blood. They thought it was definitely a vampire, no doubt.

As they stood outside, they heard a car stop not so far away, and Dean saw it was the sheriff's car. They looked at each other, and Dean turned to look at the man who just stopped the car. Castiel didn't look away at the man; he kept his glance over Dean, noticing that his tie was a bit loose.

Castiel suddenly reached out to fix Dean's tie. Dean looked back at Cas instantly as he felt the man's touch on his neck. Dean raised an eyebrow as he was surprised by the sudden movement, but he didn't stop Cas.

Cas looked Dean in the eyes, but he didn't really show any emotions on his face. He fixed his tie, not breaking the eye contact. Dean swallowed loudly as he felt a bit nervous. Dean didn't know why, but this time something was different; he felt nervous, but in a good way. Although Castiel finished fixing his tie, he kept his hand on Dean's tie for a moment that felt like a lifetime to both. Castiel didn't break eye contact, and he felt so peaceful at that moment. He was lost in Dean's mesmerizing forest green eyes, and as soon as Cas looked at Dean's lips, he heard a man shouting over to them.

"Agent Reed and Agent Rogers?" the sheriff asked, and Dean turned to look at him as Castiel let go of Dean's tie.

Dean swallowed once again as he tried to shake off the unusual feeling he just experienced. He looked back at Castiel once again, only to realize Cas was already staring at Dean. They shared a quiet and profound, really meaningful glance as Dean answered the man.

"We are. Sheriff Callahan, right?" Dean said, and the man reached them; they shook hands.

"You are. My assistant called me and told me about you." Sheriff Callahan explained as he invited them into his office with gesturing. They both followed the man inside.

They started explaining the case and why they were there, and the sheriff shared every piece of information with them.

As they sat there trying to figure out who the vampire was, a smile slowly appeared on Dean's lips. He tried to hide it because he felt like it would be weird if they saw he was smiling. They were discussing murder after all, but he just couldn't shake off this new and exciting but also terrifying feeling. He secretly took a look at his partner sitting right next to him as he listened carefully to what Castiel had to say about the case. He smiled and tried to focus once again, but he couldn't really concentrate after what happened.

[Flashback ends]

Dean just couldn't stop smiling; he felt so shocked that a memory got him giggling like that. He let himself be happy for a slight moment, letting the memory take over his mind.

However, the happiness that had replaced the void he felt vanished quickly as he fell asleep. And a cruel, horrifying dream twisted his mind.

Chapter Text

"Hey man, could you please take a look at the men' toilets? … Some guy told me one of them wasn't working." Castiel heard these words coming from a tall man standing across the place. The man was Castiel's boss and was wearing a plain shirt with a name tag on it saying Liam. Liam was taller than usual, and he had blonde hair paired with green eyes and a light beard.

"Yes, of course, Liam." Castiel replied quickly after he noticed Liam standing across the room. "Just give me a few minutes." He smiled awkwardly, and Liam nodded, leaving the room.

Cas looked around the room. He was standing in the storeroom of the gas station he was working at. The room was small and was filled with many shelves that contained everything a gas station would possibly sell. His job was to stock these goods and clean.

He finished labeling the item he was holding and put it down on the shelf. Then, he stood up and started walking outside of the room.

This was his second week working at the gas station as a janitor. After meeting Father John, the priest of the church, Castiel decided to stay at the local church for the night. One evening when he arrived back at the church, Father John was still there, working on something. They had a nice conversation where Father John found out that Castiel had spent his last few days looking for a job without any success.

Castiel told him that nobody would want to hire a homeless man who looks like him. He said he would keep trying, and the parson comforted him. Father John told Cas that the fact that he is trying to find a job is a very promising start. After Castiel explained his goal and his rudimentary plans, Father John felt relieved. The priest knew he had made the right decision when he let Castiel into his church. As a reward, Father John offered a simple job at the local gas station that wouldn't require any ID or experience. Father John was a well-respected man; he had connections, and he got this job for Castiel.

Cas was grateful. There were no other words that could possibly describe his feelings better. He was just genuinely so grateful.

He went outside of the gas station through the shop, and he walked back to the men's toilets. A few men were in there, but he didn't really bother them. He quickly and easily found the not functioning toilet and formed a plan in his head on how to fix the problem.

As Castiel was looking down at the toilet, a disgusted look appeared on his face. He took a moment to remember the times he used to fight battles in the name of God and compared these times to that exact moment, when he was standing above a toilet full of shit. This situation was full of shit, really.

After cleaning the toilet, almost throwing up, he went back to the shop where he met Jeannie, his coworker. She wasn't really his coworker, though. She was above him; she was a cashier, and she was older than him. Jeannie was about 35 years old, and Castiel knew from earlier conversations that she had a kid.

She was standing by the desk and was looking at her phone. She had just arrived, so this was their first meeting today.

"Hey Jeannie, how's it going?" Castiel asked, trying to sound cool and friendly. He wanted to make some friends since he didn't really have many people he could talk to.

"Great." She replied, not sharing too much information. Jeannie didn't even look up from her phone while answering. Since Cas thought that their conversation didn't really last long, he decided to go back to the storeroom to finish his job.

There he began to continue labeling the goods, which he actually found extremely dull. While his hands were working, his mind wandered. Castiel missed his old life, but he knew nothing would ever be the same, so he gathered his strength to stop feeling sorry for himself.

Hours passed, and Cas finally finished his work. He didn't even realize how long it took him until he looked up at the clock and saw it was already 6:27 pm. He stood up and stretched his back a bit; he was clearly feeling tired. Then he grabbed his backpack, which contained nothing. He found his backpack in the trash a few days ago, and after he found it, he immediately realized why it was thrown out. There was a huge hole in the back of the bag. It wasn't noticeable, so he kept it, and he put a bottle of water in it every day.

He walked outside of the building, saying goodbye to Jeannie and wishing her good night. Jeannie replied with attitude, saying it wasn't going to be a good night if she had to work all night. Castiel didn't say anything to that; he didn't really know what he could answer.

It was dark, and it was the end of February, so the weather was cold. Although it wasn't as cold as it was when he turned human, for which he was grateful. The streets looked lifeless, with only a few people walking there and some cars racing by them. The sky was clear with countless stars appearing, creating a beautiful atmosphere.

Castiel walked slowly due to his tiredness. When he saw the church across the road, he felt relieved, and he hurried up a bit. When he stepped inside, Father John was already standing there, waiting for Cas.

"Hello, Castiel, How was your day?" The older man nicely asked as he took something out of his pocket.

"Hey, thanks, it was alright. I had to fix one of the toilets and label a bunch of goods. I'm getting paid tomorrow." Castiel answered as he walked closer to the man.

Father John took some bread out of his pocket and handed it to Castiel. Sometimes the priest would bring food for him when Cas couldn't afford it. Today was one of those days.

Cas took the bread and smiled at him with gratitude in his eyes. A few minutes after their interaction, the parson left the building, and Castiel was left by himself.

He decided to have his bread as his dinner, so he began walking towards the back of the church. A door led him to the stairs that would lead him to the roof of the building. He took his time getting there, with each step getting even more tired. When he reached the top of the stairs, he grabbed the handle of the old wooden door and pushed it down. As the door opened, Castiel stepped out on the roof; the cold February breeze hit his face. He got goosebumps, and he felt the soft wind mess his hair. He took a few steps and then sat down on the floor.

He took out his bread and broke a piece of it. He lifted the small piece to his mouth and slowly chewed on it. It tasted awful; it was dry and hard. However, he didn't have a choice: bread or nothing. And ever since he knew how nothing felt, he insisted on bread. Father John didn't want to give Cas a shitty bread, probably, but Castiel didn't mind. He would feel terrible if the priest spent any money on Castiel. Castiel knew he had to earn his meal, and he was fine with the awful bread. He just had to stay alive.

As he sat there, he swallowed the bread and broke another piece of it, looking up at the sky. Oh, the sky. So beautiful. He never adored it before like that; he used to be up there, and he never knew what it really looked like from Earth. He didn't want to know; he never cared. But now that he was human, he noticed smaller things that he hadn't seen before. And the night sky was one of them. Ever since he captured its real value, he would spend his nights on the roof, despite the cold.

He kept looking at the stars, admiring them. What if he and Dean were both looking at the same constellation? Maybe they were both staring at the very same stars and missed each other. As these thoughts went through Castiel's mind, he got goosebumps, but he couldn't decide whether he got them because of the weather or because of the thought of Dean.

After he finished his bread, he fell asleep quickly. He didn't have the strength to make it back to the inside of the building, so he fell asleep there. He was lucky that it wasn't raining that night, and even luckier it wasn't snowing. A dream took over his mind slowly.

Castiel was standing in front of a grey and old church in his dream. He was wearing a black suit with a black tie; his hair wasn't messy at all. He looked like he just got out of the bathroom after he had spent hours getting ready. He could hear some organ melody coming from inside, but he couldn't see who was making the sound because the doors of the church were closed.

He stepped closer and pushed the door open with both of his hands. As the door opened, he flinched because inside it was so light. He lifted his right arm to cover his eyes. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, he put his hand down and looked around. He was standing at the start of the aisle, and people were sitting in the pews. Nobody turned to look at him; it felt like he was invisible. Then he took a few steps, and he kept scanning the people. He noticed Bobby, Sam, Jessica, Jo, and Ellen sitting next to each other in the second row. He looked around, but he didn't see Dean anywhere; he wasn't there. On the other side of the church, the people sitting on the pews were different. He saw Gabriel, Uriel, and Michael sitting next to each other, looking in front of themselves strictly. No emotion on their faces. As he turned, he saw even more familiar faces and people he recognized.

And out of nowhere he heard a voice. Just from the very first word he heard, he immediately recognized who the voice belonged to. He slowly turned around and saw Dean standing near the altar dressed as a priest. He was wearing a black cassock, and in his hand there was the Bible. Dean looked up to check if everyone was paying attention, but he didn't see Castiel standing there. He then opened his mouth and started speaking.

"He was kind and true to himself." He said, and Cas got a bit confused, not understanding what Dean meant. Who was he talking about?

"An angel lost its wings but grew stronger ones while being human." Dean continued, but the crowd didn't really react to anything.

Then, as Priest Dean kept talking, Castiel's eyes stopped scanning the room, focusing on only one thing. Next to the altar, he saw a black casket opened. He walked up to it to see it for himself. With each step, his fear grew even bigger. He knew what the coffin would contain, but he didn't want to believe it. He still had home. Dean was talking about someone Castiel didn't know. But as soon as he reached the casket, a disappointed and desperate look appeared on his face. His blue eyes filled with agony as he looked closer in his own eyes, which showed no emotion.

Inside the coffin, there he was, lying in the same suit he was wearing. Castiel saw himself pale and lifeless as he took a step back. It was his own funeral. People were grieving him and Dean... Dean was talking about him.

"I miss you, Castiel," he heard Dean say, and he looked up at Dean, but Dean didn't look at him. A tear shed from Dean's eye, and it fell on the floor. Castiel's heart breaks seeing Dean like that. He seemed so broken and defeated. He felt like he couldn't do this anymore, and he swiftly rushed out of the church. When he reached the streets, he looked around with frightened eyes to see the streets burn and the city die. Flames took over everything, and Castiel got so scared because he was human now. He was vulnerable. He turned around to rush back in the building, but its doors were closed. He tried to push it open with his hands but couldn't. The fire was stronger, and flames took over everything.

Castiel woke up sweating in the middle of the night, and he sat up quickly. He looked around still with the scared look on his face, and he realized that everything was okay. He calmed down, saying that it was just a dream. He repeated these words in his head a few more times. He felt the cold wind on his skin, and he, out of the blue, was cold. He was freezing, so he stood up and hurried inside.

He climbed the stairs and reached the place that made him feel comfortable. It was like a home.

He then put his head on the pew and fell asleep, hoping the awful and terrible dream wouldn't continue.

Chapter Text

"Four men have been murdered by a new serial killer so far. The latest victim was found dead at a motel in Wyoming last night." Dean heard the voice of a lady speaking about the news on television. He was sitting on his bed while he was sharpening a knife. He paid attention to the news because he was looking for a new hunt for himself. Although this case didn't really grab his attention. It seemed like a usual serial killer so far, and he wasn't interested in that.

Dean had decided to actually go for a hunt; he missed the adrenaline and the rush. He knew it wasn't the best to go alone, but he didn't have anyone to go with. And he wasn't looking for a dangerous hunt anyway; he just wanted a silly vampire or an easy werewolf.

"The victim's pockets contained fake FBI IDs, surprisingly. It is possible that the victim was working with the killer, according to the local sheriff." The woman said as Dean lifted his head to look at the TV. He turned his attention from the knife in his hands towards the television quickly. Now that sounded interesting. Fake FBI IDs are used by hunters, Dean thought. But it could be used by anyone, basically, so he focused on the knife again.

"The reason we know for sure we are dealing with a serial killer is because nails, hair, and parts of skin were also found at all crime scenes." Dean shifted his glance over to the TV with a confused and serious look on his face. "In a condition, we can surely connect."

Dean slowly put his knife on his bed next to himself and stepped closer to the television.

"Now, let's hear the weather forecast." The woman said, and a man appeared on the screen who started talking about the weather. That really didn't interest him at all, but the case clearly got his attention.

He stood up and rushed into the library, or, as he liked to call it, the living room of the bunker. Then he grabbed his laptop and pulled a chair out to sit on it. When he placed himself down comfortably, he opened the laptop and logged in. He then searched for Wyoming serial killer.

Not surprisingly, the first site that appeared was about the new case he just heard about recently. It was published by the police, so he knew he could rely on it. He started reading about the case, and after just a few minutes of researching, he knew the serial killer was a supernatural being.

He didn't know what exactly, but the remains of human skin, hair, and nails warned him. He suspected a shapeshifter, but he still didn't have enough evidence.

He pulled his mouth into a nearly invisible smile, and he closed the laptop. He finally had something that felt like a little goal. He wanted to end the killer. Because if a shapeshifter kills, if it really is a shapeshifter, it kills by choice, not by instinct.

He called Sam shortly after he had made his decision to visit Wyoming. They had a short conversation as Dean explained the case in such an excited tone to his little brother, and Sam told him to be safe and careful. He also said that if anything goes wrong, Dean has to call Sam and let him know. Sam also made Dean promise him that if he needs help, Sam will be the first one to call. Dean's heart melted when he heard his little Sammy be so worried. After the phone call had ended, Dean went to get his stuff.

He packed his weapons and equipment carefully that he might possibly need for killing the monster. He grabbed his keys, his phone, and his leather jacket and started the car.

He was ready for all of it. Dean knew that it would take almost ten hours of driving to get to Wyoming, but he didn't care. There were times when he had to drive so much more. But not alone.

When he started driving, it was about 10 in the morning, so he planned to stay in a motel for the night. The drive there was lonely and boring. After a few hours, Dean turned down the volume of the music he was playing. He just had to drive and kill, he thought.

After driving for almost 7 hours straight, Dean felt exhausted. He knew he was almost there; Wyoming was only about 3 hours away now, but he knew even if he arrived in time, he would be useless while being this tired. His hands on the wheel were aching for rest, and he felt his eyes slowly close, and then he opened them swiftly.

He knew it was time to put his head down on a cheap pillow now, so when he noticed the next motel, he parked his car and got out, stretching his back and legs. He felt his stomach growl; he just realized he was basically starving. He hadn't really eaten anything today, and it suddenly hit him how hungry he was.

He went in and asked for a room as soon as he could. When the nice receptionist lady handed him the keys, he immediately rushed out to find a vending machine. It didn't take him much time to find one, and he ordered some sweets. It wasn't the ideal dinner, but he didn't have any other choice. He didn't even wait to reach his room; he opened the chocolate he had just bought and took a huge bite.

He made a little mhm sound, feeling the sweet taste of the chocolate on his tongue. He started walking towards his room, and when he opened the door, he didn't bother to look around. He didn't bother to turn the light on. He locked the door and kicked his shoes off. On his way to bed, he grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his bare chest. As soon as he reached the bed, he jumped into it and pulled the blanket over his head. He closed his green eyes and soon began snoring loudly.

The next day, he woke up feeling a sharp pain in his neck from lying in the same position for too long. He sat up, stretching his neck, and wasted no time. He dressed up and left the room holding some chips in his right hand. He was wearing the very same clothes he was yesterday. Dean gave the key back to the receptionist and went back to his car. While he was placing himself comfortably in the car, a sudden adrenaline portion rushed over his body, and he was so excited about hunting once again.

He didn't like hunting, not at all. He didn't like killing and murdering, but he knew it was his job. Hunting was just what he had to do for the better. And this time it gave him a goal, not a big one, but enough to make him keep going.

He started the car and drove straight to Wyoming without stopping the engine once. The long minutes turned into hours, and Dean finally arrived at his destination.

He parked his beautiful Impala in front of the small police station and went in. He was looking for the sheriff to get every piece of information about the killings. Inside the small building, he noticed a young man talking on the phone behind the counter. When he turned his hand, he saw a man with a sheriff tag on his chest and an older woman talking not far away. He decided to leave the receptionist and just went straight to the sheriff.

"Sheriff." Dean called out, and the man's head quickly turned to face Dean. "I'm Agent Reed from the FBI. I'm here to solve the Wyoming serial killer case," he introduced himself as he took out his fake ID and showed it to the man.

"Oh, well hello, cutie." Before the sheriff could reply, the older lady cut him off. She was standing next to the sheriff, wearing a purple cardigan and blue glasses. Dean showed a fast smile at him and turned his face back towards the sheriff.

"Agent Reed, I'm really glad you're here. I could use some help with the case certainly." the sheriff said.

"I'm Sheriff Stokes; I'm working on this case. Come on, let's get into it!" Stokes finished, and he waved his hand for Dean to follow him. Dean did what he was told and followed the man into his office.

"So, five men were killed brutally. Human remains, such as hair, nails, and skin, were found in all crime scenes. They all had fake IDs and weapons." The sheriff explained the details of the case.

"Five? I thought four people had died." Dean showed a confused look on his face.

"The fifth victim was just found hours ago in the backyard of a woman's house." The sheriff explained, and Dean felt so disappointed. Another hunter probably was killed because he wasn't fast enough.

"Have you interviewed the woman?"

"Not yet, I was just about to, but now that you're here, you could go for it if you'd like."

Dean decided to do it by himself, and after he got all the official papers and documents about the case, he started his car and went to the woman's house.

When he got out, he felt the cold breeze hit his face. It was a rainy day, and the sky was dark.

He walked up to the house and knocked on the door a few times. The woman opened the door and let Dean in. After introducing themselves, she suggested they sit in her living room, and Dean accepted the kind offer.

"So, Mrs. Avery, when and how did you find the body exactly?" Dean asked as he looked in the woman's eyes.

"Oh, well, I just came home from work, and I was about to give water to the plants, and as I stepped out, I saw blood. All I saw was blood. I followed where it came from, and there he was, lying lifeless." A tear shed from her eyes.

"The worst part is the message he left. How am I going to wash it off?!" The lady cried out as Dean frowned.

"What message?"

"He painted a sentence on the wall of my house. With blood."

"Can I see?" Dean asked, and they both stood up. Mrs. Avery led him outside, and Dean's eyes widened as he saw the message.

"Now I hunt." Dean read out loud what he saw written on the wall with blood.

Now he was sure that the shapeshifter was killing hunters. He already looked over the names of the victims, and he felt so relieved when he realized he didn't know them. It could've been someone he knew.

He thanked the lady and soon after left. He went back to the sheriff's office and looked back at all the recordings there were.

He was watching the videos for at least an hour when he saw something interesting finally. In the video there was a man walking into a store when he looked in the camera, and Dean saw it. The strange man's eyes shined, and Dean was sure it was a shapeshifter.

But he couldn't figure out yet how he knew about the hunters identities. He clearly understood the pattern, that he was targeting hunters, but hunters never reveal themselves. They are good at hiding, so how did he find out about their true selves?

He went through the known data about the victims a few days before the murders again and again. He missed something; he knew he did. He just didn't know what. He yawned, and he put his head in his hands as he let himself disconnect from all of it for a slight moment.

Maybe if Sam were here, he would see what Dean couldn't.

But he wasn't, so Dean started reading the documents over again. After long minutes of rereading, he suddenly noticed something. A bar. They all went to a bar that was not far from the motel where he was staying.

Dean smiled at the news because he managed to do it by himself. He grabbed his keys and hurried to his car.

------

'S. Colt Bar' Dean read the sign and suddenly understood why all the hunters visited this place. S. Colt Bar was a unified designation for bars that meant a safe place for hunters. If a hunter needed help, these bars offered it. Dean lowered his gun and put it into his pocket as he stepped into the bar.

He had been to these bars a few times when he was younger. Dean had visited the S. Colt bar with his father, John, once or twice, and he remembered that these bars were joyful. It was a place where hunters could meet safely, without any strange looks. They could discuss methods, and they could talk about their achievements freely.

Dean grabbed the door handle and pushed it down as he stepped in. When the door opened, a sharp ringing noise was heard. And Dean's smirk faded as he saw the half-abandoned bar. It was nothing like he remembered.

The bar was close to empty, only a few loners enjoying their drink in each corner of the room. The waitress looked like she was forced to be there, and her eyes reflected almost no emotion. Dean saw the bar chairs all over the place, most of them broken. The pool was dirty, and leftover food was left on it.

Dean stepped closer to the waitress and asked her. "What happened here?"

The woman looked up and didn't reply and instead asked him. "Can I get you anything?"

Dean turned his head, suspecting something bad, and replied calmly.

"No, thanks. Just wanted to check out what's up in here. I better get going," he finished as he stood up. From where he was standing now, he noticed something strange and terrifying. He saw the exact replica of the waitress lying there with blood all around her body. As Dean's eyes widened, the waitress clearly noticed as she stepped closer to the counter.

He found it. Dean found the shapeshifter disguised as a waitress. He immediately reached his pocket, where he had put the gun before. When he didn't feel the familiar cold steel, he swallowed loudly. He looked up at the shifter standing right in front of him as he realized she was the one holding his gun.

He didn't know she got it, but the monster was pointing the gun right at Dean, and he raised his hands. He wasn't really in the mood to get shot by a shapeshifter and die.

So this is how the shifter got their victims. They all came here for help. For safety. And they were trapped; they all ended up being dead. Some managed to run, but they all finished their lives the same way. And now Dean was trapped; he was naive and actually thought this place could offer safety. No place could, not in Dean's experience.

Dean was ready for a fight; however, he knew that battle wouldn't be fair and he would most likely die from it, but he was ready for it.

Just as he was about to run towards the shapeshifter, suddenly he heard a ringing noise. He saw the shifter's head quickly turn towards the entry door in slow motion. Then a deafeningly loud sound filled the place. As Dean's eyes widened, he saw the bullet reach its destination, and it went right through the shifter's brain. The shifter collapsed on the floor. Blood started to flow and soon covered everything. Although Dean wasn't standing close to the counter, he felt the red liquid reach his skin. A tiny drop of blood landed right under his right eye as, with a shocking expression, he turned his face to finally see what happened exactly. He knew someone entered the door and murdered the monster; he just didn't understand who or why.

He could only see a dark figure of a man standing at the door. He didn't see his face yet, but he saw that he was a few inches taller than Dean and he was fit, trained.

Dean stepped closer to see the man better, and when he did, he saw a familiar face. His eyes widened.

"Elliott?" Dean questioned while he was still looking at the man in front of him, shocked.

"Oh my goodness, Dean Winchester?!" The man said, and he seemed really surprised as well.

Dean stared at the familiar face, and a thousand memories flooded his mind. Elliott Murdock. Dean met Elliott Murdock back when he was around 16 years old. One time Dean was caught shoplifting; he actually just wanted to feed his little brother when they caught him, and he was soon sent to Sonny's Boys' Home. Sonny's Boys' Home was on a farm where Sonny, the owner, would help younger troubled men start over. Sonny used to teach them and set them on the right path.

Dean spent overall at least two months there, and he enjoyed his time there. No hunting, no killing, and no John. He actually found joy in working on the farm with boys his age. Elliott Murdock arrived a week after Dean did. They were the new ones, so they got on pretty well. They became friends and spent a lot of time together. Dean even trusted him enough to tell Elliott about hunting supernatural beings.

Their friendship was strong, and they connected easily, but they didn't have much time to enjoy it. One night John arrived with Sma sitting in the back of the Impala looking for Dean. Sonny tried to convince Dean to stay because he knew that John had a negative grip that was holding Dean down, but Dean chose to go back to his family. Not for John, not for hunting, but for his little brother, Sammy.

Elliott didn't have anyone that would want him back, so when Dean woke him up to say goodbye, he felt betrayed. And when Dean left, his heart ached for his first and only true friend, who would understand him. Elliott didn't know, but Dean tried to convince his father to take Elliott with them. He even mentioned that he told Elliott about their lives as hunters, but all he got from John for that was a purple bruise under his eye.

John beat him for his actions, not in front of Sam, of course, but he still did. One hit under his right eye for shoplifting, one on his collarbonefor talking back, a kick on his stomach for telling Elliott, and one on his nose for being weak. Elliott didn't know this, of course, and Dean felt terrible that he wasn't able to help Elliott back then.

Now Elliott Murdock was standing right in front of him wearing a navy blue leather jacket with a simple black shirt under it. He paired these with jeans and a gun. His stubble started to show, and his dark brown eyes focused on Dean.

Elliott stepped closer and pulled Dean in for a half hug. Dean, still a bit surprised, hugged his old friend and looked at him.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked, clearly curious.

"I was hunting, and I saved your ass, bro. That shifter was a cunning little shit." Elliott answered playfully, and he was clearly excited that he got to see his childhood friend again.

"You're a hunter?!"

"Yeah, you know shit happens, and after you introduced me to this world, I realized a few things. One of these was that I had to choose this path, this life." Elliott replied, and he suggested going outside.

"Are you going home?" Dean asked.

"I don't really go home; I hunt all the time. I usually stay in motels," he said and looked Dean in the eyes. "-you?

"I live in Kansas now," he stated, and a cold breeze hit his face as they were standing under the stars. Dean took a moment of silence and looked up to the sky. He stared at the beautiful collection of planets and stars forming even more mesmerizing constellations. He then had this sudden idea out of the blue and said.

"It's been a long time, buddy. If… if you want, you could come back to Kansas with me if you'd like a bit of rest." Dean started feeling a bit awkward. He was feeling sorry for his friend; he knew this kind of life all too well. And because of this, he knew how exhausting it is to travel constantly and murder every day. If someone had offered him anything like what he was suggesting now, a safe place, Dean would've been happy to relax for a few days.

"You know, just for a few days, to get away from all of it." Dean said as he looked back at Elliott.

Elliott pulled his lips into a grateful smile and nodded slowly. "That would mean a lot, Dean. I missed you honestly; it's been so long. I haven't even heard from you." Elliott said, and he offered Dean's genuine offer.

"You said you'd write me." Dean kept a serious expression and kept the eye contact.

"I wanted to, really. I didn't know your address." Elliott said sadly, and a sudden rush of nostalgia rushed over Dean.

"I didn't have one."

And with that their short conversation ended as they walked over to the Impala.

"Is this your car?" Dean asked Elliott as he pointed his fingers towards the old car in front of him.

"No, I just borrowed it. We can go with your car; I'll leave this one here," he said, and he went over to open his car's trunk. Dean helped him to pack his things, and they drove to Elliott's motel room, and Elliott quickly gathered his things, which were not much.

Then they sat in the car, and Dean turned the key to start the car. This journey had a really good outcome this time, Dena thought. An old friend and some good memories came flooding back as he started to drive. Dean was surprised that Elliott Murdock turned out to be a coldblooded hunter, but he was glad they met once again. It felt refreshing.

They started the ten-hour car trip back to Kansas, to the bunker.

The bunker was empty, lifeless, now that Sam was gone. Now that Castiel was gone. Dean was alone, and he could use some company. He wanted to help Elliott, offer him a few days of peace. However, Dean couldn't decide whether he wanted Elliott to stay to help him or for selfish reasons. Dean wanted company; he wanted a friend, and Elliott was there.

Dean turned the music on as he heard the familiar melody playing. He nodded his head to the rhythm of the song and looked over to his friend sitting next to him. Elliott seemed to enjoy the music too, and Dean looked back at the road and continued to drive in peace.

Chapter Text

"Dean?" Sam asked in a raspy voice, and Dean could hear the creak as his little brother sat up on it. "Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Is everything okay?"

Dean was sitting in the library back in the bunker. His friend Elliott was sleeping in one of the many bedrooms. They just got back, and Dean wanted to tell everything that happened to Sam, just so he knows. His brother didn't know that Dean had spent two months at Sonny's place when he was 16; he didn't know anything about that. And that's why Dean wanted to share his past with Sam; he wanted to introduce Elliott. Maybe he should've waited till the morning, but he couldn't.

"Yes, everything's alright. I'm having an old friend stay over at the bunker." He said, and he kept his voice down because he didn't want Elliott to accidentally hear them talking. And also, he didn't want to wake him.

"Really?! That was the big deal?" Sam asked, and Dean could hear that he was annoyed and tired. "Who is it?"

"You don't know him; his name is Elliott. You should come over tomorrow morning. I want to introduce you to him."

"Okay, Dean. I will, then. I still don't get it. Why did you have to wake me up for this?"

"So you wouldn't make other plans for the morning, little brother." Dean said, and then he said goodbye to Sam, and they both hung up.

In reality, he feared his brother might make other plans. Deep in his heart he thought maybe his baby brother would rather spend his time with anyone other than his own brother, and this feeling consumed Dean.

Dean was really tired; the way back home wasn't that exhausting since Elliott drove too, but still he felt worn out.

He stood up and turned the light off, walking into his own room. He looked around and saw that everything was just like he had left it. He didn't turn the TV on; he didn't really want to do anything. He didn't understand his feelings really because earlier he was so full of hope that Elliott would change something. And now, he saw nothing had changed, and he realized nothing really did. Not his room, not his sins, not his past. Not the void in his chest longing for someone he can't have.

He visited the bathroom, and when he looked in the mirror, he didn't feel the war inside of him; he only felt the emptiness. He felt everything at once and nothing at all, but he was so tired he just couldn't care. He just couldn't physically deal with it. Not mentally either.

He didn't change his clothes, although his shirt was soaked in now-dry blood and his jeans were dirty. He put his head on the pillow but didn't close his eyes; he instead stared at the wall looking for answers. He felt the cold February breeze on his skin, and he got goosebumps. He suddenly felt like he was freezing, so he reached for the blanket, but his hand froze halfway, and instead of covering himself, he put his hands back next to himself. He was cold, but he didn't use a blanket; he felt like he didn't deserve it.

He fell asleep quickly, and a strange dream appeared in front of his eyes.

He was lying on his back on the hard floor, and when he opened his eyes, everything around him was pitch black. It was night, so dark, but he didn't know where he was. He could barely move, something so close to his face over him, and his chest touched it. His hands reached the object over him, but he couldn't really figure out where he was really. He felt cold wood over his head, and he managed to turn his head to his side.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a door next to his not far away. His face froze as he needed a few moments to forget his shock. He recognized this exact door; it had been so long since he had seen it.

Suddenly he felt trapped as he knew he was sure he was lying under the bed. Although it was just a dream, it felt so real. He could feel the bed put pressure on his chest, and he felt his right ear touch a spiderweb.

He frowned, and just as he was about to try to get out from under the bed, something or someone moved over him. The bed creaked with a loud noise that broke the dead silence of the dark room.

Dean remembered this room all too well. He spent his happiest years there, his first 4 years. He was just a little child when he lived there, but those times were the most normal ones in his whole life. He was part of the perfect family, and he loved every second of it. His mother, Mary, was alive back then. Dean remembers that she used to bake him pie, Dean's favorite. She would read him bedtime stories and play with him. Sammy was just a baby, and Dean didn't remember much from him, but he could recall that sometimes Dean would help his mother look out for his baby brother or help him eat. He used to play with him even when Sammy couldn't even walk ortalk.

And Dean remembered his father. Dean felt weird thinking about him, and for once not only bad memories floated into his mind. He recalled the way his dad would play with him and how often they would go to the park. Dean felt loved, something he hadn't felt ever since. Dean loved his dad in that house, but as they left the house, they also left the loving version of John.

Sadness hovered over Dean's head, and he wished he could unrecall how they were almost the perfect family. Almost.

He stayed still, his eyes fixated on the door of the room. He felt so trapped, anxiety taking over. His breathing got heavier and heavier, and he felt the need to get out of the small place immediately. He tried to move, but he didn't want to make a sound. He felt his sweat on his forehead and on his skin, and he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. It wasn't that he was claustrophobic, although he was a little. But the feeling of lying under a bed hiding, not knowing what he was hiding from, made him uneasy.

"Dad!" Dean heard the voice of a frightened little boy as he realized it was himself shouting. He heard the little version of Dean call for his father, and he didn't quite remember this moment exactly. Dean didn't move and didn't make a sound. The feeling of anxiety vanished, and fear took over its place. He could still feel the cold liquid on his skin, and he wanted to disappear so badly.

"Dad!" he heard the little boy cry out again for his father, and Dean began to feel nervous; he was afraid his dad might actually enter his room.

Dean heard steps coming from the door, and just when the steps got louder, the door suddenly opened and familiar boots appeared in front of Dean's eyes. He turned his head because he didn't want to look at John; he didn't want to see his face.

Dean closed his eyes, and without even realizing it, he clenched his hands into fists. When he felt the sharp pain on his palm and the warm blood dripping from the tiny wounds caused by his nails, he opened his eyes slowly. It was just a second, and he would hear his voice.

"Dean, are you okay? What happened?" John asked the little boy sitting on the bed with the blanket covering his whole body. John stepped closer to the bed and turned on the lamp on the bedside table next to the bed. Dean stayed silent under the bed, and he started listening to their conversations. Dean wasn't sure this dream was a memory or just a nightmare. Most of his nightmares were memories.

Dean felt anxiety creep up on his skin, and his lung seemed to fail him. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He wanted to disappear so much. He wished he wasn't there; he wished he was invisible. He just wanted to be gone. He would've given everything to wake up. Everything but nothing happened, and the nightmare continued.

This isn't happening. Dean started to repeat this affirmation in his head.
This isn't happening.
This isn't happening.
This isn't happening.
This isn't happening.
This isn't happening.

He knew he had to shut up, so he calmed his breathing back to normal. He felt like the lack of fresh air would make him faint at any moment, but he wouldn't mind. Eventually, after a few moments, his breathing went back to mostly normal, and he seemed to be a bit calmer than not so long ago.

"Was it a nightmare, buddy?" John asked, and Dean could hear him smile. He heard movement on the bed, and when John hugged the little boy, Dean under the bed felt even more pressure on his chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe, but he stayed silent.

"No, Dad." The little boy's voice was low and quiet, like someone was listening to their conversation. "It's here." He then whispered, and his dad hugged him.

"We've talked about this, Dean. Monsters don't exist. There is nothing to be afraid of, pal." John comforted the young boy, and he stood up; his boots made some noise, and Dean turned his head. He saw his father's boots, the boots that Dean sometimes still used when he felt like it. He couldn't see John's face because he was still too close to the bed.

"Daddy, the monster is under my bed. Please save me!" The little boy shouted with pure fear in his voice.

Dean's heart sank as he realized that the monster under his bed was himself. Little Dean was so afraid to grow up to be like this. And Dean knew he was; he really felt like he was. Still, hearing those words made him feel a hole in his chest. The adult Dean was everything the young one was afraid of; he was everything the young one hated. Dean was the monster under the bed.

He felt a cold tear shed from his eye and fall down slowly on his skin, and he quickly wiped the tear with his hand. He felt so disappointed. He let down little Dean and let down himself.

He heard the boy begging his daddy to save him from the monster he was about to become. But instead of saving him, his father turned him into the biggest one.

He felt like a failure. Like he was a criminal who committed the worst crimes, and instead of being put in prison, he was judged to spend the rest of his life by himself on an isolated island. And it hurt. Dean barely ever showed his emotions, but since no one was watching, he let himself shed a few tears. It hurt him so much.

Funny how a dream hurt Dean more than all the times his father beat him.

When he woke up for a moment, he felt dizzy, and he had no idea what happened. Then the cruel nightmare from last night kicked him in the nuts. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, reliving everything from last night. The feeling of being stuck under his childhood bed, the pressure on his chest, the voice of his father. It all came back to his mind like he couldn't get away from it.

He was the monster. The sad truth twisted his mind; he felt so awful. So drained.

He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, and he just couldn't erase the sound of his father's boots. He clenched his jaw and put both of his hands on his head. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood up.

The words of the little version of himself, "Daddy, the monster is under my bed. Please save me!" echoed in his mind. He wanted to comfort that boy and wanted to tell him that his daddy was not coming to save him.

As Dean stepped in the bathroom to take a shower after such a long night, he remembered that his friend was a few rooms away from him and they had so much to talk about. It's been such a long time.

It had been a long time with so much left unsaid.

Chapter Text

Jennifer Grower. Her name was Jennifer Grower. She was 21 years old. As Castiel sat there reading this information, guilt took over his heart. He frowned and concentrated on the words on the screen.

Cas found out about the local library just a few days ago from Jeannie, her coworker. He didn't know that the library was free. Well, when he first went there, he had to sign a few papers to have the library ID card, but after he did that, he was free to go whenever he wanted.

Well, it hadn't been too long since he turned human, but now that he was working, time seemed to pass faster. He got his library card a week ago, and this was the second time he went there. He loved reading there; it was all so quiet and warm. The smell of new books made him feel so comfortable, but the touch of the pages of the antique books reminded him of Dean. Late-night talkings at the bunker. Reading, getting information by going through the old books from the library of the bunker. It all came back to Dean.

Today Cas noticed a lady using the computer, and he decided to try it out for himself as well. He had no idea how the computer worked, and it took him a few hours to figure out what Google is. He didn't ask for help, though; he knew he was all by himself now, and he had to live and learn by himself. So he did; he chose the hard way. He searched up the name Jennifer Grower first. He remembered her name; how could he forget? The lady who gave her life for a stupid mistake.

He found a ton of information about her online. It was so weird for Cas to search and read from a computer. And he was not good at it; he always accidentally clicked on something else, and he even deleted some apps from the computer.

Jennifer Grower died at 21; some criminal attacked her on the street and stabbed her. Her family grieves her deeply; she was a daughter, a girlfriend, and a genuine person.

As Cas read these words, tears shed from his eyes as he sobbed quietly. He put his hand to cover his mouth, but nothing could cover how deeply guilty he felt. He just couldn't move on. Not from the fact that he had murdered her and not from what Dean said.

Dean. He missed Dean. He thought about him daily, really. But he knew Dean didn't want to see Castiel, so he let him be.

It was raining outside, and Castiel heard the heavy raindrops on the roof. It was dark outside, and since it was Saturday, he didn't have to go to work. He spent his entire day in the library since he didn't have anywhere else to go. He couldn't spend his days in the church because Father John was there with people. And so he went to the library and read.

He felt awful that people and Jennifer's family believed that their loved one was stabbed by some random criminal on the street. Instead, in reality, she was murdered by a ghost because of Castiel. And for Castiel this was devastating.

He quickly wiped away his tears and grabbed the mouse. He clicked on the big red X mark in the corner and stood up. He fixed his dirty coat and grabbed the book he was reading earlier. He swiftly put it back in its place and began to leave the library.

He walked to the door and looked back, waving a goodbye to the man sitting beside the counter. The man waved back, and Cas left the building.

In the meantime he had forgotten that it was raining, so he got totally soaked. His hair became wet in minutes, and his clothes weren't so dirty anymore. It was cold, the rain was heavy, and Cas was freezing. He walked back to the now empty church, and as he stepped in, he felt relieved that nobody was really inside. Not even Father John.

He was shaking, and he felt his lips turn purple. He sat down and took off his coat. Then he was still freezing, so he quickly lit a candle and put it beside himself. He decided that he had to take some other clothes off too, so he started to undress himself. He took everything off except his underwear. He was now sitting on a pew, shaking from the cold weather, wearing just his white underwear. His skin was cold, and he put his hands over the candle. It didn't warm him up.

He was cold and hungry, starving. He didn't have any choice but to sleep. Whenever he was hungry, he put his head on a pew and fell asleep. And then he wasn't starving. He knew this wasn't a solution, but he really couldn't gather any food.

So this was what he did now too. He put his legs up and his head down on the hardwood. He closed his eyes, and as he did that, Jennifer Grower's frightened face appeared in front of his eyes. His past haunted him, not letting him forget his sins. He saw as the girl stepped in to save Dean, not knowing she would die from the action. He remembered not saying anything to Dean when he noticed the ghost behind him, and he honestly didn't know why.

He fell asleep thinking he murdered an innocent girl named Jessica Grower. A 21-year-old girl who just got old enough to drink. Whose life was just about to begin. Who had a boyfriend and a loving family and a future Castiel took from her.

Cas woke up with a sore throat. He didn't know what it was, and when he opened his eyes, he felt pain. His eyes widened at the unusual feeling of pain in his throat, and he got scared. What happened? Why was his throat hurting? Nobody did anything to him, so he didn't understand.

Pain vanished suddenly, and fear took over its place. Castiel had a frightening thought that maybe he was about to die. Was he dying? A thousand thoughts ran through his head as he set up.

He was shivering; his body was shaking. But he just noticed that at the same time he was freezing and he was sweating. Was he really dying? He felt terrible. He felt like he couldn't breathe. And with that he realized that he really couldn't breathe. It was like his nose was blocked, and he was so afraid. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do. He turned his head and looked around. He didn't know what to do.

He quickly grabbed his clothes. They were all still a bit wet from the rain before, but he felt the need to take them on. It was a Sunday morning, and he didn't have anything to do. His plans included going to the homeless shelter for lunch and then straight to the library. On Sundays in the homeless shelter, free food was given to those who needed it. And Cas really needed it; the last time he had eaten a proper meal was on Wednesday when he got his payment. After receiving the little money, he rushed to the small grocery shop and spent almost all his money. It was his first payment and the first time he ever received money he had worked for. He bought some food, like bread and snacks, and a toothbrush with toothpaste and the least expensive shower gel. That was all he could buy with that little money. And he was so hungry he had eaten them all that day. He hadn't eaten ever since.

As he started to put his pants on, he heard the door open. The creaking sound of the door made his head turn to face the person who had just entered. He found himself in front of Father John, who appeared to be confused by what he was seeing. Castiel quickly grabbed his pants and pulled them on, covering himself.

"Castiel, Is everything alright, my child?" He asked and closed the door behind him. He was wearing the same clothes he always did and stepped closer to Cas.

"I'm so sorry; I know I shouldn't be here by now. I fell asleep, and I don't feel so well. But I was just about to leave. Please forgive me." Castiel replied, not realizing he shouldn't apologize for anything.

"There is no sin for me to forgive, son. What do you mean you don't feel so well?" He asked, a curious and worried expression appearing on his face.

"I might be dying." He said it simply, and the parson standing in front of him seemed to be shocked.

"And why would you say that?"

"I can't breathe. I'm sweating, however, I am freezing. And I'm so tired. I've heard about this disease. Stay away, Father; it might be infectious." Castiel said with pure worry on his face, and he took a step back, trying to keep the man away. He didn't want to kill another person.

The priest smiled softly and stepped closer. Cas' eyes widened, and just as he was about to open his mouth, he was caught off by the sweet laugh of the priest. Cas' worry changed into pure confusion as he asked.

"What is so funny about this?"

The parson didn't answer anything; he just stepped closer and raised his hand. As the priest put his hands closer to him, Castiel flinched, and he closed his eyes. Then when nothing happened, he opened them and saw the heartbreaking expression on the man's face. Father John seemed worried and sad. He wasn't laughing anymore.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Castiel," he said, and his hand finally reached Cas' forehead. Castiel looked in the man's eyes and waited for him to say something.

"I believe you have the flu. You have a high temperature. Maybe you should lie down for a bit. You're ill."

"So maybe I will survive?" Castiel asked, hoping the man would say yes.

"Not maybe, but definitely you will. You just need to rest."

"I'll come back tonight, thank you." Castiel quietly said, looking down at his hands.

"You'll need medicine. And please stay here. You can stay here; no need to leave in a rush. Everything is alright, child. You need to heal, and then you'll find a way to move on. Only a few people will visit me today, and you won't do any harm. Stay."

Cas raised his eyebrow, and he was so shocked that someone offered him such nice things. But he shouldn't be so surprised; it was Father John Martin. Basically a saint in Castiel's eyes.

"Why?"

"What why?" The priest asked, confused.

"Why do you help me?"

"I believe in you. One day, Castiel, you will grow wings as beautiful as an angel, and I will be proud to say I helped."

"How do I say thank you for everything?" Cas asked, and he felt like he couldn't give anything that would be enough to express how grateful he actually was.

"No need to do that. I became a priest to help, and I'm happy to do that." Father John said honestly and smiled softly at him.

Castiel leaned closer to the priest and looked him in the eyes deeply. With honest and sincere gratitude in his eyes, he promised Father John this. "I will repay your kindness one day. I will show you how grateful I really am. One day, if I have the chance for a better life, I will give you half of what I've earned, and that's how you will know that what you did for me meant everything ever to me."

The priest smiled and nodded; Father John was proud. He knew he made a good mistake letting Cas stay and help him.

The man went back, and a few minutes later came back with a blanket in his hands. He handed it to Castiel and led him to the pew that was closest to the entry.

"Lie here, and I'll get you medicine. Rest, you need to rest."

Ca nodded, and he laid down his head once again. He sniffed, and he wiped his nose on the coat he was still holding. He just realized he was still half naked, but he didn't put his shirt on, since it was still so cold on his skin.

He put the blanket on his cold, soft skin and closed his eyes.

The next time he opened his eyes was because he felt hands on his shoulder. He saw the priest standing in front of him holding a cup of water with some pills in his hands. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He took the pills and drank the water he was holding. The man promised Cas he would heal, and he believed him.

A few hours later it was around noon, and Castiel woke up feeling slightly better. He wasn't sweating anymore; however, he felt his head pounding slowly. His sore throat was the same, and he felt like he needed fresh air.

He stood up with the blanket still covering himself and looked around. The church seemed empty; not even the priest was there, and Castiel walked around the small place. He opened the doors and stepped outside. The sudden light blinded him, but his eyes slowly adjusted to the sun. He looked around and saw that today was a nice, sunny day. He decided to take a walk, thinking maybe the rays of sun would cure him.

He walked with a peaceful feeling in his heart. He didn't stop until he saw something that changed this feeling. A phone booth right in front of him on the other side of the road. He looked around to see if it was safe to cross the road, and when he realized it was, he walked across it.

When he reached the booth, he stopped and looked at it. He just stared at it for a few moments, still covering his bare chest with the old blanket he had gotten from Father John. He didn't really feel cold; he instead focused on the caressing touch of the rays of the beautiful sun. He felt the light on his face, on his skin.

He then stepped forward, reaching for the handle of the phone booth. Opening the door, he stepped inside and found a directory. He grabbed it quickly and opened it. Inside he found names listed under each other with addresses and phone numbers under them.

After long minutes of running the last names starting with W over, he disappointedly looked up from the book. After that he had an idea and looked down at the book again. He turned some pages and started looking at Kansas addresses. He concentrated and dragged his finger through the pages as he continued to read the addresses.

Suddenly, his gaze fell on an address, and he stopped breathing immediately. He held his breath as he recognized the address. He read the number next to the address, and without even thinking, he dialed it.

He nervously pulled the phone to his ear and listened to the phone making a beep sound every few seconds. He was waiting for someone to pick it up. Not for anyone, but for someone. He felt anxiety build up in his body, and his expression was serious. Hopeful, though.

Then the beeping sound stopped, and he heard the so familiar voice on the other side of the line. His heart skipped a beat, and he held his breath back so he could stay as silent as he could. He wanted to listen carefully; he didn't want to ruin it with his breathing.

"Hello?" Dean said, and Castiel recognized that voice right away. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out of it.

"Hello?" Dean repeated the question, and Cas knew he was confused. Nobody called the bunker because it was old and nobody knew of it. Of course it was in the directory, but nobody cared. People didn't just randomly dial the number because the number next to the address had no meaning.

"Is there anyone? Who is there?!" Dean asked nervously, and Cas heard that he was annoyed by that tone.

Then Castiel hung up the phone without even saying anything. The phone call ended, and Castiel thought Dean probably didn't think much of it. However, for Castiel, hearing Dean's voice meant so much. The so missed deep voice on the end of the line made Castiel miss Dean even more. Cas knew Dean didn't want to be found, so he addressed in himself that calling him was stupid and looked around.

He heard his stomach rumble, and he felt so hungry. He could eat anything. Anything. He started walking back to the church, his home. He hoped the priest would give him some food, and he felt pathetic. He was hoping for food so badly.

He walked back with a hint of nostalgia in his soul and hunger in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Dean rushed up the stairs as soon as he heard the loud knocks on the door and pulled the handle to open it. And there he was standing, his little brother, wearing a checkered shirt with jeans, nothing special. His hair grew a bit since Dean had last seen him, but Sam seemed peaceful.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said and hugged him. They went down the stairs, and Dean led Sam to the kitchen, where Elliott was making breakfast.

"So Sammy, this is Elliott. And Elliott, this is my little brother, Sam." He introduced them to each other, and they shook hands, smiling.

"The little Sammy, you know Dean was talking about you on and on back in the home. It's nice to finally put a face to the name." Elliott said, and he turned back to the scrambled eggs he was making.

Dean looked at Sam with worry in his eyes, because Dean didn't tell how they met yet. Sammy's face seemed confused as he furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Dean for an explanation.

"Can we talk?" Sam asked, and Dean nodded with fear in his stomach. They went outside of the kitchen and stopped in the hallway where Elliott couldn't hear them talk.

Then Sam stopped and turned to face Dean. Dean took a step back and found himself looking up to his little brother, who seemed pretty confused.

"Where do you know this guy from, Dean? What home was she talking about?"

"Remember when I wasn't around for a few months when I was 16?" Dean asked and locked eyes with Sam. "I told you Dad sent me on a hunt alone."

"Yeah, I remember," Sam said with still a confused look on his face.

"Well, I was actually caught while shoplifting, and they sent me to a boys' home. And Dad left me there to punish me." Dean said with one breath quickly while keeping a serious face. He waited for Sam's reaction.

"What?" Sam asked, and his voice cracked. He looked at his brother in disbelief.

Dean just stood there not saying anything at first, but he decided to explain it to him.

"I was stealing, and I was sent to this home called Sonny's Boys Home. It was full of troubled kids, and everything was normal for 2 months. No hunting. No killing. No, Dad. And I had friends; I actually had friends, and Elliott was the best one." He looked down at the ground, and his smile faded away. "But when Dad came to get me, I didn't have a choice. Sonny tried to convince me to stay, but I just couldn't leave you."

Sam took in the new information, and he felt guilty. Dean had a chance to be happy and have a normal life, and he came back to the dangerous, messy lifestyle for him. It was his fault that Dean had an awful life so far. And now that Sam left to live a normal life, he felt even worse. Dean didn't leave him; he chose hunting instead of a normal life for Sam. And Sam left Dean totally alone. He felt selfish, and Dean noticed.

"Hey, hey Sammy, don't feel bad about this. Nothing is ever your fault." Dean said, and he put his hands on Sam's shoulder and locked eyes with him.

"I am the reason you had to live the hunter life. You had a chance to be normal, Dean. I am so sorry." Sam said as he covered his mouth with one hand and looked down.

Dean let go of his brother and said with a soft smile on his lips. "I'm glad I chose you over a normal but boring life. You don't ever have to apologize for anything, okay?"

Sam nodded, feeling guilty, and Dean opened his mouth again. "Elliott's a good guy; he was troubled, but he was always so honest, no lies. I'm glad you finally get to meet him after so many years."

"Yeah, me too. You need friends, Dean." They started to walk back towards the kitchen, Dean feeling extra hungry. "How long will he be staying?"

"I don't know, I offered him a room for a few days, but I wouldn't mind if he stayed longer. Like you said, I need friends." Even if they all die around me. He thought.

As they arrived back to the kitchen, Dean noticed that Elliott had put three plates on the table, and he smiled. They all sat down, and Elliot put some scrambled eggs on all the plates.

"Thanks, man." Dean said and smiled at his old friend. They all started eating and continued to talk.

Sam listened to Dean and Elliott discuss their past, and he smiled at the wholesome moments they mentioned. Sam's brother was nostalgic as he talked about the time they spent together. They didn't spend too much time knowing each other, but Sam knew their friendship was real. Special.

As Sam got to know Elliott better, Sam stretched his hand to get the bottle of orange juice, but he couldn't reach it; it was too far away. Elliott, who was sitting next to Dean, noticed and decided to hand him the drink. Dean was talking about the time he and Elliott got drunk together and Sonny got mad at them. As Elliott lifted the bottle, Sam noticed his hands shaking heavily as Elliott handed him the drink.

Sam poured himself some orange juice in his cup and lifted the drink up to his lips. He looked at Dean's new friend curiously, and he saw the way Elliott clenched his fist. With cunning eyes, Sam brought his focus back on Dean, who was still talking; he seemed cheerful.

"So what brought you to Wyoming in the first place?" Sam asked, and Dean looked at him curiously. Dean hadn't asked him this yet, and that surprised him a bit.

"I've seen that killer on the news, and it seemed suspicious. Knew it was a monster." Elliott replied in a kind tone.

"And how long have you been hunting?" Sam asked once again.

"Well, ever since Dean told me about it."

"Wait, Dean told you about it?!" Sam asked and looked at Dean, surprised. It was unlike him to do such a thing. Sam remembered that Dean would be forever telling him to keep this lifestyle a secret. And Dean was the one who introduced his friend to the hunter world.

"Yeah, and I'm hella glad he did." Answered Elliott.

"Why?" Sam looked at him in the eyes, and he didn't understand why he would be wanting to live this life. "Why would you choose this over a normal and happy life?"

Elliott's facial expressions shifted, and his eyes seemed to darken.

"Supernatural beings killed people I loved. That's enough for me to murder as many as I can for as long as I breathe." Elliott replied, and Sam looked at Dean, who seemed uninformed. Dean had no idea that's why Elkiott became a hunter. Dean remembered talking about Elliott's loved ones, but he didn't know monsters killed them. Well, at that time Elliott didn't know either, but after Dean introduced him to his world, he soon found out and became a monster killer.

"I'm sorry to hear that, buddy. I had no idea." Dean said while he looked at his friend with sadness in his eyes. Because Dean knew this feeling all too well. Losing people he loved to supernatural beings was his kind of thing.

Sam had a weird feeling, and he narrowed his eyes. Without even thinking about it, he said something to Elliott, who seemed to be a bit sad.

"But not all supernatural beings are bad." Sam stated, and he pulled himself out, ready to defend his truth.

He did not just say that.

Dean turned his head in slow motion with a frozen, shocked expression on his face. Dean's eyes opened wide, and his jaw almost hit the floor. Sam quickly realized this wasn't the right moment to discuss that not all monsters are monsters.

Dean was surprised by his brother's statement, and he couldn't believe Sam really just said that after Elliott shared something sad and tragic with them. He looked at his brother with that 'Seriously?!' expression on his face. This situation was weird to Dean. Like, if he told someone about the way his mother was murdered by a demon, the person would just say not all demons are bad. Seriously absurd.

Sam seemed to notice that his statement was not right for the moment, and he apologized quickly.

"Every supernatural being is an evil monster. Every single one. And you can't tell me otherwise." Elliott then said, keeping the serious expression on his face. He turned his head to Dean and waited for him to agree. But Dean didn't agree; he just looked at his friend in silence until Sam broke it.

"Well, I feel like it's time for me to leave. I have things to do. I'm meeting with someone." Sam said as he stood up.

"Ohh, the girl? What was her name again?" Dena asked as he also stood up.

"Iris," Sam said with annoyance in his voice and walked out. Dean followed him, leaving Elliott behind.

As they both reached the front door, Sam turned around to face Dean, and he quickly checked if Elliott was near.

"You know I wasn't talking about just a random supernatural being, right?" Sam asked, and Dean looked down.

"Yeah," Dean replied simply.

"You still haven't told me what happened with him."

"There is nothing to tell." He raised his voice a bit as he was angry. Sam asked this question from time to time, hoping Dean would tell him why Castiel left so suddenly and they haven't seen him ever since. Sam and Dena both knew he was human now, but they didn't know how to find him, so they didn't really look. But Sam still didn't know what the reason was Cas left them out of the blue, but Dean wouldn't tell him anything.

"Yeah, that's a lie." Sam said and walked out the door, leaving Dean in the bunker.

_______________________

Elliott stayed sitting in the chair, not moving at all. Sam's earlier comment about how not every monster is bad affected him more than he showed. He didn't believe that. He was convinced that every supernatural being deserved to die, and he was destined to kill them.

He lifted his head as Dean stepped in the room.

"I'm sorry, my brother's an ass." He said, and Elliot smiled, hiding how he really felt. He waved his hand, gesturing it didn't bother him.

"No need to worry 'bout it." Elliott said, and he stood up to do the dishes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean asked, hoping he would say yes; Dean was curious.

"No, thanks though." Elliot replied and laughed a bit. The laugh didn't sound happy. It sounded more devastated.

Dean sat down and took his phone in his hand, seeing he received a new message. He unlocked his screen to see his only notification from his brother.

'Next time, please tell me about these kinds of things. I'm not a kid anymore.' He read the message and replied with a simple sorry, then turned his phone off.

He put his mobile down on the table and asked what Elliott planned for the day. Elliott explained how he planned to rest and spend a few days off. Dean agreed with him, and he went back to his room to get his keys to the car.

Dean decided to go to the market to get some stuff. And by stuff he meant alcohol for later, but he wouldn't admit that. He went back to the kitchen where Elliott had just finished doing the dishes and asked.

"I'm going to head out to get some groceries. Want to come?"

"No, thanks. I'm honestly kind of tired." He replied, and Dean nodded and left.

_____________________

Dean wasn't out for too long; he just went to the corner store and bought all the alcohol the store had. He then drove back and took his bags back to his room.

Elliott wasn't around. Dean assumed he spent his time in his room resting, and Dean didn't want to bother him. Instead he went to the garage to spend some time working on the Impala.

He got dressed in more comfortable clothes and put out his tools. The garage was far from the rooms, so he put on some loud music in the background. He knew Elliott wouldn't hear him, so he didn't stress about it at all. The loud rock music playing made him feel okay. This was how he coped with stress. Life. His unusual stress-relieving method was working on the car with music on. Well, this was the healthier one. His other way was drinking, and he was ready for that too, but he knew working was a better form.

After a few hours of doing that alone, he looked around in the empty garage to check the clock and realized it was already late afternoon. He decided to finish and packed his tools back to their place carefully.

He inherited those tools from his father, and he had no intention of losing them. Dean inherited many, many things from John and hated most of them. He inherited his anger, his guilt, and his sins. His tools were useful, not like the other things he left for Dean. He loved the tools. John would use them when Dean was little. He used to work on the Impala just like Dean does now. They might seem similar, but they couldn't be more different, really.

Dean found his way back to the library of the bunker, where he saw Elliott sitting and staring at the door.

"Hey man, wanna drink something? Can I get you a beer, maybe?" Dean asked, and he knew he would get drunk tonight. He felt bad about it, but not bad enough to actually care. The maintaining of the car didn't really help him to get away from it all. To get away from someone he was missing. And he had experience that alcohol can help; he knew it wouldn't blow away his problems. However, it helped to distract him.

"Sure. I could use a beer, thank you, lad." Elliott replied and smiled at Dean. A few moments later, Dean came back with two cold bottles of beer in his hands. He placed one in front of Elliott on the desk and opened his.

They started to drink their beer in silence, not knowing what to say. As soon as Dean felt the bitter taste of beer on his tongue, he felt more relaxed.

"Remember when we stayed up all night to prove that we can do that to Sonny?" Elliott asked all of a sudden.

"Yeah." Dean laughed as he recalled the memory. "We were both so tired, so sleepy. But we just had to prove him wrong."

"We played cards, and you told me scary stories of your hunts, and I was absolutely frightened." Elliott said as he laughed softly.

They recalled a few other memories and talked for a few hours in peace. Nobody disturbed them, and they had actual, real fun. They were great friends after all these years. They shared similar experiences and lots of memories.

Hours passed, and Elliott stood up to go to bed.

"I'm going to go to sleep." Elliott said he was feeling a little bit tipsy.

"Me too, man. Goodnight, pal." Dean replied, and he also stood up and started walking towards his room.

"Sweet dreams." He heard Lluott say as he laughed at his stupid friend. He closed his door and found himself surrounded by his things. He'd then remembered that he forgot to turn off the light in the kitchen and turned back to do that.

As he reached the kitchen, he stepped in and noticed that Elliott was sitting by the table with a glass of water in his hand and some pills in the other. Dean frowned as he tried to guess what the spills could be; he was drunk, however. Elliott lifted his head and looked at Dean.

"What pills are you taking?" Dean asked, and Elliott could clearly tell by his voice that he was really drunk.

"Sleeping pill. I have problems with sleeping sometimes, and I'm really tired." He replied.

Dean tilted his head and looked at the pills still in confusion as he saw Elliott take them. Those pills didn't seem familiar to Dean. He took sleeping pills before too, and they didn't look like that. And it wasn't a good idea to take sleeping pills after drinking alcohol.

"Are you sure it's a good idea? You drank alcohol." Dean said in a worried tone.

"Oh, yeah, I didn't drink that much, and I'm really tired."

Dean just nodded, and he believed his friend. Dean was so drunk, he probably just didn't recognize the sleeping pills, and maybe he was so drunk he didn't even realize Elliott wasn't that tipsy. With that thought, Dean went back to his room. He didn't have problems with sleeping that night.

Chapter Text

Elliott and Dean were sitting at the table in the kitchen on a beautiful sunny sunday. They had ordered some chinese food and as soon as their order arrived they rushed into the kitchen to eat.

They had spent the last few days together, Dean showed Eliott atound in the town near the bunker, but since it wasn't so exciting they mostly stayed inside and talked. They watched movies and ate. They had plenty of time to catvh up, however Dean still wasn't brave enough to ask his friends about his past and loved ones.

Dean grabbed the little box that contained his specific order and placed it in front of himself.

"Do you often eat chinese food? " Elliott asked as he opened his box of food.

"Sometimes, I'm kind of a terrible cook. " he said and Elliott laughed.

Dean opned his box and took his for in his hand when all of sudden he heard something unusual. He stopped and immediately put his fork down. He looked up seriously at Elliott who didn't seem to know what's going on.

The loud ringing noise cam from the library of the bunker and its noise filled the whole bunker. They stayed silent and Dean stood up, Elliott followed. When they reached the library Dean saw the old rusty telephone hanging on the wall, ringing.

In Dean's mind the danger mode activated and for a moment he didn't know what to do. Nobody called the bunker. Nobody. No prank callers, no friends. The adress of the bunker wasn't hidden, but nobody called it. Never. He never heard this ringing noise before.

"Nobody ever calls the bunker. Its either someone we know or someone whos planning to introduce himself. " Dean said as he steooed closer to the phone. Elliott was standing still behind him waiting.

Dean grabbed the phone and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello?" Dean asked waiting nervously for someone to reply. He didn't hear an answer but if he listened closely he could barely hear someone's nervous breathing. Or maybe he just imagined that, he couldn't tell for sure.

"Hello? " Dean repeated the question in an annoyed tone. He didn't like to be tricked or played and he felt pathetic for not understanding why was someone falling.

Dean turmed to look at Elliott and his friend shrugged his shoulders. Now that didn't help Dean and he turned back to face the wall while waiting for someone to answer the phone.

"Is there anyone? " He asked but he knew the answer so instead he asked. "Who is there?! " Dean didn't hear an answer but he heard the heavy breaths someone took on the end of the line.

The rhythm of the breathing, the phone call. It all looked so familiar to Dean but just as he was about to realize who was calling the phone call ended with a soft click. Dean felt like he missed something but he just couldn't figure out what.

He placed the phone back to its place and they walked back to the kitchen to finish their lunch. To Dean however something felt off. He felt a lingering emptiness in his stomach and he tried to shake off the feeling, but it didn't work really.

____________________________

"So do you agree with your brother? " Elliott asked out of the blue. They were sitting in the car, Dean driving. They decided to go for an easy hunt not so far away. The road there was only 1 hour long and they were already halfway trough it. The monster they were about to catch was probably ghost according to them.

The last time Dean was hunting a ghost it was with Castiel. The one time when a girl died because Cas didn't say that the ghost was in front of Dean. Dean was supposed to die, he wasn't mad about that. He was angry beacuse a gilr took his place and Dean got her killed. It wasn't gis faukt techinacally but he felt like it.

"What do you mean? " Dean asked as he kept his eyes on the road. There was no music playing in the background, but they could hear rain slowly pounding on the roof of the car.

Elliott cleared hi troath and looked at Dean, feeling already nefvous to hear his answer.

"Not all supernatural beings are monsters. " he then explained.

Dean glanced at his friend quickly and then focused on the road once again. "That's true, I agree with him. "

Elliott rolled his eyes and looked at Dean in pure disbelief. He felt betrayed that his very true frined didn't share the same opinion about supernatural beings. He didn't quite understand how Dean could say that, he couldn't imagine a situation when this statement could be true. And now that he knew how Dean was thinking he wanted to understand it.

"Why? " Elliott simply asked.

Dean took a moment of silence to think. He remembered all the monsters he had killed and then he remembered someone who could never be a monster. Castiel's name ran trough his mind as he recalled all the good memories he shared with him. Cas wasn't a monster. There were some other supernatural beings that Dean didn't consider monsters, some of them were great people. But the true reason he believed that there's still a light in the darkness was beacuse of Cas. Cas' pure heart and genuine intentions were all Dean could think about. Dean taught him humanity and Dean loved seeing the way Cas learned. He showed him movies and songs. He made him try out new foods and watched if he liked or hated the new taste. For example he remembered when he introduced Cas tacos and Cas liked them. However, he didn't like sushi at all, Cas said it tasted like raw fish and Dean said that's the whole point.

Dean didn't even realize that he was smiling, and when he did, he stopped immediately.

"I know some who are good." Dean replied to Elliott's question in a simple way. He knew he couldn't change his friend's mind, so he didn't want to explain it so fully.

"Like who?"

"It doesn't matter." Dean said.

"No, really, it does. You're my only friend and I want to understand the way you think. Who could be so special to make you think some killers aren't murderers?" Elliott said as he raised his voice a bit, speaking loudly and angrily. Elliott felt betrayed, and he wanted to defend his truth. But more than anything, he wanted to change Dean's mind so badly. He wanted Dean to be like him, a killer who asks no questions. And he was planning on doing that.

"An angel, well, probably not anymore, but he was an angel." Dean said quietly. He felt a bit awkward talking about Castiel with others, and he wanted to end this conversation badly.

"An angel?" Elliott seemed to be confused as he frowned and turned his head to face the road.

Dean didn't reply, and in his head this conversation came to an end. He didn't have an idea, though, that in Elliott's it was just starting.

"Dean, you're Dean Winchester. You're the ultimate killer. Why are you so soft for an angel?" Elliott asked, meaning every word he said. He was curious, really. He considered Dean weak if he really did fall for an angel.

Dean took a sharp breath and stopped the car. They reached their destination, and Dean turned the key in the car, stopping the engine completely. Then he exhaled softly, and with a disappointed voice he replied to Elliott.

"You see, I'm not that. I'm not the ultimate killer, and don't call me that again." He said, and Elliott felt awful suddenly. He didn't mean it in a bad way; he was just curious. He heard things about the famous monster killer, Dean Winchester.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it in a bad way."

"How could you mean 'the ultimate killer' in a good way?" Dean asked as his voice cracked by the end of the sentence.

Dean had a strong connection with the phrase 'the ultimate killer.' People had called him that many, many times, and for the longest time he believed it. He really believed that he was the roughest murderer of all until someone changed his mind. But hearing someone call him that again after so long made his heart sink. He felt like he had been lying to himself. He felt like Elliott was right and he was just tricking himself.

He waited for Elliott's reply, but he didn't expect too much. He was hurt that his very own and true friend had called him. Truly and deeply hurt by his words, he tried not to show it. He knew how to hide his feelings, he was very good at doing that.

"You're not weak." Elliott replied. And Dean looked at him confused. That was the positive way? Really? If he wasn't the ultimate killer, then he was weak? He shook his head and got out of the car. He felt the rain slowly wet his clothes and his hair. He hurried inside the sheriff's office, leaving Elliott and his stupid point of view behind.

______________

Elliott was dreaming of his little sister again. For the fourth time in a row that night. It wasn't really a dream, it was a memory coming back. In his memory he was sitting on the floor with a Barney doll in his hand. His little sister, Sheila, was sitting in front of him with a doll in her hand as well. She was only 4 years old, and Elliott had just turned 8 years old a few days before that day.

Sheila was wearing a pink dress, and her hair was in a bun. They were playing Barbies together. Sheila laughed at something her brother said to her, and Elliott admired her little baby sister. Then Elliott heard a loud bang coming from downstairs, and he raised her head towards the opened door. He turned to look at Sheila, who seemed to be scared. He saw her expression, and his heart ached. Terrified, scared, broken.

Elliott stood up, walked to the door, and closed it. He then heard another loud noise, and he squinted his eyes. He heard his mother's screams coming from downstairs as he turned the key in the door, locking it. He looked at Sheila, who was hugging her doll with a frightened expression on her little face. Elliott walked over to the old radio and turned it on. He turned the volume up and smiled at her.

"I don't want to play barbies anymore. Let's dance instead." Elliott said as he pulled his sister up from the cold floor. He started moving his body and grabbed her hands gently.

Sheila dropped her Barbie and started jumping and dancing around the room. She smiled at his brother, admiring him deeply. The sudden noise from outside of the door made them both face the door immediately. Sheila stopped dancing and took a step back. His brother turned the volume even higher and continued to dance.

Sheila started moving her little body once again, and she looked so happy. Elliott didn't want her to remember her childhood badly. He wanted Sheila to have her childhood full of good memories. So he played barbies with her. He fed her. He danced with her. He took her to kindergarten. He took care of her.

The dream ended there, and he suddenly woke up sweating and breathing heavily. As he looked around, he realized he was still in Dean's car. They were driving to the place where the last victim was found killed after they had interrogated the local sheriff.

"You okay?" Dean asked him, and Elliott could hear that his voice was full of agony and pain. Elliott knew that his earlier comments about Dean being the ultimate killer hurt his feelings, but he couldn't do anything about that now. He knew Dean was hurt and that what he said was mean, but he didn't think Dean would react this way.

"Yeah." Elliott replied, and he looked over to Dean, who was driving the car. He seemed a bit worried, so Elliott explained, "Just a bad dream. Do you ever have any?"

Elliott heard Dean taking a deep breath as he turned his head towards the road again.

"Every time I close my eyes." Dean replied, and his voice cracked. Elliott felt bad for even asking such a question when he remembered all the times when he would comfort Dean after a nightmare back when they were young.

Silence hovered over them for a few minutes, and Elliott broke the silence.

"So where is your angel now? What's his name?" He asked,he was curious.

Dean was surprised at the questions and didn't know if he even wanted to answer them, but somewhere deep down he was dying to talk about Cas.

"I don't know where he is, but his name is Castiel." Dean replied quietly, and he didn't take his eyes off of the road.

Elliott sighed and looked at Dean. He saw that his friend's eyes were fixated on the road and the expression on his face seemed desperate, but since it was already dark, he couldn't see perfectly.

"What made a murderer stand out of all the killers?" Elliott asked.

Dean stayed silent for a moment, ignoring that Elliott was calling Cas a murderer. Elliott was saying that a killer is a killer, and Dean was making him special when he was the same as every killer ever. He thought for a moment and recalled all the things that made Castiel stand out. That made him special, because he was. Castiel was special to Dean.

"He's clueless,he's pure with a golden heart. His hands may not be clean, but his heart is."

"Is that it? " Elliott asked, he was waiting for a better answer. Not for something he could say to many people. But for Dean, this was the perfect answer. This was the answer he was looking for for so long. This was the answer he spent so much time searching for on the wall of his room. He missed Castiel, and he let himself wonder where he could be for a bit. Then reality pulled him back to his place.

"This is something you can't explain. You just know it." Dean said, and he concluded the conversation.

Elliott seemed confused, and he didn't ask more questions. He suspected Dean had become weaker than he used to be and didn't want to upset him once again.

Dean kept driving in silence until they reached their destination.

Chapter Text

The night was cold. It had stopped raining a few minutes ago, but Dean could smell that typical fresh scent in the air. He was wearing his leather jacket, although he felt slightly cold. He was standing next to Elliott, who was wearing a suit.

They just arrived at the scene where the last victim was found. They had no idea what creature they were dealing with, but they both suspected it was something supernatural, so they decided to investigate.

They started walking towards the scene. Dean bent down to step under the yellow caution tape that said CRIME SCENE—DO NOT CROSS! As Dean walked closer to where the body was found, his eyes widened. The body was not there anymore, but everything around it stayed untouched.

"Damnit!" Elliott murmured quietly as he saw what surprised Dean so much.

Dean squatted down and put his fingers on the cold asphalt. He examined the angel wings carved in the asphalt.

His surprise vanished, and fear took over its place. No. No. No. No. No. If angels are dying, Castiel might be dead by now. And if that was the case, Dean would never forgive himself. He would never move on. He looked around looking for answers, but all he saw was his friend.

"An angel was killed. This is not just any supernatural case. I feel like there's something deeper to this." Dean said as he turned his head and looked up at Elliott.

"Yeah. I don't think we should investigate this case, buddy." He then said that made Dean stand up immediately.

"What do you mean?" He asked with a serious face.

"Look, someone or something is killing supernatural creatures. Someone is doing OUR job, so I think we should just let them do it." He said, and Dean took a step back. He didn't recognize his friend in that moment; Elliott was talking complete bullshit. Dean knew that his opinion on this subject was different from his, but these comments still surprised him.

"No." Dean nodded his head and looked back at the wings on the ground.

If angels are getting killed, it could mean Cas getting killed, Dean thought. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't just sit in peace and watch as someone he shares such a past with dies. He decided he will solve the case, with or without Elliott.

Elliott's face shifted; he seemed confused. He didn't understand why Dean would be so stuck up. Then it hit him in the head as he realized why he wanted this case now even more. Castiel. His stupid little angel lover.

"Oh, I know what this is about." Elliott said as he faced Dean. Dean looked up at him, and he knew what was about to come. "It's about Castiel again, right? You want to find him. You're afraid he might be the next victim. But Dean, he makes you weak. You don't see that, but I do!"

"You don't get to talk about him like that!" Dean raised his voice as they argued. He was ready to defend Cas' name.

"You've become fragile. Some words are enough to break you, but don't worry! You can fix this, okay? You need to let him go, and you won't be weak ever again." Elliott said, and he sounded insane. Obsessed.

"What are you even talking about, Elliott?! Call me weak again, and I'll show you how weak I am." Dean said, his voice sounding cold and harsh. He stooped closer to Elliott, locking eyes with him, and Elliott saw Dean's eyes darken.

"We investigate the case, and you stay silent. You won't talk about him. You won't ask questions. Understood?" Dean said, not even blinking once.

Elliott swallowed and took a step back. He shook his head, and with a low voice he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to help you with that, Dean."

Dean didn't answer; he didn't know what to say, so he just turned to examine the crime scene again. When he looked back, he noticed an angel blade. He picked it up, and as he held it in his hands, he read the name painted on it with blood.

'Malachi'

Dean recognized that name, but he didn't know what it meant. The amgek who died wasn't him. It was someone else, someone Dean didn't know personally.

This might be the next victim. Dean thought as he walked back to the car. He put the blade in a dirty rag and put it in the back of the car.

Then, he climbed in the car, finding Elliott sitting next to him. He looked at him angrily, his eyes telling more than his words could. They both stayed silent as Dean started driving once again. But this time, their destination was the bunker, where Dean could investigate deeply. He planned to find Cas. And he needed time for that. Now that he knew who the next victim might be, he needed to find Malachi.

He was so angry at Elliott. He wanted to send him away honestly, but he didn't have anyone else. And then he would be just alone again. He was tired of being alone, of being lonely.

__________________

Back in the bunker, they both sat down in the library by the table. They sat in front of each other, both reading something on their laptops. Elliott gave in; he didn't want to upset Dean, he didn't want to make him mad, so he helped him. He didn't put too much effort into helping, though.

Long minutes turned into even longer hours, and they didn't find anything about Malachi yet. Elliott suddenly stood up and stretched his back.

"We should continue this tomorrow, pal. I'm too tired." He said, and Dean looked up at him in disbelief. Dean wasn't going to give up. He needed to find Malachi, and if Elliott wasn't going to help, he was going to do it alone.

"No. I'm not resting until I find that angel." Dean replied and looked back at his computer. He could sense that Elliott shook his head, and Dean heard the steps fading away as his friend left the room.

He kept focusing on the computer, and he didn't let himself concentrate on anything else. He read and read and read until he found something. A name. A place. Topeka, Kansas.

It wasn't even far away. He immediately closed his laptop and got up. He ran to his room and grabbed a few pieces of equipment he might need. He ran towards the garage, and he passed in front of Elliott's door. He stopped for a moment, thinking maybe he shouldn't leave him here. Maybe he shouldn't go alone to such a dangerous place. Dean didn't know what to expect, and he would definitely have a bigger chance of survival if Elliott was with him.

He stepped closer to the bed and changed his mind. He decided to go alone, not wanting to listen to any words his friend had to say. He wasn't interested in listening to how much Elliott despised him. How much Elliott hated Cas.

He went to the garage and got in his car. He turned the key to start the engine, and he stepped on the accelerator. He left the bunker, and he was ready to find Malachi.

The drive from Lebanon, where the bunker was, to Topeka, where Malachi probably was, was around 3 hours long. Dean hasn't closed his eyes for almost a day now. And he only realized that when the sun came up.

He put some music on in the background to distract his thoughts from worrying. Radiohead was playing on the radio, and he didn't mind. He let the music take over his mind slowly. He didn't recognize the song, but he tried to listen to the lyrics.

After a long car drive, he stopped the car in front of a cheap motel and stopped the car. He got out to see the place where Malachi was last seen alive. An angel in a motel. He opened the trunk and grabbed the angel blade with Malachi's name on it. The bloody name wasn't so readable anymore, but he hoped it would be enough proof for Malachi. Dean's plan was that he would show the angel the blade to warn him, and then he would use Malachi as bait.

He walked into the motel's reception part. An older lady was sitting behind the counter, and she smiled at Dean when he stepped in.

"Good morning! Can I assist you with anything?" The lady asked; she seemed excited to talk to Dean. He frowned and pursed his lips together, then forced himself to smile at the lady too.

"Good morning! I'm looking for a man named Malachi. He's tall, with brown eyes and brown hair." Dean asked, smiling; he wanted to be perceived as a friendly man. But the lady looked at him with suspicious eyes, and Dean quickly grabbed his ID from his pocket. "Oh, I'm Agent Reed from the FBI. I'm investigating a case, and he might be the next victim, I think." He added, and the lady looked down at the computer.

"Hmm…" She murmured, looking for something, while Dean waited patiently. He hadn't even given himself time to realize how exhausted he really was. He suddenly felt the last horribly long almost 24 hours of weight on his shoulders as the Kady spoke up again. "Yes, Agent, there is a man named Malachi in room 53. Here's a key for you to make things easier." The woman handed Dean the keys, and he left the room.

Outside it was a chilly morning considering the fact that it was only 5.34. Dean took a deep breath, feeling the warm rays of sun on his skin. He took a moment to rest as he felt his head pounding with fatigue. He was just so tired.

He opened his eyes and scanned the parking lot; he looked for room 53. When his eyes finally landed on the motel room, he began walking towards it. As he was getting closer with each step, he took a gun out of his pocket and held it in front of himself.

He reached the door and lowered his weapon. He took his key out and turned it. The door slowly opened with a soft creak as he stepped in. In the room it was dark; only the outside light lit up the room, coming from the opened door. The light was just enough to make visible the scene in front of Dean.

His eyes widened in shock, and he lowered his gun now completely. He turned around quickly, still in shock, and closed the door. Now it was completely dark, and he didn't even know if he wanted to turn the light on. The darkness gave him a sense of comfort the light couldn't. He closed his eyes for a slight moment as he prepared himself for the worst.

He put his fingers on the wall and followed it until he reached the switch. He pressed it, and suddenly light appeared, and every inch of the room became visible. Dean felt his stomach turn. He felt sick. Looking around, scanning the place, he saw the maroon blood cover everything around him.

He stepped closer and saw the remains of the body. Malachi. Dean could tell that the angel was tortured for a long period of time. Dean suddenly recalled his time in hell. He remembered being tortured and torturing others. He felt goosebumps as the way he made people suffer appeared in his memories. He shook his head, trying to forget, trying to shake off the awful feeling.

Malachi's face was almost unrecognizable. His body was covered in scars, bruises, wounds, and blood. His right leg was missing, and when Dean looked around to find it, he saw it hanging on the wall. And when he saw what was on the wall next to it, his heartbeats quickened.

'Dean, stop digging. You know who's next.'

Dean stopped breathing, and his eyes opened wide. His mouth opened, and he didn't dare to move. He felt his hands shake as fear took over his mind. He swallowed loudly as he read the words written on the wall with blood over and over again.

'Dean, stop digging. You know who's next.'

Dean knew what was coming, but to find proof, he turned around looking for the angel blade. The last time they saw the last victim, Malachi's name was written on a blade. If Castiel was next, his name should be carved in a blade as well, Dean thought.

Silence filled the room, and he kneeled down to toss the body aside, looking for the blade. His suit became red from the dirty blood, and soon his hands were covered in the liquid too.

Dean was desperate; he felt like he couldn't breathe. He grabbed his tie, pulling it from his neck, trying to calm his breathing. It didn't work.

He continued to look for the blade, and he was frightened because he couldn't find it anywhere. He looked at Malachi's face once again, and he felt like he was about to throw up. He was disgusted by the body lying so close to him. And he was even more terrified of what the next body would look like so close to him.

He couldn't bear the thought of Castiel suffering. He felt like if that ever happened, that would be his fault. His actions got faster as he felt the need to find the fucking blade as fast as he could. He felt a warm tear slip from his eyes, and he saw it land on the bloody ground.

He stared at the floor, not knowing what to do next. He thought he had found the blade with Malachi's name on it just in time, and now it turned out it was too late. Maybe Cas is already dead, and if that's so, Dean didn't want to see his body. But there was still hope in his heart that his beloved "friend" was alive. Dean had to find him.

He didn't have time to waste. He couldn't spend one more minute looking for the stupid blade when the truth was written on the wall so clearly. Castiel was next. And as sad as Dean was to admit it, he was just as determined to find him.

He stood up and glanced down at his own body. His suit was now covered in the color of blood. And his hands were too. He took a step towards the door as he noticed the blade hanging from the door. The blade with Castiel's name on it. Dean closed his eyes, and he couldn't believe what was happening to him.

He took a look back at the room, and he knew in that moment that he would never ever ever forget the view of that room. With his fast-beating heart, he left the room in complete silence. He was truly traumatized.

As he reached the reception counter, his hands were shaking. He felt the lady's eyes on him, watching him in horror. Dean put the keys down on the counter harshly, his hands leaving a red mark on the counter from the blood. He didn't say anything, and the woman stayed silent too.

Dean turned around and walked out, leaving bloody footprints on the dirty floor.

After getting in his car, he started the car as he noticed his once steady hands were now shaking. They were shaking out of fear. He was so scared for Cas. He was so scared he might die. And he felt especially guilty for not looking for him when he had the chance. Dean decided to find Cas whatever it takes.

Chapter Text

Castiel opened his eyes, feeling the sweat drip from his forehead. He swallowed, and he felt the need to cough. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling dizzy and a quiet sense of pain pulsing in his head.

He then tried to gather himself into a sitting position only to recognize the cold chain holding his hands together behind the chair where he was sitting. He felt the cold metal cut into his wrists as he tried to move. He looked around, trying to scan the room with his exhausted eyes.

He soon found himself surrounded by the consuming darkness, and fear twisted his mind. He was just a human after all now. So vulnerable and weak. If he was still an angel, surely he would be concerned but never this scared.

He felt a tear wet his skin as it dropped on the ground. There was nothing he could recognize in the complete darkness. He felt his heartbeats quicken and his breathing getting heavier. He tried to calm himself down, but he was hopeless.

He had no faith. He had no hope. He knew it would be the end for him. Nobody was coming to save him. A brief moment where the picture of Dean Winchester appeared of him brought him a sense of comfort. But just as fast as the memory of his face appeared, it vanished, leaving Cas alone and scared for his life.

He felt his hands shake under the chains, and he turned his head to face the pitch-black ceiling. He scrunched his nose and slightly opened his mouth, tears now falling constantly from his mesmerizing blue eyes. Like the ocean, his blue eyes were full of salty liquid.

The desperate expression didn't seem to disappear, no matter how hard he tried. He didn't say a word; he didn't have to. The look on his face spoke more than words ever could.

Where was he? He wasn't ready to die. Not yet. He kept his glance on the ceiling as he silently began to pray. Even without his faith, he hoped for some kind of miracle to happen. He hoped for some kind of savior to walk through the doors and let him see the sunlight just once again.

He asked God to help him; he repeated the same words in his head a million times, and when he didn't feel anything, he asked himself, Why did he even do it?. God left. He wasn't around anymore. Dean wasn't around anymore; nobody could save him.

He knew that his little prayer wasn't going to save him. He knew death would come for him and nobody would even notice his disappearance. He was hurt by the thought that Dean and Sam wouldn't ever know what happened to him. There were so many things left unsaid, and he wished he could go back to just say it out loud. But he couldn't, and the cruel reality pulled him back just in time.

The sound of the door opening pulled his attention towards the door as he also turned his head to face it. The sudden lightness almost blinded him, making him squint his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the sudden change.

His reflex kicked in as he tried to raise one hand to cover the light, but he realized he wasn't able to do that. He felt the teardrops on his skin dry up, and he opened his eyes once again.

He couldn't see the face of the person standing in front of him. He couldn't even see whether it was a male or female in front of him. He tried to see their face, but the door was soon closed as the person entered the room. Castiel couldn't see. He was in the darkness with someone, and he couldn't breathe normally.

He stayed silent, trying to listen to the steps, but he couldn't hear anything. He could almost feel the adrenaline rush in his blood, and he felt defeated.

He has always been the one fighting and never actually giving up. He fought wars and helped people. He killed people, but he never gave up. And he gave everything he had and still lost. He felt like all his actions were worth nothing. He felt like his life was pointless. 'God works in mysterious ways,' they said. But he recognized that it was just a stupid thing humans made up to feel better when things weren't working out. Because in the end things were never working out. Humans wanted to believe that they would have some sort of prize at the end of the road. They wanted to believe that they didn't suffer for nothing. But in reality, they absolutely did, and this process is called life. People suffer through their lives hoping they will be rewarded after all, but they get nothing in return.

Castiel suddenly felt a sharp object touching his skin. The new cut under his right eye started to bleed; he could feel the blood drop onto the floor. But he didn't cry; he didn't feel the need to cry for help because he knew nobody was coming to help. He knew he would die forgotten and lonely in a place only God knows. And God didn't care, so it didn't matter after all.

Would it be a big loss, though? he thought. Who would grieve him? Who would long for him? The only thing he felt sorry for was the priest. Castiel promised him he would thank him for his help one day, when he got through the suffering and reached the peaceful side of life. But he wasn't going to get there ever, and he wasn't going to say thank you to the parson.

As he closed his eyes, he imagined Dean coming through that door and freeing him. He imagined seeing his eyes for one last time.

His thoughts were cut off by a loud noise; the person who captured him hit him in the head. He felt dizzy, and he wished he would black out already. But he wasn't so lucky; he felt the next strike on the side of his head, and he could feel the blood running down the side of his face.

The next hit made him whine in pain, but he didn't scream or shout. It was a quiet suffering for him, and deep down he completely agreed with the person punishing him. Although Cas didn't know their reasons or intentions, he knew he deserved to be hit, when in reality he didn't.

He felt every punch; he wanted to feel it. But it hurt him so much, he was out of breath. The pain lingered over his whole body. For the first time ever, he could feel his ribs, and it wasn't a nice feeling.

Soon, soaked from his own blood, he blacked out. He lost consciousness, his head falling on his shoulders, his hands not trying to break free from the cold chains anymore.

[Flashback begins]

Castiel was holding a baby. He was holding a little human in his arms so tightly. The tiny hands reaching for his face, the tiny fingers touching his stubble. Castiel was smiling at the little creature in his arms. The baby laughed and smiled at him. It was a little girl, but he didn't know her name; he didn't ask her parents.

Cas felt like the baby was so fragile, he could feel her bones. He held her close to his chest as he feared he would accidentally drop the baby at any minute. He leaned closer to the smiling little girl and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Castiel felt so happy in that moment, like he couldn't stop smiling.

Does every human baby do this? Smile at strangers and make them feel loved? If so, Cas felt like he needed one immediately.

He laughed at the girl, and a woman appeared in front of him. He lifted his head to look at him and realized it was her mother.

"Thank you for taking care of her while I talked to Father John." The lady said and watched her child lying so peacefully in Cas' arms.

"It was my pleasure. I've never held a baby in my arms before." Castiel admitted, and the lady raised her eyebrows. She seemed to be surprised.

"Well, I guess you just have the natural talent for kids." The woman laughed a bit and took the baby from Cas' hands.

"Does she always smile at strangers?" Cas asked as he handed her the baby. He smiled at her and waved goodbye to the little one.

The lady lifted her head to look at Cas, and she shook her head. "No." She replied and smiled at him smiling.

Then she turned around and left. Cas watched as the two of them walked out of the door, leaving the small church.

"I saw you holding the baby. She looked nice in your hands." Castiel heard Father John's deep voice coming from behind, and he turned around to face him.

Cas chuckled and shook his head, smiling. "She was so cute," he replied.

It was already dark outside, and this was the last mass of the day, so nobody else would be coming here. Father John would leave in a few minutes, and Cas would be left alone.

"I got you something." Father John said, and he turned around. The priest walked in the backroom of the church, where Cas wasn't allowed to follow.

Cas stepped closer to a window and looked out patiently. He was waiting for the parson to come back and show him what he had gotten for Cas.

As he was staring out the window, although it was dark, he noticed something. The light of the lamp close to the road illuminated the streets. And he saw snow. He recognized it immediately. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was snowing! He had never seen snow with his own eyes ever, and he was so happy to be able to see it now.

Out of his extreme excitability, a shy smile appeared on his lips, and he turned around to inform Father John, his only friend, of the sudden change in the weather. But as soon as he turned to look for the priest, his eyes widened as he noticed a man with a black mask covering his face standing in front of Cas.

He tried to take a step back, but since his back was already touching the wall of the church, he couldn't get far away. His hands grabbed the window sill; fear took over his mind. He felt his heartbeats quicken, and his breathing got heavier and heavier with each moment.

It all happened so quickly. He didn't have time to think. He didn't have time to defend himself. His racing thoughts were cut off by a hit on his head by something that looked like a baseball bat.

He collapsed on the floor, and he immediately held up his hands to cover his head. He tried to avoid the next punches, unsuccessfully.

As he lay there, scared to death, he opened his eyes, and he saw the door of the backroom of the church slightly opened. He didn't see Father John's full body, but he recognized his hand. He saw his hand lying there and panicked. He didn't know whether the priest was alive or not, but he hoped he was. He couldn't handle if the man died in such a way.

Cas took the punches until he felt the boot of the man on his jaw. He would feel the pain suddenly appearing in many parts of his fragile body. He thought of that baby girl. He was grateful they left before all this happened.

The next moment, with the last kick, he lost consciousness. He was lying there; he seemed to be lifeless.

He wasn't self-aware when the man dragged his body out of the church.
He wasn't self-aware when his body was out in the trunk of a car.
He wasn't self-aware when he was being tied up to a chair.
He wasn't self-aware when the man put Cas' hand under cold chains.

The self-hating angel was self-aware when he finally understood nobody was coming to save him.