A/N: In homage of Misha Collins' birthday. He who has inspired one of a many to not only give back, but to fight for the right to embrace eccentricity worldwide. (And he ships Sastiel, but whatever.) May Gishwhes be forever the world's largest charity organization for a hundred more years to come and may we all learn to walk in his footsteps.

Part I

Rain showered vehemently down the bridleway through Central. The streets were flooded and the signs were starting to frost over. The men and women residing in small little flats with proper heating and a view regarded the harsh weather outside as fortuitous at best.

To Castiel Novak, the chances were bleakly coincidental.

He drew his wonted trenchcoat closer to his chest until the lapels practically dug into the trembling skin underneath. He was fairly certain that he had early onset bronchitis because he wasn't sure if that scorching sting in his chest was a subdued cough or his heart making an attempt to jump out of his throat. He remained fixed on the fifty-foot journey ahead in spite. He had traveled so much that the soles in his loafers had not only chipped off, but started to disintegrate from the heat. It was a challenge to see ahead of him now because the rain obscured his vision. It was like looking through the bottom of a dirty glass to read something fifteen miles away. Oh, what he would give for a drink…

All he had, all he owned, was a weeks' worth of baggage he towed with one strap hanging nimbly around his shoulder—and over half of it was his clothes. He couldn't put very much in a bag with two pouches. One was reserved for a special necklace, an amulet-turned-relic, given to him by his best friend. (Don't lose it.) To anyone, it was just a regular necklace—in spite of the creepy-looking pagan God face and the imitation gold fading into a dismal black—but to Castiel, this object was the basis of his religion. And that said a lot because Mister Novak wasn't a very pious man. His faith had been rendered obsolete around the time that life threw him out on his ass with a ball and chain. (Don't lose it.) Before any of that, he put his faith in a man who perished in war, ended up six feet below, digging his own grave. (Don't lose it.)

Castiel made it to the other side of the street with traces of turpentine coursing through his veins. There, just below the stop sign, was a body. It was the body of an animal—a dog, with a once beautiful fawn coat, now stained with red ink across its abdomen. There was this particularly odd feeling, like a pit that managed to slice through his stomach in lickety split. Something wasn't right. Aside from the fact that there a dog splayed across a pole and the streets screamed "Croatoan," lurked something worse. Dean had once told him not to lose the amulet. He also told him not to lose the value of his life.

He hauled the animal into his arms, stumbling back a few paces to redeem his balance. He couldn't remember the last time he had lifted something half his weight, not with the rain beating down and definitely not with a dog's ten-pound head drooping against his breast. She was still alive, arbitrating from the pulse he had managed to feel through his own thrashing chest. He began talking to her to give her something to focus on. He had wrapped his trenchcoat around her, something to stop the profuse amount of bodily fluid spilling out that would kill her given the chance.

A couple of blocks down the even seemingly longer road he found a sign that withstood the thickest haze: Kermit Animal Shelter. It wasn't exactly a hospital, but it was the best that the man could do on short notice. He filed through one of the two double-pane doors, careful not to have the dog sustain any more injuries than she needed to. There was a chime above the threshold that rang throughout the small establishment, cuing for service. A man came rushing out of a door at the end of the corridor upon seeing the condition in Castiel's hands.

"I, uh—I found her on the corner," he forced through clenched teeth. He couldn't determine where the water around his eyes originated from.

The guy, who was now protruding all of Castiel's personal space in order to get the dog into his arms, said, "I'll get her in."

He watched him leave with the dog and head back into the room from whence he came. Cas felt stupid for rushing in there so worried because the man was probably used to predicaments like these. But he also had to thank whatever was watching over him that he got her the care she needed. Castiel didn't know how long his trenchcoat would hold up, wrapped around her blood-soaked body that he wasn't even sure was entirely her own.

The sound of the door coming to an unceremonious halt stimulated the owner of the trenchcoat from his musings. He wouldn't have realized how long he was contemplating the recent series of events if the analog clock wasn't ticking so stridently above him. Outside, the storm was dying down—again, to his bleak coincidence—and there were a few more people busting around without a single care in the world. How grand it must be to be them.

He and the medic from earlier met halfway. "She's sedated. I had her stitched up and put in an encasement completely separated from the other dogs, that way she doesn't get bothered. Poor girl's gonna be sleeping off that boo-boo for a while." The man—Castiel noticed now that he wasn't as frantic—was relatively handsome with chocolate hair wispy around the ends of his shoulders, kind eyes, and a smile that even though was forged, made him feel somewhat better.

"Thank you," Cas said, to much of his own surprise. He didn't even know he was still capable of formulating words. "Whatever the expense is, I'll pay."

The guy was looking at Castiel with some kind of heavy despondency, as if he had just told him that he lost the love of his life. "That won't be necessary. All I ask is that you take a deep breath. That'll make both of us feel a hell of a lot better."

"What do you mean?"

He laughed for the sake of conversation. "I'm surprised you weren't the one going under the needle. You came in here pretty freaked."

"I've never seen anything like that in my life. I didn't know what else to do…"

"Well, you did the right thing. She only had another hour, tops. She wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you." He flashed him another quick smile, only this time it wasn't as faked.

Cas shook his head. "I just feel awful. I didn't mean to impose on you, Mister…?"

"Call me Sam," he said, "and you didn't. If anything, it made my day a thousand times over. It's Castiel, right?"

Cas knitted his eyebrows together at this. "How did you know?"

"I take it this belongs to you," Sam said, handing him his trenchcoat. He hadn't noticed that it was bundled up in his hands. "I saw the name embroidered on the inside and took a shot in the dark."

Cas accepted his fleece warily. "So, you're a vet and a stalker?"

"More or less, but not necessarily in that order," Sam said, tilting his head to the side with a wide white smile as if to say, guilty as charged. Cas had to admit that humor was vital at what was such a crucial moment. The fact that this guy, Sam, wasn't one of those doctors out of a lame soap opera that only came out to deliver bad news was more of a blessing than he could ask for at the moment. "Where are you headed?"

"Oh, I was thinking of staying here for a little while longer, if you don't mind."

Sam started reaching for his coat on the rack next to him. "I think she's pretty far gone. She could sleep through the next Manhattan Project, not even suspect a thing."

"It's alright, I have nowhere else to be," Cas said plainly. Though, to Sam, the sentence seemed like anything but plain. He took in his disheveled clothes and dirty face again, doing his best not to gawk.

"Okay," he said, "just make sure you lock up after you."

It was twilight by the time Sam filed out of Kermit Animal Shelter. The streets outside were still flooded just below ankle-length, but at least they were a little more lively. He had no use for his flannel because the weather had acclimated back to its abstinent humidity, rolling off in thick, abundant waves like hard-pressing dough to make a pretzel. The pungent, yet idyllic smell of rain was hitting his nose hard and threatened to slope onto his tongue like a landslide off of a mountain. Thankfully, he skipped the habitual changing-after-work routine or the heat would have swallowed him whole.

He felt sort of weird not locking the place up. What he should have felt weird about, however, was putting his trust in a guy that he had met not even a few hours ago, a guy that he had asked out without so much as a second thought.

The guy, Castiel, had persisted Sam to let him stay after closing hours to watch over the dog. Sam obliged and handed over the keys along with his number in case he needed anything.

Not that it mattered, but the man was handsome, almost in a Clint Eastwood kind of way. He was rugged around the face, thick patches of dark brown hairs scattered sporadically around his mouth. His eyes were blue obsidian and held a hard, but emphatic characteristic about them that he couldn't quite put into words. His hair was unkempt, causing his ears to stick out more prominently, and even though was much shorter than Sam, stroked him as the silver-tongue type that was not to be tampered with.

Although, he had to admit, when he returned to work the next morning, he feasted his eyes on an entirely different sight. Castiel was no longer as rugged-looking with his body slumped against the back wall and Annabelle (he had to call her something) out of her cage, sleeping comfortably in his lap.

He wasn't completely sure if Eastwood was still alive until he bent down and nudged him with a Styrofoam cup brimming with foam. Castiel awoke with a small startle. Okay, so he wasn't a heavy sleeper. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said, chuckling lightly.

"Oh, I uh—what's going 'n? What time 'es it?" he slurred, tossing a glance from the man in front of him to the doors at the end of the hall. Suddenly, it came together. "Oh shit, I am so sorry," he said, rubbing his forehead, "I know I was supposed to lock up, but Annabelle started to wake up and I didn't know whether to call you or just handle it myself, but it was really late so I just went with option B."

Sam was smiling. "Well, I wouldn't have doubted your abilities, Cesar."

Castiel gave him a bemused look before remembering the seventy-some pound dog on his stomach. "Oh, yeah, look at that."

"She seems to like you," he commented after the other man accepted the coffee. He took a huge sip that Sam was almost positive would have burned through any normal person's Adam's apple. He frowned slightly.

"Yeah, she does, huh?" Castiel said, offering a small smile in return.

"So you're telling me you slept here all night?"

His throat tightened, barely choking out, "I—uh, no—of course not."

"Really, is that so?" Sam said intriguingly, exchanging glances between Annabelle, who was stirring from her sleep in the way that dogs do, and the man holding her, "Because if you had, I would have offered you full-time position."

"Wait, here?"

"No, at the Starfleet Enterprise, yes, here," Sam said. "If you want the job it's yours."

Cas shook his head. "No, I couldn't."

"You're not very good at accepting compliments, are you, Castiel?"

The man knitted his eyebrows together at that. Sam had to admit that he was too cute for his own good. "But that wasn't a compliment..."

"No, that was me begging you to work here." He shifted to gently grab Annabelle's chin, tilting it upward to stare at Cas. Then he rested his own chin on her head, giving him the traitorous double-puppy dog stare. His voice went into a falsetto. "Please, Cas, don't leave me behind. I've got nowhere else to go and you're the best bed I've ever had."

"Dear God, I feel like I'm in a Sarah McLachlan commercial."

Sam grinned again, this time revealing dimples on either sides of his tanned face. "You can't say it isn't working."

"No, it is pretty cute," Cas confessed, blushing. "Damned paid broadcasting."

"Was that a yes or should I start singing 'Angel'?"

Cas shook his head, this time more definitely, and threw his arms up. "You got me, I'll take the job. Just leave the poor defenseless animal alone. She's already been through enough agony."

"Are you implying that I can't sing?" he gasped in mock-defense and made a three-time tisk with his lips. "That's not a great way to start a relationship with your boss."

"I'm not looking for anything too intimate, anyway," Cas said, followed by a shrewd smile.

Sam shook his head, laughing off the scarlet around his cheeks. "You're lucky you make a first impression."

"Oh my God, you're right he is gorgeous!"

Castiel stared at Sam standing across from him. The taller man ran a hand behind his neck and coughed loud enough for the girl to get the message. She swung her shoulder-length blonde hair between the two men.

"You haven't, uh—?" She waved her finger at Cas.

"No, Becky, I didn't."

Sam was looking in every direction but the man in front of him, minus the occasional stolen glance. Cas didn't know what he would find different a few seconds later. He wasn't good at conveying emotions, not since, well yeah, but he didn't think he was a complete robot. He tried to depict some form of flattery through his facial expressions if the crimson smoldering his face didn't suffice.

"Well, that didn't come from hi—" Sam shot her down like a deer in the headlights. She crushed her mouth together to stop the words. "I mean, I personally don't think you're bad looking. You and Sam are both really handsome guys. I mean that platonically, of course. I have a boyfriend, his name is Chuck. He's a writer. And Sam's gay so I couldn't have him even if I wanted—which I don't, because I have a boyfriend."

Becky Rosen. The name was either going to be Castiel's worst nightmare—or second worst nightmare.

Sam crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Are you done?"

She nodded coyly, avoiding Sam's eyes at all costs. The owner heaved a sigh and raked a weary hand over his face. He didn't look tired in the slightest, but this gal was a piece of work. "As I was saying, Becky is your mentor when I'm not here. She'll be walking you through the small things."

Becky seemed to ease a little and gained back most of her eccentric and boastful nature from literally seconds ago. "That's me, Becky Rosen, at your service. If you follow me down the hall, I'll show you how to care for the animals." She began walking steadfastly to the back door.

If this girl held grudges, Cas thought, they were less than the time it took for a squirrel to lose its nuts. Though, for her sake, he hoped that she was a little more intellectual than a rodent.

"She does know that the animals are in the cages, right?"

Sam's eyes remained trained on the exuberant employee. "I know she may not seem altogether, but she's the nicest person I've had on staff."

"Seems like she has a thing for the boss," Cas commented, mostly to fulfill his own amusement.

Sam gave little thought to it. "Yeah, I've managed, besides," he began, leaning close to make sure Cas saw the flutter of his eye as he said, "I have my eye on someone else."

Another blush ensued. Yeah, he'll admit, usually he wasn't hit on like this, well, ever. But there was something different about Sam, something that made him feel less like a vagrant and more like a human being—and an alluring one at that. They'd only known each other for almost two weeks, which encompassed a couple lunches here and there. Except it wasn't the length of time. There was something familiar about Sam, something he knew was right in front of him but he still wasn't seeing—

"Are you coming?" Becky called.

"You better take that," Sam advised. "You think she's bad when she's happy, you don't want to see her when she's angry."

Cas cleared his throat, as if his contemplations were stuck there. "Oh, yeah," he said lamely, but didn't move.

"Don't worry; I'm just going down the street to run a couple errands. I promise I'll make it up to you with a lunch after we walk Sadie and the others."

He didn't doubt his sincerity, but... "Will there be chili cheese fries?"

Sam chuckled, "There will be chili cheese fries."

"I'll be right there," Cas called back, tearing his eyes away before walking down the narrow section. Cas couldn't see but Sam was grinning like a child at a candy store made entirely of chocolate until he faded from view.

Sadie was a wide-eyed rascal with the temper of a sailor. For a girl who wasn't even two feet standing on her hind legs, she was fierce. She had a violent bark that would submerge any sound within a half a mile radius and these big, brown eyes that, even though were a common trait in cocker spaniels, had this way of baring into your soul without so much as a warning. She also had this beautiful fawn coat that, when wet, would curl into tiny, golden ringlets that encased her from her neck to her stomach.

Sam could still remember the day that he found her behind a back alley dumpster, muttering something indecipherable under her breath as she shook profusely. Sam had lent out his voice instead of his hand (he had a strict policy of 'better safe than sorry'), whistling "Dear Prudence" in a pitch that she could hear. She seemed to respond well because the next minute she was wagging her wet tale to the tune and shuffling toward the giant. Sam later named her Sadie after The Beatles' song, "Sexy Sadie." (After all, it wasn't exactly gentlemanly to call a girl a prude.)

Luckily, she was only aggressive toward anyone that wasn't a familiar face—which was pretty much just Sam—however, that did make her a potential danger on the streets. Sam decided that he would take Sadie along with Boomer (a large Weimaraner with a lazy eye and a fondness for food), Pharaoh (a white Labrador that acted more like a greyhound), and Oliver (a medium-sized Bull Terrier with an inquisitive side). He gave Cas two small dogs to start out with and made sure to grab the extendable leashes, that way the man didn't get towed down Central by his legs. He did want him to keep the job, after all.

"Am I holding this right?"

Sam glanced to the figure walking beside him. He looked so cumbersome just handling two dogs. He had his wrist in the inside of the handle, clutching for dear life. "I think you can loosen up on the kung-fu grip there, Mr. Miyagi."

He opened and closed his fist a few times to do what Sam asked. He gestured to the narrow path ahead of them. "All you have to worry about is getting from Point A to Point B. And don't let the dogs control you. You're the co-pilot, they're the passengers. Use your leash to steer them in the right direction."

"Was that an airplane analogy?"

Sam shrugged and said, "Whatever will help you remember you're the boss."

"Who's the pilot?"

"God," he said flatly.

"Wait—but I thought God was supposed to be the copilot," Cas said.

"It's in the New Testament. 'John said, 'Thou shall not live thy life whilst He brings forth the zombie apocalypse.' And to which, the Lord replied, 'Whatever, bro, let them run around without their brains, as long as I get dibs on their souls.''"

"Wow, God adopting Paganism. Who knew?"

Sam titled his head and pursed his lips in thought. "I kinda saw it coming with Cain and Abel. I mean, what better reason to kill your brother than to use him as bait for the—"

"Start of the zombie apocalypse," Cas replied, blue eyes widening in mock-astonishment. Damn, he really was too cute. "What do you know; I'm getting a biology and mythology lesson in one job."

Sam chuckled deeply, pausing to let Boomer do his thing. "You don't even want to get me started on politics."

"I like hearing you talk," Cas said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Well, thanks." Sam's face was concealed behind his shoulders, turned in the direction of Pharaoh, who he was trying to tame by holding him back from striking a pose in the middle of a walkway. Cas had his hands full, too, but still felt bad that Sam had the majority of the dogs. Rose was a well-tempered terrier, and Argos was a beautiful black, elegant Schipperke that hardly needed any looking after. That was until the two got to the other side of the crosswalk and the dogs snuffed out a fire hydrant. It must have been coated with some major urine because each dog had their eyes and nose fixated on the thing. The divergent itself only took all of five seconds.

Sam tugged and pulled to avert their bodies from the thing. The long-haired man was getting tangled up by the waist in his many leashes just as Cas' arm got caught in the same predicament. Before either of them new it, gravity (and some under underestimated animals) were pulling them in the same direction, sending both of them spiraling on top of each other. Luckily, the two hadn't lost balance, but the kick was just enough to make a good impact.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked almost immediately. He hadn't realized the immediacy of the two until he felt Castiel's back stiffen underneath his fingers. They were practically close enough to Eskimo kiss… but Sam wouldn't do that… or kiss him any way for that matter… because that would be impulsive and completely insane.

Cas' hand had fallen involuntarily on Sam's chest, nearly digging into the cotton with bunched-up fingers. All of Cas' hair had fallen forward in the collision, face framed with dark wisps. "Yeah, totally," he said, catching his breath. Minus the getting lassoed part, it didn't knock the wind out of Sam. But he felt it all the same.

"That's—good." Dammit. Why couldn't he carry himself with more sophistication?

Neither of them moved until the dogs took off in the opposite direction, unwinding the two of them almost simultaneously. They strung out like a turn-table and seized control of their animals.

"I guess we didn't take that analogy too seriously." Chuckling, he brought his newly free hand up only to find blood pooling in-between his thumb and index finger. Sam gaped at the impressive injury. "Plastic must have rubbed me the wrong way."

"Looks like we might have to push back lunch," Sam said lamely.

Cas narrowed his eyes at the dogs he still held by his other hand. They were still transfixed by whatever the hell had passed by moments ago. "You know, I think I'm more of a cat person."

"Am I pressing too hard?" Sam's voice was tentative, like he wasn't sure if his lotto tickets were the winning pick. He had taken him and Cas into the backroom that he had seen Sam pass through many times before, the same one that he had rushed out of a week prior. This room—he learned from Becky's ninety-percent superfluous and ten-percent factual lecture—was used from time to time as a place to treat rogue or injured animals, and sometimes to put said animals to rest. Aside from that, it was a rather small room. The walls were flaking, and the smell was somewhat rancid from the animals taken into custody. It wasn't so bad though. In fact, it actually lulled him to sleep as Sam dressed his abrasion in cotton.

He shook his head, careful not to lose his balance on the patient table. The metal was cool on his backside and brought back memories of that night that he brought the dog in. He pushed them away as quickly as they had come. "You really don't have to do this, Sam. I can get washed up in the bathroom, pat it down a few times. I've had worse, believe me."

"It's really no problem. Consider this your workman's comp." Sam flashed a warm smile and slid his thumb over the inside of his palm to secure the hold. His other hand was braced underneath Cas' to keep him steady. The warmth penetrating through was almost enough to heal it on its own. "And what do you mean you've had worse?"

"The worst physical pain I've ever endured was after I was attacked in an alleyway and even that was hardly anything. In fact, I think I hardly even felt it. My best friend passed away a couple of years ago and ever since I've just felt lost beyond comprehension. Everything started to hurt. I guess the mental outweighed the physical." He didn't know why he was telling him his life story. Cas hadn't opened up to anyone about his situation. He assumed that Sam would listen.

And he did. In fact, he didn't just hear it, he felt it; he seemed to understand. "My brother passed a while back, too. I always used to think that it was worse than dying, you know, losing someone like that," he chuckled humorlessly, forcing a smile. "I still haven't proved that theory wrong."

With hardly any thought, Cas placed his left hand over the one that was holding his. Sam seemed too lost in thought to notice until the other man laced his thin fingers with his. Sam did anything but retract, holding the small embrace, a gesture of solidarity between the two of them. After a moment or two, Cas spoke up, relinquishing his hand. "Thanks for patching me up," he said quietly.

"Stay with me."

"What?"

Sam's hand was still underneath Castiel's other one. He spoke firmly, unwavering. "Stay with me until you get on your feet. You can stay as long as you want, no strings attached." Sam had learned about Cas' situation through little observations; wearing the same old trenchcoat, loitering around after hours, rummaging in the bottom of the coat pocket like he was digging for gold. Another—this one probably made him the saddest—was how he would come into work and find him passed out in all sorts of haphazard places in or outside the place. Cas said nothing, even though he knew Sam was aware, kept his distance from that topic. He never liked anyone to feel pity for him.

"That's really nice of you, but I—"

Before he could make a full protest, Sam was leaning forward and seizing his mouth. Cas stifled a gasp and eventually traded it for a contented moan he hadn't been conscious was lodged in his throat, kissing him right back. His lips were warm, gentle; just like he had been with his hand. Sam retracted before the embrace could thicken, but it still left the both of them breathless, especially when the younger boy had used his teeth to gnaw on his lower lip when he did so.

"I wasn't offering, Cas," Sam said justly, "I was begging." His face was seething red. But Cas couldn't just speak for Sam. In fact, he was pretty sure that his vocal chords were paralyzed on top of it.

All he could manage was one word, two syllables, and a one-sided hug.