Castiel was going to share a bathroom with Dean. It was connected to both of their rooms and was actually quite a small room, but he had never lived in a place where he hadn't had to share a bathroom with at least ten other people. Dean showed him where the towels and washcloths were, and he told him that he could use the soap he had gotten from a real Voodoo priestess who swore up and down it would increase his attractiveness with girls.

Castiel blushed at that, and Dean had given him a hard time about his face turning so red. "How many girlfriends have you had?" Dean asked him.

"Four," Castiel lied, looking Dean straight in the eyes.

Dean had died laughing again. "You lie. I bet you ain't ever had one."

Castiel blushed and looked at his feet again. He couldn't lie to a boy who laughed this much. "No, I've never had a girlfriend."

"But you like girls, right? You ain't sly?"

"What's that?" Castiel asked him, curious.

Dean shook his head. "Never mind, man. C'mon, let's go downstairs and see what Miss Anna has cookin' for us tonight. Maybe we can talk her into makin' us some pie."

Castiel followed Dean down the back staircase into a very warm room, that had all the windows up. There was a stove and a large sink and an ice box, and what looked like miles and miles of counter space and cabinets.

Miss Anna had red hair and grey eyes, and she couldn't have been much older than Dean and Castiel. "Howdy Dean," she said, and Castiel noticed that her accent was different from The Winchester Family.

"Miss Anna, what you got cookin', girl?" Dean asked, leaning over one of the pots.

"Crawfish etouffe, gumbo, red beans and rice, and some dirty potatoes. I'm just finishin' up some fresh croissants for y'all, and then I'm gonna fix beignets for your breakfasts."

"No apple pie?" Dean asked, pouting at her. Castiel made himself look at something else other than Dean's lower lip.

"Boy, you always begging for somethin'," Anna said. Castiel wondered why her vowels were more twangy than Dean's soft vowels.

"Miss Anna, this is Castiel Novak. His mama is mama's new companion," Dean said.

Miss Anna stared around Dean's shoulder to look at Castiel. "He looks a mite scrawny."

"I bet he could hold his own," Dean said, grinning back at Castiel. "If not, I could teach him how to."

"He ain't gonna be… with you boys, is he?" Miss Anna looked at Castiel with a little worried look on her face. "I don't think he could handle it."

"I'm sure we just got to break him in slow. Most Yankee boys can't hold their own with us, it'll just take some time."

Miss Anna frowned at Dean. "You shouldn't be dragging him into something you shouldn't be doing in the first place. Messin' with things that best be left alone."

"Someone's got to do it, Miss Anna. You volunteerin'?" Dean asked.

Miss Anna grumbled something too low for Castiel to hear, but he was already intrigued. He figured the best way to learn something was to be quiet and listen, because that was how he learned most things. It was how he had learned about the CIA in the first place, listening… or eavesdropping as Senator Crowley had accused him of doing.

"Anyhow," Miss Anna said, looking over at Castiel. "You know how to make etoufee, boy?"

"No ma'am, I've never even heard of etoufee," Castiel said.

"What do they teach them boys up north?" Miss Anna asked, shocked. "Come here, you gonna help me make this. See this pan? We're gonna put some butter and some onions in this pan. This is gonna be the start of our roux, you understand?"

Castiel nodded and helped her cook, while Dean leaned against one of the counter tops and begged for pie. It felt good, to be included in preparing the food, although Castiel had no idea what a Holy Trinity was in regards to cooking, and he was shaky when he was pouring on the spices.

He looked up when Sam and Raphael came into the kitchen, and Raphael stuttered and stammered around Miss Anna.

"Raphael's hopin' to marry Miss Anna," Dean whispered to Castiel. "He'd be a good match for her, especially with him going to college."

"But she's white," Castiel whispered back.

Dean laughed, and then he patted Miss Anna on the back. "Cas here thinks you're white," he laughed some more.

"You're just darlin'," Miss Anna said. "I'm a redbone cajun."

"What's that?"

"Means I'm black. That and some Spanish and some French and Native American, but no white people ever gonna' think I'm white," Miss Anna said.

"But your hair is red, and your skin is paler than mine," Castiel protested.

"Boy, it's not like I'm the only one. Mostly, they just try to keep us away from the whites, you should see my brother, he's paler than me but you can tell he's black. Most folk keep us away 'cause they're afraid we're gonna pass, but the Winchester family doesn't care about stuff like that," Miss Anna said, pushing some bowls around with a spoon, stirring whatever it was.

Castiel helped the other boys setting the table, thinking about what Miss Anna had said. It was something that he never had to deal with before, although at one of the houses his mama had worked at he remembered someone complaining about one of the servants who thought she could pass herself off as white. He thought it was weird at the time, but seeing Anna he didn't know why she wouldn't pass. It was easier to be white. Well, it was easier to be white and rich, but still, easier to be white.

He wondered what kind of life Miss Anna could lead. It wasn't like she could get married and then go out in public with Raphael, it would put them both in danger. People could get violent like that. And it wasn't like she could marry a white man who didn't know, who knew if her kids would come out looking black? Miss Anna didn't have a whole lot of choices. It must be a terrible position to be stuck in, Castiel thought, to not be allowed to simply love someone no matter their skin color.

Eating Lousisian food had to be the highlight of the day, Castiel thought at the dinner table that night. He couldn't believe the way that it popped on his tongue, how it felt in his mouth, and he wondered that he might not possibly be committing a sin of the flesh like his preacher had talked about in vague terms with how good this food was. He tried really hard not to make any sounds while he was eating, but it was hard.

Dean looked at him strangely while he was eating, and Sam and Raphael couldn't help but laugh themselves stupid over his reaction to their food. The adults weren't sitting near enough to them that they could hear it, as they were at the other end of the table, and for that Castiel thanked God for small favors. "I'm sorry, this is just really good," Castiel said, pulling out one of the crawfish's shell from his mouth. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever put in my mouth."

Sam leaned over and popped his brother's mouth shut, and he laughed some more. "That sounds like it was a spiritual experience for you, over there."

"You just don't know, it was so good," Castiel said, taking another huge bite. He knew it was bad manners, but he couldn't slow down.

"Maybe we'll put some weight on those bones of yours," Raphael said, smirking at him.

"If I ate like this every day," Castiel said, only slightly wincing at the harshness of his Boston accent in comparison to their soft words, "I'd weigh a million pounds."

"Have to find a way to work that off then, huh Dean?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean kicked him under the table, and then concentrated on the food on his own plate. "So what was Miss Anna talking about, earlier in the kitchen?" Castiel asked Dean, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothin' she should have been talking about in front of strangers," Dean said. "Don't worry about it."

"I would like to learn how to fight, will you teach me?" Castiel asked.

"You never fought before?" Raphael asked.

"I have been in a fight or two," Castiel said, looking down at his plate. He normally would have lost his appetite, admitting that, but that was before he discovered etoufee and gumbo and dirty potatoes. He kept shoveling food into his mouth.

"You never won, huh?" Sam asked.

"Not technically," Castiel said. "It was over before a winner could be decided. I did get one or two punches in before it was broken up by the teacher."

Sam looked confused. "You fought at school?"

"Yes, where else do you fight?"

"You never fight at school, that's disrespectful," Sam said. "You meet at the flagpole after school, or you meet before school, and you always try to keep it off school grounds. School is where you learn."

"You never went to the schools I went to, then," Castiel said, and he shoveled more food in his mouth.

Sam couldn't believe his ears, obviously. He kept eating and looking at Castiel. "You goin' to school with us tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes, I suppose so," Castiel said. "Is it a large school?"

"We got a teacher for every grade," Sam said proudly. "It's the only school in the parish, but almost everyone who graduates from there goes to college."

"Even more now that there's the University in New Orleans," Raphael said. "Can't believe they're gonna' let me and Dean go there together."

"Your school is integrated?" Castiel asked, his eyes wide.

"Most of the smaller schools have been integrated for three years now, ever since Brown Vs. Board of Education. It was just too expensive to keep two schools in a parish this size," Sam shrugged. "We got more teachers out of the deal, too. It's why I don't have to sit in a classroom with this jerk over here," Sam gestured at Dean, who performed a rude gesture with his fingers but kept eating like he wasn't listening to them talk.

"Dean," Mrs. Winchester chided him from the other end of the table.

"I apologize, mama," Dean said, glaring at Sam.

Sam laughed some more, and Castiel wondered if he spent most of his time laughing at his brother.

Castiel took two or three more bites before a small boy ran into the dining room. "Dean, Dean!" he shouted, and then he came up short as soon as he saw Castiel and Mrs. Novak sitting at the same table. "Mr. Winchester," the boy automatically corrected himself. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but we need you in town."

Dean looked at the small black boy, and then he nodded his head. "Sammy," he said to his brother, and Sam immediately stood up. "Let's go."

Raphael also stood up, and they said good evening to everyone before they left the dining room with the small boy.

"Well," Mrs. Winchester said. "Shall we have some of Miss Anna's apple pie while we wait for them to get back?"

Castiel wondered what was going on, but he moved his plate closer to his mother and ate a piece of apple pie with the adults. He noticed that Mrs. Winchester and Mr. Freeman kept looking at each other, obviously worried about something, and he wondered if it was because the boys were doing something dangerous. He thought that it might take a while for them to open up to him, and he wondered if they would ever trust him enough to do that. He wanted to be friends with them, because they were nice an funny and he thought that maybe they wouldn't make fun of him for being so smart. They might, though. That wouldn't be fun.

Castiel helped Miss Anna clean the table, but she shooed him off from doing the dishes. He was left alone to explore the house, and he enjoyed flicking on the gas lamps in the house. It seemed so old-fashioned to him that they weren't using electricity, but he kind of liked it, too. The gas gave off a warmer light than the electrical light bulbs that he was used to in the houses he lived in previously.

There were a lot of rooms: a formal dining room, a sitting room, and the piano room had a lot of other instruments. He wished his mother would teach him how to play the piano, and he hit a few notes on that before he turned around and left the room. There was an office that probably belonged to Mr. Winchester whenever he was at home, and there were a few books on a single shelf.

He didn't know a lot about the purpose of the CIA, and every time he asked anyone he was most often given a blank stare. He thought it was a little like the FBI, only instead of dealing with internal threats to the United States, they dealt with other countries. He also knew that it had something to do with spying, but he wasn't quite sure what.

So, Castiel thought to himself, if he was a spy, where would he put his spy books? Castiel didn't have a whole lot to go on, but he figured with the layout of the room, and given the role that Louisiana played in the Underground Railroad and their own unique take on Prohibition, coupled with the fact that there was approximately a five foot spatial distance between the office and the sitting room on the other side of the office, there was more than likely a hidden room between them.

Castiel turned around and shut himself in the office. He studied the wall that adjoined the sitting room. Lined up on the wall there was a bookshelf closest to the wall that would have faced the hall, then a really ugly picture of a duck and some dogs, then a fireplace, another bookshelf, and then the window.

Castiel briefly wondered if he should be snooping, but he figured he had never gotten caught before, so what was the likelihood that he would get caught this time?

He looked behind the picture, and then he touched the carvings on the fireplace. He studied the dust patterns on the bookshelf next to the hall and then the one next to the window, and he smiled when he noticed that one of the books didn't have enough pages to be as thick as it looked on the binding. He pulled the book off the shelf, and sure enough the entire bookcase moved.

Castiel stepped inside the thin room, lined with bookshelves with books stacked on them, all around him. The books went all the way up the eleven foot ceiling, and Castiel immediately began reading the titles.

They were some very queer titles, too. Castiel recognized the Holy Bible, and he briefly wondered why there were so many versions of it, before he moved on to Kabbalah, the Sefer Yetzirah, The Thirteen Petaled Rose, the Necronomicon, and then lots of titles in Greek and Hebrew. Castiel cursed his lack of fluency in either language.

He recognized a few books in Russian, some containing folklore about Baba Yaga, others were holy books from the Russian Orthodox Church. There were books on American Folklore, books on British folklore, and books written in French and Spanish. Castiel couldn't believe that some of the books were even worth being hidden, and he wondered what exactly it was that Mr. Winchester was trying to hide.

He heard a diesel motor pulling up though, so he quickly left the room and put the book back where he found it, sighing in relief when he saw the bookshelf shutting behind him. He calmly walked upstairs to his room and opened his suitcase, and began to unpack his belongings, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths.

"Get him in his room," Castiel heard Sam trying to say quietly, but he heard the edge of panic in his voice.

Dean moaned, but it sounded smothered.

"Sh… not yet big brother, we're almost to your room. Can't be too loud or your new neighbor will suspect something," Castiel wondered if Sam even had any idea that his whisper wasn't nearly as quiet as he thought it must have been.

Castiel sighed, and then he stepped into the bathroom that adjoined Dean's room. "What happened?" he asked, but he was shocked at the sight of Raphael laying Dean out on the bed, blood soaking Dean's shirt as Dean was obviously struggling for consciousness.

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, coming to block the door between the bathroom and Dean's room, but when Dean moaned again Castiel pushed past him and studied him lying on the bed. "Okay, fine, not nothing, but it was an accident. We can handle…"

Castiel had already taken the pocket knife out of his back pocket and was slitting the front of Dean's shirt open. He gently pulled the cloth back from the cut on Dean's chest, where the blood was slowly starting to coagulate.

"I need alcohol, thread, gauze, and a needle," Castiel said.

Raphael and Sam stared at him.

"I've done this a million times for Senator Crowley when he didn't want it in the papers that he was out carousing all night, so you can trust me. You need to get me those things or Dean can get sick with the blood loss, you understand?" Castiel asked Sam and Raphael.

They brought him his supplies, and Castiel soaked the thread in the alcohol after cleaning Dean's chest with it. Dean passed out at that point, and Castiel was glad for it because it made it easier to stich him up. He kept the individual stiches small and even, and there wouldn't be much of a scar when it healed up. He wiped the area again with alcohol before padding the area with gauze that Raphael had procured somehow, and then had Sam help him hold Dean up while he wrapped Dean's chest with more gauze.

"You don't have to tell me what's going on," Castiel said, "but you can come to me when you need help."

Sam and Raphael looked at each other, and then they nodded.

Castiel took one last look at Dean. He had a really nice chest, and it would be terrible if it was scarred any more than it already was. Castiel blinked a few times, wondering where those thoughts came from, before he turned around and went back to his room.