December 31st, 2014

The room smelled like mothballs. It wasn't an overpowering scent, Castiel was thankful for that but it was still present enough that when he entered Kevin Tran's apartment his nose started to itch forcing him to rub at it in hopes of stopping the oncoming sneeze. The younger man met his eyes and smiled apologetically. Castiel merely waved it off, it wasn't the others fault that many older buildings in Brooklyn smelt as old as they truly were. It added… well, character?

"I've got your new identification already printed out, Mr. Milton," Kevin broke the silence as he scratched the back of his neck expressing the awkward tension building up between them. Castiel smiled warmly trying to calm the other's nerves.

"Please call me Jimmy. My father is Mr. Milton and seeing as he's still alive and kicking it's only fair that he remains Mr. Milton," Castiel laughed, the lie easily slipping from his lips as if it were the truth. Kevin gave a sharp nod before he gestured his guest to follow him further into the apartment.

"I added some little flaws and specs on the picture because it makes it look more authentic," Kevin explained and quickly glanced back at the man following him. He then entered the small office space near the back of the apartment where a computer and a large machine that Castiel assumed to be some sort of printer were set up. A brown package sat on top of the computer's keyboard. Kevin headed straight for it and picked it up.

"Here," Kevin said, handing Castiel the brown envelope. "In there you've got your driver's license, passport, birth certificate, and any other form of identification you might need." Castiel said nothing; he pushed open the flap of the packaging and fished out the first thing his finger touched; his passport. Slowly, he grazed his fingers over the front cover before flipping it open to the page with his picture. There he was, staring blankly into the camera as one does in any passport photo. It was him without a doubt but the name and signature were not his own and they hadn't been for a very long time. Instead of 'Castiel Novak' the name of the man who owned this passport was Thomas Barth.

Thomas Barth was a struggling gallery owner who was packing up and moving his work from Kansas City to Portland in hopes of making it big in a more artsy location. Every new identity had a new story. Jimmy Milton was in love with history and followed that passion to New York City where he worked at the Department of Records and was naturally very proud of that, thank you very much. Before him, Noah Howells had been a bar tender in a shabby little place in Baltimore. Benjamin Patterson had owned a furniture store in Charleston. Fitz Short played live music in Chicago. Freddie Carlisle was a secretary at a doctor's office in Seattle. Edwin White was studying medicine in London. Mathieu Guérin was a writer from Paris who had moved to a small town in hopes of finding inspiration. And Castiel Novak, well, he'd been dead for a very long time.

"So what do you think?" Kevin's voice broke Castiel out of his nostalgic state. The man blinked before stuffing the passport back into the envelope and meeting the other's gaze full on.

"It's perfect. You are very talented," Castiel said before briefly pausing. "But I have to ask, why are you wasting such a talent? I assume you know the fine for forgery? Not to mention the four years of jail time that you'd be serving," Castiel added as he raised a single eyebrow. However, he had to force his face to remain expressionless and not twist up into a smile when he saw Kevin's expression shattered into fear at the question.

"Y-You're an undercover cop, aren't you?" his voice shook. Castiel couldn't help the laugh that left his throat. He shook his head as to relax some of the other's fears.

"Not at all, you have nothing to worry about, Kevin," the older of the two said before stuffing the envelope into his messenger bag. "Thank you again for everything."

With that, Castiel turned on his heels and started for the door.

"Hey wait!" Kevin managed to say before he quickly moved after his guest. Castiel stopped, his hand hovering over the doorknob of the apartment's front door. Slowly, Castiel turned around to see Kevin with his hand extended out and a small smile twisting the corners of his lips. Castiel mirrored the expression back and reached out to shake the other's hand.

"Happy New Years, Jimmy," Kevin said as he let go of his hand.

"The same to you, Kevin," Castiel replied genuinely before opening the old apartment door and heading out onto the bustling streets of Brooklyn. A few seconds later, Castiel managed to wave down a taxi. After living in New York for as long as he had the act of waving down a taxi cab had been almost turned into an art form.

"Seventy-Seven Greene Avenue, Brooklyn," Castiel said as the car took off into the morning traffic.

"Honey, I'm home!" Castiel called out as he closed the door of his house. At first there was no reply but a few seconds later a ball of white fur pokes it head around the corner to see who it is that has dare enter its home. A loving smile stretches across Castiel's lips as he walks over to his white Persian cotton ball of a cat.

"How has your morning been so far, Churchill?" his voice sweet and dripping with admiration for the small beast. Churchill says nothing because of the whole 'cat thing' and instead stares up expressionlessly at his owner.

"I'm not going to be here for long," Castiel tells the creature as he bends down to scratch behind Churchill's ears. The cat licks his hand in response before stalking over to an armchair and making himself at home. "Spoiled brat," Castiel rolls his eyes. He follows Churchill over to where he has a bit of a living room set up and places his messenger bag down on the wooden coffee table. The latches on the bag are cold against his fingers as Castiel maneuvers them open so he can pull out the envelope and place it on the table.

"You're really going to like Portland," he says absently to Churchill. "Sure you seem like more of a New Yorker but the fresh air will do wonders for you. I reckon it isn't as bustling. It's going to be odd to be able to actually have quiet nights!" Churchill makes no acknowledgment of Castiel. A sigh escapes the man's lips. "You aren't yourself today. Is the cold getting to you?" It's less of a question and more of a thought. Castiel shakes his head and turns his focus back to the open bag. Once the latches are closed the bag is thrown over his shoulder.

"I best be going, kitty. No rest for the wicked I suppose." And with that, the dark haired man scratches his cat behind its ears once more and heads back out onto the streets of the city that truly never sleeps.

This time when Castiel gets into the back seat of a cab he says:

"Thirty-One Chambers Street, New York."

"Jimmy!" the shrill voice of Charlie Bradbury rang through the room as he entered his office. The ginger haired girl ran up to him, a huge grin on her face. "I didn't think you would be coming into work today. Garth even agreed," she exclaimed as a small brunette, Garth, peeked around a stack of books on his desk and nodded in agreement.

"You know I couldn't skip out on you guys," Castiel admitted before walking over to his own desk and setting his bag on the ground before stripping of his coat and draping it over the old worn out black office chair. "Plus, the partying isn't even until tonight, you two know that."

"How could I forget?" Charlie laughed and patted her friend on the shoulder. "I assume you are still coming to the party at The Waldorf Astoria?"

"Of course, Charlie, it's tradition after all," he replied and shot her a quick smile before realizing there was a large brown box on top of his desk. Charlie, knowing Castiel all too well took notice that his attention had shifted from her to the box.

"We just got those films in today. I assumed you would want to take a peek at them and then of course organize them," she explained. Castiel peered into the box and grabbed a roll of film. A warm wave of nostalgia flooded over him as he realized the box was full of film that spanned from the turn of the 19th century until the early 1960's.

"You know me far too well, Celeste," Castiel joked, his gaze still glued to the writing on the film in his hands. When he did look up he was greeted by a scowl that had no bite behind it. Charlie had always hated her real name and the only reason Castiel knew it was because one night they had gotten drunk and she had told him. Of course, Castiel was never going to let her forget the fact that he knew.

"I should have never told you my real name," she sighed and shook her head before adding "also get to work, Jim, those films aren't going to watch themselves."

Castiel didn't reply, instead he made a face at his friend before lifting up the cardboard box and walking out of the room. The little theatre setup was a few doors down the hall which in that moment he was thankful for because the box of film had been heavier than he would have expected.

Once in the room, Castiel pushed the door closed with his foot and set the box down as carefully as he could beside the vintage projector. He knelt down next to the box and picked the earliest film in the set. 1908. Ah, now that had been a simpler time. Shaking off the nostalgia once more, Castiel set up the film before he swiftly went to flick off the lights. He took a seat in the only chair in the room. It was wooden with a ratty old cushion and if you brushed you skin against the actual wood part of the chair the fear of getting a splinter was all too real. However, today Castiel didn't care. Instead he watched the grainy footage playing before him. It didn't take long before he found himself lost in thoughts of a time now forgotten.