Chapter One

There was a car burning on the side of the road.

It was a nice enough car. Sleek. Black. The kind of car that would make dead bodies look normal. And over the years, it did. Many times. Too many times. There was dried blood in those seats. There were scratches from clenched fingers. Windows that had been cracked over and over again.

Despite all that pain, though, this was the most suffering it had ever been through. The car itself had spent most of its life around fire. Flames. Its life began when a nursery room glowed bright and hot. When a small boy came rushing out of the house, his hands wrapped around the body of his baby brother. There was screaming and fear and a father's leather jacket, wrapped around his son's bony shoulders. There was a car, sitting in the street, the flames and tears reflected in its paint.

Castiel, angel of the lord, had witnessed the beginning of the Impala's life. He was also there to see its end.

In the beginning, of course, he'd been young. Curious. Like his brothers, he knew what was meant to happen in the years to come. The two brothers, wide eyed and in pain, would grow to be strong, only to be broken down again. Again. Again. And Castiel had seen it happen, all of it. He had seen the family pile into their car and drive off into the dark night. Later, the car would drive through many more nights. There would be no homemade meals, a mother's bedtime stories. There were only the stories children told at campfires, stories that weren't supposed to be real.

The Winchester brothers knew the stories were real, though. They'd known their whole lives. Castiel would've done anything to change their past. He suspected that flipping the only home they knew wasn't the kind of change they'd expected, though.

He hadn't meant to crash it. He'd only recently learned how to drive, upon Dean's insistence. "If I get hurt," the hunter had told him, "I won't be able to drive. And that's on you. You've got to make sure we get out of shit alive."

"My powers -"

"No, Cas. You're not using them. They'll only weaken you. Don't even bother to hide it. You're learning to drive whether you want to or not."

So he did. Cas, friend of the Winchesters, reluctantly slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. Dean guided him through the process of turning the key, starting the engine. He showed him how much pressure to put on the gas pedal, and how to use the steering wheel properly.

He was still terrible at it, despite his companion's assistance. Yet there he was, forced into driving the car to get more supplies and medicine, only a week after his first driving lesson. It was a dangerous world, so he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. The Croatoan virus had spread so swiftly, so terribly. The hunters had no choice but to fight back, and in doing so, several of them had been severely injured. Including Dean.

That was the only reason why he'd agreed to drive. Dean was, in Cas' opinion, the only one of the lot who was truly worth saving. He supposed there was a chance of bias there. Dean had, after all, become a close friend of his over the years. Somehow, despite their differences, they had unfailing trust in each other.

Cas saw the other hunters, with their hands shoved in their pockets and their slow steps. Dean walked the same way, he knew, but it was different with him. When Dean's hands were in his pockets, it helped him relax. When he walked slowly, it was to savor everything around him. All he had left.

There wasn't much. He had a nearly broken, desperately loyal angel in a trenchcoat. He had his brother, Sam, who was getting closer and closer to saying yes to Lucifer. And then there was a fiercely determined Bobby, a cowardly Chuck, and the others. The others included women who didn't seem particularly interested in survival, only sex. There were men, too, but they were almost always drunk, and even when sober, they were angry.

So when Cas saw them walking slowly, he saw no reason to have faith. When he saw their hands in their pockets, he swore he could see the outline of a weapon. He refused to trust these people. Only Dean. In turn, Dean had done the same.

And now his car was burning, and his angel was crouched in the middle of the road, frozen with fear.

"What have I done?" he asked himself, swaying slightly as the flames danced before his eyes. "What have I done to the car? I -"

He paused, watching sparks strike the darkness. They lit up the street, they lit up everything. Cas frowned when he finally noticed the blood on his coat.

"I need to stop it."

He rose to his feet, staggering on his numb legs, and limped towards the burning vehicle. It was lying there upside down, fire destroying it slowly. The car was tough. Cas knew that. But it wasn't a match for fire. Nothing was.

"No," he breathed, holding out a hand to steady himself. There was nothing for him to hold. Only the air. With a sudden burst of fear, he pushed himself a bit farther so that he fell forward onto the car. Agonizing pain shot through his body almost immediately. He screamed, slipping off and toppling to the ground. His clothes were scorched. His skin stun.

Castiel, nearly human, was isolated and had no means of transportation. Barely able to move, he chose to crawl on his hands and knees to the medical clinic. He didn't have much farther to go. He could make it there in time, before the monsters found him. Before his allies died.

Before the Impala was gone.

He reached the clinic with bloodied clothes and a cracked body. With the last of his energy, he dragged himself inside and let out a cry of pain. Within moments, he lay unconscious on the floor. Footsteps neared him.

Later that night, Cas found himself lying on a hospital bed. He could barely see anything; his vision was blurry. The images were vibrating. He could make out a woman standing beside him, smiling apologetically as she held out her hand. "Cas," she said, and he recognized her voice.

"Jody?" he asked, groaning as he lifted himself into a sitting position. Not-so-much-sheriff Jody Mills, old friend of Bobby Singer's. Kind. Friendly. Welcoming. After Croatoan, he remembered, she'd chosen to help in any way she could. She often went from hunting with the others to working at the clinic. She was good at helping people. She was good at loving.

"Hey. Mind telling me what happened?"

Cas nodded, wincing at the movement. "Dean and some of the others were attacked. I was chosen to come here and bring back supplies."

Jody raised an eyebrow. "You walked? Cas, I know you're an angel, but -"

"I crashed the Impala," he explained, looking down at his hands. At his feet, dangling above the floor. Anywhere but Jody. He knew he'd do the same when he shared the information with Dean.

"You crashed the Impala."

"Yes. I believe it was what you call an accident. I was driving and then some werewolves came running out of the forest. The car slammed into them and it flipped over and the werewolves ran off, and I somehow ended up outside. Alive. The car was not so lucky."

Jody sighed, running a hand through her hair. She turned away from the angel. "Okay, what happened?"

"Last I saw, it was on fire and burning away to nothing."

"Good luck."

Cas tipped his head to the side . "Why?"

"Dean."

"Oh."

Jody smiled slightly. "Yeah. Oh." She rolled up the sleeves of her denim jacket. "I'm gonna check out those burns of yours, now, okay, Cas? Let me know if anything hurts."

Cas nodded, obediently shifting a bit closer to the woman. He'd be sad to leave her that night. She was comforting, patient. When he returned to camp, he knew they'd be angry. They'd yell at him, criticizing him for failing yet again. Sometimes he doubted that even Dean truly understood the pain of falling.

Of course, that didn't matter now. Cas had destroyed the hunter's home. If Dean forgave him for that, Castiel would never doubt him again.

"Here."

The angel jumped, feeling something nudge his arm. He looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of whiskey in Jody's hands. "What is this?"

"Help," she insisted, shoving the bottle into the angel's lap.

"I do not require -"

Jody shook her head, turning away. "Just drink it."

Cas opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it and instead chose to open the bottle. He took a quick sip of it, wincing against the burning sensation in his throat. He liked it, though. He wasn't sure why. But he did. He kept drinking.

Eventually, when the bottle was nearly empty, Jody stopped bandaging Cas' wounds. "Alright, Cas. You're all set."

Cas blinked tiredly, gazing up at the woman. "You've finished?"

She nodded. "Yup."

"Thank you," Cas sighed, glancing down at the bottle in his hands. "I'm sorry to have troubled you. I'll return the favor somehow."

Jody rolled her eyes. "It's my job, you idiot. Now come on. I'm not letting you walk back to camp by yourself. We're driving." Cas' eyes widened. "Sorry. I'm driving. You're sitting next to me, unless you'd prefer the flatbed." She received a blank look. "It's a truck. There's no backseat."

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah, sure you do. Come on, up ya go."

And with that, Jody dragged the barely conscious angel out of the clinic and shoved him into her truck. Cas pressed his face against the window and watched the road, listening to Jody ramble on about how much the apocalypse sucked. How much it sucked to be stuck with a broken angel. How much it sucked to lose everything.

Cas wondered if she noticed the ruined car on the side of the road. To him, that sucked most of all.