Save Me From Falling
He was falling.
That's how the dreams always started.
Castiel would be falling and falling, unable to slow himself down as each feather was harshly plucked from his wings, one by one. He'd try to scream in pain, scream for anyone to help him, but no sound would escape his mouth,. He'd look down, seeing the ground become closer with each passing second of pained agony. Eventually Castiel would land of course, but when he did, his wings were all but empty skeletons on what they used to be. One single feather would fall to the ground, and burn away, drifting into the wind. He'd sit there, laying on the ground, useless, tears cascading down his face, and blood seeping from the wounds on his back, as the bones of his wings would slowly burn away until there was nothing left. Eventually he'd be left there, with nothing of his angel form left, surrounded by ashes, shivering from the frost temperatures, and welcoming death at any second. But just before he'd reach complete oblivion, the cruel world would take his Ending away from him and drag him into consciousness.
Castiel blinked his eyes open slowly, cringing as the world focused into view. It was another dream that had left him feeling hollow. It was always the same, night after night, any time he fell asleep, it was always the same.
No matter then length of time or place. He was plagued with the thoughts of his falling. The other men in the shelter used to worry when Castiel (Or Clarence to them) would begin thrashing about and screaming without noise, they even attempted to wake him on a few occasions, but now they leave him be. Give him space when they see the dark, void less, look overcome his face. When his eyes would go dead.
Cas looked over at the gigantic clock on the wall of the room he shared with another man by the name of Robert. It read Three Forty-seven. And assuming by the still dark sky, Cas figured it was in the AM. He sighs and sits up, wishing not for the first time that he was back at the bunker. With Dean. But the Winchester obviously didn't want him there. Cas was sure he had his reasons. But it still didn't cure the hurt he felt inside whenever he thought about it.
Trying not to disturb Robert, who's snoring way louder than what is considered polite and smells of fish, Castiel tiptoes out of the room. He needs to clear his head. Get those awful thoughts out of his head. Being a human comes with man new sensations. Pain not being the only one, but also what he has come to call 'the bad thoughts'. It's when his head feels like it's going to explode and he's going to collapse on the ground, wanting to throw up. His thought's and memories of the nightmare will circle his brain until that's all he can think about and he starts to envision himself reliving it over and over, continuously falling and somehow never running out of feathers, but constantly losing one again and again until his stomach is tightening and turning over and Cas is toppling over, suddenly weak and light headed, overcome with grief and pain and guilt. Guilt for putting all of the other angels through this.
He deserves to die. He should die. To avenge all of the other angels he has wronged. But Castiel can't die. He knows that now. For some reason he Is cursed to forever be punished on the wonderful, yet cruel planet. So he lives on. Dean used to be his reason, but now that Dean doesn't want him, Cas isn't sure what he's living for anymore, but he knows he needs to. So instead he copes. Copes with his painful existence.
In the beginning, he almost ended it. Had his blade to his neck, right where Metatron had held it, and been ready to slice. But a girl from a previous shelter had come in. Her name was Alice. Cas grew fond of Alice quickly and she soon showed him a world of coping with pain. She showed him ways to punish himself for his wrongs yet still being able to carry on his burden. It was a better punishment this way anyway. Dying was the easy way out and Cas knew it. Maybe that was his new reason to live. To be punished.
Castiel walked behind the shelter where the others normally went to smoke. He sat on the ground, leaning against the building. The air was cold and the sky was clear. It was a beautiful night. Dean would've had them roll down the windows. He felt a pain at his heart at the thought.
Cas rolled up his left sleeve, gently tracing the thin white and red lines with the pad of his finger. This was how he coped. He would carve the wrongs into his skin. So he would never forget. He had originally started out with light marks that faded away so not all were on there, but from the past three months he's been away from Dean, after meeting Alice, he's starting to build quite the collection.
Drawing out his angel blade, Cas grabbed it by the middle, barley reacting to the sting building in his pam, and pressed it harshly against a clean spot on his arm. The cool of the blade made goosebumps rise up on his arm.
Castiel shivered in anticipation.
He pulled the blade back, watching as the blood bubbled up to fill the emptiness. It always amused him how it would try to fill the gaps he made yet always proved futile and just slid down his skin, useless.
The feeling is relieving his of his muffled head, but only temporarily. He makes another cut and one more after that, sighing as the world becomes more clear, his head becoming empty, focusing on the pain in his arm, and nothing else. Of course there are those little nagging reminders in the back but Cas is grateful for even five minutes of silence. He stays like that until the sun rises, and only then does he wipe the red crust from his arm, lowing his sleeve and replacing the angel blade in its hidden holster in his pant leg. He pulls his jacket tighter around him, fighting the chill. It's not his trench, that's for sure, but it works. He stands up, feeling stiff and drained.
Cas walks (more like stumbles) back to the entrance only to come face with one of the ladies who run the shelter. Her name is Rose, and even though Cas is very fond of the sweet twenty-three year old, he's really not in the mood to speak with anyone. He tries to make his way past but she grabs his arm.
"Hey Clarence, what are you doing up already. Couldn't sleep again?"
Cas shakes his head and tries to pull away.
"Clarence? Are you okay?"
"U-uh yeah. Yes. I'm just tired." He gruffs out, not meeting her eyes. He's been having trouble looking people in the eyes lately. The guilt of every horror he's set upon these wonderful humans tends to overcome his thoughts when he does.
Rose looks concerned and lets go of his arm, but she's always concerned when it comes to Clarence. She can just feel the self-hatred rolling off of him when he interacts with her. "Are you sure? Are you even going to sleep? If you want, you could come help me and Trish whip up breakfast for everyone. If you want to."
She looks at him pleadingly and Cas has trouble coming up with an excuse. He was always a terrible liar anyway.
He relents and nods after casting an unsure look in the direction of the kitchen. Rose brightens immediately and drags him to the mess hall.
So that's Cas spends his day. He helps out when he can and avoids conversation whenever possible. Just a week more and he'll be moving onto the next shelter. No point in letting the angels find hm. He doesn't want to cause these nice people to get hurt. Dean would never forgive him if he did.
It's not long until Castiel is back in his and Robert's room, sitting against his headboard, reading a book he picked up in the activity room.
He eventually finds his eyes slipping shut against his will, the exhaustion overcoming his need to stay awake. Castiel is not surprised when suddenly he's falling through the sky.