I've had to wait forever/
But better late than never.
-She's Right On Time (Billy Joel)

After a largely wasted morning, Sam and Mom stopped for lunch. Sam had recommended not going back to the motel, as they'd have to fight their way free of Dean again, and he might win the argument this time... or at least refuse to lose it. There might also have been just a little bit of self-interest involved on Sam's part. It was rare that Sam had any time with Mom without Dean there.

Admittedly, Sam didn't know what to do with a mother, and it was like wandering through a maze of hidden trip wires linked to explosives around her, but it was also wonderful and endlessly amazing and he couldn't get enough of looking at her, just trying to fully believe she was real and alive and part of his life now, which was something he'd never even dared admit to dreaming about before.

He'd never had a mother, and though it was fraught with complications, he was gladly willing to take every single second he could get, even if it was spent in uncomfortable silence caused by the fact that they were at once closely bonded while at the same time being almost complete strangers. Sitting across the table from a mother who was a total stranger to him was immeasurably better than not having a mother to sit across from at all.

"Cass protected me, you know," Mom said after they'd both been staring and picking at their lunch in mutual silence for awhile, "With Ramiel. I think he knew before we did that Ramiel wasn't just another Demon, that he didn't have a fighting chance, even though we didn't know about the Lance yet. In fact, I think maybe he knew the second he made eye contact that it was a fight he just wasn't going to win," she paused then added, "When the door closed and shut you out and I saw those yellow eyes... I froze. But Cass... he didn't. Even though that Demon had just thrown him across the room like he was nothing, Cass was right back in the fight, didn't back down for so much as a second."

"He never does," Sam replied, "Dean told you about the Archangels, but there've been times since then, more than a few. Cass may not be a servant of Heaven anymore, but there's no doubt in my mind that he still takes the duty of Guardian Angel seriously. He's done things we didn't like, didn't understand, didn't ask for, didn't even want... but at the end of the day it was always for us. All of it."

Sam stopped as the full realization struck him. He knew, of course, how much Cass had done for him and Dean over the years, and for sure he'd thought about it before, but it hadn't really struck him until right this second exactly what that all added up to, what it seemed to mean.

He continued after a moment, "And the funny thing is, I don't think it's even a big deal to him. It's just... something he does, without hesitation or reservation... every time."

"He seems pretty loyal," Mom observed.

"Yeah," Sam said, laughing a little at that understatement, "And the thing is... we never did anything to deserve it. Even right at the start, he pulled Dean out of Hell for a purpose Dean refused to fulfill. I mean, there was a reason for that... but, from Cass's perspective, it had been a lot of work, risk... and even loss -more than we realized at the time, actually- for nothing."

Sam swallowed hard, looking at his plate for awhile, not losing his train of thought, but misplacing the will to continue. It was the kind of thing he didn't like to think about or remember, and certainly didn't want to tell his mother about. Neither he nor Dean had mentioned his Demon blood addiction, and even though they'd talked about the Apocalypse, they'd carefully skirted around the issue of his saying 'Yes' to Lucifer and spending a year in The Cage with Satan. Sam knew they couldn't avoid it forever... but for now, at least, there was no reason to tell all.

So when he went on, it was to talk about Cass's role in things, "As for me, I was a complete mess when we met. He... uh... he called me an abomination," Sam smiled at that particular memory.

Mom frowned, apparently not finding it very funny that an Angel had been calling her son names. Sam could sort of see why that might be, but it still seemed funny to him. It hadn't at the time, of course. At the time, it had mostly made him angry. Everything about Cass's superior attitude had made him angry, mainly because it emphasized Sam's guilt in his own mind.

Sam's smile faded as he added, "And he was right. I was playing right into Lucifer's hands, and Cass knew it. He was Dean's Guardian... but he tried to save me too. He wasn't very good at it, of course... his people skills were terrible. But..." Sam nodded, mostly to himself, "He tried. I mean, until he got dragged back to Heaven and they... did whatever it is they used to do when a member of the rank and file started getting out of line. Put him back on course for making us follow the script. But they never could keep control of him, even before he was a Seraph."

Looking away from Mom again, Sam decided not to relate the scariest days in there, when Cass hadn't even been able to look them in the eyes because of what Heaven had put him through, just for having doubts, for showing emotions toward a couple of humans. Cass had never told them the details of what had happened to him while he was gone, but it didn't take a lot of imagination to guess.

"He's been through a lot for us," Sam said after a moment, looking down at his plate, "Not that he's never made mistakes... but he's gone to Hell and back to fix them. It's not always enough... but everything he has is as much as anyone can give, and that includes Angels. Even when it's not enough, at least he tried. It's more than most people -or Angels- would do."

It was easier to talk to Mom about Cass than it was to talk about himself or Dean. There was a bit of distance there. Not quite as much distance as discussing the weather, but enough, almost like talking about the family dog or something.

Most other topics of small conversation were closed to them. Mom was trying to integrate with this time, but she'd missed most of the music and movies that Sam loved, and she seemed to have more taste in common with Dean anyway. In fact, Sam wasn't sure he had anything in common with his mother, which hurt to think about. But she was getting to know Cass, and Cass was more than just a friend, he was family, and so talking about him was something that felt more relevant than the weather (or the dog that they didn't have), but still avoided all the things they couldn't -or didn't want to- say.

"You think he's gonna be okay after this?" Mom asked.

Sam wanted to laugh again, but it was a fair question, so he struggled not to, instead saying, "Cass is... he's tough."

"Even toughness has its limits," Mom remarked, leaning her arms on the table in front of her, "And from what I've seen since I've been back, he's been pushed pretty close to them."

"Mom," Sam shook his head, "Cass has been to Hell. He's been to Purgatory. He's been killed repeatedly. He's been brainwashed by Heaven and driven completely insane because of the Devil. He was even human once… died as one too. Witch spells that affect Angels..." Sam hesitated, looking for the right words, "They really do a number on him, I'll admit. But if we get the spell stopped, I guarantee Cass'll put himself back together. He always does sooner or later."

Mom sat back and seemed to think it over. Then she started to pull out her wallet, saying, "Then we'd better find this witch and get back home in time for Christmas," she frowned, "Speaking of... what kind of stuff does Cass even like? Materially, I mean. He doesn't sleep, doesn't seem to like eating, always wears the same coat and tie... what do you normally get him for Christmas?'

Sam almost choked on hearing that question. It brought them right up against one of the things he'd been avoiding thinking about, much less talking about. They didn't normally do Christmas, even just Sam and Dean. And they'd never celebrated the holiday with Cass. Besides which, Sam still didn't know what to get for his own mother, so he sure as Hell couldn't help with getting a gift for an Angel.

Mom, perceptive as always, said, "This is new for you too, isn't it?"

Sam didn't like how transparent he was, but it also came as a relief and he sighed, "Yeah... we... uh... Christmas was never really... I mean a couple of times..." he gave up and trailed off.

For a moment they were both quiet, then Mom said, "You know, I thought it would be easier if it was as strange for you as it is for me. But..." she sighed, "Turns out that just makes it scarier."

Sam nodded, thinking again that he had no concept of what to get this amazing woman for Christmas, and that whatever it was could not possibly convey how truly special she was to him, yet it had to do just that because it was their first Christmas together.

All he could think of to say was, "Believe me, I know."

Abruptly, for no apparent reason, Mom smiled and actually laughed a little.

"What?" Sam asked, smiling hesitantly, wanting in on the joke.

"Nothing," Mom said, but then when Sam continued to stare at her she relented, "You said Castiel didn't have very good people skills. And it just crossed my mind that... we don't either."

Sam laughed and looked down, then nodded, having to acknowledge the truth of it.

It was sad and kind of pathetic, but also funny and very, very true. Sam and Dean certainly didn't relate well to other people and -from what he'd seen- he was pretty sure they were a lot like their mother in that respect. Certainly not one of them was handling this new mother-sons relationship they'd suddenly been gifted with very gracefully. It was amazing and wonderful, but it was also very hard and utterly bewildering, and they were all sort of floundering in their various ways, none of them quite sure what to do with each other.

It also crossed Sam's mind that Cass had learned most of his people skills from Dean, and the rest from Sam. Which probably explained why the Angel had no hope of interacting successfully with other humans. Sam and Dean were neither good role-models nor effective teachers when it came to human interaction, though Dean had put in valiantly misguided efforts on several occasions.

"You know," Sam said after he'd let the full tragic humor of the situation wash over him, "If we find and stop that witch, I'm pretty sure Cass will accept that," he paused thoughtfully before adding, "I know you can't wrap it... but I don't think he'll mind."

"Sounds like a plan," Mom said, putting money on the table as a tip for their waitress before getting up and preparing to take another whack at finding the elusive Lisa Harrow.

The death of The Demon was no source of sorrow for Harrow.

She hadn't really needed the damned thing very much anymore, and that relationship had been bound to end in blood one way or the other. Truthfully, the Winchesters had done her a favor.

The downside? They were still here.

Harrow didn't know the full effects of her spell. It had never occurred to her that it could have been the spell itself which had drawn the Winchesters here so quickly, because it had not been her intention in the slightest that it should establish or strengthen an existing empathic link between the Angel and its human. She knew that the spell had after effects, that the Angel would continue molting without further spell-work. The reason she'd cast it repeatedly had been to speed up the process, but once should have been enough for quite awhile. That had been the whole idea.

Catch Angels, cast the spell, let them molt over time.

As the Angel had begun to shed feathers more rapidly, Harrow had found something else about the sped up process. The feathers came out increasingly damaged, and she wasn't sure they would work as well for the spells which required them. She was fairly certain the feathers she'd collected the last time she cast the spell were totally worthless, which was more than a little disappointing.

But next time would be different. She'd find an easier Angel to tackle, one that didn't have Hunters willing to tear the Earth apart to find it. She'd be more careful about the warding, learning from the mistakes she and The Demon had made this time. She'd soften the impact of the spell a little, and give it time to take its full effect before repeating it.

So it would take a little longer to get the feathers, so what? That was alright. She could wait.

In the long-run, it meant more of the feathers would be in good condition, and that the Angel would survive to -hopefully- grow new ones. The process would be sustainable, which meant greater reward and less risk in the long run. And this time there would be no Demon looking over her shoulder, telling her what to do or threatening to kill her if she couldn't prove her continued worth. More importantly, no Demon taking a cut of the profits made off of her idea.

For now though, she just needed to avoid attracting attention, and wait for the Winchesters to leave.

Why the hell were they still here anyway? They'd already killed The Demon. They'd technically taken their Angel back, or what was left of it anyway. What more did they want?

Not that it was particularly difficult to avoid them. They knew only about the house which she had rather unhappily shared with The Demon when it was around. Or anyway, they'd shared the house until The Demon took over the farmer and they set up the farmhouse property as their base of operations.

But she had another residence under a different name, in anticipation of the possibility that she or The Demon were discovered by Hunters and Harrow needed somewhere to go to ground until they left.

The apartment was small and stuffy, but it was better than nothing, and anyway it was where she'd been collecting the jars of shed feathers because she didn't trust The Demon with them and so couldn't risk leaving them at the farmhouse or her own home. She hadn't told The Demon about the apartment, and had never intended for it to find out that she had one in addition to her own home.

Sitting on the edge of the bed that served as the only real furniture in the tiny apartment, Harrow looked around at the mason jars full of bloodied feathers. Those feathers represented more wealth than she could have conceived of just a few short years ago, and with the added bonus of not having to deal with a partner anymore, meaning they had no strings attached, just value. Each feather was worth a small fortune she could take either in cash or in trade for some other supernatural item of equal value.

Harrow didn't need the feathers themselves. She never had.

There was no spell she wanted to do that involved Angel feathers, the feathers were simply a means to an end. The Demon would have taken over half the feathers straight off the top, trading them for its own purposes, being as it had no more use for the feathers themselves than Harrow.

Since The Demon was no longer involved...

Harrow took a deep breath and tried to calculate the value in the room. It was enormous. With these feathers alone (even though many of them were damaged), she could easily acquire ingredients and spell books and everything she needed to become one of the most powerful witches still alive.

Power. That's what the feathers truly represented.

Admittedly, all that power had come at a cost. But The Demon was no great loss. And what was one less Angel in the world, really? The world was all going to ruin anyway, why shouldn't Harrow grab while the getting was good and enjoy the ride? Besides, it wasn't like Santa was going to put coal in her stocking because she was a bad girl. Even if he was real, Santa wouldn't dare piss off a witch, especially not one on the verge of greatness.

In truth, the whole concept of Christmas had always seemed uproariously funny to her.

People couldn't even agree absolutely about what was good and what was evil, yet they had a whole holiday centered around that debate. A holiday which was normally punctuated by break-ins, traffic accidents and murders as everyone battled over the imaginary concept of Christmas cheer, fighting with other shoppers to get that special toy for their kid, driving like maniacs to reach the homes of relatives they would then lie to and pretend to like, gorging themselves on food and candy and drink they would later regret either while standing on a scale or bending over a toilet, giving presents to screaming toddlers because it might damage their precious little psyches if anyone told them they'd been bad and didn't deserve any gifts, all supposedly in the name of peace on earth and goodwill towards men.

To Harrow, it was all really quite funny, in a pathetic kind of way.

On a sudden impulse, Harrow opened one of the jars and started pulling out feathers.

She was feeling rather crafty, one might even say moved by the "festive spirit," and decided to do an art project with a few of the feathers. She had more than she knew what to do with already and anyway she could always get more. Might as well indulge the whim that took her fancy.