A/N: Had a few requests to continue this story, so I'm going to try and see where it's heading. For now, have a nice short chapter.
Weeks passed and the summer reached a belated peak. The camp went about in its usual hustle, gaining new members to the community not quite as fast as they were losing them. Whenever a new wandering soul found their camp, usually looking as if they had lost their grip on the world, Dean would look them over and either give approval or shoot them on the spot if they showed signs of the virus. Once approved, they were assigned a cabin, and sooner or later they would all show up on Castiels doorstep.
The more experienced warriors went out on missions whenever a group of croats would get too close. Groups of fifteen to twenty people, that would come back as groups of thirteen to eighteen. Others stayed behind, teaching newcomers the ropes. When someone turned out not to be fit for battle whatsoever, they joined Chuck in organizing the logistics.
Castiel was usually with the people teaching the newcomers. He knew his way around all weapons available in camp and Dean trusted him to do a good job of it. Evenings were spent in decadence, if he didn't have a patrol shift.
It was a rare night, where no one had shown up for the evening, not even Dean, and for a change they had so many people in the camp that he didn't have to run a shift either. Castiel had retreated to an abandoned playground, just behind the main building, and was gently swinging back and forth on a creaky swing set, arms wrapped around the chains.
His eyes were fixed on the cloudless night sky, littered with stars. Carefully, he reached out with his mind to where he once would have found his link to Heaven, only to be met with deafening silence. He was overcome with the need to cry for his lost brothers and sisters, but found he didn't have any tears left in him. He closed his eyes.
"Father," he started, his voice soft and rough from substance abuse, "I don't know if you can hear me, or if you want to, or if you're even still there." The swing stopped creaking as Cas planted his feed on the ground. "I have to ask, though. Are we doing good? Are we doing what you intended us to do?"
The only answer was the soft chirping of cicadas nearby.
"What will happen when this last resistance dies? Will we be welcomed in Heaven? Is there a Heaven to be welcomed into?"
How bitter it was not to know the answer. To not know whether there still was a Heaven or Hell. To not be aware of things he was once so certain of.
"Please, Father, I'm not even interested for myself. I just… I want to know that Dean will be safe. He has given so very much…"
He clenched his hands, not remembering when they had come together in prayer.
"It would be unfair to him if… I would like… I just want his suffering to end, Father. He has done everything you ever asked of him, and so much more. He has bled for this world until he had nothing more to give and continued even then. You left him to fend for himself and instead, he has been fending for the entirety of mankind. He has only ever had everyone else's best interest at heart, not even thinking twice if it would hurt him in the process. He has lost… everything, and I… I can't save him anymore."
Castiels throat constricted and he found himself unable to go on. Consciously, he unclenched his hands and got up from the swing. He glanced up at the starry night sky once more before he quietly walked away, his feet crunching on the gravel. He was going to look for Dean. The hunter might not need the physical comfort tonight, but Castiel sure as hell did.