Disclaimer: I do NOT own Supernatural! If I did, Castiel wouldn't have gone AWOL...
It was one of those rare, relatively calm days that carried with it a surprisingly casual conversation between an angel and a human. As it was, Castiel and Dean Winchester were standing in Bobby Singer's kitchen, having a somewhat normal talk about the hunter's illegitimate half-brother's relationship to John Winchester. It had stemmed off from a talk about how normal human families functioned, and Dean did not take too well to the topic change. Adam was a sore subject for everyone. Still, after a long drink from his beer bottle, the older Winchester answered:
"Dad tried to give the kid a 'normal' life – even took him to a couple of baseball games, which is more than he ever could do for Sammy and me."
A memory from very long ago popped into the angel's mind, prompting him to speak almost automatically. "You're wrong."
Dean frowned before attempting to correct himself. "I mean, I know he did all he could for what kind of life we were given, even if it was messed up, and I don't blame him for that, but –."
"No, not that," Cas interrupted. His blank blue eyes held a light that could have been either confusion or curiosity and he looked as though he had something to say, yet when his human friend gestured for him to elaborate he remained silent.
Before Dean could question Castiel's comment, Sam and Bobby returned with tidings of a new hunt. That was the end of their talk, and the angel vanished after telling the Winchesters to call him if they needed help. As the three hunters delved into exciting pre-hunt research, all thoughts about the conversation were shoved out of sight inside the elder Winchester's mind, never to be re-examined until a much later date.
While the hunters did what they did best, Cas visited a heaven he did not typically wander in. It was a small, homemade baseball field; the kind you would find elementary students playing on during recess. This particular heaven belonged to a famous baseball player whose fondest memories were playing the game he loved on his very first field. The sun shone bright enough not to cause a glare, birds sang beautifully encouraging songs, and the breeze was just enough to be pleasant but not interfere with the trajectory of the ball. As Castiel situated himself on the rickety wooden bleachers, watching the young man practice, he reflected on how peaceful the heaven was – and how perfect it was for remembering.