Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clara was furious. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel as she seethed and cursed Dean Winchester. Her stomach churned as she fought to keep her attention on the road, pedal to the metal as she sped away from the bunker.

She had been out on a separate case when the angels fell. And while she’d watched what looked like a meteor shower from her motel window, it wasn’t until a brief call with the brothers that she learned the gist of what had happened that night. It had been quiet from them after that—the brothers went radio silent, and Cas wasn’t picking up her calls. A week later—tired of being ghosted—she made her way to the bunker.

That’s when she figured out what Dean had done. Ezekiel now possessed Sam, and as a result, a human Castiel was alone in the world, with a target on his back. The wrath of Heaven on his tail and not a dollar to his name.

Clara swallowed hard as she passed the “Lawrence City Limit” sign, feeling a tightness in her throat. Saying she’d had a few choice words for the eldest Winchester was an understatement. The angel had called Dean immediately after the Fall, expecting a rescue—only to be met with Dean’s insistence that he couldn’t do anything with Sam in the condition he was in. When Clara had asked why they didn’t call her, she learned that both of them had decided it was safer for her not to get involved.

For fuck’s sake.

Aside from the rumble of the engine and the hum of tires on pavement, it was silent in the car. Clara knew there would be virtually no way to track Castiel. He was a warrior of Heaven, and even as a human, she knew he was capable of staying hidden. She’d tried to get something – anything – on his location from Dean, but the man was infuriatingly tight-lipped. You’d be putting him in more danger by following him, he had warned. The words kept echoing in her head. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was probably right. If Dean had told her where Cas had gone, the other angels might have found her just as easily—and followed her straight to him.

She huffed, trying to ignore the ache in her chest at the thought of Castiel out there alone. While he and Dean might have their “profound bond,” she had grown just as close to the angel over the years.  If she had a best friend – it would be Cas.

Clara drove for hours, the monotony of the road doing little to calm the storm inside her. The landscape blurred past —intermittent flashes of gas stations, open cornfields, and sleepy towns. She wasn’t sure where exactly she was headed, only that she was moving in the direction of her apartment.

Her apartment—a place that had, over time, become something of a home base. It wasn’t much, just a studio over a pawn shop in downtown Chicago. But it had hot water, strong locks, and enough lore books and weapons stashed in hidden compartments to wage a small war. She didn’t stay there often—hunting didn’t allow for much domesticity—but when she needed to regroup, to heal, or just be human for a little while, that was where she went.

But she wouldn’t make it there tonight.

Her eyes burned from exhaustion, and the adrenaline that had fueled her fury hours ago had finally run dry. She pulled into the first roadside motel that didn’t look like a front for a murder scene—Rustwood Inn, according to the flickering neon sign—and parked under the buzzing light of a lamppost.

The clerk barely looked up when she paid for the room in cash. Room 12. She didn’t bother turning on the TV or unpacking more than a change of clothes. The room smelled faintly of mildew, and the tan bedspread had cigarette burns, but it was clean enough. Safe enough.

Clara changed into a worn T-shirt, wearing it like a dress, brushed her teeth in the yellowed bathroom mirror, and collapsed onto the mattress, limbs aching. She stared at the popcorn ceiling for a long moment, listening to the distant sound of a semi rolling by on the highway.

Sleep came slowly – but it came.

Then her phone rang.

The shrill ringtone yanked her out of sleep. She jolted upright, heart hammering. Blinded by the screen's glow in the dark, she fumbled across the nightstand until her fingers closed around her phone. Unknown Number.

Without thinking, she tapped the green button and lifted the phone to her ear. “Yeah?” Her voice came out rough and disoriented.

There was static. A breath. Then—

“Clara?”

Her breath caught. 

“Cas?” she whispered, sitting up straighter as the sheets pooled around her waist.

“I don’t have much time. I’m at a phone booth. I… I didn’t know who else to call.”

His voice—still that gentle, gravelly rumble—was laced with exhaustion. And the moment she heard it, Dean’s warning evaporated. 

“Where are you?” she asked, flicking on the lamp beside her as she jumped to her feet, shoving the sheets aside to grab the jeans draped over the chair.

There was a pause. “Detroit.  I-I’m not sure where exactly. I don’t think it’s safe to stay long. I just… needed to hear your voice.”

He didn’t know what that did to her.

Despite the situation, her cheeks flushed at the sentiment. Her fingers shook as she pulled on her boots, the phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek.

“Stay put,” she said. “I’m coming to you.”

“Clara, it’s not—”

“No arguments,” she cut in, her voice trembling just slightly. “Just… stay there.”

He was quiet. For a second, she thought the line had dropped.

“I’ll wait,” he said finally.

Static crackled, then the call ended.

She stood frozen for a moment, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The silence that followed was deafening.

Clara swallowed hard, shoving down the flood of emotions threatening to rise—relief, worry, and something else. Something she hadn’t let herself name for a long time.

Castiel had called her.

She clenched her jaw and grabbed her keys.

There was no room for hesitation. Not tonight.

Not when the man she couldn’t stop thinking about was out there,  alone—and reaching for her.

Chapter Text

Driving down the desolate highways, Clara thanked her lucky stars she had already begun traveling in the right direction. Having been just outside of Springfield when Cas called, it would take a total of about 7 hours to make it to Detroit. And while she wasn’t exactly running on a full night’s sleep, she was confident she could make it to Cas by dinner.

The hours rolled by in a blur of static radio and pop cds. If any album was going to keep her awake, it would be Rhianna's Good Girl Gone Bad . Keeping the windows cracked to fight off the lull of exhaustion, Clara’s fingers tapping out an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the highway, and as city lights finally began to flicker on the horizon, she felt her body sigh in relief.

But as she reached the outskirts of Detroit a realization hit her like a slap: Cas never said where he was. And it’s not like she could just call and ask.

Feeling like an idiot at her oversight, Clara pulled off at the first exit, her heart thudding with frustration and worry. She found a parking lot near a dimly lit strip of shops and let the engine idle for a moment before cutting it. Rubbing her eyes, she muttered, “If I were Cas where would I be…” as if the thought alone would bring her to a revelation. 

With her phone nearly dead and her stomach growling, she slipped into a quiet coffee shop with an old duffel slung over her shoulder. It smelled of burnt espresso and floor cleaner, but it was warm, and more importantly, it had Wi-Fi. She ordered a coffee she didn’t really want and took a seat by the window, pulling out her laptop and balancing it on her knees.

A quick search for shelters that took in single men narrowed things down. As much as she didn’t want to think about it, she doubted Castiel had the money for a motel room. The only other clue was that he had called her from a payphone. The things were becoming increasingly rare, and looking at the public database, only a few shelters had them within decent walking distance. 

One shelter in particular caught her eye. It met all the criteria and would have been one of the first places Castiel would have seen, assuming he came from the opposite side of the city she had. Clara wasn’t sure where the angel had landed after the fall, but she could only hope that Detroit was originally meant to be a stop on the way to the bunker. 

Coffee in hand and nerves alight, Clara headed back to the car, programming the shelter’s address into her GPS. She grimaced as it started to rain, the large drops pelting at her windshield had her thoughts went to Cas. She prayed he was inside.

The city had turned fully to night by the time she arrived. The building was modest, brick-faced, and half-hidden behind a chain-link fence. A few people lingered under an awning, huddled in coats, smoking or simply watching the street. And there it was: the payphone, grimy and leaning slightly to the left, but unmistakably there.

Clara took a breath, grabbed her umbrella from the floor of the passenger seat, and stepped out. The wind whipped in her ears as she walked up the path, boots echoing against the sidewalk. It would be a miracle if Cas was here—or at least someone who’d seen him. She reached the front door and paused, her fingers curling into fists.

“Okay, Cas,” she whispered, “you better be in there.”

Clara stepped through the shelter’s front door and into a room that was brighter and more bustling than she’d expected. The fluorescent lights flickered above rows of folding chairs and tired faces. A few people sat slumped over their meals, others murmured softly to each other, and the air was thick with the smell of overcooked vegetables and damp coats.

She approached the reception desk, her boots squeaking faintly against the linoleum floor. A middle-aged woman with tired eyes and salt-and-pepper braids looked up from a clipboard.

“Evening, hon. If you need a place to stay, I’m afraid we’re all booked up.” the woman spoke, her voice kind.

Clara shook her head quickly, clutching her damp umbrella. “No, actually, I’m looking for someone. He would’ve come in tonight, or maybe earlier today. Dark hair, blue eyes, mid to late thirties.”

The woman blinked, thinking, then her eyes narrowed in recognition. “Did he have a deep voice? Well spoken?”

Clara felt her heart leap. “Yes. That’s him.”

The woman sighed and set her clipboard down. “Yeah, I remember him. He came by a few hours ago, but we were already over capacity. I hated to turn him away, but the fire marshal’s been on us about headcount.”

Clara’s stomach twisted. “Do you know where he might’ve gone?”

“There’s a bridge,” the woman said, nodding toward the back wall, “just a couple yards behind the building. Some of the folks who can’t get a bed sometimes take shelter under there when the weather’s bad. It’s not much, but it keeps the worst of the rain off. If he didn’t go there, he probably didn’t go far.”

Clara nodded slowly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “I hope you find him, hon.”

With a murmured thanks, Clara turned and pushed back into the night. The rain had only gotten worse, soaking through her jeans as she made her way around the building, her umbrella doing little against the wind. The shelter’s back lot was dimly lit by a single flickering lamp, but beyond it, she could make out the outline of the bridge.

Each step toward it felt heavier than the last.

“Cas?” she called out tentatively, her voice catching in the rain and wind.

Nothing.

She reached the embankment and peered under the bridge, heart hammering in her chest. A few shapes were huddled beneath it, wrapped in sleeping bags and battered coats. The smell of wet concrete and stale cigarettes filled the air.

Then she saw him. Curled against the far wall, a battered coat drawn tight around him, damp hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes closed.

“Cas,” Clara said, louder this time.

His eyes fluttered open, confused and glassy.

When he saw her—really saw her—his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and rimmed red, and he tried to sit up. But the motion was weak and trembling, his body barely responding. The cold had sunk deep into his bones, his hands shaking violently, teeth chattering as if his jaw had a mind of its own.

“C-Clara?” he rasped, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the rain.

She gasped, rushing to him and dropping to her knees, the gravel biting into her jeans. “Cas,” she breathed, grabbing his shoulders gently but firmly, trying to steady him as he swayed. His clothes were soaked through, and his body trembled beneath her hands. 

“Oh God” she swore, her voice tight with worry, her eyes shining with tears that mixed with the rain. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were?”

He blinked at her, the faintest, crooked smile twitching at his lips. “Didn’t know… where I’d end up,” he murmured, his words slurring from the cold.

She reached up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead—feeling the feverish chill radiating from his skin. Panic prickled in her chest.

“We need to get you out of here,” she said sharply, her eyes scanning over him. “Okay, okay. I’ve got you.”

He tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him. Clara caught him before he hit the ground again, slipping her arm around his waist and hoisting him up with effort. He leaned into her, all dead weight and shivers, barely conscious.

“Come on, Cas,” she said, her voice trembling with urgency. “Don’t you dare pass out on me now.”

The wind howled around them as she guided him toward the car. With one arm locked around his waist, Clara fumbled to keep the umbrella aloft with her free hand, angling it desperately to shield them both. The wind yanked at it violently, tilting it sideways, but she clung to the handle, teeth gritted. The rain pelted down in sheets, running in cold rivulets down her back, but she focused only on Cas—his labored breaths, the way he clung to her like an anchor.

Her boots splashed through puddles as she half-carried, half-dragged him along, whispering a constant stream of reassurances more for herself than for him.

“I’ve got you,” she repeated. “Almost there. Just a little further.”

The car came into view like a lighthouse through the storm. Clara fumbled her keys from her coat pocket with frozen fingers, nearly dropping them in her scramble. With a grunt of effort, she managed to get Cas to lean against the car while she yanked the door open. The interior light blinked on, casting a faint yellow glow against the wet darkness.

“Okay, okay, here we go,” she muttered, looping both arms around him again.

She maneuvered him into the passenger seat, bracing his head as he slumped sideways. He groaned softly as she tugged the seatbelt across his chest and clicked it in place. His skin was ice-cold beneath her touch, and the soaked fabric of his coat squelched as she shifted him.

With a final glance to make sure he was secure, Clara shoved the umbrella by his feet and jumped in on the driver’s side, slamming the door behind her. The storm immediately dulled to a muffled roar against the car’s frame. She cranked the heat, the vents wheezing to life as warm air slowly began to fill the cabin.

Cas was shivering violently, his lips tinged blue, his eyelids fluttering in semi-consciousness.

Clara reached over, brushing the wet hair from his forehead, her hand lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“You’re okay now,” she said softly, her voice tight as a shiver ran through her own body.

She turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered, then roared to life.

As the heater blew stronger and the windshield wipers cleared away the rain, Clara glanced over at him again—his head resting against the seat, breath shallow, but steady.

Clara exhaled shakily, pulling out of the lot, the tires crunching over wet gravel as she turned onto the street. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, eyes flicking between the road and Cas slumped in the passenger seat. The heater was doing its best, but he was still trembling, and his eyelids kept drooping closed.

“Hey—no sleeping yet, okay?” she said, her voice tight with urgency. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

He mumbled something incoherent, his head lolling toward the window.

Clara reached over at a red light, squeezing his arm gently. “Come on, Cas. Talk to me. We’re five minutes out. Just five.”

A neon vacancy sign had burned itself into her memory during the drive in—some run-down roadside motel with a cracked blue awning and a faded name she couldn’t quite remember. It wasn’t ideal, but it was shelter. And right now, it was salvation.

She kept her voice steady, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness as they drove. “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, Cas. If you do, I swear I’ll start singing early 2000s pop at full volume. And you know I know every word to Britney's greatest hits.”

Cas gave a faint grunt, the corner of his mouth twitching as he blinked slowly. His glassy eyes stared blankly ahead through the windshield, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass.

Clara kept talking, even if she wasn’t sure he was processing any of it. “Remember that time you tried to order everything on the menu at that diner in Nebraska? You told the waitress it would be severely unwise if she didn’t get us something we liked—and scared that poor woman half to death.”

His lips parted as if he might say something, but only a breath escaped.

“Yeah, you were still trying to figure out how… humanity worked,” she continued, her voice softening. “You’ve come a long way, Cas. Don’t you check out on me now.”

She turned into the motel’s lot just as the downpour thickened, the wipers working overtime against the sheets of water. The parking lot was mostly empty, dimly lit by a flickering sign. Clara parked near the office and leaned over to brush a hand against his cheek. His skin was still too cold, but his eyes fluttered open at her touch.

“We made it,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

Leaving the engine running for the heat, she jumped out and ran inside, splashing through puddles with her wallet already in hand. The desk clerk looked up as she approached, rubbing his tired eyes. “A single?” he asked, his voice rough from hours of monotony.

Clara hesitated, biting her lip. “Do you have anything with two beds?” she asked, figuring Cas would want his own space.

He shook his head slowly. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re completely booked up tonight.”

She swallowed hard, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay, a single will do.”

The clerk took her money without another word and handed over an old key with a tired, bored look.

Clara was back at the car in under two minutes, swinging the door open and crouching beside him. “Okay, Cas. One last haul.”

She grabbed the soaked umbrella at his feet and flicked it open, awkwardly angling it to shield them both as she struggled to haul him to his feet. Supporting his weight with one arm and holding the umbrella steady with the other, she guided him carefully across the slick parking lot toward room 106. Rain still slipped beneath the edges, soaking her back and seeping into his shoulders, but it was a small mercy compared to the storm outside.

The door resisted at first, then gave way on the second try. Clara pushed it open with her hip, helping Cas inside before easing him down onto the chair in the corner.