Snowflakes were beautiful. And unselfish. They descended at a slow enough rate for one to admire them briefly before they became indistinguishable with the rest that blanketed the ground. Castiel was spellbound by them as he sat composedly in the seating area residing near the Rockefeller Christmas Tree.

Snow enhanced the beauty of everything. He glanced over at the Tree; it looked was even more breathtaking tonight. He looked forward and in the distance, there was an elderly couple, smiling and embracing each other fondly. It was a heartwarming sight. And the delicate, cascading snowflakes only heightened the sensations these images inspired.

He looked over to his right and saw –

"DADDY I WANT HOT CHOCOLATE RIGHT! NOW! NOooOoOOoW!"

Well ... snow made that domestic spectacle appear a lot less unpleasant. He then gazed to his left and saw – well, there she was, finally.

Across the road, the fiery haired raccoon girl proceeded towards him. Something was happening; it was as if his world suddenly centered on her as she seemed to stride towards him in slow motion. A song about body language by some old band called "Queen" played out of nowhere, accompanying the mesmerizing yet highly incongruous scene playing before him. Castiel very much resembled himself from that stint in the "den of iniquity" with Dean, only with less horror and instead, perhaps a trace of desire, though that was already more than he would like to acknowledge. He cleared his throat uneasily.

The scene seemed to climax as she began to flourish her long hair, like one would usually do in a hair product commercial on television, but the illusion was shattered when a cyclist suddenly pedaled right into her.

"Oh," was all that fell from Castiel's lips before he rose to his feet and strode over to Audrey, who was already berating the cyclist.

"You're not even on the right side of the road, you schmuck!" she raved. "Don't you know you're supposed to ride against traffic?"

"Dah-I-I-I'm s-sorry, m-ma'am," spluttered the young cyclist, nodding so madly he appeared to be having a seizure.

There was a pause as she huffed, calming herself, and then smiled at the cyclist in a way that could be described as either sweet or menacing. Or both. "Puh-puh-please be more careful next time, would you?"

The cyclist continued to nod frantically as he scooped up his fallen bicycle into his arms and ran like hell. Audrey then spun neatly at her heels to Castiel, and flashed him a pageant smile.

"Hi!" she greeted with remarkable cheeriness.

He eyed her with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment in regards to the scene that had just transpired before him, but quickly blinked out of that gaze when she greeted him.

"Are you all right?" he promptly asked.

"I'm fine," she answered just as promptly. She examined the scene around them in curious observation, just as Castiel did earlier. "It's snowing!"

"So I've noticed."

He hadn't even followed her gaze - he simply stared at her. The snow was doing it again! Making things all ... pretty. Prettier. Though, it was unnerving when the subject was a human he was communicating with because soon enough, she was going to catch him staring. Ogling was probably a more fitting word. The Tree could never judge him for doing so, the elderly couple only had eyes for each other, and the screaming little girl was blinded with determination to acquire a hot chocolate and the father of said girl was probably expecting to garner a few stares.

But that was besides the point since, as predicted, she caught his stare. She merely smiled, and something told him (and reassured him) that she was very much oblivious to the fact that he had been staring the entire time. She then looped her arm around his and tugged him in a certain direction; Castiel followed without reluctance.

"Are you cold?" she asked conversationally. Castiel shook his head. "Are you ever cold? I'm cold, but I like snow. Do you?"

"I suppose. It makes things very..." He looked at her. "Pretty."

She blushed under his gaze and the marked significance of it, but did an admirable job of suppressing a broad grin that undoubtedly threatened.

"Snow is a great subject for photography," she trailed on. "Oh!" She released his arm and stepped away. "Speaking of which –" Grinning like a Cheshire cat, she pulled out a photograph from her overcoat. "– tada! Here you go. What do you think?"

Castiel studied the photograph in his hands. He glanced up at her expectant eyes.

"It's nice."

"Again with the nice!"

Castiel frowned determinedly, "It's ..." Delightful? Fantabulous? Epic? He needed a thesaurus. He gripped the photograph tightly like a teenager who was being taught how to handle a car's steering wheel. "I don't know how to answer without coming across as vain."

"Go ahead, I won't hold it to you."

"It's ... divine?" he tried.

"Very convenient choice of words." Her Cheshire grin softened into something more benign. "And thank you."

"Shouldn't I be thanking you?"

"I guess we both have our reasons to thank each other."

"In that case ... thank you."

"Thank you."

Castiel looked extremely confused for a long moment, as if another "thank you" was stuck on the end of his tongue and he couldn't manage it out. And from the look on her face, he figured that there was nothing he could follow with that wouldn't result in her laughter.

"Um." He said it with great and unnecessary clarity, as if it were a sufficient enough response. As predicted, she laughed and resumed their walk.

"What do you plan on doing with it?" she asked, watching him tuck away the photograph within his trench coat.

"I haven't provided it much thought. What do you recommend?"

Then, for a second, he was worried that that question would seem ludicrously naive for an average human male to ask, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Everyone usually frames them, there's an option for you," she suggested. "Though, I can't imagine you framing a picture of yourself on the wall, especially if you live by yourself. You live by yourself, right?"

He resisted the urge to shift his eyes around. "... yes?"

"No pets? I have a pet." She suddenly seemed ignited with enthusiasm. "I have a cat - his name's Rembrandt!" Her smile fell then, assuming a more thoughtful expression. "I'm thinking about giving him away though. I have a feeling that I'm endorsing the stereotype that all single women in their twenties to thirties have a cat. That's how cat ladies are born!" She looked exceptionally horrified.

Cat ladies? This was new.

"What are cat ladies?" Castiel asked, feeling silly about the term itself. She was about to answer when something behind him caught her eye, and she proceeded to nod in its direction and point it out for him. He turned and saw a scraggy, elderly woman who clearly lived without a roof over her head, wearing a cat on each shoulder and on her head, was being followed by a number of many more cats and, although Audrey couldn't see it, was being followed by several spirits of even more cats. Not to mention the garbage bag she held that produced the unmistakable sound of meowing.

"Oh, she's gonna do it!"

"Do what?"

"Cat Lady steps up to the challenge," she adopted the tone of a dramatic sports commentator, "her ill-fated target is locked - oh, I'd hate to be Mr. Pedals right now, wouldn't you, Cas?"

It took him a moment to spot who she was referring to and when he finally did –

"That's the cyclist who ran into you earlier." And indeed, there he was, "Mr. Pedals", as it were, cautiously pedaling down the road at a speed so slow, a turtle could teach him a thing or two. And ahead of him, the Cat Lady had in fact fished out a feline from her meowing garbage bag and was taking aim like an Olympic shot put contender.

"Right you are, Cas!" she rejoined, still in her sportscaster persona. "Cat Lady takes her time like a woman prepping for childbirth, appreciates but ignores the sound of her feline cheerleaders - "We want a pitcher, not a belly-itcher!" they chant! She's gonna do it, she's gonna –"

He watched in amazement as the Cat Lady launched, with remarkable precision and haste, an audibly unwilling cat in the direction of the unfortunate cyclist. Even Castiel winces when the cyclist is hit, and tumbles over with a girlish wail.

"And down he goes like a sack of potatoes!" she trilled, melodramatically throwing out her hands to gesture the hilarious disaster before them. She was quick to comment, "Breaking your fall with your face hasn't been an effective method in my experience, Cas."

As if face-planting wasn't bad enough, the cyclist seemed to be disposed in a rather compromising position; specifically, with his front on the ground and his end in the air.

And as though Audrey had noticed this at the same time as he, she amusedly remarked, "Well, there's a position I may or may not be familiar with." She turned and whispered to Castiel, "He must have learned that position in prison."

To his surprise, Castiel found himself chuckling silently for a moment.

"That can't be sanitary," he eventually said in awe, watching the mangy cat begrudgingly pad back to its owner. "Someone could ... contract the plague?"

"Death by cat collision; it'd be a humiliating way to die," she observed, in a tone that suggested that her words were perhaps enlightening in a strange way. "It's not over until the cat lady sings ... and, presumably, throws a cat at you which would lead to your demise."

"Shouldn't we help him?"

"Probably."

He stared critically at her.

"What? I'm trying to get in her good book. I don't ever wanna be that." She pointed to Mr. Pedals, who had leapt to his feet and immediately affected a composed expression, acting like nothing happened, despite the evidence of bruising and grime across his face.

Smiling archly, she looped her arm around his once more and guided him away from the scene. "By the way, don't tell anyone I have a cat; you're not allowed pets in a lot of New York apartments, including mine."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "They have their reasons, but I don't listen to them. If I want a cat, I'll have a damn cat."

"You sound spoiled." Then, remembering a handy phrase he learned from Sam and Dean, he added, "... no offense."

"I kill myself with kindness, yes," she grinned impishly at her own acknowledgment, "but I want the company at home, especially since I don't have a roomie anymore."

"What happened to your ... roomie."

"We had disagreements," she said rigidly, her smile faltering, "we lost our patience for each other, our trust ... our feelings."

"Feelings?"

"We broke up."

"I see. I'm sorry for your trouble."

"Don't apologize," she smiled, though with sad eyes. "Unless you're him in disguise!" she tried to joke, but immediately relapsed into a sort of melancholy, despite her smile. "It's okay, it wasn't an ugly break-up, but it was more awkward than anything else. It would have been nice if we ended it as friends but I take awkward over ugly."

There was a prickly silence. What on earth could he respond with? Her situation wasn't relatable to him, so "I understand" was out. She seemed to become conscious of the silence, which was a startling first.

"I should stop talking about myself," she chuckled weakly. "Tell me about yourself, Castiel! We can play twenty questions! How old are you?"

Why, she was one to jump into anything anytime, wasn't she?

Anyhow, Castiel had lived for so long, even he had forgotten how old he truly was. So instead (though it wasn't as if stating his real age was even an option), he said the age of what his vessel would have been that year.

"Thirty-eight."

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "NO... You're full of shit!"

"...?"

"Thirty-eight? Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything." He was now looking at her as if she had told a joke that he couldn't understand the punch-line of.

"What are you, eternally thirty-two in the looks department?" More like thirty-five, Castiel thought. "Okay, you can ask me something now!"

Had they not already been walking, he would have shifted his weight uneasily. "I don't..."

"Can't think of a question?"

Castiel made a noncommittal movement that vaguely resembled a shrug.

"Alright. If you don't mind, may I continue my side of the game?"

He was a little startled by the uncharacteristic formality of her question. "You may."

"Alrighty ... thirty-eight?" She gaped at him as if he were an exotic plant. "Sweet Sassy Molassy... By the way, I'm twenty-nine - oh, and I was born on Halloween! Isn't that neat? Okie-dokie - where were you born?"

Castiel recalled Jimmy and answered, "Pontiac, Illinois."

"Cool. I was born in East Village." Castiel blinked, looking lost. "Manhattan." Another blink. "Here!" she exclaimed, gesturing widely at the city around them. "What's your favorite color?"

Why do humans attach favoritism to colors? What's the point, if any?

Regardless, Castiel said, "White?"

"Uh uh! White's not a color," she teasingly admonished. "It's a lack of color. The same way black is a lack of light."

"Then I don't have a favorite color," he conceded flatly.

"Fair enough. Favorite television show?"

What was that show Dean had once referenced to him? About the two supposedly homosexual characters? It was... "Sesame Street?" he ventured.

She suddenly regarded him with an alarming medley of bewilderment and delight. "Seriously? How cute! I used to watch that when I was like, five." Once again, Castiel was floored by his compromising lack of sophistication. Somewhere in the world, Dean was soundly palming his face. "My favorite show is House; you wouldn't like House because he's an Athiest and as non-believing as one could get."

"What caused the loss of your faith?"

He's just as surprised as she was when the question emerged out of nowhere.

She recoiled a little, taken aback by his sudden question and his insistent tone. Her smile faltered, but remained, though not as bold as it was moments before.

"Um..." She dithered under his scrutiny. She looked up him with humorless eyes; the sparkle vanished. "Time. Maturity. Being human, basically."

They were practically mirroring each other's dour expressions now. "I don't understand."

"I gathered that," she said with a little humor, but her eyes remained serious. There's a long pause as she visibly tried to think of a new approach. "Okay," she half-sighed, half-groaned, "hypothetically speaking, say we're sitting at a dinner table, just the two of us. We're newborn babies. Someone is feeding you a meal called Religion, right from the moment you were born, so after a while, you're used to it."

The angel narrowed his eyes. She looked up to assure herself that he was following. "On the other side of the table is me. No one is feeding me, but another bowl of Religion is sitting right in front of me. I take a few taste tests myself, but I'm not at all attached or committed to continuing with that meal. So, eventually, I just stop." Her gaze suddenly seems to snap into place with his, like two puzzle pieces. Her eyes seemed to search his, as if to locate a flicker of recognition. "But you kept going... because it's all you knew. You couldn't imagine ever existing without it. The notion of you forgoing your faith is like being told to stop walking with your legs. Does that make sense?"

"So..." he began, his eyes narrowing further to a scornful point, as if trying to pierce through her resolute judgment, "you were never raised in a household that held a strong religious foundation."

"Yes. Exactly," she answered, her expression keeping its hold against his, and behind it lingered the awareness of what he was trying to schemingly achieve. "There were no pillars, so to speak, holding me up in a position that believed in God. I mean, I got my Bible lesson every now and then through television and movies, y'know, through pop culture." She shot him a wary regard. "And pop culture isn't a very good teacher. Very misleading, very manipulative."

"How can you be so convinced that God doesn't exist if you haven't the knowledge about it?" He could tell he was getting overly persistent, but he couldn't stop.

"Touche, Castiel, very well played." At that, her smile seemed less of a smile; more so an irritated baring of her teeth. If her arm was still looped around his, he was sure she would have obstructed the blood flow in his arm. "I guess I don't really have an answer. All I can say is," she stopped walking and turned to him, ensuring their eyes met, "I don't know if He exists. I don't know how to explain it, I just, I can't feel Him."

"You don't know what He feels like," he countered, a little defensively, knowing all too well of how he was looking down his nose at her, "because it is foreign to you."

She visibly went rigid. "Perhaps," she enunciated between her teeth. "I still go by my belief that if we did have a Man Upstairs, He wouldn't have let this world fall to shambles."

To both their surprises, Castiel snickered. "Did "pop culture" present you with the belief that God would do otherwise?"

He had cornered her there, and she knew it. He saw that she knew it. She saw that he saw that she knew it!

She disdainfully bit the inside of her lip and for a moment - when her head hung low, enabling him to look down at her as she shot him a solid glare - it looked as if she would allow him to bruise her and move on. But then she caught onto his priggish demeanor and that ghost of a smug smile - Castiel did not hide it - and she began to scrutinize him (and presumably, his motives) with narrowed eyes.

"I'm sorry but, are you trying to convert me?" She looked violated.

"I'm simply pointing our your ignorance."

At that, she was the very image of indignation. She managed a snide smile as she said, "Goodnight, Castiel."

His complacency vanished when he realized he had done something wrong. She caught this immediate change in demeanor, so she held his gaze for a few more moments, allowing it to confuse him further and bruise her more, so that she earned added entitlement to be upset. He knew he should say something but feared he would make it worse, since he has proved to have the knack for that. Instead, he remained characteristically still - better the devil you know, after all. She flounced off with an uppity toss of her hair into his face, and it was only until she was completely out of sight that he managed a sigh.

This situation seemed all too familiar. He was really bad at this. But for reasons unknown, he was determined to make it right with this one.

Holy massive chapter Batman. Read and review :)