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Castiel slid the keys in, and brought the Impala humming to life. He groggily turned the wheel, drifting onto the main Street, leaving the flickering, motel vacancy sign, behind him. Cas drove deeper into town where he vaguely remembered seeing a convenience store. Mentally, he tried to recall the list Dean, Sam and Jack had compiled. He wished they'd written it down but after the Ghouls they'd taken care of this evening, everyone was exhausted. Jack was barely able to mumble out 'frosting' before crawling into bed and drifting off. The hunt had left Sam and Dean with only one property functional hand between them, paired with most certainly a concussion on Sam's part and a broken rib on Dean's. The brothers were way too banged up to go on this run.
Castiel loved - though he'd be hesitant to admit it - late night runs. He loved the small towns, the types of people that came out at night, the chilled warmth of summer darkness. Tonight he wanted to walk a bit, so he parked somewhat further from the store, guiding the impala toward the curb, and clicking the engine into quietness.
A deep sigh escaped his lungs as he stepped out into the night. Soft chatter fluttered in from the right. A group of women eyed him as they crossed the street together. Huddled so closely you'd think it was for warmth.
Something else Castiel loved was soul-watching. While he could see the physical form of individuals, their souls were what spoke to him. Fiery balls of essence. Hues of colors unimaginable to human eyes. Sounds eldritch and lovely. Infinitely deep and yet perfectly contained. It was easiest at night. With their human faces shadowed in darkness the reality of their divinity spoke up. Softly in some cases, shrieking in others. Always beautiful.
One of the women who had passed him had a soul so brilliant Castiel couldn't help but smile. It was tender in its soft glow. It was passionate and yet kept to itself. This was not the type of spirit that fought for your attention but rather one you stumbled upon and yet loved the most - or maybe because of this you loved it the most.
He tucked the keys into his trenchcoat pocket and buried his hands deep. Eerily about three blocks away, bright against the black sky, neon lights spoke 'dave's covin'. The letters e c & e all dead from the sign. Dave's deception, Castiel mindlessly said to himself remembering the archaic word.
Awaking the angel from his reverie a drunk guy slammed against him. Expletives were flung violently at Cas, who himself could only think of this poor man's soul. It looked chewed up and spit out. Lingering upon it, as the drunk man quickly forgot the encounter and walked away, Castiel peered into it. He watched it swirled like a whirlpool and hummed at a deep but piercing tone. Muffled banging echoed ever so often from within. The resonance hurt the ears of his vessel but this soul spoke to the cosmic being inside. And then the man was gone.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he entered the convenience store. It was expectantly vacant. Lights flickered tiredly in a back corner, putting up as much effort as seemingly the rest of the store. Castiel made his way through the shelves, basket in hand. Chips. Bread. Peanut Butter. Jerky. Frosting. The angel knew from experience that Jack hated the kind with sprinkles, comparing them, in a matter-of-fact tone, to ants. Pulling open a squeaking refrigerator door, he procured a green juice. How Sam found satisfaction in that he would never understand. Cas laughed to himself, shaking his head. Humanity truly contains multitudes. Finding the little things that made people special was a secret habit of Castiels.
The alcohol aisle was really more like half the store. He felt for that need to dull the pain. His time as a human, made him quite aware of the way escape can seem like the only option sometimes. A broken bottle of wine painted the floor red, and a small older gentleman was mopping it up. If this was Dave, then the sign claiming deception was true. While his physical form looked worn and empty, his soul burst forward with brightness. It laughed like a child. It danced like an artist. Anima and Animus: partners in perfect balance. Castiel clinked a six-pack of beer beside the other items in his basket, leaving the man to his work.
Last but not least, he made his way over to the slushie machine. The taste of which - though at first only served as a painful reminder of his endless days working at a gas station - now lingered on his tongue like what he imagined childhood memories felt like, long after the blue raspberry flavor left him. He took a sip from the straw, his eyes falling shut to savor it, willing the molecules to taste something akin to that bold blueness. He knew he deserved to enjoy things more but life on the road never seemed to allot time for that. Tonight was a start.
The walk back to the Impala was colder. Plastic bags hung from chilled fingers. He placed the slushie on the hood of the car, and began the frustratingly complex task of maneuvering the bags and his trenchcoat in order to get the keys out of his pocket. And next, even more complex, unlock the impala. Why he couldn't remember which way to turn and why he always jammed the key in upside down he'd never know. Luckily this time nothing came falling out of his bags.
Driving back he felt drowsy. He knew it was all in his head since he didn't need sleep, but it felt nice nonetheless. Comforting even. His boys were at home, safe if somewhat bruised and broken. And he had a slushie. The simple things were slowly becoming enough for him.
When he pulled into the motel the light of his and Jack's room was on. Suddenly worry yanked him from his ease. Had something happened? Then through the curtains he saw a scene that made him realize every eon of his existence was leading up to this, to his life now. The three souls of those he cared for most deeply sat, paced and rested within that matchbox of a motel room. Souls weary but sublime as they waited for green juice, and beer, and frosting. More than going out on midnight runs, Castiel loved coming home.