He was in Kansas City when it happened.
There weren’t any fireworks. The world didn’t shake itself into oblivion. He didn’t even see any sign that there was even anything going on until he was flipping through his news feeds and kept seeing the word “virus” flashing over and over on every page. That’s when the panic set in. The symptoms were eerily familiar.
He tried calling Cas, but all he managed was a “Where are you?” before the phone ran dead. Before he lost him entirely, Cas had replied with “Something’s wrong—”
Something’s wrong. No truer words had ever been spoken in the history of the world.
It didn’t take much to activate the GPS in Castiel’s phone. Child’s play, really. The real problem was the moment he stepped outside. The roads were congested, looters were already rampant in the streets, the smell of smoke and the sound of gunshot puncturing the wind.
He had to find Castiel.
It took almost four days to get to him, and only because he ran out of gas and couldn’t get more without his first run-in with the newest monster on the street. Men. The same kind of crazy men they’d run into at Rivergrove. The same ones he’d seen in some of the backwater newsfeeds that became more and more frequent as it spread.
Croatoans. That’s what Sam had referred to them as, in the notes of their once-shared journal, the page marked in the corner with a fluorescent red highlighter. Unresolved case. Further action required.
When he finally found Cas, he was standing in a shorn cornfield, staring up at the rolling storm clouds. He didn’t respond the first couple times Dean called to him, waiting until he was just a few feet behind.
“Who?” Dean demanded, what little relief he had at finding Castiel safe quickly diminished.
“The angels.” Castiel’s voice was flat, almost like the first time Dean met him.
“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean said, barely resisting the urge to grab the angel by the shoulders and spin him around to face him. “I got up this morning and it’s like everything’s gone to hell—”
Castiel finally turned, a heavy sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean. Sam consented to Lucifer.”