Modest homes aligned both sides of the streets, a street most likely named after a type of tree, the irony of which was not lost on Cas. Thick gray clouds that have loomed over this quiet hamlet for several days cast a dull shade to what, under brighter circumstances, would have been lush and manicured lawns, decorative and individualized mailboxes, rose bushes and geraniums lining front door steps, leaves big from summer sunlight and fenced-in gardens housing herbs and tomatoes, ready to be picked. Basketball hoops in driveways stood lone vigilant watch, nets swaying in a light breeze, the weather too foul for children to make use of them or any other outdoor activity.

Not was all desolation. Light brightened most of the houses he could see: a child watching TV or playing a video game while their parent was making a phone call or the babysitter checked up on her friends using a "social networking" website, whatever that was. Cas heard the quiet and steady hum of a vacuum cleaner to his left and delicate vibrations of a wind chime from a house somewhere behind him. About a block ahead on the linear road Cas counted seven vehicles inhabiting the driveway, lawn, and curbside of one home. The anniversary of day America declared its independence from England was tomorrow, so he assumed the amount of people there were gathered for a party tomorrow. Or today, though that didn't make sense. It was customary for American humans to host a July 4th party on July 4th, right? July 3rd might be important to somebody somewhere. Perhaps them? And so early in the morning too...

No birds chirped. The only movement being a twist of leaves and flowers. Desolation it wasn't; rather, it was isolation. The world moved around him, life continued. Day would turn into night, the night into a week, a month, a year all the way until the Sun engulfed the Earth. For him, here and now, he felt as if he only observed these happenings. On the outside, behind the one-way glass, studying without being seen. His being here was nothing, changed nothing, neither seen nor noticed by anyone. Maybe that was for the best. As an angel Casiel had spent his entire existence watching from the shadows, not becoming involved with affairs and conflicts on Earth unless specifically called to, and whenever the situation called for it, he would make himself unseen to spy, eavesdrop or, as he told Dean, to long for what he could not have.

This was different. He was not trying to make himself invisible. No one heeded the strange man walking across their lawns looking as if he were lost or looking for something lost. Were people too busy to notice or care? Sleeping due to the dreary weather?

Castiel was looking for something, but what this thing was he had not a clue. He knew neither its shape nor face, whether it was human or item. The feeling it left him with, a tickle he felt at the base of his neck, was the only tangible lead to go on. It appeared eight days ago but was ignored, thinking it could possibly be a result of Dean taking an interest in his wings again, tracing Cas' shoulder blades with rough hands hoping it would somehow coax the appendages to appear. His complaints of "It's not as simple as touching me" were silenced just as quickly as he said the words, a tingling spreading out from the epicenter of his shoulders, to his vessel's lower back to the very top of his head. A pleasant sensation, but not the cause of unease.

Sam's data about a rise in obscure monster sightings led him to believe that perhaps they were involved also, that the sensation affecting him was also being felt by other creatures and beings. Again unlikely, but too much of a coincidence. The irrationality of the attacks was also a concern. If an unseen force such as this could affect monsters in such a way, how long could it be before he succumbed to it?

This could all be a worst-case scenario, exaggerating something with a simple cause and solution. Angels, resistant to the effects of most magic, were by no means immune; a simple sigil could toss one to the other side of the Earth, weakened and disoriented. Castiel wanted to believe this, that befriending the Winchester boys had changed his reasoning. Assume the worst, even if it's unwarranted. Better to be over-prepared than dead. What looks simple to solve or take out is storing a surprise up its sleeve and you know what, it'll probably lead to the end of the world. So he could be overreacting.

Cas's process was simple: it was either good or bad, a yes or a no, do or do not. The result of his decisions have been either apt or destructively incorrect, but there were no second guesses and no maybes. He could look back on it now and see when that changed. Betraying the orders of Heaven, seeking the aid of demons, desiring to become god with pure intent, and later, Dean. The quick nod of his head in agreement, a stab of his blade were replaced with "Why?" "But what if..." "Is this the only solution?" It was the free will humans spoke of, the boys even sarcastically naming the three of them after the ideal.

But it was so much more than questioning orders and raison d'être. With such a new insight Cas began to see his Father's creation differently. The world was still beautiful and the humans were still harming it. Living with them, talking to them, interacting and being involved with their emotions was so much a weightier experience than observing from his garrison. Humans were... trying to survive in a world they had little or no say in. Starting wars no one wanted besides the few men who could profit for such a disaster, atrocities and slander in the name of his Father, inhumane treatment of races and genders. Cas could look back now and sympathize with the people he called apes with such disdain. These creatures of repressed will and flesh and blood were no different than his own family. Only children following orders and when questions arose they were treasonous, kicked out of home or country, tossed aside like filth while they were once so loved.

Brothers and sisters were banished from Heaven because of free thinking. Others, like himself, self-imposed exile.

Dean, he thought with a bitter smile. Another solder of a father, and another casualty. He believed his entire life to be doing the right thing, following dad's orders. Kill the bad things, protect your brother. A shock to his entire soul, free will, turned off the imagined superhero projection he put on the man to reveal a stranger but at the same time knew so intimately. He was not a man to be idolized, to mold your life after. Dad was a drunk. Dad forced Dean to raise Sammy while he sometimes hunted, drank himself into unconsciousness, slept with women he could not remember hours later. Dad beat Dean until blood flowed, well into his adult years. Dad never said "I love you," only "That's not good enough" or "You're a goddamn idiot!" A Dad who watched his eldest son not only lose his childhood once with the death of his mother, but again and again with every passing day.

Castiel never told Dean the full extent of his knowledge of his childhood, that he knew Dean, an incandescent wisp of a soul, before he had a body, watching him everyday until it was time. Saying it like that made it appear romantic in a way but at the time it was anything but. Get the stubborn oaf to agree to Micheal and be back home in time for war. Being with him and Sam, watching them converse and laugh and cry and kill, soothing the nightmares in Dean's head as he tried to sleep... They were just like him, trying to survive a life with an absent father, becoming, in the process, men worthy of praise.

Honorable.

The virtue bit hard in his mind, a taunt from deep within. No. He would not think about this now. Torment and loathing could wait. Waxing sympathetic did not help him to find the itch he could not scratch.

What led Castiel here to this specific location was what could be likened to a spectral scent trail, as he had learned after visiting the motel in Missouri the boys had stayed in mere days ago. Normally Cas would not pass on field work, growing more confident if not still embarrassingly blunt while speaking to law enforcement, civilians, and... people. People in general. This is not to say he didn't comprehend the gravity of the task at hand, nor was he uncaring for the suffering of the victims and their family. Proper delivery, a more natural flow of speech, would be difficult to learn quickly after lifetimes of reporting to superiors. Clipped, emotionless, and straight to the heart of the matter was his only diction. While this made it somewhat easier to talk to some people in civic jobs, he still lacked a certain something. To be more personable he would try to add in some type of reference: something he had heard on TV, a song lyric from Dean's music, a passage from a book he was reading. It would only make things worse and thankfully Sam or Dean would smooth the conversation into more stable territory.

Dean had looked surprised when he turned down the opportunity to further practice. In fact, the entire morning Dean had been observing him with an analytical eye. His human did tend to stare longer than he needed to most days, although Cas guessed it was for conformation: to allow his mind to conclude that, indeed, Castiel slept beside him that night or had just kissed him and it really really happened.

This morning was not normal. He saw wariness, scrutiny and concern. For what reason? Perhaps he had a nightmare that was about him and was reluctant to talk about it, as Dean often was. The symptoms Dean normally showed during an unpleasant dream were not there so he hesitated to wake him. So instead he let Dean wake naturally. He looked so exhausted, near sickly. He even had a waking dream, thinking something had happened to Cas right beside him. His pallor recovered once he arose but Cas remained never the less unsettled.

Was whatever that was burdening Cas also doing so to Dean? According to his own theory, this sensation was only affecting creatures such as himself and not humans, but again, this was only a theory. Dean did not voice any aches or pains that may have manifested themselves suddenly, but he was not the type of person to groan about a headache or stiff muscles.

He would not tell Sam and Dean anything, not yet. Not until he knew more. What Cas was doing right now, he had no idea what to expect or what to look for, really. Should Dean be unwell and face a threat that would be difficult to handle even under ideal conditions... Cas could heal wounds, but not every wound could be healed. The risk was too great.

He would protect his human. His human. Dean had been hurt too many times by him, all in the name of protection and love. Doing the right thing. He would correct the mistakes made. Every hour spent alongside of Dean was a commitment to this unspoken promise. To never again see devastating disappointment and tears glass over his eyes, or snarls of contempt cross his lips. He would make Dean proud, and earn his trust back.

Nothing of import was found in in his return visit to Missouri, the only thing changing being the weather and cars in the parking lot. A search of the two now unoccupied rooms yielded no results, either. The force was not strong here. Perhaps the presence of whatever work was done here, if any was at all, would burn away like a fog until there was no trace left; it had been several days since they had moved on. This may not be the precise location, either. The area of effect was quite large and at this point all Cas could do was land in a spot and hope it was correct.

Here was even more faint, the resonance of energy no more than the impact of a falling feather. But something was here and could still be. The thought of it being a spirit creature such as himself struck his mind. Form without shape. A force free from physical limitation going anywhere as it pleased, spreading itself out thin. But why? Just because it could? To observe the Winchesters and himself? To relay information to something else? Was it even hostile?

Could it be another angel, without a body?

With no regard to possible answers to those question, if something were still here, he was going to make his presence known to it. As Dean found out firsthand in Purgatory, Castiel's mere presence was a beacon for unwanted company, the intensity of his grace lighting the way. This, though, was unintentional. There was no compressing this energy, but amplifying it was simple enough.

With a deep inhale through his nose and a slow exhalation, he focused his attention on his wings. Spreading them out to full length with care, he then concentrated on making them visible, inky black filling the lines like water in a glass. They cast no shadow as they could only be interpreted as one, a visage of something otherwise majestic. But his wings were not only a shadow; they were real, just as much as his fleshly body was. He had yet to meet a human who could perceive the angelic appendages, even those who claimed communion with his Father were unable to view what they should be able to. The truly faithful, the loving, accepting and devoted of people would be witness to such resplendence.

With wings charred black and the ire of his own kind, there was not much magnificence and grandeur left to his name anymore. A detestable angel only in title.

Cas huffed out in annoyance, but used the repugnant emotion to further flare his wings, raising them above his head before sweeping them down sharply, twice, cutting the air, before folding them up to come to rest on his back.

Hyper-aware to all senses, Cas waited for a response. The air remained heavy with humidity, although a thundershower would be passing through from the northwest within fifteen minutes to partially alleviate it. No new noises. The vibration of unknown force did not lessen or intensify. Damp grass and the delightful smell of pancakes filled his nose. Apple cinnamon. In his mind a flash, brief as lightning, of Dean making himself and Sam a breakfast like that. A brotherly argument led to several of the flapjacks being burnt. Not wanting to see something Dean had worked on with -what was up until that point- such care, he ate them. Sam refused to make eye contact with either of them, instead focusing intently on his breakfast and fighting back laughter. Across from him, Dean stared with the intent of slamming his brother's face on the table. Cas did not understand why Sam was laughing, but it was blatantly obvious that Dean did.

Nothing was here anymore. There was no response, voluntary or otherwise, not even a pique of interest. He had expected it. Then why was he unsatisfied? It was for the best: his response to an unknown threat would have been what? Hope it was something he could handle with the skills and knowledge at his disposable? It was a risk, and one that would have to be taken eventually. To know the siren that sang to him, calling him and appeared to call him alone. Castiel would find the source.

He eased the tightness in his muscles and dissolved his wings out of sight. There was one more location to visit before heading back to the motel to wait for the boys, unless they called upon him first which was most probable. Tomorrow he would do the same as more of these areas of high energy displacement seeped into existance every day. Pockets in space appearing to follow Impala as she traveled across the country. The bounty upon all three of their heads made malicious stalking a completely viable option and although there may not be a threat, when isn't there? More enemies are made than allies and most of their allies are dead.

Waiting for evidence was not sound, but it was his only option. He must protect Dean and what he loves most.

His vessel's heart froze like ice in his chest, seizing before resuming its beat. No, that was... He musn't think about that. It was ridiculous, childish even. But it was true. Dean would...

Cas looked up toward the darkening sky and silently cursed many things, most of all himself. The outcome was only natural; Dean could not be blamed for the weakness in Castiel. Whatever pain he might feel was what he deserved. Wrapped up in the awkward affection of the hunter he'd forgotten the three simple words that would undo everything. You're pathetic. This was meant to happen. You ignored what's been in front of you since Dean was a child and now that it is to late do you realize. You are not unique. Dean will always...

No one noticed as the dark-haired man with wings black as a starless night sky disappeared without a trace only yards away.

"The angel knows."

"Noted," the child dully replied as he plucked a harebell near where he sat on the grass. He gave it a quick sniff before laying back, absorbing the sun's heat. The sky was a picture perfect blue, insignificant cottony fair weather clouds dotting here and there. Green rolling hills stretched on all sides of them as far as these eyes could see. To their right tucked further into a valley was a vineyard, workers tirelessly tending to the fruit, appearing as no more than ants from this distance. Which reminded him, he'd have to try a glass of wine before he left. If humans held parties for it and dedicated gods to it, the drink must not be so terrible. France was as good a place to start with.

She stood over him, casting a shadow over his body. "Yes you have heard me, but the words have no meaning. And..." She shook her head in frustration, a bored look still frozen onto her face. "You gave me your word that we would not interfere with any lives save the two we inhabit."

"So far we have not."

"We have. Not intentionally, but the fact remains that we still are. The less creatures that know of our existence the less jeopardy we may find ourselves in." She turned her head to the side, to the diligent humans below. In a softer voice she said, "The moment we made contact we broke that bond. We are... influencing them."

Missing the warmth of the sun, he rose to his elbows and shimmied out of the shadow's cascade over him. "An unforeseen consequence." Would her incessant prattling of danger ever see an end? What was happening to the demons and monsters of this world were events bound to happen in time. Entities with a hunger for death would kill if they were present or not. So they were a trifle more angry in the way they went about it. Was that a cause for such hysteria?

"That is my point," she said as she lowered down next to him, head drawing closer comfortably, confiding with a friend. "What you and I are doing has never been attempted. We observe the shifts safely, unknown to them as we should be. As it has been since time immemorial, avoiding tribulation. But you, you want more. It is not only good enough to watch but to become involved with no care of the consequences not even we know."

"How quickly you changed from 'we' to 'you.'"

"As I am within my right. Only you have presented the qualities of greed and recklessness. I accompanied you in order to retreat at the first sign of endangerment if you chose to ignore it, and with the rising hostility the creatures here have been exhibiting and the angel whom is now following us, I say we depart at this very moment."

"Would it truly be so bad if Castiel were to find us?" He asked to the dying flower he twirled between his fingers more than the woman beside him. The constant fretting and bemoaning was becoming incredibly excessive. Could she just for a moment observe the universe through his eyes?

Her eyes widened incredulously. "Yes, it would be. Angels are keen to the essence of time and universe travel. It would not know what we are, but it would know we do not belong. The angel would-" she darted her eyes to the side, the note of hostility in her voice evaporating, "-see us as a threat as anticipated. Humans may leave us alone, but the humans you have chosen are unique. They would seek us out. No literature exists of our kind, although this does not mean they will not study us as we study them. And that angel..."

Oh, now this was interesting. He sat up crossed-legged and looked at his companion and place the flower beside him, eyebrow raised trivially in curiosity. "Does it frighten you?"

Face remaining blank, she could not help but feel a stab of stupefaction. Why would he- how could he ask such a question? Such idiocy and arrogance. What she knew, who she believed she knew, residing in a being of flesh, one smaller than she, was turning into something she did not recognize anymore.

With a pause that lasted longer than intended, she replied to the insult. "Castiel does not intimidate me, he is but a mere an–"

"No, no. I think it does. In fact, I believe we, not just you and I but our kind as a whole, fear things such as the angels. For all the power we think we have, we cannot use it. You see, we boxed ourselves in with rules of our creation, this sanction of interference. Do not change time, do not impose upon the universes. Watching, always watching. But what if we became a part of time? That is to say, what if we became involved with their history? If through their will or ours, they learned of us, saw us as a threat and declared war? Following bylaws, we could not defend ourselves. But we would be involved by then, existing with them in time. The rules, then, would not apply."

She shook her head. "Not if we allow them to get to that point, which I do not intend to do. That is why we leave. Now."

The two, the shells of a mother and child, lost to their family an ocean away, sat in silence, watching the breeze flow through the grass like water lapping at the shore. Clouds slowly floated their way against the solid blue backdrop. He had no intention of leaving, not yet. This she knew. Whether or not he was determined to make himself known to the Winchester brothers she could not tell; his grandiose boasting of imposing himself may be nothing more than that. To make her become emotional for the sake of showing emotion.

After several minutes of silence, she spoke reflectively. "You are becoming like them."

"A human?"

She paused, almost amused she was considering it at all. "Yes."

"You fear the divine judgment of an angel?"

"Perhaps I do."

With a lightness in his voice, he concluded, "We are more alike than you allow yourself to believe."