*Disclaimer*, I do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters, nor to I claim ownership. I'm just a fan.

Chapter One

They were everywhere.…Everywhere. The shots rang out, never ending. They couldn't stop, they barely had time for a breath, they were lucky if they got to reload without getting jumped. The building was crawling with Crotes. They were surrounded, and more just kept pouring in. Everyone was bloody, bruised, running low on ammo, or dead. Castiel breathe hard, panting really, whirling around, eyes scanning the place, not looking for Crotes, the things weren't hiding, but trying to see which were coming closer to him. His gun went off, shooting two in the forehead. His eyes were unusually sharp and focused; nothing like adrenaline, pain, fear, and a building full of Crotes to overcome even the biggest drug abuse. His mind was very clear; he staggered backwards a bit, unsure how much longer they could last like this. He backed up into a wall, his limbs trembling slightly. He knew they weren't going to make it out of this, he knew it. The Crotes had all the exits sealed, they filled the room. Many lay dead, but many more stared at them with crazed eyes, many more rushed at them, to many to shoot down.

They were all going to die. It was painfully obvious. Risa threw her empty gun at the Crotes and picked up another, it was bloody and it belonged to one of the ones who had fallen. She grimanced, bleeding heavily from her side, but she wasn't infected; at least, Castiel didn't think she was. They were all getting pushed together, toward the wall. No matter how many Crotes they shot down, more kept coming. And it wasn't like they came empty handed either, some, many, had shards of broken glass or metal, acquired from the run-down and deserted buildings, in their hands. It was almost as if all the Crotes from this zone had decided to gather here, and wait for them… Castiel's eyes widened. Did Dean know? Was he cornered right now? Was he off, fighting ten or fifteen Crotes at one time, trying to get close enough to kill Lucifer?

Castiel winced; he was bleeding pretty badly from a wound on his left shoulder. It made holding the gun up and steady difficult, the weight of his weapon and exertion of the action causing his beaten up muscles to scream in protest. One of the Crotes, one with a large glass fragment, had taken a swipe at him, grabbed him, digging her fingers and nails into his arm and clawing, and then yanked him down, glass embedded in his shoulder. He'd been done for, until Risa shot the thing in its head. His left leg was also bleeding; it had a large gash on the side of it, extending halfway down his knee and halfway up his knee. He'd gotten it when three Crotes had shoved at him, causing him to become impaled by a sharp shard of metal; it had sliced up his leg as he was pushed back. The injury was causing Castiel to limp heavily, at times dragging his leg entirely, both because of the pain, and the damage to his muscle and nerves. The shard had not just sliced his leg, it had torn into it. A thin trickle of blood streamed down his forehead and the right side of his face, probably his least serious injury- a bump on the head.

Another one fell, unable to keep the waves of Crotes off. No one helped him, no one could. Castiel was already pressed again a wall, Risa was down to her last bullets, and their last comrade standing was cornered by nine Crotes. He seemed to know he was done for, as he unleashed the final bullets of his weapon on the enemy, taking down as many as he possibly could before he was taken down himself.

Castiel looked at Risa, saw his fear reflected in her eyes, though hers shown with a hundred times the intensity. Castiel's main concern was reaching Dean, while Risa's eyes showed her fear of dying; this particular way was very gruesome. She inched her way closer toward him, a gun in each hand. Neither was her's, they still sported the blood of their original owners. Risa's gun had run out a long time ago. Every one of the men on this mission had died using their final bullets to blast a hole into as many Crotes as they could, trying to help out the survivors as much as they could in their final moments. This was why only nineteen Crotes stared back at them now, instead of the original, what? Fifty? Sixty-five? It was still too many, and Castiel could see more climbing up the windows.

"We can either make a run for it" Risa said, trying hard not to double over and clutch at the wound on her side, it was still bleeding profusely, "Or we can take down as many of these bastards as we can before we run out" she finished, taking a deep breath in between her sentences, trying to get a grip on the pain. Castiel looked at her with sad eyes, his entire body trembling with exhaustion and blood loss. Between her stomach/side wound, and Castiel's messed up leg they wouldn't get very far, not to mention their other injures, the blood loss, all the Crotes that would be on their tail. He knew they should stay here and try to take down as many as they could before they were over-powered but, he also knew Dean might be in trouble. He knew Dean had to be warned. This was a trap, it always had been. Dean might be off fighting a mass of the infected humans, and Castiel had to find him, help him, at the very least warn him. He looked at Risa, whose hands trembled as she held her gun, aiming. These were their last bullets, and were therefore also precious. Each shot had to count; each bullet had to take another one of Crotes down. He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what he was going to say. She shot two, right in the head; a third crouched behind them, avoiding the bullets. It launched itself at Risa, tugging her down much like a lion would a wildebeest. Its right hand tore into her throat, with a ferocity and strength only one infected with the Croatoan virus could.

Risa kept shooting, one hand had dropped its gun, and instinctively going up to grip the thing's wrist, but the other had kept the gun. "Risa!" Castiel cried, putting a bullet in her attacker's head and rushing over. He grabbed her shoulder and began to tug her away, toward the nearest window. They were only on the second story, they could climb right out. His other hand waved the gun wildly, pointing it at every one of the remaining Crotes in turn; he'd shoot whenever one got too close. He panted as he attempted to pull Risa along with him, his arm trembled; the Crotes kept advancing. Castiel kept his wide blue eyes trained on them, though his eyes trailed down to Risa's face often, he didn't realize she was dead until the third time. It wasn't extremely obvious but, he'd just noticed, all of a sudden, that he was hauling a dead body with him. He'd tugged Risa along, stumbled, caught another glimpse of Risa's face, and something, some fluttering, weak but persistent, something deep inside him, just told him that this woman was no long alive. Castiel's eyelids lowered with grief. He couldn't fly, he couldn't protect the survivors, but he still had enough angel mojo to tell the last of this mission was gone. He set her down; aware the remaining Crotes were getting between him, and the window. His eyes darkened, nothing was keeping him from getting to Dean. He'd been nothing but a burden since his powers failed, but he could make it up. He just had to make sure Dean was able to save the remains of the world, stop Lucifer. He would make sure Dean succeeded. He eyed the window, dropped his gun, and lunged the final few feet, plowing through a couple of Crotes, grabbing onto the window and sliding over and out.

Castiel groaned, rolled onto his stomach, and pulled himself to his feet. His right hand cradled his left shoulder, and his left leg dangled uselessly. Everything was grey, the sky full of clouds. Overcast, it hadn't been like this a while ago, when they had entered the building. Castiel grunted, resolved to find Dean, he didn't just have to warn him, he had to inform him that they'd lost their entire squad. Armed with only determination of steel and a sputtering, flickering glow inside him, he began to inch his way forward. He had a bad feeling, one of urgency. Something was happening, something big. He had to find Dean, now.

Thunder crashed overhead, Castiel shrunk into on himself slightly, his limbs quivering as his exhausted muscles attempted to do as he commanded, keep moving. His fingers curled around the metal wires of the fence, it extended from the building to several feet before their first position, where they had hid until Dean gave the order, where Past Dean had disagreed with this Dean. He felt the fine hairs along his arms and back of his neck rise up. He recognized this, he, the real him, the pathetically small grace, angelic force, recognized this, the feeling in the air. Lucifer... His brother was here, he was near, very near.

More thunder. It crashed, loudly, over Castiel's head. His entire body shook with his effort to drag himself forward, he didn't know what drove him in this direction, but he was certain it was the right one. His grace gave a small tug, causing him to wonder if he was being pulled toward Dean, or toward his brother. He round a corner, leaning heavily on the fence that trailed along for several feet, it was almost out, and only trees lay ahead. He wasn't sure he could make it without something to hold him upright.

Swallowing hard, Castiel let go of the fence and stumbled forward, he'd lost so much blood, it'd left a trail behind him, small droplets and puddles indicating which way he'd come from, and where he'd paused for any extended moment, enough for the consistent droplets to form a pool of the red liquid. He was sure a significant amount was smeared on the window he'd crawled out of. It made him so dizzy; he almost didn't remember why he was trying so hard, what was driving him forward. Only one word remained constant in his mind. 'Dean' he knew he had to find Dean. He had to find Dean… Dean…whose voice he'd just heard, now. The words were hard to comprehend, but they were forceful, the voice behind them full of hurt, pain, sorrow. Then there was more thunder, flashing, he thought he also heard his brother's voice, soft, always soft. Lucifer's presence faded, for a moment Castiel felt nothing, then he felt a brief spark again, another familiar one. Very familiar… Zachariah? It was gone as quickly as it came, too quickly for Castiel's debilitated and unused senses to be sure. He kept going forward however, stepping into one of the only areas in, likely the entire world, which didn't lie in ruins.

Castiel stepped into a small area; it resembled a garden, one that hadn't been cared for properly in some time. It was filled with vegetation, leaves scattered on the ground, rose bushes growing in the corners, a dirty bench with grass growing around its base, a dirty statue of a women dressed in clothing from a time-period that had ended long ago, to which Castiel paid little heed, using it to support his weight, and a fountain who's water had dried up long ago. The area was deserted, Lucifer wasn't here, Dean was nowhere to be found, and Zachariah certainly wasn't here, he'd left… along with all the other angels… long ago. Deciding his human body, damaged as it was, had failed him, fed him incorrect information and that neither Dean or Lucifer had ever been here, Castiel head for the bench, every fiber in body begging him to settle down and leave it rest. He shuffled toward the bench, reaching for it, other hand still holding onto the statue's arm, when he noticed the foot, and then the pants leg; the clothing was unmistakable. "Dean!" Castiel shouted, eyes trailing up the deathly still body to his friend's face, his neck at a weird angle. Castiel rushed forward, or attempted to, as soon as he let go of his support, the statue, his knees gave way.

Like a ton of bricks…Castiel had heard humans say that a lot. Now he finally understood it, he crumbled to the ground in a heap, his body weighing a ton, much, much more than he could hold up on his already unstable and untrustworthy legs. He still attempted to crawl forward. He was, of course, completely dragging his left leg. His left arm was also useless, his shoulder screamed whenever he attempted to move or use his left arm. He still managed to pull himself forward, inching desperately toward Dean. He could feel his angelic essence; though still pitifully small and weak, burn brightly, brighter than it had in years, its protective feelings helping Castiel drag himself along, painfully slow. He stopped while still a foot from Dean, even without touching him, he already knew there was nothing to be protective about. Dean, Dean wasn't here anymore. The small flame inside him roared with disagreement, Castiel could feel its presence as he hadn't in a long time. It almost made him believe it, he wanted to believe it but, even if Dean's deathly stillness, or odd neck angle didn't clue him in, the fact that he could no longer sense Dean there assured Castiel he was gone… dead.

No. Dean could not die. Castiel wouldn't allow it. Digging his hand into the earth, he dragged himself forward until he was close enough to touch Dean. Hand, entire arm actually, shaking, he lifted two fingers and stretched them out until they came in contact with Dean's forehead. Back before the angels left, back when Castiel himself was still and angel, Dean would have healed instantly. But Castiel was no longer an angel; he was more like a human with some angelic residue inside his being. His hand trembled as his entire will focused on Dean, on bringing him back. The rest of the survivors still needed him. He could feel the little glow inside him, inside his chest, swell up and reach toward Dean. Sweat began to form on Castiel's brow, his entire arm shook, but Dean didn't wake up. Castiel narrowed his eyes, complete concentration in his features as he ignored the trembling, which turned to shaking, then evolved into violent tremors that rocked his body. Every part of his being was focused on bringing back Dean, he could feel the small spark inside him, the only thing that kept him from being a human, quiver as well. Everything in his power, he was giving absolutely everything in his power, yet Dean remained the same. 'No….' he thought, his body feeling as if it were about to give way. No…. He… he couldn't let this happen. He couldn't fail again… he couldn't fail Dean again… He couldn't be this useless…

Castiel ignored the tremors, he just focused on bringing Dean back, he was close, he could feel it. His breathing was labored, something inside his chest was wrenching, threatening to crumble, but he was close. His hand was shaking nearly as much as the rest of his body; he pressed his fingers harder onto Dean's forehead. Each of his breaths took a tremendous effort, his eyes felt like they wanted to roll into the back of his head, his body wanted to collapse, but he wouldn't, he couldn't, not until Dean was breathing again. He was so intent on his efforts, his last act, that he didn't hear, didn't see, didn't recognize the intruder walking into this moment until he stood right beside him. "Oh brother, what has been done to you?" was all he heard, before two gentle fingers pressed lightly against his forehead and he sunk into blackness. All he could think was 'No! Dean!' before his body completely succumb to unconsciousness and he slumped at the intruder's white shoes.

(Wrote this at 1:30a.m.! Yeah! *Fistpump* I was bored and I 'wasn't' tired, so I wrote this. Alright! ... I promise the nect chapter will be written after I've had at least 7 hours of sleep. Anyways, I rewatched the scene from Dean waking up to Zachariah taking him back to 2009 over and over to describe the garden-thingy. Hope I got it right-ish. =D )