Note: So this story is the longest thing I have ever written. ARGHH.

The title is based on Robert Hooke. Why? Because Castiel is an anagram for Elastic. Robert Hooke has a law named after him in to do with elastics. He also first described this discovery as an anagram.

The plot of this story is half post S8 fic and the rest of the plot is loosely based on Random Harvest (1942 movie which itself is based on a book by the same name). Don't watch it if you don't want spoilers.

There is destiel and fluff and a bit of angst (temporary character death) and a teeny bit of castiel/OC.

If there is grammar/spelling issues I apologize in advance.

It was far more sudden and dramatic than the actual apocalypse. The angels fell like stars, burning across the sky. It was enchanting and mesmerising; beautiful and terrible all at once and Dean could do nothing to stop it. Oh Cas, what have you done?

All Sam could do was rest in his brother's arms because breathing hurt, everything hurt, nothing new really. He was still reeling, shaky after pouring his heart out to Dean and Dean had caught him. Everything else seemed so far away and yet he still wondered what was happening on the edge of his thoughts. Dean yelled out something to do with angels falling but the sound was lost in the wind and the smell of burning wings.

Dean had caught him.

In another field all Castiel could do was watch while the breeze rushed through his hair and right through his coat. His heart ached for everyone, all his brothers and sisters and what he had done to them. It was all his fault. Not again! He was helpless; he could do nothing. There was nothing he could do but watch.

What was the point if he couldn't do anything right?

The world was pressing down on him, and he could feel every breath and his chest felt tight and his head ached in a very human way. He felt so very close to breaking and yet more alive than ever.

All Dean could do was to take everyone home. That was his job and it was the only thing left to do, to pick up the pieces and they would sort out the mess later. He drove back to the bunker with Sam and Crowley's bodies slumped in the back. He staggered inside, supporting Sam and put him to bed and told him to sleep. Crowley was in no state to be hurting anyone but Dean put him in a devils trap in the dungeon with a cup of coffee anyway.

Then it was just Dean, sitting on the same chair he had sat on that morning. Everything inside looked so familiar and it taunted him with its sameness, the way things stayed the same, how home didn't change when the world had gone awry yet again. It seemed cold and heartless now, like an empty cave with echoes of things that had happened yesterday, had happened before.

Much later that night there was a hesitant knock at the door. It made Dean jump. Who knew they were here? He picked his gun off the table where he had left it and walked carefully to the door. The person knocked again, slightly louder this time. It was way too polite to be a monster so he opened the door. It was Cas. He was slumped against the door frame and he looked dishevelled and tired.

"Cas what happened?" There was accusation in his tone but only confused concern in his eyes.

"The angels they are all falling. Metatron did the spell but I suppose it's my fault really," Castiel said in a dead flat voice without looking up.

"You weren't to know, how were you supposed to trust Naomi after what she did?"

You could of trusted me though, why didn't you listen to me, why don't you do what I say?

Castiel glanced at Dean and then looked away again and said nothing. He was too ashamed to hold his eye and it was too hard to say everything that needed to be said.

Dean let him in, it was too late and he was too tired. All the emotion of the last few weeks had emptied him out and now he just felt nothing, like everything was drained away. He couldn't be angry or sad or annoyed anymore.

"Come inside and tell me."

He led Cas onto the couch in front of the TV and put the kettle on. That he could do, the little things, the things that were easy to manage. He just let all his problems roll off his back and onto the ground. He tried to think of what to say to Cas, to ease the tension. He wanted to yell at him, to be angry, but he had lost all the care that you need to be angry and instead he just brought him some tea, sat next to him on the couch and listened.

Cas quietly told him then, while sitting still, looking smaller and more perched and hunched than ever. Like he was bracing himself against the whole world and trying to hide from it.

"Dean, he took my grace for the spell." Castiel said flatly. Now that he had said it the idea really started to sink in. He could still feel the sensation of the knife against his throat and he lifted his hand to neck and remembered having that part of himself cut away. He breathed out self consciously.

Dean looked at him with wide green eyes and it hit him as well after a moment, his angel was human, totally human. Not just cut off from heaven this time.

Cas rubbed his hands on his face, pressing his eyes, as if in the darkness he would be able to block away the guilt and the pain. Maybe to make it all go away.

Dean wrapped his arm around him and just sat because he couldn't think of anything else to do. The old angel was warm and he just sat, shrinking inside himself, lost in his thoughts. Exhaustion took them both over eventually and they fell asleep with Dean leaving his arm around Cas and Cas resting his head on Dean's shoulder.