Disclaimer: None of it is mine.

A/N: This is an AU based off of my muse and that of lastofthewinchester's from Tumblr. I told them of this idea I had based around a situation there was around a month or so back and they dared me to fic it. Thus far four chapters have been planned and most of three of them have been written. I've done my best to have it make sense without spelling everything out for you over time but just so you are aware: Take note. THESE ARE IMPORTANT and if you ask about something I've covered here I will redirect you - Nothing post season 5 finale happened. - Castiel raised Dean Winchester against orders, two weeks earlier than canon and was punished for his disobedience by being given the ability to hear every prayer, wish, hope and dream called out from the Earth. - Following season 5, Castiel left Heaven no longer able to handle his punishment and the strain of Heaven's duty and traveled with Dean, his Grace diminished as his prayer punishment is tied to it but he is no longer a part of Heaven. Also established Dean/Cas though nothing explicit included. Essentially a alternate version of The End through other circumstances.

Any questions that I haven't covered, just message me.

There's More Behind The Eyes of a Fallen Angel

Chapter One

The Apocalypse was never stopped, only...put on hold. The delay was longer than anybody might have expected but it wasn't indefinite. Michael saw to that.

Though trapped within the confines of his fallen brother's cage, Michael, the strongest and most absolute of creatures to ever have existed, had the strength to push his Grace through the bars of the cage and find he who is the true vessel. Through whispered words Michael tried to change the Winchester's mind, to change his answer so that he might break free and bring Heaven on Earth.

The answer he sought after an attack reduced him to a child of four years, unburdened by the memories of all he had lost. Remembering naught but the Angel in a long coat that was watching over him, asking after his parents, after his lost brother. With the promise of being a Superhero and saving the world.

Dean Winchester said yes.

Steven turned, raising his weapon, hands shaking as he heard somebody approaching from the forest. It wasn't supposed to be his day on perimeter but they'd been two short after an incident the previous week where croats had broken through at the Southern border and taken down more than two dozen people. Those who had been witness had either become stalwart hardasses or mewling messes.

Steven had been asleep in a different part of camp, dreaming of his fiancé, Deborah. She'd gone down in the initial battle. Among the seven million killed that week. There couldn't be more than several thousand people left in this state….wherever it was. Turned out maps weren't worth shit when the world went to Hell.

"Halt!" he called, his eyes scanning while he sent a silent prayer skywards which he knew no one would hear. It was one of the first things you learn. "Who's there?"

A man, [height] tall and slightly scruffy hair stepped out of the trees, arms raised. Not a single weapon visible upon his person but his clothes, his jeans, jacket, boots; everything was too clean. Chuck had been working for months on perfecting laundry solutions to try and get things even halfway towards that kind of clean. And this man was just strolling up cleaner than anyone in this forsaken world had a right to be..

"It's alright, man." The stranger was calm as he continued to approach. "My name's Dean. I just got a little los-"

Steven raised his gun a little higher, cocking it, the barrel shaking in his fingers. "Just stay there." Dean froze, arms still raised, head lowered. A sign of deference, surrender. This man meant no harm. But then nobody did when they were first infected. There was no room for sympathies.

"Alright man. Just stay calm."

"Don't move!" He hadn't encountered a survivor before. Protocol said they were to trap them. Get them locked away so any symptoms had the chance to develop in safety. But this guy, though the same height as Steven was much better built. Broader shoulders, better muscle structure. It had been weeks since anyone had really eaten properly in this godforsaken land, but Dean? He looked like he'd never been hungry a day before in his life. Chances were if this man rushed him, Steven could be disarmed and taken down in a less than a minute. Then all it would take would be a quick twist and Steven would be no more.

"I get how this must look. I know but I am telling you-"

Steven was beginning to squeeze the trigger when he heard a familiar voice yell from behind him and Dean's face spread into a small grin as the young man turned to investigate.

A scruffy young man, slight, somewhat grubby but dressed perfectly normally and easily mistaken for any other schmuck hiding out here was approaching from behind. Easily missable except for the dirty beige overcoat that was slung over his shoulders. Only one person wore a coat like that in this post-Apocalyptic shithole. Immediately he lowered his weapon. "Sir?"

The newcomer's fingers clutched a handgun. "I said, Stand down."

"But sir, he-"

"What's your name?"

The young man swallowed. "…Steven."

"I'm guessing this is your first time on Tuesday patrol"

He nodded. "Yes sir. It's usually-"

"-the same people." The man nodded, looking Steven in the eye. "That's because I can only have people I trust. People I know who can accept that some things are above their understanding. This man is one of them, do you understand."

The way the leader stared at him, as though looking directly into his soul trying to find the truth was unnerving and Steven found himself unable to hold the gaze. The poor man stared at the camp leader before glancing to this stranger, this Dean.

There had been more camps. Hundreds of small ones, scattered all across the States but incompetence meant they'd fallen, one by one to rogue battles and croat attacks. Bad leadership and those who survived would travel. To date Steven had seen inside five camps, his longest stay was here, at this one under the leadership of this elusive hermit stood before him. Despite being responsible for the safety of hundreds of refugees from elsewhere, he always seemed to succeed, for the most part, because he knew when attacks were coming.

And given how bad things were looking out there last time he'd been between camps, he was willing to go on a little faith.

Still clutching his weapon, finger ready to press the trigger he lowered the muzzle to point at the floor and in the corner of his eye he saw Dean breath a sigh of relief as the tension was released from the poor man's shoulders.

"Good man." The leader was smiling at him, something that was rumoured never to happen yet so few had actually met him it was impossible to know whether the words held any truth or not.

Then the man's eyes turned to their intruder and the small smile grew, lifted imperceptibly, spreading and finally reaching the man's eyes making them sparkle.

"Hello Dean. Did you get lost again?"

Dean grinned back, a similar glint in his eye. "You know me, Cas."