Lost and Found

Tug and Pull (3)

At the age of 10 Castiel's mother died. Leaving him, completely and utterly, alone.

He scavenged off leftovers and forgotten food on tables. That once innocent boy, grew up.

Living off the streets was hard. Shelter was hard to find, and if you did find some, you'd have to fight for what you had. Alleys grew dangerous at night with criminals lurking about.

Castiel stayed high, above the world. Each day, early morning, late at night he climbed up the fire escape of the abandoned brick building, trying not to draw attention to himself. He wore dark colours and blended in as best as he could. He was like a shadow.

Almost like an echo too.

Sometimes, he caught words and sentences from conversations. He would repeat them silently, and watch the people. By the next day, he'd know all about them. He did this for days on end, learning about people. Who to say away from and who to trust. It was something about his mind. Something that allowed him to remember everything he's heard and seen. He had one of the most incredible minds. But he was alone. Stuck.

Castiel got beaten up daily. Sometimes he'd find a whole sandwich or a bagel. Someone would see him eating it, and try to grab or steal from him. If he wouldn't give them the food they'd drag him into one of the abandoned buildings or sewers and hit him until he went limp or passed out. And sometimes, he couldn't climb his ladder to safety, high above on the rooftops and he'd have to hide in one of the garbage bins or in the sewer. Or in a worst case, in one of the abandoned buildings. For days at a time, he had constant bruises, cuts and broken bones. It took months to mend but he never forgot and he learned.

Life was hard.

His stomach, luckily, wasn't the worst. Usually, he wouldn't eat for days on time. It felt like he had a pit, at the bottom of his stomach. And no matter how many scraps he ate, it wouldn't go away. It was like a growing hunger.

So for now, he watched. And watched. And he learned.

But things didn't used to be like this.

Castiel used to live on a small farm with his mother and father. They weren't rich, but they weren't poor enough to be homeless. Even though Castiel was 8 he helped along the farm, feeding cattle and other animals. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays he'd help out in the field, picking berries, fruits and vegetables. His father and him would always pick the berries together. They would pretend they were bears. "Bears picking bear-ies," they used to joke. His mother and him milked the cows and rode horses on the weekends. Sometimes they rode for hours in the meadow or through the forest to their secret place behind the boulders. They were, without a doubt, happy.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner were usually food from the farm. And sometimes, if they were lucky, they'd save up enough to go out for dinner at the Ranch. A local place, best know for their apple and raspberry pie.

Late at night, when Castiel went to bed, his mother and father would tuck him in and tell him stories of princes and princesses. Of dragons, monsters and heroes. They'd tell him stories of angels and demons, god and the devil. And of course, they told him about people who could make a difference. Like one of his great, great, great, great-- each time they said great they would poke him in the belly, making him laugh and squirm.

And before bed, right before lights out, they'd kiss his forehead and tell him he could make a difference. "All you had to do is try," his father would whisper to him while his mother just smiled as they closed the door, surrounding him in darkness.

It was the little things. The rituals, routines that made Castiel smile.

Castiel was always smiling or laughing.

Early one morning Castiel snuck out to ride his horse, Freya. She was a beautiful white speckled horse with a gray tipped muzzle and ears. Beautiful.

She was the fastest horse they owned. Her long gray mane flowed in the wind as they rode. Castiel rode bareback, for putting on the saddle was kinda of a hassle for a small boy like him. It's not that he wasn't strong, for he was. It was because he wasn't that tall.

They galloped threw the far meadow, the one near the blueberry bushes.

The ride through the forest was amazing. Castiel could hear everything. From the birds to the waterfall only minutes away.

Freya got there in a matter of minutes. She walked in the shallow water dipping her head down to drink. Castiel, slipped off her back and put the reins over her head. He walked over to one of the rocks and sat down.

That was the day his father left.

But Castiel didn't know till he came back hours later.

When he got back he found his mother in tears, clutching a letter from the army. They had taken him away. To war.

Castiel stood in shock at the doorframe.

He wanted to comfort his mother but the words were caught in his throat as he choked back a sob.

"M-mom? Is he g-g-gone? Castiel sobbed, a tear rolling down his face.

Months passed since that day. Castiel didn't even get to say goodbye. The boy who always smiled and laughed grew hard. He worked alone on the fields and on his birthday, his mom bought him a cake with all her savings. She'd been growing sick and week.

The farm was staring to die and Castiel couldn't save it because he was only a 9 year old boy. Each night, he now made his mother dinner and put her to bed with a sad smile on his face.

On some days, his mother didn't even get out of bed. Late at night, he could hear her cry through the walls.

••••••••••

••••••••••

Okay guys! I'll update this later! I still have to finish writing it. I'll be written this chapter for awhile so keep checking back, it's gonna be a long chapter :D

I'd love some feed back and suggestions! Let me know what you think!! Good, bad, I want to know(:

I don't know this is my first time here, please comment! Thank you to everyone who voted and read!!

Thanks so much~

••••••••••

••••••••••