This part was written as a requests from deadone1013, who wanted to read about Castiel losing his grace - thank you for this suggestion, I hope you like it :)

Don't forget to go check out deadone1013's stories, you'll love them: they're surprising and well thought-out. You'll find no slash there, but they're full of delicious feelsy feels featuring Dean and Cas as friends. I enjoyed them very much!

"Get me Cas now!" Dean's yell rolls over the rumble of engines that are still running idle, the buzz of alarmed crowd and a stifled groan of pain. He lays the woman he was carrying on the nearest porch, throwing worried glances on her reddened face covered in smears of blood and her big, rounded belly.

"What about the quarantine? Refugees from hot zones are always..." Yager horns in.

" I said now!" the Leader roars, glaring at the man, who breaks into run in search for the Second in Command.

It isn't necessary. Cas is already coming closer; he doesn't usually come near the gate to greet scouts coming back from supply runs or missions, but this time he had this whirling, chilling sensation; the remnants of his angelic powers still floundered in him, uneasy and urging. He isn't able to decipher any clear message. All he knows is that something is wrong. Really wrong.

He's taken aback at the sight of Dean's inhumanely pale face and wild look. Another glance is enough for him to understand.

"Where are we? My baby... A doctor..." the woman forces out between deep, hungry gasps as she comes to and slips out of consciousness. Cas can clearly sense her strain when the next wave of labor pains takes over her weary, wounded body.

"Dean, I can't," he opposes weakly, and he already knows he is going to lose.

"Cas, do it!"

The fallen angel kneels next to the woman, laces his fingers throug her dirty, sweaty hair. Even if it wasn't not for the lasts of his superhuman senses, he'd have no doubt that she is dying.

"We've talked about this, Dean. What if you ever need my help?"

"Cas, for fuck's sake, I don't give a..." his hasty, nervous hiss is drowned out by the womans' scream. Her eyes flutter open; the pained, pleading gaze she fixes on the leaders face is heartbreaking. Castiel brings his hand closer to her forehead. Now he can sense it all: fractured pelvis, damaged internal organs, blood loss, fever. Buried deep, deep down, creeping through her veins, there is something cold, pungent and dark - as if death was already claiming the woman. The fallen angel pushes the lasts of that scintillating light he harbored in his body into her. Its like dragging his hand through fire. Suddenly, he feels like he's bled dry within a second, like life was ripped out of his chest in one violent tug; his heart starts to flutter, losing its rhythm, empty chambers and atria reflexively contracting to pump nothing. Just a cold void.

The void engulfs him. For a moment he wonders, absently, how come breathing is so difficult. The next second he knows nothing.

-x-X-x-

It's late evening when Dean comes back to their cabin. The first thing he notices is darkness. Castiel hated it; he would always light up some candles or a lamp, ignoring Deans nagging about power shortage and fire hazard. This time, though, the lurid tint of twilight seeps through closed windows, carving mere shapes out of darkness. The fallen angel is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back resting against a cold wall.

"Now I know why you drink," he slurs wearily as soon as his lover enters the room, "They are indeed unbearable."

"Who?" Dean squints, disoriented and disappointed. He came back bringing good news, but the hopelessness and bitterness he can hear in Cas's voice blows his good humor off.

"These tiny little voices in your head," Castiel drawls out before taking a swig straight from the bottle he's been cradling on his lap, "Doubts. Questions where there should be clarity. Meaningless memories. Wanting. Fear. I thought I would be prepared, but this is..." his eyes widen at the horrors that no one but him can see, "Dean, why do I feel like I need to run? I don't even know why, or from what... Is it... is it always going to be like this?"

"Yeah, you better start getting used to," Dean squats next to Cas to pat his shoulder. He does it uneasily, heedfully, ready to retract the hand at the first sign of shock or pain. He couldn't say why, but touching Cas terrifies him like touching a raw wound. The fallen angel tenses up for an instant, but doesn't shy away from the touch. Its like he doesn't even notice.

"Is this what being human feels like?" he asks blankly.

"Pretty much. Yeah."

"But you didn't say yes," Cas lifts his head to meet Deans eyes. It takes all of the leaders self-control not to recoil at the sight; this insane, hollow, broken look that grazes his face and unfocuses, dissolves into indefinite distance sends a chill down Dean's spine.

"You didn't say yes to Michael," Cas's voice gets thick and brittle; there is pain in it, there is guilt, fear and denial, and madness, "I would have. I would just want it to be over."

"Man, it doesn't matter now. Hey, Cas, easy..." the man tries to put his arm around Castiel's shoulder, but an alarming change in the latter's face stops him in tracks. Cas's breath quickens, it's getting heavier and more strained until it melts into strangled, short breaths he sucks in through clenched teeth.

It is not until the bottle shatters that Dean realizes how hard Cas has been clutching it. The sound and pain shock the dark-haired man back to full alertness, but he doesn't even notice shards of glass stuck in his skin. There is no time for hugs or comforting touches as Cas's body starts to quake with violent heaves. Dean knows Castiel is wouldn't cry even if he knew how to. He knows that there is pain too deep and too primal to be relieved by crying, because he's experienced it too. All he can do is to hold Cas's forearms in place so that the fallen angel wouldn't hurt himself anymore as he fights for breath.

"I just want it to be over..." he curls up with a stifled, inhumane howl, clenching his teeth on his own hand that is dripping with blood and whiskey. It takes a slap on the face for Cas to finally look at Dean.

"Cas, hey, look at me," the man growls, holding Cas's jaw in a firm grip, forcing eye contact, "That's right. Listen, the woman you saved. Her name is Paige," he loosens the grip and speaks softer when he notices sparks of recognition in Cas's eyes, "Remember?"

Cas's slight nod makes the Leader sigh in relief, relax his arms, sitting back on his heels and letting out a shaky, nervous laugh , "She delivered a girl. A healthy, beautiful, screaming, drooling, pooping girl. She named her Hope. A little tacky if you ask me, but hey, it's her child. She's had it thanks to you," finally, Cas's arms relax, if only a little, so that the leader can pull him closer, "Yeah, good, just like that. Just don't freak out anymore, okay? You're good. You're safe. You're good..."

-x-X-x-

Chuck remembers that day like one remembers a nightmare: hazy, no details, distorted timeline, but all the fear and pain etched into his brain forever, vivid and sharp. It was the day Dean received a distress call via radio from a town that was less than 8 hours driving away and decided to try to help. As usually Chuck waited with a heavy heart for the militants to come back, wondering if the camp was equipped well enough to treat and house everyone. Moreover, he had to deal with unrest caused by those who insisted on taking no more refugees, because they had already forgotten how they had been saved from a town hall, storm shelter or school encircled by Croats. To his relief he finally heard Wrangler's loud engine and commotion in the pre-camp improvised quarantine zone in early afternoon, not even 36 hours after the squad departed.

To his confusion one car left the zone and headed towards the hospital barrack. It was unusual and unsafe. It had been Dean's strict order not to let any refugee into the camp without 12 hours quarantine, spraying with holy water and touching with silver, iron and salt. Loud groans of pain he heard as the vehicle approached the barrack freaked him out even more.

Dean sprung out of the car, yelling "Get me Cas, now!" as he fumbled around the jeep, then emerged carrying a pregnant woman that was breathing heavily and groaning, obviously in labor. "Quick! She's wounded!"

Nearly everyone in the camp gathered as soon as they found out what was going on. Those who could give any aid helped eagerly; those who could not just stuck around the barrack.

Chuck did not see what happened to Cas, nor did he assist the childbirth; he stayed in inventory room and kept preparing ligature, iodine, antibiotics and all the mixtures of painkillers he could come up with from what they had. Finally, he heard the sound that made his heart skip a beat and a lump form in his throat - newborn's cry. Joseph, their camp doctor which happened to be a real MD assessed that the girl was fine and there was a significant chance for the mother to survive.

In the evening the shared dormitories and private cabins grew surprisingly silent, as if it was too much of an event to celebrate in their usual way. Instead of cheer, drinking and songs, a calm, solemn atmosphere veiled the camp. Nobody dared to voice this thought just as if they were afraid that it would break the spell, but everyone shared it. The first child since the Apocalypse started came into the world in a relatively safe place. There were not only people dying; there were people being born. There was still hope and life; not just a pack of God forgotten survivors refusing to give up a lost cause. Those who did not know the whole picture and thought that they were just dealing with an outbreak of a virus let themselves believe that they could survive and rebuild humanity. Even Dean seemed excited and light-hearted that day.

And on that silent night Chuck was jolted to full alertness with beastly screams echoing in the dark. He wanted to go out, but terror froze him in the doorstep. Yager, Dean and Joseph passed his cabin as they ran towards the barrack. There was a gunshot, an inhumane growl and an exclamation of terror. The baby started to cry again, but this time the sound chilled the blood in Chick's veins. It was the well-known growl of a hungry Croat, but forced through a tiny infant's throat.

Chuck entered the barrack just in time to see Dean take the newborn from the arms of a terrified doctor and break its neck with an expression of disgust.

-x-X-x-

Dean and Yager swore they had found the woman at least 16 hours before they arrived at the camp. Dean disregarded the quarantine thinking that it was a mere formality; that the woman was clean. They all agreed later that the labor could have delayed symptoms of infection or they simply missed them. Whatever they decided, it didn't change the fact that the woman managed to kill five people that night.

For the remainder of the night everyone could hear what was happening in the leader's cabin. The next morning was the first time Chuck had to tend to Castiel's injuries.