Song Remains the Same

Chapter 135: No Place Like Home

"Lies require commitment."
- Veronica Roth

Six Days Later
Samaritan House Catholic Homeless Shelter
Denver, Colorado

He had given his name upon arrival to the shelter as 'Clarence Winchester.'

The first name was thanks to Meg's repeated attempts at nicknaming him that over the years. It had stuck, he supposed.

And the last name... well, that was for obvious reasons.

For the last six days, Castiel had found himself in an entirely new world despite already having been on earth for quite some time. He had been required to do things he never had before: Hitching rides from Longmont to Denver, begging on the streets for food and money—all while dealing with relentless hunger, the need for sleep, a sunburn, and bodily functions he never even considered before (like sweating, itchiness, sluggishness, sore muscles, a headache, thirst, and hurting, blistered feet). There was also having to urinate and otherwise in alleyways and in secluded areas of parks. It all felt very wrong and shameful. He'd slept under a bridge one night with a growling, aching stomach—then been woken and robbed at gunpoint for the nine crumpled dollar bills he'd been given earlier by a kind passerby. His wedding band would have been taken too if it hadn't been for Cas slipping it off to pocket it earlier in the day—that was thanks to some advice from another homeless person. But all that was taken was the money. He was beaten afterward, nothing terrible, but it was humiliating. Terrifying. To have been so full of power and strength then suddenly find himself mortal and unsure of how to defend himself against someone with a firearm. It knocked him off his balance, it made him want to weep. Nowhere felt safe, and he didn't know himself anymore. He had never wanted Alex so badly as he did then.

He had spent the rest of that particular night awake, hurting from the places he'd been beaten and kicked, weakened from lack of food. As he wandered the streets, he stopped at one point to look upward to the starry sky as tears swam in his eyes. He spoke to Alex aloud—a mirror of the way she used to pray to him. He knew she wouldn't hear him. But it comforted him somehow. He did not sleep again that night, even though fatigue made him feel physically sick and disoriented. When the sun rose, he curled up on a bench at a public park—hoping that people being around and the world being brightly lit would keep him safer as he slept. A police officer woke him up not long after and shooed him away, offering no help, only more feelings of despair and being unwanted and incompatible. Everything seemed dangerous now. Unwelcoming. Hostile.

On day three of sleeping on the streets and trying to beg enough money to get a bus ticket to Kansas, a compassionate young woman who introduced herself as Kumi spotted him and bought him a big, warm bagged meal then offered to take him to a program she knew of. Cas was afraid to go anywhere with a stranger, but something in his instincts told him he could trust her. That, and he was weak, filthy, unkempt, and in pain from both the car crash injuries and the beating... it left him desperate and at the end of his wits, willing to take a risk. Thankfully it turned out well.

The young woman took him to a Catholic church led group called the Samaritan House on the outskirts of Denver, and there Cas had been welcomed by kind staff to his utter relief and gratitude. They had given him clothes, meager basic supplies like toothpaste, soap, a comb—and he was graciously admitted into the dormitories to work their homelessness halfway house program. There, he had a clean and comfortable bottom bunk bed, access to bathrooms and showers and laundry facilities, and daily work opportunities funded by church outreach. He kept to himself when he was not working. The other residents of the facility were a mixed bag—many seemed to come and go—and Cas could tell that all of them seemed to think he was odd. And could he disagree?