My first fan-fic, and my first time writing in a month or two, so forgive my rustiness and lack of experience. Based around a lot of what we saw in "The End" or at least, based around what caused a lot of what we saw in "The End." Right around when the Croatoan virus has been out for a little bit but hasn't quite alerted the governments just yet, and when the angels are very simply leaving. So, sometime in mid 2012, I'm thinking. No idea where it's actually going to lead, because it might veer completely off the path that we've already seen or it could lead right up to it – I doubt it, though.

None of the main characters are my own, and those that aren't main characters are so insignificant and hardly built on enough that I'd bother laying much of a claim to them.

Crits and comments welcome! The second chapter is also finished, but I'm not going to post it unless I see a bit of interest :) It's written and there's no point typing it up if no one's reading it anyway.

Enjoy!

3 Chastiel

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Sirens rang out, loud and clear, hardly an unusual thing in the dead center of downtown Kansas City, and no one paid an extra notice except to pull over to the side of the road and continue as they passed.

Even within the police cars themselves, there was little discussion; after all, it was just a noise complaint. Yelling. Screaming. A bit of banging around. Just another basic domestic violence case, nothing unusual and there was a chance that no one was really hurt, anyway.

The apartment building they finally pulled up to was old and dingy, the streets fairly barren except for the few stragglers who just glared at the cars and seemed to disappear at the instant Officer Stegemann turned to shut the door. He was a tall, formidable looking man that clearly wasn't the type to dance around the details or do anything outside of what would get him the most logical results. It was for this reason that he walked through the door first, three others following behind him.

They moved quickly up the stairs, ignoring the shady looks of others backing into their apartments and locking the doors; no doubt about it something illegal was happening behind those very doors, but each officer knew the behavior and the place too well to think that there was any point in following every single person who seemed to be doing something wrong – in these kinds of areas, almost all of them were. It was best to stick to their current assignment.

Stegemann moved swiftly, scanning the numbers on the doors for 427, finding it in seconds. A faint whimpering and a pair of hushed voices could be heard.

"Officer Stegemann, Kansas City Police, open the door!" His voice was forceful; he knew what to do in these cases. Another siren sounded off in the distance from an ambulance; damn it, always late. The whimpering increased and was quickly shushed afterward with the voices.

"Again, Officer Stegemann, Kansas City Police, open the door, now! We are authorized to use force." No point in even saying it. Another muffled whimper and he slammed into the door, once, twice, and stared at the unusual scene.

It was like a horror movie. One man had a younger boy pinned down, held tight to a chair while another pressed his arm to him. He looked up and backed away, revealing a deep gash on his arm and on that of the younger boy's. As soon as he backed off the older man doing the pinning turned around and rushed Stegemann, dagger in hand. With the reflexes of a man particularly seasoned he shot, the older man dropping a split second and then clinging to the wall, glaring at him.

His head bowed for a second and when he looked back up it seemed that his eyes had gone red. "This is only the beginning."

He spat once in Stegemann's face and fell to the ground. The other man had escaped somehow and the older officer stepped aside, wiping the spit from his lips and wiping it across his jacket. Medics got hold of the younger man in the room and helped him out to the ambulance, awaiting another even though they knew the other guy was dead. All Stegemann could thing was oh, God, this is going to mean a lot of paperwork. Such sissies nowadays, he'd already been reprimanded a few times for being considered too brutal, the only thing standing between him and a promotion. He got the job done, didn't he?

"Excuse me, Officer uh –" Stegemann turned around. "Stegemann. I'm Agent Perry from the Kansas Bureau of Investigation," – he flipped open his badge for a split second, continuing on. " – could you fill me in on what went on here?" His manner was professional, as if he'd done this a thousand times before, but he was young. Late 20s, early 30s, somewhere around that range, and he needed to shave that stubble around his face.

"It's just some crazy kid, why's the KBI involved?" Again, not one for minor details, Stegemann looked over the fact of the man's youth.

"We feel it may be linked to a much larger case."

Stegemann narrowed his eyes a little. "We came up here after noise complaints of screaming, banging, the usual stuff you know, probably just somebody got too drunk and came home in a fit." He paused, watching the other man who appeared to be taking a few notes and glanced up at the pause. "Oh, continue."

The older officer heaved a sigh and continued, deciding to wonder about the real reason the guy had showed up later. "We came up here, called in a few times and busted in when it was clear they weren't going to respond, and I saw the old man pinning that one," – he gestured to the retreating medics and youth – "down while the other guy had his bleedin' arm pressed to him. He looked up and ran off when the old guy came at me with a knife. So, I shot."

Agent Perry looked up again. "Anything else unusual?"

"To be honest the only 'unusual' thing was that freak bleeding on the kid."

The agent closed his notebook up. "Okay. Thank you, officer. I'll keep you posted if we find anything else out." He turned before Stegemann could say another word and walked down the stairs outside. The streets were still relatively deserted except for the arrival of another ambulance that had arrived to take the other body.

Agent Perry turned and watched, a middle-aged man staring at him from across the street, his eyes red. He started backing away.

"Hey!" The man bolted; the agent after him. As soon as he turned a corner however, the man was gone.

"Damn it." He turned back after peering down the alley for one last look, opening the door of a deep black '67 Chevy Impala after even another glance. He loosened up the suit in general, eventually removing the tie and had barely had time to step on the gas before his phone started ringing.

"Hello?" His voice was rugged and slightly strained as he spoke.

"Dean. Where are you?"

"Heading back to camp, Cas, where I always am."

"Hurry."

"What's going on?"

The phone hissed and lost the signal. Dean having been driving now turned the car to an off, hardly visible road a few miles outside of the city. He parked next to a clump of bushes and foliage that kept the car hidden, even next to the enormous "Camp Chitaqua" sign. All this case had done was confirm the reason a few men were working on putting up a long and tall chain link fence with signs, the reason they were staying in here in the first place. Just something to back up the fact that the usual graffiti slanders had been replaced by an unusual word that locals just accepted as a new gang, but Dean knew better.

Croatoan.

The outside world was steadily realizing it too, as masses of people started speculating, just why it was showing up in all of the major cities. Unfortunately it spread faster as a virus than as an idea or fear, because more and more often he would go out and see the infected and know that he wouldn't be able to do a thing about it.

The shady teenager who'd skipped school to spend some "quality time" with his girlfriend, whose friends thought he was drugged because his eyes were always bloodshot. The group of tired looking coworkers who thought they were just sharing a drink. Hell, even a red-eyed blood donor that was supposedly out to save lives. Hunters went out daily to waste the ones that they could find, but at the moment it was the middle of the day – Dean couldn't take care of Officer Stegemann or the other man, which meant more people at risk. A slow and steady, but effective, apocalypse.

He began to walk back toward the main cabins at the camp, his head hung a little bit lower but still constantly watchful, not to miss the tiniest detail. He couldn't afford to.

Yet he made it back to his cabin safely and returned to his usual garb, much more comfortable outside of that business suit. Another few seconds and he planned on heading back out to find Castiel, but a rush of wings as he was opening the door made him turn back around instead, stepping back a bit before speaking as the angel was a good two inches from him.

"Cas, I've told you about this –"

"The angels are leaving." Cas interrupted him with a steely look in his eyes.

"Wait, what?"

"They've stopped fighting, they won't help us now –"

"Now? When did they ever help us?"

"Lucifer grows stronger every day, you do not realize how much of him they have held back, and every day the world pushes closer to the end even with their help. Take it seriously, for once-"

"Take it seriously?! What do you think I've been doing?! Out to see the latest chick flick with my girlfriends?! I've been working on it!"

"You don't understand, Dean, they've given up, they have left us, you need to –"

"What, Cas? What do I need to do? Because as far as I know I've done just about everything that can be done."

The angel kneeled, grabbing for the wall to steady himself. Dean finally realized that all of a sudden the angel was becoming dull, pale, even perhaps, human…

He was gasping for breath now, like he was being strangled. Dean backed up and called for someone to get over and help, but the angel gave an anguished cry and fell, broken completely on the ground. Pale and gray.