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Castiel pulls into a rundown gas station, his tan Continental's front bumper hitting the dip where road meets parking lot. He barely notices the loud scraping noise; however, his mind still miles behind him in St. Louis, replaying the small smiling faces looking up at him from the hospital he visited that morning. He couldn't heal them all, has long since learned the harms in playing God, but can't help the ache in his chest when he thinks of the children he had to leave behind. The parents who will be in mourning in the upcoming years and the parents who will be taking their children home tonight with prayers on their lips to some unknown savior.
Castiel doesn't technically pray for them so much as he pushes every positive force he knows towards them, willing them peace. He hopes those hospital's patients and visitors can sleep well if only for one night.
Melancholic, he thinks instead of the sing-song laughter of the children he spent time with there today. Castiel is drawn to their spirits, bright and hopeful despite the circumstances they're living with. It's inspiring, he thinks, and he remembers the stories they told him. That time Dante put salt in Lydia's pudding cup, the young girl told the story with such enthusiasm, clearly needing to relate such a serious event to someone who gasped at all the right moments. The so-called offender had listened along while Lydia, bursting with excitement, gave an award-winning reenactment of that first bite of salty, chocolate pudding, betrayal served in a snack cup. Dante himself then went in from his point of view because pranks are hard work and his crafty mind deserved appreciation.
It had gone on like that for hours countless retellings of hospital mischief, and nurses conspiring with patients to pull one over on parents. The past Christmas when Santa Claus came and all the children young and old were given toys they'd only dreamed of owning, their parents too swathed in bills to really check off their wish list like Castiel knew they'd hoped. He told the children his own stories, sitting cross-legged in a hospital room, grand tales of angels and hunters, of saving the world. He'd shared a secret smile with them when one of the nurses had come in, telling them to quiet down, and had held a finger to his lips when their small voices chimed into a chorus of yes ma'ams.
Castiel parks at an empty pump and stops the car, thoughts revolving around resilient smiles and giving souls full of an unappreciated kind of wisdom. He breathes in deeply ignoring the sting of gasoline and lets his breath out in a long and steady sigh.
He's out of the car and into the gas station, sun beaming down on him the whole way enveloping him in heat with no room for a breeze. A tinny bell rings over his head once he enters the building and he breathes a sigh of relief at the cool air that greets his face. The weather doesn't truly affect Castiel, hasn't for a while, but it feels natural being grateful for a drop in temperature, a small habit he doesn't want to break.
Castiel offers up a quick smile to the clerk behind the counter before intently striding over to the chips rack and grabbing some brand-name potato chips and a tea from the fridge near the back of the store. He's not in the mood to be picky about any sort of flavor today, but he does eye the label suspiciously before handing it over to the older woman behind the counter waiting to ring him up.
The woman's fingers are stiff and she is standing off-center hips positioned in a way that Castiel doubts is comfortable. He smiles graciously when she hands him his change and Castiel takes the opportunity to stretch out his grace allowing it to comfort over-worked joints and aching muscles. He hears an audible sigh of relief as he walks towards the door and he smiles, he knows the feeling.
The day has long since retired, but Castiel drives on fingers tapping his steering wheel of their own mind. The radio was turned on a few hours back, Castiel learned many years ago that music could be used to distract a person from themself. He focuses on the longing voice demanding itself free from his dashboard, Spanish words describing a lost love, trumpets crying along to the sorrowful man's story. Castiel loses himself in it, eyes on the road but thoughts on the singer, the tragedy the man recounts with powerful timbre, heartbroken as he swears he'll never recover.
The song ends and trumpets start up again on a different note, the beginning of a new ballad. Castiel continues to listen, learning of new romances, some doomed from the start others lucky enough to overcome all obstacles thrown at them. He listens until they no longer serve as a distraction but as a reminder, turning off the radio with a burning feeling in his gut.
He thinks about stopping for the night. Doesn't need to, but he wants to and that's enough to make the decision for him.
Castiel is settled in a corner booth in some diner just outside of Missouri on a Sunday morning, he's had two cups of coffee and a girl no older than eighteen is pouring him his third. She keeps looking at him as she wipes down a counter, pity clear on her face; Castiel ignores it but he understands, it's human nature to feel bad for those who are alone.
He watches the diner's guests for some time, picks at his bagel, consumes more coffee. He's always liked this, just watching humans interact with one another, watching people simply be. It's fascinating to him, to say the least, and if he feels a prick of jealousy then let it be his problem.
He's in the middle of observing a family of seven, three different generations dining at one table, dressed-up in what must be church attire, laughing at some joke the grandfather told when he feels his pocket buzz. Startled he drops his gaze to his coat and pulls out his phone curiosity peaked. It's not who he expects, he doesn't know who he expected, admittedly, but the name he reads makes him smile.
Hey.
It's a short message, one word, but it's enough to wake him up, probably brighten his whole day. Claire doesn't message him often and usually responds with one or two words, aside from one memorable message soon after she moved in with Jody Mills when she complained about her new roommate, Alex. Castiel had sensed Claire both admired and was frustrated with the older girl; Jody kept him updated and he knows things have cooled off between the two of them now. He's thankful for that fact, wants more than anything for Claire to be comfortable in her new home.
His fingers hover over the phone's screen before he types out his reply. Hello. Followed by: How are you? Castiel feels a little unsure about the second message, doesn't want Claire to feel forced to give him more information than she's comfortable with, but his phone is soon buzzing again and he smiles as he reads it out.
Fine...I still don't really know anyone. Castiel’s heart aches with those words, they resonate with him, something he's felt for far too long. Another message appears on his screen. Jody wanted to know if you were ever gonna come around here. To visit.
Castiel's smile stretches wide, fondness overwhelming him and fueling the words in his next message. I could come over soon. If Jody wants.
He waits some time for the next message, can picture Claire's face frowning as she decides what she wants, what she's okay with.
Kay.
He finishes his coffee languidly, feeling lighter than when he first sat down; the bitter drink goes down easier as he signals the young waitress for his check.
Castiel passes the large family on his way out, revels in how carefree they seem if just for this one meal. It's a miracle, he thinks, what family can do to you.
Castiel is driving down a main road now, a freeway heading north; his coat thrown into the seat next to him, shed after he left the diner. He doesn't need the radio today, isn't tormented by ill thoughts at the moment. Castiel drives with a destination in mind but he isn't rushing it, he decides he appreciates driving populated roads as well empty ones. Everyone around him has someplace to be, and for the moment he's not so alone.