Author's note: I added a little room number in there for you Sherlockians ;)

Other than that, here's the story I promised. Castiel's choice of words for the doctor that you heard of last chapter will be revealed at a later chapter huehuehue...

The doctor he had seen in the hospital room previously gently shook Dean awake, his head hung on one of the waiting room chairs. He raised his head, rubbing at his eyes when he remembered what had happened. He stood instantly, a feeling of dizziness overcoming him, and yet he ignored it, more concerned about Cas.
"Doc? What happened?" He asked in a frenzy, and the hospital doctor sighed unhappily, leading him directly outside of Castiel's hospital room, 221B.
"Your friend, Castiel... He's contracted the plasmodia parasite."
Dean nodded as if he understood, then shook his head in confusion and concern. "I'm sorry, what? Plasma-dee-what?"
"The plasmodia parasite. He has malaria."
Dean had heard of malaria before, and he was almost sure it was a deadly disease. He waited in anxiety as the doctor continued.
"When Mosquitoes carrying malaria bites her victim, she injects the parasites into the bloodstream, which then migrate to the liver as well as other organs and incubate. It's very uncommon in America, although not unheard of." He explained. "Castiel hasn't shown any symptoms since a mosquito bite that may have occurred a few weeks ago. Symptoms usually show up around that time."
Dean shook his head, denying it. "But he'll be okay, right?" He asked desperately.
The doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead. "There are no effective vaccines known by medical engineering that can effect malaria. As for medication, he can take anti-malarial drugs, but not for long. Long term use can cause extreme side-effects."
"What about treatment? He'll survive!" Dean realized he was shouting and reminded himself to be silent the next time he spoke.
"Doxycycline, atovaquone, proguanil, mefloquine, and primaquine. We've been injecting it into his bloodstream, and yet there have been no changes."
Dean silently cursed. "It's only been a day!" Dean protested. "How can you be sure-"
"That the drugs will work? We aren't. Malaria is resilient. It's become resistant to most of these older drugs, so there may be no point in keeping him on them."
Dean wanted to rush in there and protect the cure in Castiel's body. "You can't take him off the only thing that can save him!"
The doctor shook his hands. "No, you misunderstand. We're still going to keep him on those drugs and hope for a change, but there is another drug we can administer. Unfortunately his health insurance doesn't cover it."
Dean grabbed the doctor's arm. "What is it?" He asked frantically. "I'll pay for it. What the hell is it and how much is it?"
"Artemisinin. This drug is most likely to be able to cure him, but it's over two-thousand dollars for treatment. It's too expensive, with such ingredients-"
"Nothing is too expensive for my Cas. When do I need to have the cash by?" He asked, and the doctor took a clipboard from a passing nurse.
"I have to go, but he only has a few more weeks to live. Maybe three, hopefully four."
Dean sighed. "But how can he be killed by a frigging bug? A single mosquito?"
"A single mosquito can wipe out an entire population."
Dean's heart crushed at those words. He had been bitten the same night Cas had, the night of Valentine's day, when they had gotten in the argument and Cas had stormed off. Why wasn't he the one in there?
A single mosquito can wipe out an entire population.
Then why hasn't it killed Dean? Why was he standing and Castiel suffering?
A single mosquito can wipe out an entire population.
But he wouldn't let it take Castiel.
He slammed open the hospital door. Castiel was wide awake, flickering through the assorted and limited television stations. His head snapped over to the door way as he stormed in like he was a single man police raid.
Dean crossed the room quickly, sitting down on the bed next to him, taking Castiel's hand into his own. "You're okay?" He asked, and Castiel looked to him sleepily.
"I'ma liddle jug- vug- drug..." He slurred, trying to make himself speak correctly.
Dean could tell he was out of it, the drugs making him tired. "You should get some rest." Dean laughed, as Castiel seemed to be searching for where Dean's eyes were. The world was probably spinning all around him by now.
"Muh... Laria?" Castiel asked, seemingly upset, and Dean nodded. He felt the bite of Castiel's nails as he dug them into his skin in fear, as if holding onto Dean would be like holding onto life.
Dean looked up at the hospital television.

"You want me to bring you some books? You can't even find a good soap opera on those things." Dean commented, and Castiel sighed as he lied back down and nodded.
"Lay…der." He stalled, laying his head on Dean's chest when Dean lied down, staring up at the bright hospital ceiling, thinking about the current predicaments.
"I'm going to make sure you get that artemisinin stuff. I'm going to get enough money. I'll get two jobs, skip school a few times for babysitting and yard work. Maybe I'll borrow it or get a loan..." He babbled on. "I'll steal if I have to, but I don't want you to leave me. Cas, we're family. We need you. I need you."
Castiel smiled against Dean's chest. "I neebd you doo. That z why-" he yawned, while stumbling over his words as if he was drunk. "Thad's why eye ell hang un." Dean had barely registered what he said, until he thought about it.

I need you too. That's why I'll hang on.

Dean smiled to himself. He may be drugged up, but that was some poetry right there.
The distant beeping of the monitor slowed a little, and Dean freaked out, getting ready to call the nurse in, until he realized that Castiel had fallen asleep, the drugs having that effect on him.
"G'night, Novak." Dean mumbled into Castiel's ear, holding him tightly for a moment before finally releasing him. He wriggled out from underneath Castiel, although it pained him to have to leave and risk sparing the time Cas had left.
What the hell did you just say Dean? Time left? He has years ahead of him. He'll live past eighty, I'll make sure of it. He told himself angrily.
He was out of the hospital quickly and upset, climbing into the impala and slamming the door. It was dark out, and a few ambulances were parked outside the hospital, lights flashing. Dean pulled out of the parking lot and towards his first chance of saving Castiel.
He was going to Lucifer.

Dean entered the filthy club, each and every object seeming to be covered in some sort of nasty disease awaiting a victim. He was careful not to step on any of the discarded crap across the floor as he approached Lucifer, who held a cigarette in his right hand, puffing smoke through a smile as he turned Dean's way.
"Dean! Want one?" He asked, holding out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He grinned knowingly, though how he could possibly know about his deal with Cas was unknown to him.
Maybe this was why he was called Lucifer. He tempted Dean into taking the cigarette, but Dean refused, recalling his promise to Cas.
"You sure? Your little virtuous angel isn't here to stop you." He encouraged, releasing a puff of smoke with a happy sigh.
Dean smacked away the box so that it landed on the floor. He tugged the cigarette out of Lucifer's mouth, flicking it to the ground and treading it into the ground. "I'm here to make a deal." He said as Joey stood from retrieving the packet from the ground, tucking it into Dean's coat pocket with a smile, though Dean hadn't seemed to notice.
"What's in it for me?" He asked, intrigued. "I'm interested."
Dean thought about what he had. He needed money, so that wasn't an option. Maybe a favor?
"What do you want? I need cash." He mumbled.
Lucifer cackled. "Why? Are you that poor? That you came to me for money?" He continued to laugh, doubling over.
Dean picked him up by the back of his shirt, holding him close to his face menacingly. "Cas is in the hospital, and he only has around 3 weeks left. I need two thousand dollars by then or there's no chance." He spoke angrily, and Lucifer cracked a smirk.
So Dean cracked his nose.
He shot up his right hand, decking Joey directly in the face.
"Shit!" He cursed, holding his hand to his bloodied and slightly crooked nose.
People around them looked on as a peanut gallery, and a few looked away after a glare from Dean.
Lucifer looked down in disbelief at the blood on his fingertips, and he felt the warm liquid drizzling from his nose.
"I'll do anything to save Castiel. Now what the hell do I need to do for money from you?" Dean asked, clenching his fist. He spotted a small speck of Joey's blood on his knuckle, wiping it off quickly and disgustedly onto his jean leg.
Lucifer smiled a little, pretending to be fine after the punch. "Your soul." He said, and Dean was surprised he was able to joke after his nose had most likely been broken. "Or if you could help me get revenge on that bitch Tori and her little 'Mikey'" He said with a sneer. "They have unpaid debts." He said distastefully.
Dean nodded, knowing that Lucifer was trustworthy, at least when making a deal. "Fine. Revenge first I'm guessing?"
Lucifer laughed a little. "Even I'm not that much of a dick. Make sure they don't get their placement as prom queen and king and I'll be fine. That should be good enough. Oh the looks on their faces when you destroy their perfect record." He smiled cruelly, imagining the anger and disappointment they'd have in themselves and each other.
Dean nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure as to how he'd convince the school to not vote for the most popular and powerful couple on campus. "Fine. Pay up now then."
Lucifer pulled out five a hundred dollar bills, as if he had been prepared for this deal. They were folded up neatly, and Dean pages through them to ensure there were indeed five hundred bucks.
513 dollars in his wallet, he left the club, not bothering to thank Lucifer, and avoiding the drunk women that danced on him, attempting to seduce him. He didn't bat for that team anymore.
He kept his winks and smirks to himself. Castiel's eyes-only. He couldn't wait to see his face change color again, instead of a sickly pale, and so he hurried to go and see the next person to help.
It seemed like I would be impossible to convince her, impossible to ever hope that she'd trust him... But Hannah was his only option. She hated Dean, but Castiel was her friend. She would help, right?

"No! You'll probably spend it on some sort of drug deal! Why do you care about Castiel? You've made him stray from his virtues and turned him to sin!" Hannah said angrily, her fists clenched by her side.
Dean allowed her to fuss, waiting patiently until the fire of rebellion died from her eyes and voice. "Cas is in the hospital with malaria. He needs this medicine. He has three weeks to live."
He felt angry and frustrated tears forming in his eyes as Hannah still refused to believe him. Didn't she care about Cas? "You don't think that I care about him? You don't think that I have enough to deal with without your fucking bullshit?" He shouted.

Don't kick her ass. You don't hit girls, Dean unless they want to hit you. Don't hit her, don't do it, it's Castiel's friend.
"If Cas were hurt, he'd call me. He'd want me to visit him in the hospital." She said indignantly, and Dean had to wonder why he hadn't told Hannah. Possibly because Hannah didn't know about their relationship, and Cas didn't want her to find out like this.
Dean accepted her distrust, but he didn't show it. He spun on his heel and stomped away from her door.
He almost tripped when he turned, and he hoped Hannah had already closed the door so that she wouldn't have seen it.
He climbed into his impala, head hung. What was he going to do now? Getting a job wouldn't get him money fast enough. There had to be another way.
His dad still had all that alcohol in the fridge, and Dean had a few things he could sell at a pawn shop.
Before anything though, he had promised Cas a few books. He drove the few blocks from Hannah's neighborhood to theirs, and he spotted Castiel's mother approaching her car. She looked up in distaste at the car, nose scrunching up as if she was looking at something that caused a foul odor.
"Dean." She said with a hint of her obvious disliking. She looked him up and down. "Where is Castiel?"
Dean was slightly alarmed. "The hospital didn't...?"
"Call me? If that was their number, then I hung up the multiple times they dialed. Now what about a hospital? I haven't got all day." She tapped her foot against the ground with impatience.
"M-malaria. Castiel has malaria. I've been trying t-"
"Nice, very nice. If you'll excuse me, I have a rather important business trip to attend to. Since he won't be here, take care of the house, will you? Obviously he's too lazy to." She said, leaving him with frustrated tears attempting to push their way out. What the hell was wrong with this chick?
She reached into her bag and produced a small stack of money. "And of course here's payment for house sitting. More than enough, I hope." With that, she stepped around to the other side of her car, closing the trunk over her suitcase. "Tell Castiel to come home as soon as possible. I don't particularly like the idea of you in my house, but if I must, I prefer it be as short lived as possible. Remember to get the mail. And water my azaleas, would you?"
Dean didn't even bother to stop her. She cared about her son in the strangest way. Enough to hate him and be disgusted by him, but enough to want him happy. Dean stuffed the $637 into his bag. She was probably planning to do something else with that money, and yet she had given it to him as an indirect way to pay for Castiel medical bills. If she had known it would be two thousand, she most likely would have paid it off in full, but it was too late for that, as she was half way down the road now. She had played it off as paying for him to 'house sit', and yet by the worry hidden in those dark eyes, he saw she didn't want the money to go anywhere except to Castiel. He accepted that fact. It would have gone to him anyways.
Dean turned back up towards the house, sighing. Why did this have to happen to Cas? He had been bitten that night too. Why wasn't he the one sitting in that bed? He would have accepted Death's arrival, and yet in this case, Dean was doing anything he could to stop it.
He tried the knob, and the door swung open effortlessly. She was most likely expecting Cas to come home soon, although he wouldn't show up for at least 3 weeks. Dean crossed the foyer after shutting the door, tromping up the stairs. It felt empty and uninviting in Castiel's room, where Dean had always felt safe.
Now Castiel wasn't with him. Instead, he was sick and dying in the hospital, all because Dean had lied about a stupid thing like cigarettes.
If he hadn't pissed off Cas, they would have been at that stupid dinner, and Castiel wouldn't have stormed out if the car. If Dean hasn't been such an idiot, he could have kept one of the most important people to him safe. Instead he let Castiel fall like this into a hospital bed, in pain with no hope.
I'm a sick bastard. Dean told himself. Screw me.
He grabbed books at random, retrieving Castiel's phone charger out of the plug beneath the nightstand.
Sitting in Castiel's room without Cas felt like admitting he was dying, and so Dean practically threw himself down the stairs in an attempt to get away from the desolate house.
Dean put Castiel's things in the passenger seat, and reached into the back to retrieve his trench coat. He draped it over the seat beside him, speeding off towards the hospital, where he would most likely spend the night.
Dean pulled to a slow stop at a red light, regretting not having sped up. He would have skipped the light if the lady in front of him hadn't been so slow.
He watched the cars turning and going forward, and his mind wandered. If he couldn't get this money, then he was working with time away from Castiel for nothing. Cas only had two more weeks, but what if he didn't even make it that long? What if the disease took his life before then? That meant that Dean had wasted his time with Castiel.
He couldn't wait to get to the hospital, and he knew he'd be reluctant to leave no matter what.
He needed to get this money. He wasn't going to let this chance at saving Castiel pass.
And if the drug didn't work?
Who cares? He'd whoop malaria's ass. He'd create his own drug, find all the ways to remove malaria. Try to get a surgeon to remove the parasites.
He'd do anything, and although it hurt him to think it, he'd even sell the impala if it meant saving Castiel.
Like two pieces of a puzzle, Dean felt that he couldn't live without Castiel. Life was impossible without him. He wanted to spend his life with Castiel, get a house somewhere other than this run-down town. They'd go somewhere special, where they could get married legally. Maybe they'd adopt, though he wasn't too thrilled with the idea of a small child running around, screaming and breaking things… maybe a dog would work better.
He barely noticed the light shifting green, and when he did, he sped off. He wanted to tell Cas what he wanted, didn't want to have to hide his emotions anymore. Although he didn't want to become someone weak with little emotional boundaries, this was something he wanted Castiel to know, a reason to fight, and to hope.
Dean was pushing the speed limit like always, and he almost stomped on the gas pedal as he passed a cop car. He was obediently 5 miles below the limit before the squad car turned the corner. Then he pushed the accelerator.
He cranked up the radio, blasting Metallica through the car. It worked to calm him, and he arrived in the hospital parking lot as Kirk Hammet finished up his last guitar solo. He cracked down the radio volume, stepping out of the car with quick steps. Of course it was starting to darken outside, the time was around seven, and Dean hoped he'd be able to stay the night, even after visiting hours.
He entered the hospital, not even bothering to go ask someone the room number. He had remembered it, 221B. He wanted to take the elevator, but a large group currently occupied the only one in the hospital.
He sighed, leaning against the wall of the hallway. Taking the stairs would be faster, but he wanted a chance to think through what he was going to tell Castiel. How does one tell another that they can't live without them, if he didn't want to sound like he was relying on Castiel, even though he really was? He didn't want to get emotional like one of those movie dramas you saw where "true love" and "soul mates" came into place. That wasn't what he was feeling. It wasn't something else entirely, something far more than what people call "love at first sight", because he knew for a fact that it had been complete bull shit.
It was confusing, and his mind was muddled from the stress and lack of sleep. He listened as the elevator traversed down the shaft, and heard the quiet bing as it hit the floor he was on.
He took a step away from the wall, watching as a few men dressed in white rolled a body bag out of the elevator.
Dean shivered. Whoever that was probably had family who missed them. He felt a sudden stab of fear when he thought about Castiel ending up like that, a lifeless and cold body in a bag that people would look at with sympathy while it rolled by on a table with wheels. In fact, what if it was Castiel? He hurried into the elevator, urging it to travel faster as he pressed the second story floor button repeatedly.
Dean pulled his jacket closer to him in the cold hospital. Even the elevators smelled like antiseptic and rubbing alcohol, not to mention the overwhelming scent of germ-x.

"Intensive care"
That was the name of the unit of the hospital Castiel was boarded in. He was suffering this crap in an IC unit, and Dean couldn't shake off the knowledge that it was his fault that Castiel was here.
He gently tapped the door with the knuckles of his right hand, opening the door a crack to peek in. Castiel looked over with sudden interest as he saw Dean in the door way.
"Dean!" Castiel felt weak as he did so, but he pulled himself off the bed, kicking over the covers excitedly. He rushed into Dean's arms, meeting him half-way across the room.

He had just received the news from his doctor. Maybe he had been a little too 'optimistic' when estimating his time to live. As of right now, those three weeks had become only one or two.
Dean smiled, resting his forehead against Cas', oblivious to the hidden factor.
"You okay?" He asked, holding Castiel by the shoulders as he looked him over.
"I'm fine." Castiel nodded, and Dean planted a welcoming kiss on Castiel' lips, sending his happiness through it. He ran his hands through Castiel's hair, missing the feeling.
Cas looked weak, but he was alright. For a fleeting moment he felt as if Castiel would be fine, and yet the feeling of the hospital linen clothes alerted him that Cas was still sick, stuck in the hospital for recovery.
He broke sort the kiss, reaching down to the floor to pick up the bags he had dropped. He smiled. "Brought you those books."
Castiel grinned excitedly, almost like a child, and he led Dean to the bed.
He looked to Dean and he seemed to just stare for a moment. "What's wrong?" He finally asked, sensing that Dean had something hidden from him.
"Cas..." Dean began, not knowing how to start. "I don't want... I don't want you to die."
Castiel frowned. "I should hope not."
Dean shook his head. "I mean, I want you to live, so that... We can live together." He said, turning away, his face red.
Castiel eyes widened a fraction, and he looked to Dean in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Dean smiled a little, looking up at the blue eyes that caused him pain and pleasure all at once. "I'm asking if you want to marry me."
Castiel laughed nervously. "D-Dean, I'm only 18..."
Dean shook his head again, blushing. "N-no! I mean... Well- you- I mean... You don't have that..."
Castiel's face fell. "I know. I'm running out of time." They were both silent for a while, taking comfort in each other holds. Do we have to talk about this right now? Castiel asked himself, but he knew they did. As of right now, he not had a week or two left unless there was a miracle. He couldn't tell Dean about the shortening of time, yet.
"Dean, I might live. I mean there's still that medicine, right?" He knew he was lying to himself. The Artemisinin drug came coupled with the ability to cure or not cure, and if it did cure him, it may still take the toll of death as a side-effect.
He knew that the lie was etched into his voice, easily heard by even the most gullible person.
Dean looked to Castiel, the obvious marked in his eyes. "The medicine... It won't work?" He asked, and he couldn't hold back the tears that flooded his eyes.
Castiel looked down at the white hospital bed sheets in shame. "No! It's just… I don't know."
"Cas." Dean croaked. "Please." He didn't know what he was begin for, but he didn't want Castiel to continue.
"The artemisinin drug might not be administered in time." He watched something fall onto the bed, and he wasn't sure if it was Dean's tears or his own.
Dean tried to choke back the sob that fell from his throat. "Cas, I-" he couldn't finish. Tears were running down both their faces, and Dean shook his head, pulling out his wallet.
"No, Cas. This medicine, it has to work! Look, we're so close!" He dumped the money onto the bed.
Castiel looked down at it, knowing death would come to him either way.
"Dean, the doctor told me I only have about a week. Even if I get the medicine, it would have to be tomorrow. There's no way you can save me."
"No, Cas please don't say that. Please don't say it, please."
Castiel looked up to meet the eyes that gave him life. He had never seen these many tears in them before, yet now as he looked at the watered eyes, he knew they had always been there, even if hidden. "I don't want you to leave me. I need you, Cas. I..." He choked back another sob as he tried to speak, and his breath hitched as he took a breath. "Castiel, I love you. Please don't leave me."
Castiel was surprised, and his fist balled up a bunch of the sheets.
"I don't want to die, Dean." He said, his voice trembling. That was the first time Dean had ever said 'I love you', and it sure as hell broke down his emotional barriers.
"Cas, you don't have to. There's a way... There has to be a way..." Usually Dean was the realist and Castiel the optimist, but with the little chance of his recovery, Castiel knew there was only one way for his life to go.
"Dean, before I die-"
"Cas, no. No, don't say you'll die. You won't, I'll make sure. I'll get the rest of the money, I did the math, and we can get the money for the medicine. We have over a thousand and I-"
"Dean." Castiel spoke in a calm and soothing voice, and his palm met warm tears as he held Dean's face in his hand. "Dean. Don't try and save me. I'm too far past saving."
"N-no." He said, refusing to believe it. Angry tears roiled down his face, mixed in with the sad ones from the thought of losing Castiel.
"Dean. I love you." He said. His lips parted to grant a smile, and yet Dean didn't accept that grin. He didn't accept that false happiness. "I don't want to die, but no matter what you do, you're wasting that money to try and save me."
"No, no, no, hell no!" Dean shouted, grabbing Castiel's hand, practically throwing it back down on the bed. "I'm going to do the research. I'll find this stupid drug, and in going to make sure I get it to you. Your doctor will have to accept my money. He'll give you it, and you'll get better."

Castiel smiled sadly. "You're like a child." He commented. He had grown paler during their conversation, and Dean realized how much only speaking weakened Cas. He was being fed off by the plasmodium parasite, and his energy was low enough to the point where standing for too long would knock him out.
Dean quieted, watching the cold sweat that broke over Castiel's hairline, and he shook his head.
"Cas, I'm sorry. You need to rest. I'll sell all my shit if I need to, but I'm getting you that cure."
Castiel tried to retaliate, but it seemed that he didn't have the energy to.
Dean left in a rush, but before he did, he gave another kiss to Castiel, attempting to absorb the pain and send him hope and faith. "You know I don't believe in god, but if he's out there, I want him to help you." Dean said, leaving Castiel's belongings in the chair beside his bed.
"I'll be back soon." He promised.
"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel said as he left, and Dean was confused for which part he was apologizing for.
Did he mean to apologize for not telling him about his time left sooner?
Did he want to say he's sorry for not being hopeful like he should?
Or was he apologizing because he was going to give up?

The door closed behind Dean, and Castiel was once again left alone in the hospital room. He could barely stay conscious, the drugs making him woozy, not to mention the amount of energy he'd exerted in simply speaking and standing.
His eyes shut as he thought.

What is it like to die?
Will I go to heaven?
Will I see Dean again? He hoped not too soon, desperately wishing that Dean wouldn't think about committing suicide just because he'd passed.
Castiel threw the covers over him, but because they were cold, they did nothing to fight off the chill in the room.
Who would watch over Dean? He had lost most of his friends after leaving the football team, even Nicholas betraying him. He'd have nothing but his brother, though his brother was bound to leave for college soon, leaving Dean with his dad.
Even John could tell that Dean didn't want to be left by Sam. 'Sam is going on to a successful career while you're sitting around here with no hope for a job higher than that of a waiter' he would say. 'You're older than Sam. You should be the one providing for people. I wanted you to protect Sam, not throw a sad attempt at following in his footsteps'
Castiel rolled over, fingers grasping the trench coat. He held it close to his face, inhaling. It still smelled like Dean. Like the leather of his jacket and the upholstery in the impala. Like a sweet beer, but not too strongly a smell of alcohol. The very faint, but still ever present scent of Dean on general, one that couldn't quite be described. Like honey from a bee combined with tree bark and leaves, a soft tinge of maple and a little bit of cinnamon, possibly vanilla. Those scents were indistinguishable in the combination that created the distinct scent.
Castiel sighed into the material, hoping the nurses wouldn't insist to wash it. He wanted this here, a reminder to at least have a small recognition that there was still that 1%, that small, insignificant chance, that the drug could save him. Maybe a miracle would occur. He couldn't be sure, especially since he wasn't a doctor and, to his mother's disappointment, didn't plan on becoming one.
Maybe someday he'd become a famous politician, a governor, a judge, perhaps he'd run for president. But that day was not today, and he was going to have to rest if he expected to keep up with Dean's next visit, apparently 'soon'
He allowed himself to doze off, trying to forget those sad green eyes.
That sort of hope would be crushed in a world like this. Place your trust in the universe, and you're destroyed.