Impala tore down the country road. Dean's face was livid as he gripped the wheel tightly, swerving around other vehicles whose panic-stricken drivers had lost control.
Sam kept trying to call the Guild, Wu Heng's line, even the long-defunct communication frequency Castiel had left behind, but most lines were either busy or unreachable.
"I can't reach anyone!" Sam slammed a fist against the car door in frustration. "No response from Lohr, the Guild lines are jammed, and branches everywhere are reporting the same thing. It's raining angels, and chaos is breaking out everywhere!"
"Find the one that fell," Dean said through gritted teeth, his sharp gaze scanning the roadside. "Maybe it can tell us what the hell happened in Heaven, whether Cass is also..."
He did not finish, but Sam understood what he meant.
If all the angels were falling, what about Castiel?
Following the trajectory of the earlier fall and the faint sound of impact, they drove off the highway and into a vast cornfield.
The headlights illuminated the way ahead, and they quickly found the trail: a wide swath of flattened, scorched corn stalks that formed a crooked runway stretching deep into the darkness.
Dean stopped the car. He and Sam grabbed their flashlights and weapons, then followed the trail over the uneven ground.
At the end of it was a shallow impact crater.
Curled up in its center was a figure.
His back was to them. What looked like standard Heavenly clothing hung in tatters from his body, and the exposed skin was covered in burns and cracks, giving off a faint, unstable blue glow.
Most horrifying of all was his back. Where his wings should have been were two terrible wounds, raw and bloody, charred black.
A blue, smoke-like substance still seeped faintly from their edges.