First there was just a soft light, a mist really, nothing but a fog on the water. Raethaniel felt as though she was in danger, but none of her limbs – human or dragon – would move. She tried to call out but thought she must have failed.

She drifted in and out of a world where time and space and even reality seemed nonexistent. Memories shifted as quickly as her scrambled thoughts. Where was she?

The hazy light above her swirled together and eventually took shape. It was an ever-shifting shape but it made sense to her nonetheless.

It was Sam, or at least she thought it was. Sam didn't have green eyes. Sam had long hair, but not dark blond and not pulled back into a ponytail that long, so long she could see it draped over his shoulder as he bent over above her. Sam wouldn't be wearing a white dress shirt and striped vest in the middle of the day, if he would ever wear such a thing at all.

"Good morning," the vision of Sam said. The soft smile was his. That she recognized. The eyes, the wrong color, but wasn't that Sam she saw looking back at her? The voice, gentle and melodious and so familiar it couldn't help but be soothing.

"Where?" She choked out. He hastily offered her a glass of water, which she managed to turn away from it. Angels didn't need water. They needed Grace and she doubted he had any. But at least she could move something now. At least she appeared to still be in her vessel. That was Castiel's doing too. He wouldn't have risked humans dying by setting eyes on a half mile long dragon glistening with Heavenly Grace suddenly appearing in their midst.

He seemed displeased that she didn't want the water, but he set it back down somewhere beyond her fuzzy vision.

"You are in Seattle," he answered.

Calm came over her. Earth then. Time not space. The man hovering over her was either a figment of her dazed condition or an earlier incarnation of Sam. She tentatively stretched out with her Grace and found the bond she shared with Sam's soul. Relief washed over her. Whatever Castiel had tried to do, wherever he has tried to send her, that bond had saved her from perhaps being sent back eons and eons.

"Y-y-year?" She managed.

He appeared startled for a moment and then said, "1871."

The last of the tension drained out of her. She could feel her vessel sinking back into a deep, soft mattress. Her head was being supported by something equally soft that smelled of lavender. 1871. Not so far. Not undoable.

But she was so weak. It would be a long time before she would be going anywhere. Time would continue running parallel and Sam - in 2011 – was still in danger. She had to rest.

One more question before she could let sleep win though.

"Who… who are you?"

"You're safe," he said, adjusting sheets and blankets to reach her shoulders. There was reassurance in his voice and in his small smile. "I'm a doctor. Dr. Samuel Campbell, at your service. May I ask who you are?"

Consciousness was fading quickly. It was all she could do to murmur thoughtlessly,

"I'm an angel."