A/N: All right, ladies and germs, this is the story that I mentioned in my other story, "It Could Be Worse." You could think of it as a prequel for that, but really it's paced differently and includes a lot more Chuck and Bobby and that one guy from "The End" who you see for about four seconds. The whole thing will be about five or six chapters. However, like "It Could Be Worse," this is in Dean's POV. I would beg you not to run away from the first person POV, but y'all seemed to like it in ICBW so I'll just chill out for now.

Uh, set up! We'll say this starts right after the Croatoan virus has hit major cities. You know, that awkward moment in an apocalypse when everybody is in a panic but the phones and radios are still working. Sam is already Lucy-fied, and Dean and the crew are trying to not get eaten and stuff.

That should be it. I hope you all enjoy, and check the bottom of each chapter for previews of the next chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

It's real sudden. Like one minute Cas is an angel (a half-angel, I sometimes think, but I'd never say that to his face), and the next he just isn't. Like some light in him goes out, or gets snatched away when he isn't looking.

We're all sitting around Bobby's little kitchen table when it happens. And by "all" I mean Bobby, Cas, Chuck, and some guy Bobby knows whose name I haven't bothered to remember yet. Nobody else will believe us. They want to believe the news that crackles over the radio. Fly to Japan, they have a cure. Go to this clinic, we've got vaccines. Nobody wants to listen when I say it's a demonic virus, and you're all screwed until I hand over my meat suit to an archangel, and happy apocalypse, by the way.

I'm sure we'll collect more people once half the planet is roasted and no one has anywhere else to go, but I try not to think about that too often. I have to remember that I am not saying "yes," and no one is roasting the planet. But the Croatoan virus is spreading, and that sucks just as bad.

Anyway.

We're talking about the end of the world. Usual crap.

"I think this is the safest place for us to be," I say, because ever since Sam said "yes" I have become the wet blanket of the group, and I hate myself. "We've got supplies, and a panic room in case we get ambushed."

New Guy shakes his head. I really do not like New Guy. "We'll run out of supplies eventually, and we might be boxed in by the time that happens," he says. "We should head south—I hear there's less infection there."

"I can get past the Croatoans to obtain supplies if it comes to that," Cas points out, and I nod because it's not a half-bad idea, and he's trying to back my play. That or he's just really uncomfortable whenever he's not being the primary wet blanket of the group. Or maybe he just doesn't like New Guy, either. I don't know. What does it matter, really?

Bobby tries to roll his wheelchair closer to the table, but he just ends up hitting the one of the table legs and bouncing back to where he was. From where I'm sitting, I'm the only one who can see Cas nudge the wheelchair chair sideways so that Bobby can go forward again without the leg in his way. I don't say anything about it, and Bobby doesn't, either. He just rolls up to the edge of the table and says, "Well I say we should keep moving." Because Bobby is a traitor.

Or because Bobby wants to make sure that we're not staying put on his account. Because God didn't think to leave us a van with a wheelchair lift when He peaced out.

I'm not suggesting we stay put because of the wheelchair, just to be clear. But I'm not really in the mood to tiptoe all around Bobby's pride, either. "If we keep running, we will run into Croatoans, and someone will get infected, because that is just our damn luck," I say, and I say it a little too loud, because if I have to be the wet blanket then I may as well get to yell whenever I feel like it.

New Guy is shaking his head again. He does that a lot, I'm noticing, and I add it to the growing list of things that New Guy does just to piss me off. "The Croatoans are just going to multiply, and eventually we won't be able to move at all. We drive as far as we can while we can, maybe out of the United States if we have to…"

And I know it's very irresponsible of me, but I tune him out. I'll go back to being manager of Team Free Will once I'm sure I won't spontaneously light New Guy on fire.

Maybe Cas can smite him for me. Can Cas still smite people? Do angels who rebell from Heaven get to do that? I'm about to ask him, but then I look past Cas and notice Chuck curled up in a chair with his knees drawn up to his chin. He's picking at a splinter that's poking out of the table, and I interrupt New Guy to say, "Hey, Prophet Chuck. Got anything to add?"

Chuck looks up, says, "No," and then he looks like he's about to go back to picking at the table again, but he doesn't. Instead, he kind of gasps before his eyes dart right to Cas.

I follow Chuck's gaze, and the second my eyes land on Cas he sits up straight like he just remembered that he left his curling iron on or something. His eyes go wide, and then he stands up so fast that he knocks his knees on the table, causing it to bump Bobby's chair again. Then Cas spins in a circle, looking at the floor. When he looks up again, he croaks, "It's gone," to no one in particular.

I'm the one who asks, "What's gone?" because I am fully aware that the half-angel is my responsibility.

But Cas doesn't really answer my question. His shoulders are heaving, up and down, up and down, and it occurs to me that I've never really seen him breathe before. "It's gone," Cas says again, and he spins in another circle. I'm pretty sure that whatever he's looking for is not under his feet, but Cas sure thinks it is.

Bobby backs up from the table, probably expecting some sort of explosion of feathers or whatever else is supposed to come with an angel freak-out. Bobby's probably researched all about it. There's a book at the library, I'll bet. Angel Freak-Outs: The Unofficial Biography of Angels That Have Freaked the Hell Out. By some other prophet we maybe haven't met yet.

One who drinks a lot less often than Chuck, preferably.

"Nothing's gone, Feathers," Bobby tries to reason. I don't know if he expects Cas to just calm right down and say, "Whew, you're right! My mistake," and sit down to finish discussing the apocalypse, but I think Bobby's an idiot if he does. Then again, Bobby is using that voice that people use to talk people off of ledges. He's not trying to reason with Cas, I realize. He's just talking at him.

I don't like the idea of it, but it seems to work well enough. Cas's eyes find Bobby's and he stops turning in circles. He's still breathing too heavily, though. "Do angels hyperventilate?" New Guy asks, because New Guy is a freaking genius.

Then again, Cas really is breathing hard. I shrug. "Cas?" Cas's eyes slide over to me, and I raise my hands in front of my chest. I'm talking him off the ledge, now. "Just calm down," I say. "Something happening on Angel Radio?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

Cas just collapses. Really. Just drops to his knees, bracing one hand against the floor, and squeezes his eyes shut. He whispers, "No," and I don't know if he's answering my question or if he's just talking to himself.

I do know that I need to get everybody else out of there. I don't know why. I know that they're all of a sudden making me really uneasy. So I say, "Give us a minute, guys." They don't hesitate to obey, and I think it's because they're grateful to get away from this steaming pile of uncomfortable. Chuck picks up Cas's chair and puts it back on four legs as he goes. I didn't even notice that Cas knocked it over.

Chuck is the last one out, and I kneel next to Cas.

"Hey, um…" Oh, this is going swell.I try again. "So, you gotta tell me what's wrong, because I don't really get angel stuff, and…" But I trail off, because Cas is shaking his head, staring at his lap.

"It's not angel stuff." His voice is low and dead. Every now and then his breathing hitches like he hasn't quite caught his breath yet, but that's evened out for the most part.

"Okay," I drawl. "Then… You hurt or something? Sick?"

Cas laughs, then. It is a weird, creepy laugh.

"What?" I demand, just to get him to stop it.

He stops instantly. Shakes his head again. "I am not… angel… stuff."

He is obviously trying to be difficult.

"You're not making sense," I snap, because huggy gooey time has expired. I cannot do it anymore. "Tell me what's wrong, already."

"There are no words for it," Cas says.

"Make some up, then, Man, you're starting to scare me."

Cas goes really still. I think he stops breathing for a second, and I'm not sure whether or not to worry about that. "I believe I am mortal," he finally says.

I don't say anything for a long time. Cas has gone back to breathing. His back is bowed into a steep curve, and I watch as each breath slightly tightens his trench coat over his shoulders.

When I'm about to think of Jimmy Novak, I finally say, "See, was that so hard?"

Cas just breathes. I'm pretty sure he's got the hang of it by now.

"Mortal," I clarify, and Cas closes his eyes again when I say it. "Like… like you can't… anything?" Cas doesn't answer, and I take that as a "yes." I sigh. "Any idea why?"

Cas shrugs.

"Well this sucks," I say, and immediately want to kick myself in the face as soon as it comes out of my mouth. I am at a total loss. I seriously consider putting a hand on Cas's shoulder, but some highly irrational corner of my mind is afraid that Cas might shatter into a million pieces if I touch him. So I just say, "We'll figure this out."

Cas doesn't answer. He's rubbing his hands together like he just now noticed that he has two of them. Then he shuffles to his feet, walks around me, and disappears upstairs.

I don't know what do do other than watch him go.

Cas hides out in one of the upstairs bedrooms all night. New Guy leaves, and Chuck has been sleeping in Bobby's library. I spend most of the night outside with Bobby, staring at wrecked cars and saying absolutely nothing.

Something about a fallen angel just makes the apocalypse seem a whole lot more hopeless. And apparently hopelessness equals lots of endless quiet.

Bobby goes back inside sometime around midnight, but I stay on the front porch until I can see the sky turn from black to hazy blue. Then I stand up, crack my back, and mutter to myself, "Here we go," before I walk back inside.

I wander into the library, where Chuck is still sleeping and Bobby is thumbing through a Bible at his desk. He raises his eyebrows at me when I walk in, and his look says, Well, it's worth a shot. I shrug in response, but we both know that he won't find anything about what to do with a fallen angel.

When I get to the living room, I happen to glance at the stairs. Cas freezes when he sees that I've spotted him. It's almost funny—the back of his hair is sticking up and his shirt is half-tucked-in, no coat, no jacket. He looks remarkably like some teenager sneaking out of his girlfriend's house at the crack of dawn to keep from waking the parents.

Or he looks like a freshly-fallen angel who just slept for the first time in his life. That thought makes the whole thing very un-funny, and I clear my throat. "You ah… You hungry?"

Cas puts a hand on his stomach, considering my question. Then he seems to deflate and nods once.

I nod in the direction of the kitchen. "Breakfast." Cas nods again and descends the stairs.

So far, so good.

In the kitchen, I look around in the cabinets while Cas stands beside the table and works on being awkward. "Hey, do you like… Nevermind," I say, because how would Cas know what he likes? So I grab a box of cereal and decide that that will have to do.

"I can do it," Cas objects when I pour the cereal into a bowl, but I say, "Shaddup," because I'm in the middle of a flashback from when Sammy was three and he kept wanting to hold the bowl for me when I poured the milk over the cereal, but he'd move the bowl at the last second so that I'd end up spilling the milk on the table.

Sammy thought it was hilarious, and I have to admit, it was, a little. Looking back, I mean.

"Dean," Cas says. I look up, wondering if Cas is still a little psychic, but no… I've poured too much milk in the bowl, and it's overflowing onto Bobby's counter. "Are you sure I can't—"

"I got it," I bark, and Cas actually flinches. I sigh, grabbing some paper towels to mop up the mess. "Sit down, will you?" I make sure my voice is softer this time, and Cas wipes the kicked-puppy look off his face as he slides into the same chair he sat in yesterday. I put the bowl and a spoon down in front of him, careful not to spill anymore.

Cas picks up the spoon, and just holds it for a minute. He's glaring into the cereal.

I'm about to tell him just how gross soggy cereal is, but then he says, "You're staring."

"Uh… Sorry." I put my hands in my pockets, take them out again, and then decide to just sit at the table across from Cas. I make sure to look casual, resting my head in my hand and staring at a crack in the floor.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. There's a pause, and I imagine Cas tilting his head at his cereal bowl. He's probably not, but that's the picture that pops into my head. Then, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch…

Since I'm looking that way, I see Bobby round the corner and enter the kitchen. But Cas doesn't look up until Bobby stops inside the entryway and says, "Uh."

That seems to be everyone's favorite word lately. Apocalypse has turned us all into monosyllabic Neanderthals.

Cas looks up to find Bobby staring at him, and he freezes much like he did on the stairs, except this time he's got a spoon halfway in his mouth.

Again, I manage not to laugh.

"Dig up anything useful?" I ask Bobby, but he's too busy staring at Cas to answer. "Bobby?"

Bobby holds up a hand to shush me. "There's an Angel of the Lord eating Fruit Loops at my kitchen table, Boy," he says. "I need a minute."

I swear Cas rolls his eyes. But then he goes back to his cereal, swirling it around until the milk turns pink.

Bobby seems to snap out of his shock after a few seconds, or maybe he just realizes that he's getting on Cas's nerves. "Nothing yet," he tells me. "But I'm not the one who's an expert in… the extra-celestial." He looks at Cas, who has started to eat his cereal one piece at a time.

"Yeah, well, our celestial expert is busy adjusting to being not celestial," I tell Bobby.

Cas drops his spoon in his bowl and glares at both of us. "You do realize I can still hear perfectly," he says.

"Cas…" I am so sick of feeling guilty. "We're not trying to—"

"You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here," Cas goes on, but he's shifted his glare back to his bowl of milk. "I have no angelic abilities. I do not know why. And I can no longer hear my brothers and sisters. I have no answers for you, and you will not find answers in any of your books. Just—just…"

Chuck chooses that moment to shuffle into the kitchen, clutching a blanket around his shoulders. "Anybody want coffee?" he says through a yawn.

The three of us stare at him in unison, and Chuck blinks. "What?"

And I can't help it. This time, I laugh. It's a half-hearted, crackling chuckle that goes on and on.

Nobody joins me, but I kind of expected that.

A/N: And this is the part when we all realize that KleeZeeNex is not above begging for reviews. Can't really do it properly via interwebs, but let's just say that reviews make me super happy and I would love it if you fine people could take a moment to tell me how you liked it, or didn't. Pointing out grammatical and spelling errors is, well, a little obnoxious, but also welcome. If you simply refuse to review because you have got better things to do than feed a writer's soul, then I'll just say thanks for reading and I hope you liked it!

Next Chapter: "A Country Song, But With Zombies." In which we find out that Cas can't hold his liquor, can't shoot a gun, and probably wouldn't make a great linebacker, either.