Hey, guys. This will be catching up with the current episodes soon. But since there's a hiatus until the 23rd of March for the show, who knows where this fic will go? In story news, though, Claire is about to get a potential romantic interest who is linked to Sara, we'll meet Alex's mystery guy in a few chapters, and Sara is going to hear exactly how she came to be. Enjoy and don't forget to review!

Usually when Castiel was on the ground, covered in mud and dirt, it was because he had been in a fight or thrown by something evil.

But now, as he lay under the Chevelle with a wrench in one hand and a rag in the other, listening to Claire's instructions, he smiled. After tightening the thingy – he wasn't sure what it was called – he rolled out from under the car.

"Was that right?" he asked, rubbing his hands on the rag.

"We'll find out," Claire said as she finished up under the hood and slammed it shut. She got into the drivers seat and plugged the key into the ignition – it spluttered and tried to wake a few times, but finally the engine turned over with a roaring sound, puttering.

"Awesome!" Claire whooped, pulling the key out. She got out of the car, brushing her hands together. "It'll still be a while before she's road ready, but we've got her working!"

They headed to where Claire had parked the truck, and she opened a cooler on the back. She handed him a root beer, and Cas took it – he probably wouldn't drink it, but it gave him something to do with his hands.

They sat on the tailgate, Claire sipping her drink and Castiel looking over the scrapyard that had practically been a home to him for so long.

"Oh, hey," she said, reaching for her backpack beside the cooler. "Check this out."

She pulled out a few pieces of paper, folded hastily, and handed it to him. He frowned, unfolding it and reading the title.

"Religious Folklore: Truth versus Fiction." A research paper by Claire Novak.

On the top of the paper in large, red letters was a number: 96%, and the words EXCELLENT!

"You wrote this?" he asked, flipping the page.

"Uh-huh," she said with a shrug, trying to act nonchalant. "It's not a big deal or anything, I just thought you'd like it." Her face and tone were carefree, but underneath there was a definite tone of pride, and Castiel struggled to hide a grin.

He read through the paper, raising his eyebrows and smiling at some parts. He read through the rest of the four pages, nodding. Under the last paragraph, written in the same red pen, were a few sentences:

Claire – this paper was brilliant! I'm very proud of you and the work you put into this! You must have done a lot of research for this. However, perhaps in future works you should not refer to angels as "usually major asshats" and perhaps not call God a "deadbeat." Besides for this, great work! I knew you had it in you, keep it up! – Mrs. H.

"Claire, your teacher is right," Cas said seriously. "This is brilliant!"

She shrugged again, but looked quite pleased. "I just thought I should show it to you since you're the one whose been telling me all about this stuff the past few weeks."

"It's extremely accurate," Castiel said. He hesitated. "Can I keep this?"

She looked surprised, but also touched. "Sure. I have copies. You'll have to fight Jody for it, though – she almost cried and then took us all out for dinner and ice cream when she saw it."

"I'll keep it safe," he vowed, tucking it into his coat pocket.

"It's just a paper, Castiel," she laughed.

"It's a paper that you wrote," he corrected. "And got an excellent grade on. It's important."

She looked so touched, and had to turn away to blink a few times, swallowing the knot in her throat.

"I wish my parents could see it," she said quietly.

Castiel felt a pang of guilt and sadness. He took a breath, and they were silent for a few moments.

"If I'm ever welcomed back into heaven," he began, and Claire looked at him. "I'm going to take this to Jimmy and Amelia Novak and show it to them."

Claire blinked a few more times, before throwing her arms around him. Castiel was surprised, but pleasantly so, and hugged back.

She sniffed, wiping the wetness from her eyes as she pulled away. "Nice going, you big dork," she teased, punching his arm. "You made me cry. Now you owe me ice cream."

Castiel smiled, standing, and they got in the truck.

"Hey," Claire said as they rode down the road towards the ice cream parlor. "For what it's worth – I think you'd make a pretty great dad."

Castiel had never felt so touched, and smiled the rest of the evening.

Sara stared long and hard at the empty Red Bull can balanced on the fence about twenty feet away. Her brain was so concentrated on it that she was starting to feel dizzy, and her head was pounding. She was holding her breath, desperately trying to keep still.

Finally she exhaled, and her headache ebbed away a bit, her sight going back to normal. "I can't do it," she panted. "I just can't."

"You only need practice," her father said patiently. "It takes time."

"I've been staring at that stupid can for forty five minutes!" she argued, her brown furrowing in annoyance as she waved her hand dismissively at it. "If I were able to move it, I would have done so already! Why am I trying to know trash off a fence anyway? Shouldn't you be teaching me how to defend myself?"

"Not until you learn some basic control," Crowley replied, taking her shoulders and turning her towards the can. He stood behind her, and squeezed her shoulders encouragingly. "Try again. I'll help you. Just focus your energy towards it. Don't ask it to fall over, darling. Tell it to. You're in command here."

Sara took a deep breath and nodded, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again. This time she put all of her thought and want into knocking the bloody thing off the fence. Inhale. Exhale. Relax but don't let your guard fall as you concentrate. Fall over. Fall over. Fall. Over.

The can wiggled, and slid off the fence.

"I did it!" she exclaimed, punching the air and whooping. "Did you see that? I knocked it over!"

"You did," Crowley said, amused. "Brilliant job, dear. Why don't you go get some drinks to celebrate?"

"Sure," she nodded, speeding off to the kitchen in search of some sodas.

Crowley sighed, picking the can up and glancing at it. Where'd he learn to be so damn patient? There was a time where he would have yelled and snapped and not let up until it was done. Where was that Crowley?

"I saw that," Jody said as she came through the gate into the back yard, still dressed in her uniform as she had just gotten home. "Why'd you tell her that she was the one who knocked it off?"

He sighed again, laying the can on the fence. "She needed a boost of confidence. She'll get it, eventually. But she needn't stress herself out over it."

Jody raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That's very, well. Fatherly of you, I suppose. I'm impressed."

"Don't say it too loud," he muttered.

Jody sat in a lawn chair, crossing her ankles. "So how does Sara feel about all this Lucifer business?"

Crowley looked away.

Jody sighed. "Crowley –"

"She doesn't need to know about any of that just yet," he replied coolly. "She's safe, and if, if, Lucifer were to somehow contact her, it wouldn't be for very long and I'd have enough warning."

"Don't you think she should know?" Jody suggested gently.

"No," he said, his tone growing colder. "She's a child. The last thing she needs to worry about is the father of sin stalking her."

Jody frowned. On one hand, she could see his point. But on the other . . .

"Hey, Jody," Sara greeted her as she came back into the yard, sodas in hand. "Good day at work?"

"Same ol'," Jody smiled at her foster daughter.

Sara started to hand a soda at Crowley, who stopped her. "I'm afraid I have to be going," he said.

"Oh, okay," Sara frowned. "Well, thanks for, you know. Helping me knock cans off a fence."

He smiled a bit. "Yes. Before I go . . ." he reached into his pocket, removing a small, purple, leather bound book. He handed it to Sara, who looked down at it. For Sara, from your Mother was etched into the worn cover in gold lettering.

"That was your mother's," Crowley told her. "I figured you're old enough to have it now."

"Mum," Sara breathed, running her hand over it, fingers tingling. She opened it to a random page. Pretty, cursive writing in black ink covered the pages, and her heart beat faster. She closed it, holding it to her chest.

"I'll be seeing you, then," Crowley nodded.

"Dad," Sara called as he turned.

He looked back, eyebrows raised – in all of the three weeks he'd been coming to see her, she'd never called him that.

"Thank you," she said, and he paused, and nodded before disappearing.

Alex watched out the window as Castiel waved goodbye to Claire that evening, and Crowley and Sara bid each other farewell. Her heart squeezed.

She knew she was lucky to have Jody, and Claire, and Sara – people cared about her, and she was so grateful. But at the same time, she could only think of her own family.

Hesitantly, she picked up her cell phone, staring long and hard at a number without a contact name that was saved into her phone. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the call button, but finally tapped it and held it to her ear.

It rang a few times, and she debated hanging up. Her father picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" he answered. God, he sounded just like she remember. His voice was kind and fatherly, and she found herself unable to speak.

"Hello?" he asked again.

She quickly hit 'end' and tossed her phone onto her bed and turned around, biting her nail as tears welled up in her eyes. Why would he ever want to talk to her? After all the things she'd done? Jesus, he had a family.

Her phone began ringing, and she jumped, startled. She was afraid her father was calling her back. She sighed, though, when she saw the number – it definitely wasn't her dad.

"Hi," she said.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You sound upset."

"I'm just stressing over calculus," she lied.

"Want me to help you?"

"No, that's okay. Crowley actually explained the whole chapter to me a few weeks ago."

He was quiet, and Alex swallowed. She'd upset him.

"You there?" she asked finally.

"Yeah."

"You're mad."

"I told you to stay away from him."

He sounded hurt, and Alex sighed.

"Yeah, I know," she said, sitting on her bed. "But I mean, he's Sara's Dad. It's not like he's not going to be around, y'know?"

"I'm telling you, Alex, you can't trust him. You should all stay far, far away from him. You know what he did to me. To my family. Honestly, I can't believe Sam and Dean are letting this happen. I doubt they would be if Castiel wasn't hanging around so much. Crowley is bad news."

"Yeah," she sighed again, rubbing her head. "But you know what I did to all those innocent people. How is he any worse than I am?"

"Don't you dare compare yourself to him," he said sharply. "Just . . . God, Alex, don't. Okay? Don't. You're not bad. Some bad stuff happened, yeah, okay, whatever. But you're not bad."

Alex felt like crying. She wanted to scream. Tell that to the wives and husbands and mothers and fathers of the people who I tricked, she wanted to wail. To the people who died because of me.

"You alright, Alex?"

"Yeah," she lied. "Hey, I'm pretty tired. I'm gonna hit the sack."

"Yeah, alright," he said, disappointed. "Maybe I'll see you sometime soon."

"Maybe," she said faintly before hanging up. She swallowed, wishing he wouldn't call, because every time he did she was reminded how much she cared for him, and how there was no possible way they could ever be together.