(no subject)

[morethananything]

Sam Winchester fell asleep at the end of the world, and woke up in the light of a new day. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten out, or why he remembers a burst of light teeming with angry curses, but he's alone, swimming in a white suit and wondering why the world smelled like rotting flesh and dirt and tinny metal. He wanders a little, the silence palpable, and finds slightly dirtied clothing made for boys his age, though he's sort of swimming in that, too, because he's not very big for an eight year old - all stringy and thin and short.

There are people around later. They're terrifying. He tries to talk to a smaller girl and she bites him hard on the arm, tries to wrestle him to the ground and smash his head with a rock; it's only lucky that he's faster to make up for his strength. He runs for a long, long, time, until he's too tired and too hungry and too scared to go any further. It's only by chance and luck does he find the camp, scales it's fences, and sneaks through the area. The forest is thick, and when he sees shadows, he's quick to crawl into a rotted out log and wait out the danger.

Eventually, though, he falls prey to exhaustion right where he lies, arm tucked under his dirt and grime-matted head, and sleeps.

He dreams about carving initials into cars, about playing with airplanes and laughing and eating chips on old, shitty motel furniture, and he dreams of crying himself to sleep sometimes because Dad's not there and the shadows feel so alive. Or that he cries for a mother he doesn't have. Or for a life with friends and a home that he's never even really known but wants more than anything.

He wants Dad.

And Dean.

This is all a nightmare, isn't it? He'll wake up eventually.

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[indecadence]

For Castiel, the world stretched itself into a slow pop that eventually fizzled out when he happened not to look. There's not much point to understanding it, only moving into the restraint that's so limited these days. He can't rely on his pills or the weed or the booze. He can't rely on those bodies at camp he'd forgotten to learn the names of when he'd still had the chance. He only has himself, now, and maybe-- maybe it could be worse than what it is.

He could be gone, dead in that empty building with everything he had ever known wasted in the ruins of those walls and beneath the weight of walking corpses. He doesn't know if Dean's alive or dead, if this suicidal plan of theirs had actually worked. He'd woken up in puddles of cool blood and bullet casings, limbs stiff and chest aching from being face-down far too long to be safe. It'd been quiet, deathly so, and for once, he's not laughing at the joke.

He's alone, always alone. He wills himself to be dead, and when that doesn't work, he just stumbles along, out of his mind and confused. He wants too, but some things in life just aren't that fair.

And by the time he makes it to camp, everything's different. Hardly anyone's stayed, nothing much to salvage except for some things here and there. He falls asleep just inside the door to his cabin, the beads over the door brushing his legs, and if he dreams, it's really nothing he hasn't seen before. Nothing he wants to see. Castiel doesn't know how long he's out, feels like days, but he's jerked back into consciousness by the urge to piss. It's followed very closely by nausea, mouth dry and tasting of blood, and the only thing that gets him up and moving is the thought he's got some weed stashed under his mattress somewhere no one should have touched.

He's planning to wait it out with the hope Dean (or someone else) makes it back so they can regroup. And he stumbles his way to the other side of camp, dazed as he checks out the perimeter and stops to fix the problem that had pulled him to consciousness. It's a quick affair, one that has him staring at pretty much everything and noticing whatever movement comes from the underbrush. Castiel wipes his hands on his jeans and investigates without any hesitation at all, crouching down and sort of poking at the shoe he sees.

"Hey." He really doesn't want this thing to be dead right now.

[morethananything]

There's a soft noise of surprise, and tries to crawl further into the log by instinct. His arm still aches where the girl and tried to rip through his flesh there, and he cradles it and feels a pressure in his chest that is most-assuredly fear. So far, everyone he's seen has been violent, angry, and bloodthirsty.

"Please - don't hurt me. I'm just looking for m'family."

Maybe he'll notice how level the voice was, but there's no noticing right now.

[indecadence]

Not dead and a kid.

He'd assumed from the size of the shoe, but that hardly means anything in a time when others will do anything to survive. Castiel frowns, leaning forward a little more in an effort to see down the length of the fallen tree. He keeps his response even and firm, an attempt at friendliness. He'd never been particularly good with the children in camp. Then again, he'd spent most of his time too high out of his mind to really notice much else.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He rests his hands on his knees. "Your family - did they come this way?"

[morethananything]

... He's talking normal. That's — that's good, at least. The others didn't much bother with that kind of thing. They mostly just ran in for the kill. He slowly crawls backwards from the log, his feet scrambling a bit behind him as he goes. He replies as he moves, "I don't know; I, I don't remember how I got here. But my brother wouldn't have left me very far... My dad, um, he might be out on a trip, but things look really bad..."

He pops out entirely, all disheveled, clothes a size too big, doe-eyed and floppy-haired. "Did you see other people?"

[indecadence]

A small thing, and he sits back on his heels, watching him crawl out and listening to him talk about certainties that seem like a dream to Castiel. Unfortunately, there is nothing to recognize in the boy's face, and he gives the slightest shake of his head in response.

"There were others, but they moved on." Because why stay when their once fearless leader was probably dead? Castiel swallows and regards him again, carefully this time. "It's not safe to stay out in the open like this. If you come with me, I'll help you look for them." And he pauses a second before wiping a hand on his jeans again and offering it to him. "I'm Cas."

[morethananything]

It takes him a long and thoughtful pause, but he eventually nods. There's nobody else out there, and even if he was warned about stranger danger, this is sort of an unusual exception; everyone seems dangerous. And he needs to find his family.

"I'm Sam." He stands up completely, patting leaves and dirt of his floppy jeans and shirt. "I, I don't know what happened. I was just sleeping, and..."