Summary: The angels are now humans and Cas finds his way to the Bunker where Dean is nearly broken and Sam is dying. Lucifer (and Michael) are about to be set free. The angels are working with the demons, and the croatoan virus is becoming a threat again. God seems to be appearing in the map again and it's not exactly helpful. Meanwhile Dean has to deal with his feelings with Cas and a love story that seems to be in its breaking point. So yes, the world, Dean, Cas and Sam seem to be all going into the path of that future from 2014 that Zachariah had sent Dean to. It seems that no matter how many details Dean changes, they always end up in the same place.

I had first decided not to publish this work until I had everything finished, but as this is my attempt at how series 9 and 10 should be (if they're utterly compressed into 14 episodes), I wanted to publish it before season 9 airs, and my writing is slowlier than I thought.
Anyway, I hope that you get hooked, and bear with me this writing through the semester (I thought you're patient because when exams come writing will come slowler).
That said, when reading, remember that English is not my first language, therefore, you might find some vocabulary or grammatical errors as I have no Beta. Every chapter is titled after a Kansas song. To see the post with the lyrics of the song and/or the meaning behind the song, here: "angelsarewatchingoveryoudean . tumblr post/58650294070/a-broken-hallelujah-chapter-title-masterpost"
(By the way, Hopelessly Human, that's a bit obvious, right?) This is not going to be a happy story. As it comes very close to the Endverse, it will be full of angst, unsaid stuff, repressed feelings and sad moments. It will have smut and happy fluffy moments, but as we learned in Supernatural for every laugh there's ten hours of crying, so...
I started this story with one propmt: "Cas can't see Dean's soul anymore", and with that a whole plot blossomed.
I'll leave you to the reading.

Edit 05/12/13: The story has been made into 15 chapters. The Destiel has a slow building. I mean, this is a story were things follow an Endverse kind of path, therefore we need to break our Team Free Will, and they as characters had had a lot of character development. So that means that to reach the Endverse we have to break them hard and slowly. And this is story isn't just about Destiel, is about them, our boys. Destiel IS the goal, but is more than just that.
Right now I'm half way through the story (tomorrow I'll publish chapter 7), and although my biggest fear is how well do I manage with English I'm rather proud of it, and I think I'm establishing what I first pictured.
Just remember, this is not a happy story. It has descriptions of torture, is violent, there are a lot of deaths and it gets progressively darker.
Anyway, this is getting too long. I leave you to the story.

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Chapter 1

Hopelessly Human

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The smell of ozone, from his fallen brothers and sisters, was still strong in the air. He forced himself to look at the sky that had cast down his family, and he walked. Orientation wasn't as before, as human, he wasn't connected anymore to the Earth and his Father's creations. He was alone, trapped in a limited brain, and even the thought process required to get to the knowledge of the star map and analyze it, was slow.

He walked with one set in mind. One person that he wanted to see. One human. He ignored the hunger in his stomach, the ache in his tired muscles. And when sleep came and tried to claim him, he ignored it too. He had felt lost and sad and tiny, part of him had wanted to die. But when the thought of Dean had appeared in his mind, he recovered his strength. He had to see him. He wasn't going to ask him for his help, he knew that he didn't deserved it. He wasn't going to give him any explanation either, there was no justification for what he did. He was just going to see him, and maybe say goodbye. He owed him that much to him.

When he reached the first populated are, Cas realized that he couldn't tell if they were humans or demons anymore. All he could see was the meat, he realized how weak he was. And for the first time in his existence, he knew what fearing for himself was.

The second day of walking was coming to an end, the sun long gone from the sky, when he arrived. His whole body ached, and raising his fist to knock at the door seemed too much. But he remembered being tortured in Heaven for trying to serve Dean instead of 'God'. He had endured that, and Dean had proved to be worthy and so much more. So he could do this.

With white knuckles from the cold, he knocked at the door of the Bunker.

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Dean took down another gulp of whiskey. His little brother was dying and his best friend was gone, probably dead. He put the cold glass in his forehead, trying to calm down his raising thoughts. It didn't help at all, of course. Because the facts didn't change. He didn't have a clue of how to help Sam with the effects of the trials. And this time, he didn't have Bobby to call him for help or to just contain him. He was alone with no one to pray to. Because even if by some miracle Cas was still alive, well, he was either ignoring him or he was no longer an angel.

He took some more whiskey while a silent tear came down his face. And when all the emotions of sorrow translated themselves into anger, he wanted to throw away the glass against the wall. But he wouldn't do it, that would stir Sam awake, who already had trouble sleeping as it was. With a sigh he pressed the glass harder against his forehead. And that's when he heard it. A couple of knocks against the door of the Bunker.

Despite the alcohol, he was sharp, it took more than a couple of shots of whiskey to put him lightheaded. So he grabbed his gun and went to open the door. He wasn't waiting for anybody. And if it was that damn Kevin kid, then he and him were going to share a few words.

Carefully, and with the gun ready, he opened the door.

Dean stood there frozen for a few seconds.

The fallen angel was standing in front of him. He was pale, there were bags under his blue gaze, his shoulders were down in defeat and his trenchcoat was extremely dirty. But the worst of all were his eyes, that looked into him searching for a hope and apparently they searched and searched but they couldn't find it.

Only now Cas understood the true cost of his humanity. The one thing that he had cherished the most. Dean's beautiful and shining soul was hidden from him. Never again he would be able to cherish at the sight of that marvelous light that was the soul of the Righteous Man. A soul so pure that not even with the mind-control of Naomi, he could harm. Now he truly understood the curse of having his Grace stolen.

Realizing that he wasn't able anymore to see Dean's soul was the final straw. Cas fell onto his knees and started crying.

The hunter put his gun with the safe locked into his back pocket, and in a flash he was kneeled besides his best friend and was holding him in his arms. He whispered his name.

"Cas..."

The hunter had known fear before, he had known desperation and pain. He had known what felt like to lose all hope and reach bottom. He had endured thirty years of torture in Hell without breaking. And when he did break, he hadn't done so like now. Dean's heart was breaking into a million pieces at the sight of Cas crying with such despair and hopelessness.

"Cas..." he said again. The one word he was able to say right now, the word that had more meaning than what human language could cover.

At the mention of his name, the fallen angel raised his head from Dean's shoulder and locked his gaze with the green eyes. The tears had cleared a path in his dirty face, but their trail was lost at the beginning of the bear that had begun to appear on the angel's face. As a drowning man clutching to a lifesaver, he got hold of Dean's face. He desperately searched for something into Dean's eyes but he couldn't find what he was looking for. His face then transformed into one of bone-reaching sorrow, a sorrow that would break beyond repair any lesser man, and that was definitely breaking Cas.

"Cas, what's happening?" asked a desperate Dean.

"Your soul," said Cas, his voice could barely form those two words without breaking, "I can't see it..." and he was falling once more.

"You fell," whispered Dean.

"He stole my Grace. It was a trap, Dean. You were right once more," Cas lowered his eyes, "I should leave," he said and got up.

"Where are you going?" questioned him Dean, steeling his voice and getting up too.

"I shouldn't be here," said Cas refusing to meet Dean's eyes, if he did he wouldn't have the will to leave. And he didn't deserved to be with Dean.

"So that's it, " spatted Dean, "you're leaving again."

"Dean, I-"

"What's going to be the excuse this time, huh?" confronted him the hunter, "What ulterior motive do you have now?"

"I-" tried to explain himself the fallen angel, but he was interrupted once more.

"You know what? If you want to leave, then leave," said Dean getting really close, penetrating him with his eyes, "But if you leave, don't you dare to ever come back. Or I swear to God that I- I- I'll hunt you down," he finished.

Having learned about emotions and feelings from the Winchesters, Cas sadness turned into anger.

"You would do that, wouldn't you? Even after everything I did for you," even being now a tiny human, the phantom of what he had been could be seen.

And because he had been an angel of the Lord, he would prove himself to Dean.

"I'll stay, " he said.

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Once they passed the door of the Bunker, the anger, the frustration, the sadness was replaced by a sense of awkwardness.

"Do you want to eat something or a shower?" asked Dean scratching the back of his neck.

"A shower and some food later would be good," answered him the fallen angel.

"O-Okay," stuttered Dean, "I'll show you the bathroom and give you some of my clothes to borrow."

"What's wrong with my own clothes?" asked Cas tilting his head.

For all that was wrong with the world, Dean smiled at Cas confusion.

"Cas, man, you're human now. You can't just mojo your clothes clean. You're gonna sweat on them and need to change them regularly."

"Oh, right," and Cas depressive tone cleaned away all traces of Dean's smile.

They walked towards the bathroom in silence. The awkwardness in the air bothered Dean. Where was that easiness that he had with his best friend. He had said that he was going to stay, but Dean wouldn't let himself fall into hope. Hope was a bitch that at the end of the day, it brought you down to your knees and made you beg for mercy.

However, when he was alone in his room, looking for suitable clothes for Cas, hope found a tiny way into his heart. And with it came sorrow and fear of losing him once more. He stayed some good ten minutes steeling himself, and repairing his mask, that had so many cracks on it that the fact that he was still able to hold it in place was a miracle on its own.

Miracles, ha. In his opinion, miracles sucked.

He arrived at the bathroom with the clothes for Cas with the most carefree attitude he could manage.

"Cas, I brought the clothes for you," he said looking at the shower curtain.

"The fallen angel pushed away the curtain just enough so his face could be seen.

"Thank you, Dean," he said, his voice was the same than usual but his eyes were red. Had he been crying again?

"Cas, are you okay?" he asked worried, if there was something that he never ever wanted to see again was the image of Cas crying. It felt so wrong... and it made him feel so helpless.

"Yes, Dean," said the angel with a tired tone, "I just learned the hard way that the foam needs to stay away from the eyes."

"Oh," said Dean, there was nothing more that he could add. Cas tone made him want to puke. It felt as if he was dead in the inside.

After he had showed Cas a bedroom, he figured it was time for him to sleep too. So he took what was left of the whiskey and took it to his room. By the third full glass, he was knocked out. The empty bottle slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.

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Normally, Dean loved a good drop bass, but when it came from his cell phone at what had to be too fucking early, he hated it. Growling, he grabbed his phone and without looking at who was calling, he shut down the call. He threw it away and closed his eyes again. The hangover was aggressively destroying his head.

The damn phone started playing again.

"What?" he snarled at whoever was daring to call him.

"Dean! Thank God you're answering," said Garth from the other end of the line, "I've been calling you for ages."

"Why?" asked Dean sharply.

He was totally not in the mood to play along with the clumsiest and luckiest-to-be-alive hunter in the world.

"Why? Where had you been, you idjit? Don't you know about what's been happening for the last three days?"

Apparently, Garth had still set in mind to imitate Bobby.

"Where do you think I was?" reproached him Dean.

"In the middle of it?" the other tried to guess, and once again Garth was Garth and not a cheap copy of Bobby.

"Yeah, Garth, in the fucking middle of it," he sighed, "So what?"

"Well, since that meteor shower of the other day, you know, there's been people appearing. Some where taken by the police for being violent or whatever, others have been taken to a nuthouse... And they've been speaking," he explained.

"Yeah?" said Dean truing to hide the slight worry in his voice.

"There's been two prime words that they all said," and when Dean said nothing, Garth continued, "Is there something that you want to say to good ol' Garth, Dean?"

Dean decided that what the hell. He knew that he could trust Garth. And if the others hunters knew about the fallen angels too, it would be for the best. At least they could try to help them and don't let them get rotten in jails or nuthouses. Most of them may be dicks, but they didn't deserved that.

"Okay, Garth, listen carefully. Angels, they are real," he said and waited for the other to rebut what he just said or to call him crazy.

"All right," said Garth instead.

"That's it?" asked Dean confused, "you are just gonna accept what I said just like that?"

"Yes, you're my friend. Why I wouldn't trust what you say?" answered the hunter in all honesty.

"Garth, I..." said Dean moved by the simplicity of the other guy.

"So how are the angels connected to the meteor shower?"

Dean sighed. He told him about how the angels have been involved in the Apocalypse. He told him about how the Leviathans were freed and then Purgatory. He then asked about Naomi's and his mind control and as much as he knew about Metatron. He told him that Castiel's Grace had been stolen and how the feathered dickhead had made the angels fell.

"And now he's is here with us," Dean finished his tale.

Garth had listened in silence, hearing everything that Dean said, even what he didn't say.

"So this Castiel is your friend?" he questioned him.

"Yes," answered Dean, his voice heavy with the admission.

"Okay, then I'm going to help you," said Garth.

"Help us?" asked Dean contorting his face with confusion.

"Yes," replied Garth as if it was the most obvious thing, "these fallen angels guys don't speak your friend's name with fondness exactly."

"What do you mean?" inquired Dean worried.

"Well... let's say that they want to garth him or angel him or whatever they do now. But it definitely isn't nice."

Dean's heart stopped beating for a second. And when it continued it did so with a certain determination.

No.

The son of bitches wouldn't take Cas away from him. Not again. He was going to kill them before they could touch a single hair of Cas.

"And how can you help us?" he asked to Garth.

"I can misguide them. Leave false clues of your whereabouts," explained the hunter. Dean could practically hear him smiling through the line.

"Yeah, do that," he said and before hanging up, he called, "And Garth?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," answered Garth, his voice was radiating with happiness.

Dean hanged up and rubbed his face with his hands. He submitted the willpower to get up and face another day of watching everyone he loved suffering one way or another and him being unable to help them. The hunter dressed himself and went to check on his little brother.

Sam was deep asleep in his bed. The fever that was burning him up produced little drops of sweat to cover his forehead. His breathing was erratic, like he was having a nightmare. His hands were clutching to the sheets in a poor attempt of holding themselves to something, weakened as they were.

"Sammy," whispered in a broken voice Dean, taking the seat next to his brother bed, and caressing the side of Sam's head.

The sound of his brother's voice seemed to sooth Sam, whose breathing became calmer and whose hands relaxed.

"Don't you worry, Sammy. I'm here," he said and a single tear fell from his left eye, "I'm going to take care of you."

With one last look to his sick brother, he got up. He was going to check up on Cas and then he was going to give his brother an ice-cold bath. The hunter walked to Cas' room and knocked on the door. When there was no answer he opened the door.

The lights were off and when he turned them on, the only sign that the fallen angel had been there was the dirty trenchcoat and Jimmy's old clothes that hanged from one of the hooks on the wall. The bed was made so neatly that if he hadn't seen the angel tuck himself in it the previous night he would have swore that no one had slept on it. For a few seconds, fear and disappointment crossed Dean's features, until he realized that if the clothes were still there, then Cas probably hadn't left. But the possibility of it still lingering there, scared the hunter more than he was wiling to admit.

"Cas," he called when he reached the main area.

But silence was the only one to meet him. Or so he thought, because if he payed attention he could hear a distant bang. Instinctively, he reached for the gun in his back pocket and cursed to himself for having left it in his bedroom. He walked in the direction of the sound, until he realized it was coming for the shooting practice room. He entered in silence and there he finally found the fallen angel.

Cas was still wearing his clothes, a jean that hanged loosely around his hip and a worn out T-shirt that let the lower part of his stomach to be seen when he stretched out to point the gun he was holding towards the target. The bullet holes in the target were all around the center but only a few had actually reached there.

"Cas," called Dean.

If the fallen angel had been startled by the sudden man's presence, he didn't show it.

"Dean," he greeted him.

"Is that my gun?" he asked, he was surprised in so many ways with the sight in front of him that he said the first thing that crossed his mind. Cas wearing his clothes, although slightly arousing, was not something that felt right, even less him holding a gun.

"Yes," answered Cas calmly, "when I woke up you were still asleep. So I checked on Sam and fed him, and as you were still sleeping I decided to practice my aim so I took your gun."

Dean didn't know what bothered him more, if the fact that Cas had taken his gun without asking for it or if the fact that he had been in his room while he wasn't wearing any pants. Yet, he decided not to comment on any of those things.

"Well, your aim ain't bad," he said.

"But it isn't perfect," refuted Cas, "as an angel I had physics to help me. But this human brain is too slow. It can barely grab all the variables involved, even less make all the calculations in time."

Cas looked at the gun in his hands closely for a few seconds, aimed it and shot. The bullet hit the border of the target's center.

"Useless," murmured the fallen angel.

"Come on, Cas, I'm sure a little practice and your aim will be more than perfect," tried Dean to cheer him up.

The ex-angel remained in silence.

"Look Cas, I need to give Sam a cold bath, try to lower his fever," Dean started to excuse himself.

"I'll help you," said Cas.

The hunter was about to say that it wasn't necessary, but a spark of the old Cas that he knew shone in the blue eyes and made him accept the offer. Cas liked helping people, doing things for others, doing things for the boys, for Dean. And Sam was his friend. He couldn't properly shoot at the target anymore-at least by his standards-, he couldn't cure Sam – not that he could have help that much before because it wasn't the kind of affection that a simple angel could cure-, but he could take care of Sam. And that's what he was going to do.

Once in Sam's room, he helped Dean to undress the man until he was in his boxers. Even though, Dean had done it before, Cas' help to carry the big man to the bathroom was welcomed. The bathtub was filled with water and ice that the hunter and the fallen angel had previously carried. All the movement to carry him to the bathroom had stirred Sam awake, with sloppy eyes he looked at his sides to see the persons who were holding him. Between the blur his sight had become and his headache, he had trouble identifying who they were.

"Hey, Cas," he greeted, "Is that you?" he wasn't sure that it wasn't all a dream induced by his fever.

"Yes, Sam," said Cas gently, hiding the sorrow in his deep voice, "It's me."

"How you doing?" he asked.

Even with his fever, he was worried about his friend. After all the last thing he knew about him was the blurry memory of the angels falling and his brother shouting Cas' name to the air. What he had really wanted to ask was if he had fallen along the other angels, but his burning brain didn't let him formulate the right words.

"I'm fine, Sam" answered Cas while he helped the man to get into the tub, "Don't you worry. I'm sorry I can't cure you, Sam, but we'll find I solution, I promise you," apologized the ex-angel.

"Hold your breath, Sammy," instructed Dean, ignoring Cas words and fighting the tears in his eyes.

"It's... okay..." mumbled Sam before sinking his head into the water.

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After they had put Sam back in bed, Cas and Dean, had both remained in silence. It wasn't that they didn't have things to talk about, but that the words felt strange in their mouths. Instead the silence was filled with long stares and many of the things that they didn't say out load would come into their eyes.

The silence was only broken by the sound of paper every time one of them turned the page of yet another book, while they tried to find a cure for Sam. And there's so much that you can keep in silence without it getting into you. So the sadness gave way to frustration, which turned the long stares into looks of reproach. And the minutes that went by turned into another stone in the burden in Dean's shoulder and into another drop of venom in Cas' weary heart.

Suddenly, Dean's phone rang in salvation. Or condemnation.

"What's the matter, Garth?" asked Dean.

"Hm... I found something that I thought that you would like to know," said the hunter.

"What's that?" questioned him Dean, putting the phone on speaker and Cas came closer to hear the conversation.

"There's been strange glows of light in two places," informed Garth.

"Where?" asked Dean anxiously.

"Well, the light has been sighted in a cemetery in Kansas, the name was Stull Cemetery. And the other sighting has been in a convent in Ilchester, Maryland."

"No..." whispered Cas faintly, his face had suddenly gone white.

"Cas? What's happening? Are you okay?" asked Dean worried, holding Cas by the shoulder.

"I had forgotten," explained himself Cas, as if he feared that Dean would blame him of something.

"What?" questioned him Dean.

"I- I didn't remember. This brain- it works slowly," continued defending himself the fallen angel.

"Cas, what?"

Fear had appeared in Dean's eyes, the hand in Cas' shoulder holding slightly harder. What was going to be this time?

"The cage. Lucifer's cage needs the Grace of thousands of angels to be held together," explained Cas.

"But they fell," said Dean letting go of Cas, "So that means... that means that..."

"The cage is breaking," affirmed Cas, "Lucifer and Michael will be set free."

Dean and Cas just stared at each other in shared horror.

"We're screwed," said Garth from the phone.

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Maybe, Garth was something anti-climatic to end it with, but that's Garth so...
Yeah, if there's a way to sum up this fic is: things get fucked up all the time.
Thank you for reading.