It wasn't as razzle dazzle, "New York! New York!" as he had imagined. It had more of a "Move it, ya bum!", "Shaddap, I'm walkin' here!" sort of quality. There was still a whisper of razzle dazzle in the air, though it may have been attributable to the holiday season. It was late in the afternoon, or in the younger of the evening, and the streets were littered with hard-pressed New Yorkers, yabbering on their cell phones, sneaking paranoid glances at their wristwatches, and with hands ferreting about in their briefcases or purses.

And snow. There was lots of snow.

Almost everywhere was he greeted with dazzling Christmas lights, and the jolly sound of Christmas carols of the classic big band and jazz variety. Although it was only music, it enhanced the tangible change in atmosphere significantly (as though the complete shift in environment wasn't enough), in comparison to the mood Dean's routine oldies music inspired. Instead of hearing the usual AC/DC or Led Zeppelin, he became newly acquainted to the sounds of Frank Sinatra and Lena Horne. It was very classic and very elegant, and it was very New York.

The culture shock set his mind in a frenzy. Castiel stopped where he was, wherever that was, to observe two signs. "5 Av" and "E 60 ST" they read, obviously referring to Fifth Avenue and East 60th Street respectively. A mental note of his whereabouts was made, though he esteemed the effort to be in vain, in view of how huge and hectic the city obviously was.

"What is this, the line for the men's room?" blustered a voice behind him. Before Castiel could even turn to address this person, the stranger roughly elbowed past him. "Move it, buddy!"

Such incivility! Castiel opined in grave reprove, but resumed walking, albeit at a much slower pace than everyone else.

Suddenly, there was a unpleasant screeching of tires.

"Watch it, pretty boy!" snarled a motorist, who narrowly missed Castiel by mere inches. The angel was barely fazed. The car nearly crashed into another vehicle wherein the driver decided to proceed forward while the other was still stationary.

"GOTDAM MOTHER— where did you learn to drive? LA?"

"Hey pal, why don't you just slow down next time?"

"That's what your mom said to me last night!"

The other man proceeded to wind down his window, stick out his arm and gave his abuser another reason to be aggravated.

Castiel was only trying to reach what he deemed was the "friendlier" looking side of Fifth Avenue, which appeared to be along the junction of a very, very large park. When the angry interjection was thrown at him, he frowned in sore confusion. What did he do wrong? He appropriately used the crosswalk, and he wasn't – what was the demotic term? – "jay-walking".

It was when he reached the friendlier side of Fifth Avenue, finally, that he stopped to cast the unsparing traffic a studious gaze. Sigh. There were still facets of mankind that he could not yet fathom.

Halfway down Fifth, Castiel became aware that the crowd of pedestrians around him, along with the traffic, also seemed to be snowballing in size as he proceeded in the direction he was going. He assumed this meant that he was moving towards the heart of New York City. This city was going to get scarier before it got interesting.

Humans conceived of the most bizarre names to title their buildings, and what went on within those premises', Castiel did not possess a broad enough imagination for. The city dimmed further until night was born as Castiel continued to pursue Fifth, passing buildings titled Trump Tower (Castiel knew what a tower was, but who or what a Trump was, he hadn't the clue), Berbdorf Goodman, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Gucci, Armani, Abercrombie & Fitch, Pucci (any relation to Gucci? he wondered), Zara, GAP, Tommy Hilfiger, Fendi, Rolex, NBA, Juicy Couture, and just when he thought the names couldn't push the boundaries of strangeness anymore than they have, he passed a building labelled "Banana Republic".

Not that he was deterred. In fact, he found human strangeness… compelling.

Obviously, by "Banana Republic", and having the opportunity to peer through windows, Castiel presumed that these were, for the most part, fashion boutiques, though he didn't want to know what kind of merchandise "Banana Republic" sold. As a shudder was suppressed, his hope for mankind soared. Quickly admiring the festive decorations strewn about Fifth, he pursued the "Banana Republic" street (whatever number street that was) instead of continuing down Fifth. It wasn't long before he could see the beginnings of what he had originally come here to see.

Time slowed. It was as though the sounds of traffic and the different Christmas carols from different buildings were suddenly muffled, smothered by the blanket of awe that had descended upon him. Everything but the rainbow-lit Christmas tree in front of the colossal Rockefeller Tower also seemed as though they had been blurred.

The phrase "truly God's work" came to mind, but Castiel knew in his figurative heart that this was a product of man. A product of his Father's product. The trees of Heaven should look like this. There should be forests of these trees in Heaven!

His stride slowed as the tree moved to his central line of vision. Other trees in the immediate foreground, framing an ice-skating rink, were bound in white fairy lights, which only made the polychromatic lights of the Rockefeller tree in the background appear even more breathtaking. Castiel thought that having such diverse colors with little range from each other would make one big blur, but no, he could see that this wasn't the case. Each colored light was just as distinguishable and as brilliant as the next.

The gathering of people felt an intangible force draw them each aside, defining a path for the angel, who approached the enclosures of the Rockefeller Christmas Tree with refined dignity. He heard cameras clicking and saw the light of the flashes bouncing off the tree. He wondered if photographs did the tree any justice.

"Whaddaya think, kid? Good as last year?"

Castiel glanced to his left and spotted an old man with a trolley full of old cans gawking at the Christmas tree. He was obviously a New York City vagrant, with his scrawny frame and his frayed, timeworn clothes, but there was something about the warm, golden light the Christmas tree emanated that made this man – no, everyone seem cordial. It was as though the light was a glow of tenderness.

"It is beautiful," Castiel answered, turning back to the tree. "Father created such magnificent things. I never knew you all possessed the creative potential alike to our Father."

"Don't think it was that easy," said a voice. To his right, he found a young woman with a ridiculous amount of eyeliner standing beside him. She looked like a raccoon with long red hair. She regarded him briefly before gazing back at the tree, just as he had. "Trees are cool enough on their own. We have Thomas Edison to thank for the light bulb and Michael Faraday for being the pioneer of the electrical age. Basically, without the lights, that tree would be an eye-sore, especially for the folks at NBC. Funny, considering that pesky little logo of the NBC peacock on the corner of my TV screen."

Castiel refrained a nod; it made sense but … so? When she looked to him to consider his lack of response, she seemed to read the confusion on his face.

"It's all science," the raccoon girl added with finality. This made Castiel scowl, though he wasn't quite sure whether he should be offended or not. What was she saying exactly? Was she invalidating the Lord's work by giving credence to science?

"We have our Father to thank for creating a path for those men, motivating them to act and make an impact on the world. He designed a route for them, a road to greatness, which they followed."

Four words into his little speech, and her brows had already puckered. "Our father?"

"Our Lord."

The raccoon girl narrowed her raccoon eyes. "I… see." She was humoring him.

"You do not believe?"

"It's a cross I'd rather not bear."

Oh, she was one of those humans. "Where is your faith?" Castiel asked, frowning helplessly at her, as though he had been hurt personally. Technically, he was.

"I lost it," she replied swiftly, whipping back to him. Her airiness competed with Castiel's somewhat scandalized stare. "And boy, did I try retracing my steps. Never found it again. Then you know what dawned on me? I never had it to begin with, because there is no —"

Castiel's eyes flashed aggressively. "Stop."

Immediately, her eyes wilted ruefully and her cheeks tinged red (redder, due to the cold). "Sorry, my bad. That was ill-mannered of me to say, and right in front of a freakin' Christmas tree. And a stranger. Who's obviously a believer."

"I don't appreciate being labeled," he said slowly, enunciating each word so she would wise up and take a hint to where he stood on the subject. He was an angel of the Lord, after all.

Now, she was almost as red as her hair. "Oh, jeez, I'm sorry!" She spun around from him suddenly, grumbling under her breath, "I should really stop talking to strangers…"

His discriminating ear easily heard her. "Perhaps you should," he muttered. He peered at her from the corners of his eyes and saw her look up at him, smiling bashfully. Despite himself, she amused him.

What a strange human. It was… compelling.

Castiel's gaze was carried back to the dazzling tree. It was much more amazing in real life than on some motel room television screen. Though, for reasons unknown, his gaze was pulled back to the raccoon girl, who, despite her beliefs (or lack thereof) she seemed just as in awe of the sight before her as everyone else.

"It is beautiful," she murmured. Her blue eyes flitted ever so slightly, as though she intended to shower attention on every individual light bulb at least once. Then, she caught him looking. Before he even had a chance to be flustered, she hastily added with an air of haughtiness, "Just because it's science doesn't mean it isn't beautiful!"

Head tilt. "You do not see it as… art?"

Thoughtfully, she bit the inside of her lip, her eyes passing out of focus. "I used to."

"But then, you lost your faith."

She eyeballed him severely for a moment. "No… it's just the way the world has become. Once upon a time, in the sixteenth century, someone had the idea of decorating a tree with fruit, pretzels and paper flowers for the children of Bremen guild members to enjoy. That's a lovely idea, that's imagination, that's goodwill. That –" she gestured the Christmas tree rather obnoxiously, with her arm at full length,"– to me, just says, "Okay, it's December, chuck some lights on the damn tree and let's get this over with"."

Castiel gave another once-over of the tree, before regarding her again. "It doesn't look effortless."

"No, but it's spiritless."

"How can you tell?"

"Because it's 2012," she intoned with a sigh, her smile sincere yet miserable, "and I'm a realist. That's just the way the world is. It's lost its heart."

"It's lost its faith," Castiel muttered, turning back to the tree but staring absently at the ground instead.

"If you're gonna keep bringing that up I'm not gonna talk to you," she said impishly, luring his attention once again. His fixed scowl at her faded when she grinned up at him. "I'm Audrey." She extended her hand to his.

"Castiel." He shook her hand, as humans did. Normally he would remove his hand instantly, but her firm grasp of his hand upon the announcement of his name prevented him from doing so.

"Castiel? That's so Lord of the Rings! Castiel, Cas-ti-el – Castiel, you make me hate my name."

"You have a nice name?" He didn't know why that statement came out sounding as uncertain as it did.

As her gloved hand released his, her eyes flickered with amusement. ""Nice"… that's the lowest rung on the ladder of complimentary adjectives."

Castiel opened his mouth, hoping a complimentary adjective of higher quality would fall out, but she stopped him with a giggle.

"But it's still a compliment!" She patted him fondly on the arm, and it occurred to him that she was one of those people who was never opposed to holding another's gaze, kind of like him. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Castiel."


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