They're on I-95 somewhere outside of Charlotte. It's the type of summer day that, in the past, would have merited windows down, radio blasting, Dean goading Sam into joining his off key rendition of "Born to Run." Now though, the windows are down and the June sun is shining, and they're sailing down miles of open road, yet the tension in the Impala is so thick that Sam feels slightly suffocated.

He's trying to read—trying being the operative word—since he's read the same sentence six times without absorbing a damn thing. He blames Dean, and keeps glancing over at his brother with barely contained frustration and concern. It's been three weeks of this—stony silence, furrowed brows, and short tempered outbursts—and it's getting worse every day. Sam's pretty sure that he's gonna go crazy if it doesn't stop soon. He's tried subtle and not-so-subtle attempts to ask his brother what the hell is wrong, but all he's gotten in return are stony faced shut-downs followed by an increase in his surly attitude—typical Dean responses to emotional turmoil—nothing like repressing your feelings at any cost, including Sam's sanity and patience.

Dean is tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel of the Impala completely off-tempo with the music. Sam will be the first one to attest that his brother can't sing to save his life, but he can rock the dashboard perfectly (he's like an air guitar champion). What Dean is doing right now is not drumming to the music; it's not a loving caress or weird commune with his Baby that makes Sam mildly uncomfortable. This is an angry rhythm: it's never a good sign when Dean takes his feelings out on the car. He's distracted, glaring at the highway, and he's alternatively pounding against the wheel and clutching it in a choke-hold.

Sam is not an idiot—whatever Bobby or Dean might say to the contrary—so it's not exactly a struggle for him to put two-and-two together and realize that Dean's epic bad-mood directly corresponds with Cas' disappearance. They had finally seemed to be getting things back on track after the apocalypse, Sam was back from hell, he had his soul again, he and Dean were falling into sync, back to saving people, hunting things—but with more empathy on Sam's part. Cas was still engaged in a civil war in heaven, and both brothers knew that is was taking a toll on him; however much he tried to hide it. It wasn't unusual for Cas to have prolonged absences, and Dean and Sam would throw themselves into the hunt. Dean worried, Sam did too, but Dean's silences were sullen, he was tense whenever Cas disappeared (all short-temper and increased alcohol consumption and stubborn shoulders) and it would build steadily until the angel showed up again, when Dean would return to snarky smiles and gruff humor. Sam didn't push, didn't bring it up: he wasn't stupid, he knew that Dean worried about Cas—the two seemed to have grown closer, while Sam was…away—and this pattern of tension and release was one that they just fell into, Sam was willing enough to roll with it, but, well, things are different now. He shoots Dean a look and frowns, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Three weeks ago Cas sensed what Dean would call—under better circumstances—"a great disturbance in the force," in fact, that's what he had called it at the time, when Sam had walked into the motel room just in time to see the angel vanish. They had packed up their duffels and left shortly thereafter, but not before Dean had surreptitiously taken one last look around the room—as if hoping that Cas' errand would be a quick one and he would pop back in and join them…no such luck…they'd headed to Louisiana—Bobby had tipped them off to some reports of what seemed to be ghoul activity near New Orleans. All things considered it was a pretty simple case: a few days of research and two quick, efficient head shots had taken care of the problem. They'd rolled out of town leaving some thankful (and thankfully still alive) citizens in their wake. All in a day's work, and all that. It was the type of successful hunt that would typically put them in a nice euphoric state of mind, and you'd think that everything would have gone up from there, right? Wrong. Sam shakes his head and snorts, because legitimately, that had been where everything had gone to hell (though, thankfully not literally).

Sam did some research and clued into a vampire nest in Florida: the boys had set out pretty quickly. Dean had a kind of mania about him—he wanted to take out as many monsters as he could—it reminded Sam a little bit of their dad, of himself, but it was more directionless—Sam's not totally sure that's the right word—the hunting wasn't for revenge and it wasn't compelled by justice, it was a distraction, more than anything else, which, hey, they'd all done that before—easier to bury your feelings when you're fighting for your life against a crazed ghost or a bloodthirsty Wendigo—but he didn't like the look on his brother. Sam was more or less just shrugging it off at that point, didn't think much of it, figured Dean would just process whatever was bothering him out through a combination of burying it deeply, ignoring it completely, and beheading a couple of vamps…that was standard operating procedure for Dean, and Sam was kind of counting on him getting it out of his system during the hunt in Florida, but, if anything, he had seemed more agitated afterwards. He'd patched up his wounds and stormed out of the motel with a scowl; getting drunk apparently didn't help at all, because he still looked like a damn storm cloud when he came back at three in the morning.

Sam was starting to realize that something serious was going on with Dean, but it wasn't until the next afternoon that he discovered exactly what it was, and he'd basically kicked himself for being oblivious (through, to be fair, probably not as oblivious as his brother).

They'd been in the Impala, packed up and heading to Georgia, and Dean was tapping the wheel, in time with the Stones, but he had a distant look in his eyes and he'd been far too quiet all morning. So Sam, being the awesome little brother that he was, had tried to break the silence. He'd meant the question to be innocuous, but it sure as hell turned out to be anything but. A simple, "So have you heard from Cas lately?" and Dean's jaw clenched, he had the wheel in a death grip, and he darted a glance at Sam before fixing his eyes on the road again, "No."

To someone who didn't know Dean, it would have seemed like nothing, to Sam it spoke volumes: he was freaked for and about Cas.

Sam licked his lips, trying for earnest, "You try praying to—"

"He's not answering," Dean's response was brusque, and he refused to meet Sam's concerted stare.

Sam wasn't sure who he was more concerned about in that moment. Cas going unresponsive was not unheard of…but with Dean? Cas wouldn't go MIA unless there was reason and that was…well, it was troubling, especially given the current state of heaven's politics. Shit. Sam was worried about Cas, but he could do better focusing on Dean, the more immediate problem.

"I'm sure that he's fine, Dean," he tried in his most conciliatory voice, puppy eyes and all.

"Drop it, Sam," Dean had practically barked, effectively cutting off any and all future conversation on the subject. He cranked up the radio to drown out any further 'touchy-feely' stuff that Sam had prepared, and that had been that.

So Sam watched Dean, and Dean became more agitated by the day. Sam knew that Dean was still praying, though he never actually caught him in the act, but he could tell because there was this look of utter dejection on Dean's face every time they went unanswered. He took pains to hide it, but Sam knew his brother well, and he could see how much Cas' absence was eating him up inside. Not to mention that he was still on this whole "let me take out my frustration and fear by killing as many monsters as humanly possible," and every day doing a more accurate impression of a severely pissed of grizzly bear.

Sam sent up his own prayer when they hit the two week mark, in the parking lot when he was meant to be getting them dinner:

"Cas, man, we're worried about you. Dean especially he's…well, he's freaked out. It would be really awesome if you could just…just let us know that you're okay. Please, be okay."

He'd closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of flapping of wings that precipitated Cas' appearance, but…nothing. Sam's mouth was a thin line, his brow furrowed as he scanned the starry sky. He hadn't really expected Cas to answer, not if he wasn't getting in touch with Dean, but still, it was worth a shot.

He sighed, "Where are you, man?" without real hope for a reply before grabbing the food and heading inside.

It's a week later now; the tension between Sam and Dean has only grown thicker. Dean still refuses to discuss or acknowledge that he's worried. The shitty thing about all of this, and the most probable reason that Dean is channeling his rage into trying to achieve some hunting record, is that they can't really do anything to help Cas right now: they don't know where he is, and though the universe at large knows that they would fight tooth and nail on his team, they haven't the faintest clue what the fuck is even going on, and it's driving them slowly crazy. Sam is concerned about the angel and his brother, not to mention what the hell is going to happen to the world if Cas has lost his battle against Raphael…they stopped one apocalypse—Sam remembers swan diving into the Pit and shakes his head sharply—he would really rather not do that again. The chances of them surviving are slim to none, and, seriously—he glances at Dean's clenched jaw and rigid profile—they deserve a break…all of them, including Cas.

They grab lunch an hour later. Sam eats his salad and shoots apprehensive looks at Dean, who is glaring at his peach pie, "I'm not a damn zoo animal, Sam," he snaps when he catches Sam watching. Sam holds up his hands in surrender. No reason to further irritate the mildly rapid older brother sitting across from him. God forbid he tries to express some subtle concern. Dean is making a face like he regrets wishing that Sam had his soul back, and though Sam knows that he doesn't mean it, per se, the fact that that has even crossed his mind marks how desperately miserable and frustrated he is. Sam feels for him, and he's glad that he does, because somebody needs to watch out for his brother, especially if Cas isn't around...he's isn't really sure what the deal is between his Dean and the angel. Ever since he got back from hell they'd seemed, closer, and farther apart, something was different, there was tension between them, and Sam is not sure that either of them had really figured it out themselves, and now, with Cas gone, he wonders if they will, or if he'll ever know the full story there, because there definitely is one, or, at least, the beginning of one...

They pay and hit the road. Dean goes back to brooding, he cranks up the Metallica, which Sam supposes is meant to be "soothing," he rolls his eyes, but goes with it. He's back to reading the book that he borrowed from Bobby, it's about archangels, and he's hoping to find something that might help them or Cas, preferably both, but it's slow going between translating on the fly, hunting, and being distracted by Dean's attitude and his own growing worry. He sighs again. Dean glowers at him and shakes his head, like Sam is the annoying one, which is just so unfair right now.

It's a half hour later when Sam starts to notice that the weather is turning.

"Looks like a storm," he mutters.

"Just our fucking luck," Dean returns.

Impromptu mid-afternoon thunderstorms are not unheard of in the Carolinas in June, so it's not something that really registers as being strange at first. Maybe it would have if they weren't otherwise preoccupied, maybe it wouldn't, and Sam's never quite able to figure that one out. It's only five minutes later, when the sky is purple laced with venomous green along the horizon, and the radio starts to go on the fritz, garbled music (and then garbled speech when they switch to AM to try to figure out what's going on).

"God damn it," Dean mutters scowling at the dials as he tries to get frequency.

Sam attempts to pull up the weather on his phone, "There's no signal," he affirms, which is…troubling, "this looks like a hurricane."

"Fuck," Dean growls. He looks pissed, ready to go toe-to-toe with the weather if necessary. Sam has the presence of mind to start formulating a list of what the hell could cause this: weather deity, angels, demons, because whatever this storm is, it is not natural, not by a long shot. Hail starts to drum on the hood of the Impala, thunder rolls in the distance.

"Dude, what do you—?" Sam begins to ask what Dean thinks is going on and what their plan of attack should be, but he's cut off sharply.

Thunder growls again, but this time, this time, it's accompanied by a white hot fork of lightening that strikes across the high way, silhouetting what looks like the figure of a man at the point where it touches the ground.

"Jesus!"

"Holy shit!"

Dean swerves so hard—turning the Impala with a screech of rubber on wet asphalt—that Sam is slammed hard into the door with the force of the movement, and it's a fucking miracle that they don't hydroplane in the process. Before Sam can even ask what the hell Dean is doing, his brother has launched himself out of the car and across the street, skidding to his knees beside the fallen figure on the side of the road…a man in what appears to be a tan trench coat.

Sam feels his heart stutter to a stop, "Fuck."

So, welcome to the first chapter of this story. Just a few points of clarification: I really wanted to write a fallen/human Cas fic, and a domestic sort of AU. I started with A Very Supernatural Thanksgiving and All Is Calm, All is Bright, but this is the story of the months before those fics take place, when Cas first falls and how that adjustment period works for everyone. This is canon through to Swan Song, but goes AU after that. Dean doesn't stay with Lisa for a full year, just a few weeks, and he's in touch with Cas during and after that (see Break), when he goes back to hunting. He finds Sam earlier and they manage to get his soul back sooner. Cas is still in a civil war with Raphael, but he doesn't make a deal with Crowley and the fight in heaven has been draining to him. And he is in touch with Dean and relatively open about what's going on. In the issue of full disclosure, Season 6 drives me insane and I really can't handle the anguish it causes me, so basically I'm discarding it for the purposes of this story.

All that being said, THANK YOU FOR READING, I hope that you stick around as this story continues. Though the first chapter is from Sam's POV, the whole story won't be. It's likely going to be primarily from Dean's perspective, but will switch off to Cas and Sam every few chapters.

I would really love to hear what you think so far, so if you get the chance, please, leave a review! More to come soon!