Author's Note:

I desperately need to channel myself into a post-Sacrifice fic, so this was born. Be warned, I am listening to "Stars" from Les Miserables on repeat while writing this. You can blame livelongandspocker on Tumblr for that, since it was her post that made me connect the two. Anyway, this is not at all what I expect to happen in season 9, fair warning, this is just my outlet to put everything I want to happen in one place, and we'll see where it goes.

Chapter 1 - There, Out In The Darkness

It was heard to tear his eyes away from the sky, but eventually Dean managed to do so. He unceremoniously dragged Sam into the backseat of the Impala, trying not to dwell on the fact that Sam wasn't even capable of offering resistance at this point.

Jumping behind the wheel, Dean held his face in his hands for a second, breathing deeply to calm himself. Sam was dying. Castiel was either dead or fallen, along with the rest of the angels. They might all be down for the count now. Clearing his throat gruffly, Dean turned the keys in the Impala and viciously turned the car away from the church.

In the back of his mind wiggled the notion that it might be worth his while to deal with Crowley, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care about the mostly human demon at this point. Worrying about Sam, Castiel, and all of Heaven was more than enough on his plate right now.

Sam was mostly catatonic by the time Dean managed to reach the bunker. He had driven for a solid eight hours, not stopping even once. He had given the key to Kevin, who he desperately hoped had actually stayed put, otherwise they were screwed.

Dean carried Sam awkwardly, his taller brother a heavy weight in his arms. Reaching the door, Dean knocked harshly, banging out a rough rhythm on the metal.

The door flew open, and Kevin's panicked face greeted him. "What the hell, Dean?" He blurted.

Dean pushed past him, ignoring the prophet for the time being. He reached a couch free of any debris from their lives and laid his brother down as gently as he could. "Dammit," he muttered. How the hell do you treat someone dying from failing to close the gates of hell? As far as Dean knew, that wasn't even possible. Castiel might have been able to help, but he was probably gone for good.

"Dean, seriously, please tell me what's going on." Kevin begged, his eyes wide as he took in the clearly bad situation that he had just let in the door.

"What's going on, Kevin, is that every angel in the damned sky just fell from Heaven, including Cas, as far as I know. What's going on is that you really should be on your ass translating that freaking angel tablet in the hopes that we can somehow salvage what that bastard Metatron just did to Heaven. What's going on is that Sam is dying, and I can't fix him." Dean stood there, fuming at Kevin, who was staring at him slack jawed.

Recovering finally, Kevin just nodded. "Angel tablet. I'm on it. Let me know if you need anything." With that, Kevin ducked into the bunker's library.

Sighing, finally allowing himself to breathe, Dean felt a little guilty for snapping at Kevin. It wasn't the prophet's fault that all hell had broken loose...or, rather, that all Heaven had rained down. It was the Heaven thing that was getting to him now. He didn't really care about the rest of the angels, although he did feel bad for them, as a general concept. He was petrified for Castiel though. His angel, because, yes, dammit, Castiel was his angel, had gone to confront either Metatron or Naomi, Dean wasn't sure which. Based on the outcome though, he knew who the true enemy had been. Metatron had enacted his revenge on Heaven, and Dean was positive that Castiel was dead. Why would Metatron have let his pawn live?

Sinking into the seat opposite his catatonic brother, Dean squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to get his emotions in check. He was the only one who had come out of this night unscathed, and it was up to him to try and fix everything. Well, he had Kevin. That was something.

The sudden outburst of AC/DC startled Dean, and it took him a beat longer than usual to figure out that his cell phone was ringing. He held it up to his ear, but his "Hello?" wasn't really full of commitment to the idea of having a conversation.

"Dean? Thank God. What the hell just happened, dude?"

Garth. Figures.

Dean took a deep breath before responding. "Angels. They all fell, Garth, every single one of them. As long as I'm giving you the updates, we left Crowley mostly human in a church in the middle of nowhere, there's a knight of hell running around loose, and Sam's mostly dead. That's been my day, how're you?" He said the last part sarcastically, the only defensive mechanism he was really able to use at this point.

Garth didn't respond for a minute. "All of the angels?" He finally asked.

"All of them," Dean confirmed. "Well, except Metatron," he amended. "He's the damn angel that caused this. Revenge on Heaven."

"What about, you know..." Garth trailed off, but Dean knew what the question was.

"He either killed Cas, or Cas fell with the rest of them. Either way, he's gone," Dean spat out, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. Garth hadn't known Castiel, but anyone who spent any time around Dean knew how important the angel was.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Garth offered, but his voice was too timid to hold any real comfort.

"Yeah, Garth, thanks," Dean replied weakly, losing his ability to keep any semblance of confidence in his tone. "Let me know if you hear anything? Anything...about anything. Just, you know, keep me updated?"

"Of course, Dean," Garth responded immediately. "Is Kevin with you guys?"

"Yeah, the prophet's with me," Dean affirmed tiredly.

"Alright, that's good. Get some sleep, Dean. You sound wrecked." Garth sounded sympathetic, but he hung up before giving Dean a chance to respond.

Dean moaned and leaned back in the chair. He couldn't bring himself to get up and go to his bed, although half of his mind reasoned that it might be wise to move Sam to his own bed, rather than the couch.

Yeah, Sam should be in his bed.

Dean sighed and stood, roughly lifting his brother again, not even able to react to the fact that Sam seemed completely unaware of the movement.

Setting him down on the bed that was amazingly a perfect size for Sam, Dean tucked him in and went to get a glass of water, leaving it by Sam's bedside. It was all he could think to do.

Tired and discouraged, Dean moved to his own bed, collapsing and losing consciousness before he'd even made the decision to do so.

Castiel was on his knees, head turned Heavenward, tears falling down his cheeks as his brethren had fallen from the sky. The light show caused by the Heavenly host was over now, but Castiel couldn't bring himself to move. If he left this spot, this position of penance, somehow it would be even more real.

His brothers and sisters would all be fallen.

Metatron would be ruling Heaven alone.

Castiel would be human, and the only angel left with his true memories.

There was even a possibility that Sam Winchester was dead by now, which hurt Castiel to consider. He had no idea if Dean had made it in time, and no clue where to look to find out.

Something in the back of his mind told him to go to Kansas, where he knew the Winchesters had their bunker, but he still couldn't move. This was his fault. His family were all stranded on Earth, mere shells of their former selves. It was his fault, wasn't it? He had allowed Metatron to use him! Just because he didn't know that he was performing the spell to cast out his entire family didn't mean he wasn't to blame. It had even been his own grace used to complete the spell!

This hurt more than any other realization. The other angels had fallen from Heaven while still attached to their grace. That meant that the grace of every angel who had fallen was on Earth somewhere. Except for Castiel. Metatron had used up his grace, and there was no hope of ever having it restored. Perhaps he could help restore some of his siblings, but he could never again be his true self.

This was his penance. He could kneel here before the sky where he had witnessed his mistake come to pass, and he could weep for the loss of his family. He could mourn his own inability to ever be an angel again, but that was what he deserved now. Instead, he would weep for his family, not himself. He would even weep for Sam, because the odds of the younger Winchester still being alive were slim.

The niggling in the back of his mind urging him to go to Kansas grew stronger, and Castiel found it harder to ignore. Kansas meant potentially finding Dean, which would mean happiness for him. He didn't deserve anything remotely close to happiness, and he had hurt Dean more than he had ever intended, both in the past and recently. Odds were that the hunter probably didn't even want him, especially as the destroyer of Heaven yet again, and so Castiel would stay away.

As the evening passed and morning arrived, Castiel maintained his vigil, but human needs became pressing and aggravating. Yes, he was now susceptible to this human life, this mortal coil. That meant using the bathroom, eating, drinking, and even taking showers. He wasn't necessarily adverse to these actions, but he knew with a sinking certainty that every human action he performed would only serve to remind him of his mistake and his penance. Perhaps this too was what he deserved.

Regardless, Castiel couldn't seem to just stay in one spot and starve to death or explode from the needs of his bladder. Unfortunately, he was going to have to care for himself before returning to his place of mourning. It was a short walk to the highway, where he only had to follow the road a few miles to find a gas station. He used the bathroom first, then eyed the rows of packaged food with a hunger he had never truly experienced. When Famine had caused him to desire burgers, that had been Jimmy's compulsion, not Castiel's, so the feeling had been largely ignored by the angel, other than sating his vessel. Now, Castiel strongly desired anything edible, and it was with a sinking feeling that he realized he had no money. It wasn't as though he could get some either, he was no longer in possession of his powers.

"You alright, buddy?" The cashier asked. It was an older gentleman, with a friendly face.

Castiel shook his head automatically, thinking of a big picture answer to the question. No, he was far from alright. Tearing your family from their home tended to have that effect.

"Can I help you?" The cashier asked tentatively.

It was then that Castiel realized that this man was not privy to the world altering events that had reshaped Castiel's own universe. This man only wanted to help the former angel in this moment itself. "I do not believe so," he finally answered the man. "My problem seems to be hunger. I have not eaten..." he paused before deciding on, "in a very long time. Unfortunately, I do not seem to possess any currency, so I believe I am wasting your time." Castiel made to move to the doorway, intending to find something to eat in the forest he had come from, but the cashier stopped him.

"Hey, relax. I know how it is to be down and out. Here, this was for my lunch break, but you can take it." The cashier held out a bag that smelled like it had some kind of sandwich and possibly chips inside.

"I could not take your own food," Castiel protested, confused by the gesture.

"Don't worry about it. I can afford to pay the store back for a hot dog or something." The cashier vaguely gestured in the direction of the small grill, then held the bag out again. "Seriously, take it."

Castiel finally nodded and took the offered bag. "Thank you, sir," he said gratefully.

"No problem, buddy. Do me a favor and pay it forward, you know? Do unto others and all that." The cashier grinned and waved him off.

Castiel nodded in agreement and left the gas station, almost smiling to himself. Humanity never failed to surprise him. Castiel had intended to return to the forest right away after fixing his human urges, but he now sat down on a bench and ate, watching cars go by on the highway. When a driver pulled into the station and got out of his truck, Castiel took a chance and asked him where exactly they were, citing a poor sense of direction when the man looked at him funny.

"This is highway 24, my friend," the man informed him with a lazy voice. He was wearing ratty jeans and a holey t-shirt, so he didn't seem like the type to put a lot of effort into anything. "That God-forsaken mess of trees over there is Glen Elder State Park. Ringing any bells?"

Castiel was aware of what a state park was, but that still didn't tell him where he was. "What's the closest city?" He asked.

The man rolled his eyes. "You're pretty out of it, aren't you, dude? You're about an hour out from Concordia and Lebanon, depending on which was you go."

The latter name rang a bell in Castiel's mind, but he was not entirely sure why. It seemed as though his memories were intact, but his processing power had diminished somewhat. "The state?" He asked.

The man looked at Castiel like he was nuts. "Are you drunk?" He demanded.

"I am not inebriated, no," Castiel informed him.

"Pity. Beer might clear that clouded noggin of yours. Alright, mister no sense of direction, this is Kansas, United States of America, planet Earth. That enough detail for you?" The man rolled his eyes, lounging against the gas pump he had temporarily forgotten about.

Castiel had frozen. Lebanon, Kansas. No wonder it sounded familiar. Assuming the elder Winchester had gone back there, Castiel was only an hour from Dean. An hour from the bunker, from the place he so desperately wanted to call home.

Hadn't he just decided that part of his penance would be staying away from Dean? Well, perhaps his penance was enough to just be human. Surely seeing Dean would not be such an experience that it would negate the wrong he had done.

"I don't suppose you're headed towards Lebanon?" Castiel asked as casually as he could.

"I am, actually." The man confirmed. "I have to take highway 181 up North, so I'll be passing right through it." He hesitated before asking, "I guess you need a lift?"

"If you would be so kind as to provide transportation, I would be eternally grateful," Castiel confirmed. Perhaps eternal did not mean the same thing when it came to his projected lifespan as it had before last night, but it still meant something to him.

The man gnawed on his lip for a minute before nodding. "Yeah, what the hell. You're weird, but you're not creepy, so go ahead. Shotgun's all yours."

If Castiel didn't have four years of time spent with Dean to use for reference, he might have mistook the comment to mean that he was meant to handle an actual weapon. As it was, he knew instead to take the passenger's seat of the man's truck.

The man finished pumping gas, paid the attendant, and jumped in the driver's seat. "Alright, next stop, Lebanon. Hope you don't mind the radio." The man twisted the key in the ignition and a loud song began to play.

Out of habit, Castiel immediately relaxed. He didn't know what the song or band was called, but he had heard Dean play and sing this song on multiple occasions. It was familiar, and that made it very comforting. Even if the singer was doing something odd with his voice so that the only distinguishable words to the former angel were 'back in black,' the sensation made him think of Dean, who he was close to seeing. It was only an hour until he would have a place of safety.

He didn't deserve safety, or companionship. He shouldn't be going to Lebanon, he should be back in the woods on his knees, repenting before Heaven, even if no one was listening.

Somehow though, now that he knew how close he was, Castiel could not stay away from Dean Winchester, whether or not the hunter would welcome his presence.