"Feeding tubes, Dean? Really?"
"You weren't waking up."
Sam nodded wearily, looked around the room. "How long has it been?" he asked. "Where's Kevin?"
"A couple of weeks. And he bolted, left us a note on how he couldn't take the pressure, he was going to Fiji to finish translating the tablet or something."
"A couple of weeks." Sam's face, if it was possible, paled even more, and he lurched into the room, collapsed into an armchair. "Wow. And… Cas." His face scrunched up as he regarded the former angel, as if he was trying to remember something. "You're alive. Was I hallucinating? Before I passed out, I thought… I thought I saw…"
Castiel looked like he was struggling with the prospect of saying it again, so Dean spoke up. "You weren't seeing things, Sammy. The angels fell. Cas is one of us now."
Moment of weakness over, Castiel continued. "That's not all," he said, and Dean's eyes flicked back to his in alarm. "My brethren are cut off from Heaven now, but they still have power, just as Lucifer had power when he was cast into the Pit. I fear what that may mean for the future… I'm not sure what they will do, if they'll try finding a way back into Heaven, or if they'll start attacking the humans."
"Oh, and let's not forget that they'll all be hunting you down, too," Dean snarked. "What the hell, Cas?! I thought fallen angels lost their memories!"
"That is a very distinct possibility, them hunting me," Castiel answered, completely blasé, and Dean struggled with a momentary urge to punch him. "As for losing their memories…that only happens when angels voluntarily tear out their Grace. These angels would still have their Grace, they've just had their wings clipped, been cut off from the source. How do I say this, the spell was… cleaner?"
"So, you're the only one who's been… depowered?" Sam was trying to keep up, but his head felt too cottony and the rest of him felt like it had been run over by a cement roller. He wasn't necessarily at his top game.
"Yes," Castiel said. "I'm also the only one… my Grace is irretrievable. I'm not ever…" His throat closed up with an audible click, and Dean wanted to reach out again, and try to comfort, but something told him that this wasn't the time, that if he reached out now, he might never let go.
So he stood up. "Well thank you, Mr. Exposition," he muttered tightly, interrupting the man, the man before he started flying apart in front of him. "But how about we all eat something before it's midnight, yeah? We can figure this all out tomorrow."
Castiel looked utterly lost at the idea of eating dinner, and when Dean passed by Sam to ask how he was, all he got was a wan smile and a "Would it sound strange if I told you I'm getting used to feeling like crap?"
It was going to be a long year.
oOo
There was just no bloody way this was happening.
Crowley had been lost when the psychotic hunter-squirrel, Dean, had released him. He'd gone to confessionals, murdered a few family pets, helped an old lady with her bags, and set fire to an orphanage. He was all over the place. He was a mess.
A few baptisms later, and he was considering returning to Hell. He still had a job there, he was pretty sure, and although at times it repulsed him beyond imagination, the rest of the time he was pretty sure he loved it. He did love it, right? Being King of Hell, having all that power. Except the demons were only afraid of him, he never had any actual rapport with them; they didn't feel loyal to him because they liked him. Was that important to him? He couldn't remember; it seemed like it was.
So he went back, half-formed thoughts on reforming Hell's torturing system again on his mind. But when he got there, he was forced to remember, that infernal moose-Sam had neglected to kill the Knight properly, and she'd returned to Hell long before he had.
She'd declared herself Queen, and was more than prepared for his arrival.
oOo
That first night was the worst. None of them had actually been able to eat anything, and when one by one they began sheepishly excusing themselves to go sleep (Dean dragging Castiel with him, when he decided enough was enough), sleep didn't even come. Mainly because Castiel was doing his best to scream his lungs out of commission.
Sam stumbled into Dean's room, hands clamped over his ears. "What's going on?" he demanded, watching Dean struggle out of his sheets, hurriedly pull some clothing on.
"I don't know. Something's wrong with Cas, give me a minute."
Dean crept into Castiel's room quietly, gently easing the door open when the latest bout of screaming subsided. "Hey, Cas?" he called. He didn't get a response. Castiel was asleep, but thrashing on the bed, moaning and whimpering as he clawed the sheets.
It was physically painful to watch. Dean padded over.
"Cas, man, you've got to wake up—" He put a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder, and the second he did, Castiel reared upwards, eyes flying open as he clutched Dean's arms and yelled, "It's COMING!"
Dean blinked. "What's coming?" he said, more out of reflex than anything else. Then, as he saw Castiel's eyes cloud in confusion, he soothed. "Hey, Cas, it was just a nightmare, don't panic, we all have them—"
"Not me," Castiel whispered. Still clutching Dean, he buried his head in his chest. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
"I know," Dean hushed.
It was some time before Dean felt it safe to return to his room, and when he did, he found Sam still awake, sitting cross legged on his mattress, forehead full of worried creases.
"What was that?"
"I'm not sure." Dean crawled back into the bed, nudged Sam with his foot so he'd scoot over. "I don't know what being human is gonna do to him, Sam. All I know is, we're gonna have to research the hell out of this falling-angel thing. Who knows what they're gonna do. What's coming next." He yawned and punched his pillow a few times, before sinking into it. Sam remained quiet a few moments, thinking.
"Dean."
"Mmmf?"
"What did you do, during the weeks I was unconscious?"
Dean turned to look at the ceiling. "I just drank."
A/N: Now, I really hate begging for reviews, but thing is, I really like them, and I'm sort of desperate at times for feedback. You can have imaginary cookies and a hot balloon ride over the Pacific for your trouble.