A/N: Sorry it's been so long since my last update. Many thanks to anyone still reading!

Early the next morning, long "before even God was up", Cas and Dean hauled duffle bags into the kitchen. A very sleepy-looking Sam drank a cup of coffee while he rummaged in the fridge for a cup of yogurt. He located his prize and flopped down into a kitchen chair, sighing heavily at the others. He ate his make-shift breakfast in silence; meanwhile, Cas began to munch on a sleeve of crackers. Dean looked around at the men eating without any sense of pleasure in an attempt to stay awake.

"We'll be in Lawrence in three hours, guys. You don't gotta eat now."

"Dean, just because you can run on all day on black coffee and a cheeseburger doesn't mean the rest of us can," Sam replied more irritably than intended.

Dean sipped his coffee and replied, "Sam, you don't eat food. You eat food's food."

Cas chuckled, pouring himself another cup of coffee before shouldering his duffle. Dean paused at the door and looked down at the bunker. "Take a good look, guys. This might be the last time we ever see home."

Sam wanted to say something, to tell Dean to knock off his melodramatic bullshit. But he couldn't. It very well could be the last time. It was no secret that some of the angels were hostile, and many had no reason to doubt it was Cas' fault for the fall.

The boys had loaded themselves up with angel blades and holy oil, but they still didn't like their chances. Cas wanted to avoid conflict altogether but, as Dean had pointed out, he wasn't likely to get his way.

Charlie and Kevin slept on, having said their (hopefully temporary) goodbyes the night before. Cas took one more look around and gave a long sigh before heading out the door. Dean followed close behind. It was only when Sam heard Dean's shout that he broke from his reverie and scrambled out the door.

After they threw their bags into the trunk, Sam headed for the passenger seat of the impala, ignoring Cas' disgruntled noise. When they had all climbed in, Dean looked over at them: "All right, this is the plan. I drive to Lawrence, we have breakfast. Sammy will take the wheel until the next town. We check out the two angels in town and then hit the road again. Then we'll head to the next town over, where the third one's hanging out - it's only an hour away; that's when Cas will drive." Sam's eyebrows flew up as Dean pulled onto the highway.

"Usual rules: Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Though I swear to God Sam, if I hear any Coldplay, your driving privileges will be revoked so fast-"

"Okay, I get it," he replied. Dean turned on his Metallica tape but kept it low so Cas could sleep.

They drove in relative silence for a while as the sun started to rise. Eventually, Sam broke through it: "You're really going to let Cas drive?"

Dean nodded, switching to an AC/DC tape. "As long as he doesn't piss me off before this afternoon, yeah."

"Wow." Sam gave him a skeptical look.

"I told you, I care about the guy. Besides, he knows if anything happens to Baby, he's toast."

"Such a romantic," he joked, opening his laptop.

"Hey, I'm hella romantic," Dean argued, speeding up when he spotted the exit sign.

Dean turned up the volume, and Cas stirred in the back. After a quick breakfast, the boys were piling back into the impala, staring at Charlie's map. "Still can't believe they didn't have any pie," Dean grumbled, trailing off as he squinted at the map.

"Dean, it's nine a.m. on a Tuesday. They were probably making sure they had enough coffee."

"You know, I don't just eat at diners to piss you off. There are certain things you expect: Waitresses in aprons, specialty foods, and pie. It's the principle of the thing." Sam just sighed and started the car.

They drove to the exact epicenter of the first three-mile circle and locked up. "Okay," Dean started, rubbing his hands together and cracking a grin, "Let's split up, gang!"

Cas squinted at him. "I don't understand that reference." Sam just chuckled.

"Cas, you come with me. Sammy, you go east; we'll go west. We'll meet back here in four hours if we don't find anything."

They broke and covered ground quickly. The more people they questioned, the more Cas could feel his mood slipping. Just before the outskirts of town, they ran into an old woman. She wore a modest pink dress, and she fluffed the curls of her white bob as she checked the time on her watch.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Dean asked genially as he approached her, "Think you could spare a few minutes for my partner and I?"

The woman's loafers halted but she replied, "I'm not talking to any cops." She said it factually, her voice twanging with a slight southern drawl. She looked up at the suited men, her wizened eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Dean's hand froze in his pocket and dropped the fed badge, his other hand reaching out and stopping Cas' which didn't seem to get the message. As Dean and Cas closed the distance between themselves and the woman, an idea struck him. Dean reached out and grabbed Cas' hand again, this time not letting go. When they got to the woman, their hands were still clasped.

"There may have been a misunderstanding," Dean started, staring down at their hands, "Cas is my partner."

The woman looked down at their hands, then back up at their faces. "Oh…" she replied slowly, taking in the contrast of the men's rugged features to their sharp outfits. "Y'all are queer?"

Dean broke out into an embarrassed smile, nodding slightly and Cas stood there, letting Dean lead. For making such a big deal over the "bisexual" label, Dean seemed to be awfully capricious about it now. Cas supposed this was part of "the plan."

The woman gave them a sly smirk, and surprised them by asking, "So, what did you boys wanna know?"

Dean seemed to have recovered himself and went right into investigation mode: "Have you seen anything strange lately? Shooting stars, craters, any folks acting different?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, different?"

He pressed on. "Personality or appearance changes that seem sudden, anything like that?"

"No, I don't think so," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

Cas realized they weren't really getting anywhere and asked, "Has anyone around here converted religions recently?"

"Why do you ask?"

"So there was someone…?" Dean asked, breezing by the question.

"Samantha Lawrence recently began attending my church. None too soon, if you ask me."

"Why's that?" Dean asked, slipping into a gossiping tone.

"Girl was a train wreck: only nineteen and she's already slept with half the men in town. Not that her parents didn't try, of course. But some young 'uns are so willful… She used to have a drug problem, too – well, before she found Jesus, that is."

"Know where we can find this Samantha Lawrence? We're thinking of converting ourselves."

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you two. After all, it's not like you'd try to make her sin … She teaches Bible Club at St. Jude's on Third."

"Thanks. Hope to see you later," Cas called as they walked off, realizing if Dean spoke it would end in disaster.

Once they were far enough away, Dean began grumbling under his breath. Cas didn't catch all of it, just that the woman "didn't know" Dean and if he and Samantha felt like it, Dean could "plow her into next week." Cas shook his head, chuckling at how easy it was to get under Dean's skin.

Once they passed First Street, Dean finally stopped sulking and turned the questioning to Cas. "How'd you know to ask that question?"

"Many angels view humans as inherently flawed; they would want to find vessels they could 'fix.'" Cas looked somewhat sullen as he explained, "Their vessels probably didn't understand what they were getting themselves into. It's quite possible some angels may not be working in their vessels' best interest."

"So you think Samantha Lawrence is getting driven around by some holy roller against her will?"

"It's possible – some angels have very rigid belief systems."

"Yeah… Kinda comes with the territory," Dean agreed. "So how many of these angels are there?"

"Most of them, I suppose. Some probably don't even know it's wrong."

They reached the church soon, and Dean called his brother. "Sammy, we got a bite. Yeah, possible vessel at St. Jude's on Third Street. What do you got?" He listened for a second. "Nothing yet? Well, keep trying. Hey, ask if anyone's converted lately… Okay, gotta go."

Dean and Cas entered the church quietly, surprised to find it in session. The choir was up on the stage, and the pastor, who had been standing off to the side, walked over to them. "Welcome, brothers. Please, take a seat."

"Oh, we're not here for the service; we're looking for someone," Dean responded respectfully.

"Samantha Lawrence," Cas added in his usual tone that was far too serious for most situations.

"Oh, our favorite soloist?" the pastor asked, referencing the lone red-head on stage. "Sounds heavenly, doesn't she?"

"She certainly does," Dean agreed, as the choir left the stage.

"Gotta go; final prayer to give," the pastor said, excusing himself.

The men bowed their heads along with the rest of the congregation for the prayer. When the sermon concluded, they split up, covering as much ground as possible in the sea of people to find the woman.

Cas and Dean reached her at nearly the same time, and Dean was the first to speak. "Samantha Lawrence?"

She nodded and then seemed to notice Cas. "You sing beautifully," he observed.

She smiled at the compliment and turned back towards Dean. "Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, yeah. See, me and… Paul here just moved to town. We hear you're new to the church too. We were wondering if you could tell us more about what it's like?"

"I'm sure the pastor-"

"He had a line of about twenty people after the sermon, and we met one of your congregation who said you were the one to talk to."

"All right, if you insist. Let's go to the Bible study room – it should be quieter."

Once in the room, Dean began, "So, we hear you're new. What made you pick St. Jude's?"

"Well… What did you say your name was again?"

"Jack. Well, John technically, but I go by Jack." Dean had had to make up the first names on the fly. He was so used to waving a badge around, pretending to be "Agent Rezner" or "Marshall Rose" that he never gave people something familiar, personal. But for whatever reason, these church-goers were flighty and untrusting of cops.

"Okay, Jack… this is going to sound so cliché."

"Try me," Dean challenged lightly.

"Recently, I 'saw the light'," Samantha began, fiddling with the cross around her neck. She had a strange look in her eyes as she turned to stare out the window, then continued. "I was living a very troubling life and needed to change. And thanks to God's will, I was able to do just that." She gave a small smile and replied, "I was drawn to this place. I can't really explain it…"

"You don't say," Dean prodded.

"I must've walked by this building hundreds of times. It's right near my home." She gestured to an apartment complex which could be seen from the window. She gazed out the window sadly, remembering the way her life used to be.

When it seemed unlikely she would continue, Cas butted in: "I just wanted to remark again on how beautifully you sing. Song is undoubtedly the most effective way to be a messenger of God's word."

Her whole demeanor seemed to change with the compliment and her smile was genuine as she responded, "I was so happy they had room for me in the choir. I've missed singing so badly."

"Oh, were you in a choir when you were a kid?" Dean asked.

The woman's blue eyes widened, and she shook her head emphatically.

Cas decided to change topic, realizing Dean's method of trying to coax the truth from this woman would likely be unsuccessful. Although it was true Cas didn't have "people skills," he did have "angel skills." Angels in vessels often had to be roused to extreme emotion to learn anything of value.

"Can I ask you a question about your faith?"

She seemed to relax at the request and nodded.

He cleared his throat and asked sincerely, "Do you believe in angels, Samantha?"

She started but quickly tried to plaster a smile onto her face. "Wh-why do you ask?" Her fingers twisted the hem of her knee-length skirt.

"From what we've heard of your struggles, your transformation is nothing short of a miracle. Some would say you have a guardian angel." Although his words were innocuous enough, the intent behind them was clear.

The redhead stood, suddenly incensed. "Who are you two really? What do you want?"

She thrust a hand into her thick cardigan, withdrawing her angel blade.

Dean raised his hands, saying "Easy, lady…"

Cas knew this angel, and that she would not fight unless ordered by the Almighty himself. "Sister, please calm down. We wish you no harm."

Samantha froze, wondering if she could believe this man. "I – I've done nothing wrong! She asked for this."

"We're not doubting that," Cas explained and the frightened expression finally left her face. "I came to find you," he continued. "I just want to know… are you happy, sister?"

"'Sister'? Are you an angel too?" she asked hopefully.

His mouth nearly formed the word "yes" before he shook his head. "No… But I was. My name is Castiel."

"What do you mean, 'was'? Wait, Castiel? I've heard your name. The true story of the fall has been whispered, that you were betrayed by the scribe…"

Cas regarded her sadly: "Metatron deceived me," he confirmed. "I was told that he had a ritual that would seal heaven. Nothing would get in or out, and we'd have to find a way to peacefully coexist." He took a deep breath. "But, it was actually a spell. I should've known better… what ritual would require mutilating a cupid, or murdering a nephilim?"

"But a nephilim is an abomination!" She protested, trying to comfort her fallen brother.

"No, sister, it's not. Taking up arms against an innocent soul is the abomination. I know that now. Our Father would not want us to fight for any reason other than our own protection."

She nodded slowly, still unsure of his words. "In any case, the last ingredient of the spell was taken forcibly – the grace of an angel."

"NO…" she whispered, horrified at the very implication. She hugged her arms tight around herself, shaking her head. When she met his gaze again, he nodded solemnly.

"But your vessel… How can you remain in it without your power?"

"This vessel," he responded sadly, "is vacant. He ascended to heaven over three years ago."

She reached out and gently touched his cheek. "An angel become human… how does it feel?"

He replied, "Uncomfortable… Cold, lonely. It's too quiet without the voices of my brothers and sisters. I feel weak, and like everything is an affront-"

"Like I felt after the fall," she interrupted.

"Yes, it is very similar. To feel thirst and hunger multiple times a day gets exhausting, and something always hurts."

"Is your vessel damaged?" she asked, perplexed.

"No, it's just 'the human condition,'" he responded. "The sun in your eyes, the ache in your muscles, or the leaden weight of your heart… it's continuous."

"How do you bear such an existence?" She looked to both men, genuinely expecting an answer.

"Well, it's not like I know any better," Dean joked half-heartedly.

Cas contemplated the question before finally answering, "Perhaps, when you were learning to control your vessel, you also experienced her pleasures? The slide of silk against the skin, or the warmth of alcohol in the stomach?"

She shook her head.

"The ecstasy of carnal union, or the comfort from the love of another?" he tried again.

She looked out the window again and seemed to fold in on herself as she sat back down. "The first day… I meant only to observe. My grace remained in the background of her mind, concentrating on healing her body. She… injected poison into herself and the way it made the vessel feel was extraordinary. I believe I understand, at least conceptually."

"That is how I bear it, sister. I temper the pain with as much pleasure as I can safely stand. I believe most humans do the same. It is too easy for the pain to consume you, otherwise."

She nodded, seeming to consider this.

"Are you happy, sister? If I am correct, you are Kaliel."

"It is, and I am. My vessel is very understanding of my methods."

"Please Kaliel, would you share my story over angel radio? I have many more yet to see, and do not court death."

"Of course, Castiel: And you should know… I do not blame you. You were as much a victim in this as anyone. After all, I may have lost my wings, but you've lost so much more."

He tried to smile but couldn't. "Thank you, sister."

As they left the church Dean asked, "Was that true, what you said to Kah-lee-elle, about your humanity?"

Cas looked ahead sadly, not even noticing the way Dean had stumbled over the name as he buried his hands in his pockets. "Yes Dean, it is. Before, you mentioned the concept of defense mechanisms. I think I wish to learn some."

"Cas… It's not something you can teach. You just learn by living life. But they're not good things, man. You only learn that kinda stuff if you don't feel safe."

"I understand," Cas said, although he wasn't sure if he did.

Dean grabbed his hand: "It'll get easier, I promise." Cas just nodded, thoughts elsewhere.

When they met Sam, he was smiling widely. "I think I found the other angel," he announced.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"I asked about conversion and got a name – Robert Twilly. He's at the men's shelter a few blocks down."

"Let's go," Cas urged.

When they arrived Dean walked around to the garden in back, talking to residents. Sam and Cas made their way inside the two-story building and found the organization's director. "Yes agents, Robert is on laundry duty. Has he done something wrong?"

"No, we just need to ask him a few questions," Sam assured, putting the man at ease.

"Where's the laundry room?" Cas asked.

Three men worked in the laundry room: One pushed a large white cart down the hall, white sheets and towels stacked atop it; another loaded machines, pulling linens out of the wheeled laundry baskets; Robert stood in front of a long table, folding towels.

"Robert Twilly?" Sam asked, holding out his FBI badge.

Cas opened his and quickly flipped it over, realizing it was upside-down. "Can we speak with you privately?"

The man recovered from his surprise and looked to the other shelter residents. "Steven, help Mark deliver the towels and dress the beds, okay?"

When the others left, he swallowed nervously. "What's this about, agents?"

"We just have a few questions about the last few months. You came to the Good Shepard two months ago, correct?"

"Yes. I only have a month to go before I can move out. You need three months' residence before you can get a job that's not temp work. By then, I should've saved enough to pay rent. There's a low-income place near St. Jude's."

"Yes, I've seen it," Cas responded.

Sam forged on: "You seem like a fairly industrious guy, Robert. Why are you even here in the first place?"

"Demons," he answered, and the "agents" exchanged a glance. Robert smirked and pointed to his temple. "At least, that's what I call them."

"Them?" Cas asked, not following.

"The voices," Robert clarified.

"Has there… been a new one recently?" Castiel asked as delicately as he could manage.

Robert looked at the two mistrustfully. "Yes… But this one calls himself an angel."

"An angel?" Sam parroted, hoping they were right.

"He calls himself Idris. He said he's helping, that he's been healing me."

"How?" Sam asked, not sure if it was even in an angel's power to cure mental illness.

"He heals my body, and has been mending my brain. He tried to explain it, something about neurotransmitters…" the man trailed off, seeming confused. "I – I couldn't follow. I think it's working: the voices are quieter now; except his, of course. But everything has its consequences."

"What do you mean, 'consequences'?"

"He said he must leave me soon, after I've found steady work. I think… I'll be lonely." He stared off into the distance until Sam broke the silence with an awkward throat-clearing.

"I'm very sorry to hear that. But do you think we could talk to him?"

"I'll try…" the man started, "but he doesn't like talking."

The man put the towel down and suddenly, a bright blue light flashed in his brown eyes. "You're hunters," the man stated gravely, his voice suddenly much deeper. His brow furrowed, appearing nothing like the docile man he'd been before.

"We didn't come to hurt you, Idris," Cas started earnestly. "We know you're only carrying on your work."

"What do you know of my work, human?" The angel asked uncertainly, studying Cas' countenance. There was something strangely familiar about the man.

"I know you were one of the mage class angels. You healed humans in early times, then turned to our war-torn brothers. It is quite admirable, what you do."

"Castiel?" the man asked in disbelief.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"I thought you'd perished in the fall. No one has heard from you."

"My grace was stolen. I'm human now… or at least something close to one."

"You should not have come here. Metatron will find me now!" the man snapped.

"I was deceived by Metatron – he and I are not in allegiance."

"Why should I believe you? The angel who proclaimed himself God?! This is some elaborate plan to make me join your legion."

"Please, brother. I have no legion. When Metatron enacted the banishment spell, I aided him unknowingly. My grace was the last ingredient – I did not give it willingly."

"If that is true, then what burns inside your vessel? You tore your grace and sacrificed part of it to that insipid scribe, while leaving enough to walk among the righteous."

Cas tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. "Idris, what do you mean? He restrained me and slit the throat of my vessel to remove it. I am as powerless as a human. Why would I willingly do that to myself?"

"A plan failed, then," he countered. An angel blade appeared from his sleeve. He took a defensive stance as he accused, "A bright light, unlike that of a human soul glows inside you! It is only the smallest scrap, but it is there. Leave me now, you monster."

The man lunged at Castiel and when his spar was countered, Cas ground out, "Please brother, do not do this! I'm here to make amends, not fight."

Cas pushed him off and staggered a bit backwards. He vaguely saw Sam draw a knife from his waistband and Idris growled, "Your pilgrimage of half-hearted apologies may fool some, but they do not fool me. Ambushing a flightless mage is low, even for a consort of Metatron."

"Metatron is our common enemy, brother. Please… believe me." Cas blocked a punch Idris threw his way, but couldn't step away in time. The angel slashed Cas' bicep, Cas staggering back from the pain.

Sam rushed forward, knife at the ready. Idris opened his mouth, and suddenly, an ear-splitting sound shook the room. Sam fell to his knees, knife falling to the ground as he clutched his hands over his ears. He looked over to Cas, the wound forgotten as he covered his own ears.

"Why are you doing this?" Cas yelled.

Idris glared at the men and the ringing ceased. He replied, "Leave this place Castiel, and do not show your face again."

Cas' hands left his ears and he nodded. He nodded to Sam, who was shakily making his way to his feet. He scooped the knife off up the floor, and as he got closer, Cas noticed he was bleeding from both of his ears.

"It is only in deference to the Almighty that I show you any mercy at all," the angel explained as Sam joined Cas' side.

"I understand," Cas replied and the two stowed their weapons as they turned to leave.

Sam and Cas made their way quickly outside, avoiding as many people as possible. When they reached the car, they found Dean rooting around the trunk. "Dean, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to fry that motherfucker," Dean snarled, pulling out the jar of holy oil.

Sam put his hand on Dean's arm, stopping him. "Dean, no," he practically shouted, his ears still ringing.

"Sammy, you're both bleeding and the third floor doesn't have any damn windows. Dude is dangerous."

"He just wants to be left alone," Cas explained. "We knew this could happen."

Dean slowly released his grip on the container and sighed heavily. "We gotta get you guys patched up," he decided, scrubbing at his face in annoyance.

The men got into the car and reluctantly drove off, leaving Idris behind. The other angel would have to wait.