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On the Run

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Images flashed before the young angel's eyes. They revealed a young man screaming in pain, his knuckles white against the smoldering bars in his grasp. His flesh bare of skin and not dissimilar to melting butter. The man's features were agony. An estranged cry pushed him away to gaze at a cage engulfed in fire and void. He recognized this scene as all angels did.

Samandriel's eyes flew open. His body was tense as his grasp struggled to find something to clutch. Catching his breath and calming his heart, the young angel was finally able to take in his surroundings. He was still in the pile of trash he had fallen into the night before. His clothing was stiff with his own blood. With a groan, Samandriel crawled out of the trash. It was at this time he noticed an elderly man sat across from him. Reluctantly, the man passed him a dirty rag without question. Samandriel smiled at the small kindness and wiped off his face.

"Thank you," the young angel said as he passed the rag back to the man. He then settled more comfortably into a sitting position. He needed to know why he experienced the images he had. It couldn't have been a regular dream, ergo a nightmare. Angel's simply did not experience dreams.

The idea that it had been sent from Heaven as a threat quickly crossed his mind. His vessel's heart beat harder and his breathing increased with it. The young angel covered his face with his hands as his head sunk to his lap. They'll be hunting me. Samandriel decided. He didn't want to believe his brothers and sisters would abandon him, that Castiel would abandon him. His eyes welled and tears rolled across his palms. Of course they did. What else was Heaven good at besides deserting its own.

Samandriel let out a shuddering breath before recollecting himself. He sat back taking deep breaths to distract from the itchiness of his now red eyes. Samandriel, one of the youngest angels in Heaven and regularly regarded as Heaven's most adorable, was alone. Not a soul from Heaven or Hell, Demon or Angel, cared for his existence except for the end of it. The young angel's thoughts wandered back to the images he witnessed. Maybe that figure wasn't him, but in fact a lost soul. Someone like him who needed a friend. Samandriel knew what he had to do.