Cass lit up a cigarette as the sun was setting. She'd never had the chance to finish the one she'd bummed from the hotel clerk, so she'd bought herself a pack and a cheap lighter at one of their gas stops on the drive back. Her long explanation to Dean of what had happened and what was to come had been followed by several hours of frustrating research on tracking spells and demons for the boys and more careful transcription of anything that might be useful from her notes for Cass. Eventually they'd broken for dinner, after which Cass had wandered out into the salvage yard to escape the house and the tension therein.

It was a little like when she'd first arrived, Cass thought, except that now Dean was the Winchester brother casting her stubborn, mistrustful glances. Sam and Bobby had vouched for her, of course, but she didn't know how much that helped, since Sam's judgment of character had proven to be pretty hit-and-miss. She was sure Dean would warm up to her given enough time, and once Cass had somehow proven that she was really trying to help them and wasn't hiding any ulterior motives. Until then… well, the summer nights in Sioux Falls weren't so bad for a little star-gazing and self-destruction when she needed a break from it all.

Of course, this strategy only worked if no one followed her out to the junk yard.

"Mind if I join you?"

Cass exhaled smoke and eyed Dean cautiously. He was standing at a respectful distance, waiting for her answer. Of the three other people in the house, Dean was the last one she'd have guessed would seek her out for a private conversation. His body language was relaxed, though—it didn't seem like he'd come looking for a confrontation. So, reluctantly, Cass nodded. Dean strode forward and took a seat on the hood of the car she was already perched on, an arm's length away. Cass silently proffered the pack of cigarettes to him, more to be polite than because she actually expected him to take one. Dean hesitated, considering it, then took one of them from the pack.

"Why not," he said, shrugging. "I got new lungs, don't I?"

Cass pulled her lighter from her pocket and leaned over to light Dean's cigarette. He managed to look cool and composed for exactly three seconds before he coughed and tore it away from his lips. "Ugh, that's awful."

"You don't have to smoke it," Cass said, amused. Dean shook his head, holding the cigarette between two fingers and watching it burn.

"My dad caught me smoking one of these once," he said, gaze still fixed on the burning cherry. "I must've been fourteen, fifteen? He dragged me to the nearest gas station, bought a couple packs, and then he made me smoke 'em all 'til I threw up in the parking lot. Kinda lost the taste for it after that."

His voice was wry, wistful. Cass took a deep drag of her cigarette and watched the smoke cloud in the night air.

"I'm not much of a smoker, myself," Cass admitted. "I'll occasionally buy a pack to share at a party, or bum one when I'm out drinking, but I can usually count the number of cigarettes I've smoked in a year on one hand. But this is kind of a special situation, and under the circumstances I seriously doubt I'll live long enough to die of lung cancer, so…"

There was a beat of silence. Dean took another few drags of his cigarette, his new lungs growing accustomed to the smoke quickly enough. When he spoke again, his voice was low.

"You know what happened down there, don't you." It wasn't a question. Dean still didn't look at her, even when Cass glanced uncertainly at him.

"I know the gist of it," she said cautiously. This was not the direction she thought this conversation would go. Although in a way, she supposed it made sense. Dean had been through something incredibly traumatic in Hell, something he wouldn't be ready to talk about with Sam or Bobby or anyone for a long time, if ever. But Cass already knew, and she was a more neutral party than either his brother or the man who was like a second father to him. Those were probably attractive qualities in a confidante. Though she still didn't expect Dean to open up to her like this, barely a day after he'd gotten out of the pit.

"The first seal." Dean hunched forward a little. "It broke when I…"

"You didn't break it," Cass said firmly. "That was the whole point of springing you."

"But I would've. That's why you had to spring me in the first place, because I would've." Dean shook his head in disgust. "I kept telling myself that I never would, but deep down I knew it was only a matter of time. And now I really know."

Cass had come out here to have a smoke and relax. She had not been prepared to deal with Dean Winchester's self-loathing. Still, she sighed, took another drag, and gave it her best effort.

"That doesn't make you a bad person," she said steadily. "You think anyone else would have done any better? I wouldn't have lasted a day. You're a good man, Dean. That's why they wanted you. That's why it's a seal."

Dean had still been avoiding her gaze, but at those last words he turned to face her with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know the details, but a lot of the seals are about… contradictions. Opposites. Going against nature." Cass gestured vaguely in the air and took another drag. Dean watched her intensely. "Killing Lillith is supposed to be last, because 'The first demon shall be the last seal.' Another seal is killing reapers, literally killing the things that bring death. So the first seal, it can't just be anybody who breaks it. Lots of people go to Hell. Lots of people shed blood there. But for a good man, a righteous man, to shed blood in Hell? That takes a lot more."

Dean continued to stare, his face slowly growing more frustrated, not less. Cass took a nervous drag of her cigarette, and then nearly dropped it when Dean burst out, "Why do I trust you?"

"What?"

"This whole thing is unbelievable," Dean said, voice rising. "I mean, angels? The apocalypse? Alternate dimensions? I'm a hunter, I believe in everything—everything but angels. I've seen too much ugly in the world to believe in Heaven, or God, or any of that bullshit." Dean pointed accusingly at Cass. "I oughtta be lookin' for hex bags, because the most reasonable explanation is that you're some kinda witch, and you've hoodwinked Sam and Bobby somehow. Or I never got out of the pit at all, and this is all just some new psycho torture they've cooked up, and I'll wake up any minute now to Alastair ripping out my fingernails, telling me I'll never really get out."

Cass opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She wasn't sure what to say. Dean went on, running a concerned hand over his face.

"But something in me just… trusts you." He was giving her a narrow-eyed look that betrayed his words. "And that makes me suspicious as hell. And it makes me want to distrust you even more, but I can't! Why can't I distrust you?"

Cass stared at him, her cigarette forgotten. "I… don't know. Not that I'm complaining, but—that actually is really weird. Like, really weird."

Dean seemed at least marginally reassured by her honest confusion. Cass bit her lip in thought.

"You don't think it's just because Sam and Bobby trust me?" Cass knew what wasn't realistic the second the words left her mouth, but Dean's disbelieving look confirmed it. She shook her head, at a loss. "No, you're right. I'm sorry, I have no idea."

It really was bizarre. Dean didn't just trust people, especially people displaying weird powers. Frankly, he had good reason not to. The fact that he did trust her was odd enough, but the fact that Dean himself recognized it and that he still trusted her somehow… that didn't seem natural.

"I believe you," Dean said, looking pained. "I shouldn't, but I do." He let out a sigh, then mustered something resembling a smile. "So, you don't have all the answers, after all."

"I'm not a prophet, or a seer," Cass said tiredly. "I've seen one version of events, and I've already hugely altered them. I can give advice, or tell you about people or things that were going to come up somewhere along the lines—I can even help you solve a lot of your future hunts— but for everything big, from here on out I won't have any special knowledge."

"You have enough," Dean said. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Including some things you don't want me and Sam to know about. Don't think I've forgotten about that."

"You sold your soul to resurrect your brother," Cass said defensively. "You can't tell me you're above making rash decisions when it comes to your family."

"So it's about our family, huh?" Dean's triumphant smile quickly darkened. "You don't think we deserve to know that?"

Cass grit her teeth, then forced herself to relax. She took a long, calming drag of her cigarette, ignoring Dean's stubborn look. "I don't owe you shit, Winchester," she said finally, voice hard. She glared at him, just daring him to contradict her. "If anything, you owe me. I helped pull your ass out of Hell. I'm helping you stop the Apocalypse. I think that's more than enough, considering I don't even belong in this dimension!"

Her voice had risen into a low shout by the end. Dean did not look swayed.

"Yeah, well, you're stuck here, aren't you?" He said simply. "It's not like you're trying to save the world out of the goodness of your heart. You're just trying to save your own skin."

"Go fuck yourself."

Dean jerked back at the sheer venom in her voice, eyes widening. Cass went on, the frustration and grief and anger she'd been tamping down for weeks finally spilling out of her.

"You have your family and your life. I'm not gonna sit here and be shamed for trying to keep the world spinning, as if it's selfish to want to stay alive! You want to know about the future? You want to know about your family?" Cass shook her head, lip curling and trembling as angry tears threatened to make her lose her composure. "Well, tough. You get to know exactly as much about the future of your family as I do about mine: nothing!"

A single tear spilled over. Cass hitched a breath and put out her stub of a cigarette, scrubbing stubbornly at her face. She wasn't going to break down. Not here, not in front of Dean fucking Winchester. Dean, for his part, reached out a tentative hand, hovering over but not touching her shoulder. The hesitation was wise. Cass wasn't sure what she'd do if he laid a hand on her right now. She felt wild, out of control, like an injured animal.

"Cass—"

"No. Fuck off, Winchester."

Cass pushed off the hood of the car, heading back inside. Dean, wisely, did not follow after her. She threw the back door open with a clatter, and Sam jolted to attention on the couch, where he sat with a book in his lap. His wary, alert face quickly melted into concern when he took in the tear tracks on her face and the redness of her eyes.

"Cass? Are you—"

"Fuck off, Sam."

These words were delivered without heat. Just as suddenly as the anger had come, it had fled. She didn't have the energy to sustain the anger and bitterness any longer. She was just tired. Tired, and sad, and so goddamn alone in this universe that shouldn't even exist, but which did, and that she had no place in. She trudged up the stairs to her room, locked the door, and let herself give in at last to the tears she'd been holding back, curling up and crying herself to sleep.

At first, Cass thought it was an earthquake. She'd experienced a few in her life, and it was the first explanation she could think of for why she'd jolted awake to find the entire house shaking. But it was not the correct explanation, as she realized when the angels repeated themselves.

Dean Winchester. We must speak with you.

Cass could hear scrambling and cursing from downstairs. Sighing, she rolled out of bed and walked carefully down the still-vibrating stairs, trailing her hand along the wall for support. At the bottom, Dean was turning around in a circle, looking half alarmed, half angry.

"Who must speak with me? C'mon, you assholes, show yourselves!"

Bobby and Sam were exchanging worried glances. "Dean, who are you shouting at?"

Sam asked, looking like he was beginning to suspect that Dean had not come back from Hell 100% sane. Dean furrowed his brow, but before he could answer, the angels spoke again, their voices shaking the house and rattling the windows.

You cannot look upon us.

"I'll look upon whatever the hell I want!" Dean shouted at the ceiling.

Sam was looking increasingly alarmed. "Uh, Dean?"

Cass sighed tiredly and marched past the three of them without a word, heading for the front door. She was still physically and emotionally exhausted, and it was too early for any of this shit.

Tell us the name of the one who rescued you from perdition.

"I don't gotta tell you shit until you show yourselves!" Dean retorted.

Sam, meanwhile, had finally noticed Cass, and looked to her desperately as she unlocked the front door and twisted the handle. "Cass? Please say you know what's—"

Cass threw open the door. Nothing was there, obviously—or at least, nothing she could see.

"Get. Vessels." She glared at the air outside. "If you want to talk, get vessels. We're not having a conversation like this. You're going to knock the house down."

Slowly, the house stopped shaking. A high-pitched whine Cass hadn't even noticed disappeared, like the absence of the hum of electricity when the power goes out. The house fell quiet. Cass sighed and scrubbed at her eyes.

It really was too early for this.

"What the hell was that?" Bobby demanded, looking between Cass and Dean. Dean shook his head, not knowing how to explain.

Cass said simply, "Angels." She made her way into the kitchen, hoping to God someone had already made coffee. They had, but all the shaking had spilled much of it all over the countertop. She poured herself a mug before starting to mop up the mess.

"Angels?" Sam repeated. "What did they want? Why were they attacking us?"

"They weren't." Cass took a sip of coffee, closing her eyes and taking a moment to appreciate how the taste grounded her. "That was their idea of a friendly conversation."

"Conversation?" Bobby spoke this time, incredulous. "That awful high-pitched noise that nearly shook my house apart was their voices?"

"Yeah, well, their true forms are the size of skyscrapers, so it's not that surprising."

"What did they want?" asked Sam.

"They wanted to know who 'rescued me from perdition'," Dean said, looking to Cass. "They lookin' for you?"

"No." Cass hesitated, bobbing her head from side to side uncertainly as she reconsidered her answer. "I mean, they won't be happy with me, either, but they'll be looking for the angel that pulled you out." Cass bit her lip thoughtfully, frowning at Dean. "What really concerns me is that you could understand them."

"How could I not?" Dean asked, confused. "It was like they were shouting through a megaphone right into my ear." He caught sight of the concerned look Sam and Bobby traded and turned to them demandingly. "What? You seriously didn't hear it?"

Bobby shook his head slowly. "It was all just a bunch of noise to me."

"Me, too," said Sam.

"The way I saw it," Cass said, tapping anxious fingers on her coffee mug, "you were in the same boat as Sam and Bobby. You're not supposed to be able to understand their true voices."

"Why not?" Dean asked, beginning to look a little shaken now. "You could hear them, right?"

"Yes. I don't know why—most humans can't. A few special ones can, but I never learned any more about why that was." Cass shook her head. "I never saw a regular human who was able to understand angel voices. Frankly, I'm not concerned about myself—my whole existence here is an anomaly, so this isn't that weird for me, all things considered. What worries me is that, according to the version of events I saw, you shouldn't be able to understand them. But you obviously can, and I have no idea what could have changed to make that happen."

"We can worry about the implications later," said Bobby. "I just wanna know if they're gonna try to bring my roof down around our ears."

"You told them to get vessels?" asked Sam. Cass nodded. "How long will that take?"

"I don't know." Cass lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "They require the consent of the host to possess someone, and not all of the willing are able. They could be back in hours, or days."

"What do you mean, 'not all of the willing are able'?" Dean asked warily.

"If your body isn't strong enough to contain the angel's grace—" Cass made a fist with the hand that wasn't holding her coffee and then expanded her fingers, making a wet popping noise with her mouth. "Like a water balloon."

"You're kinda scary before you're fully caffeinated, you know that?" Dean said, with the sort of blasé of a man in whose occupation the thought of people exploding like water balloons is not that unusual. By unspoken agreement, both he and Cass were pretending that their conversation from last night had never happened.

"Okay, so they'll be back eventually," Sam said, taking on the speculative tone Cass associated with him cooking up hunting plans or theories, back when all of this was a TV show. Unlike the TV show, though, Sam did not propose his own idea, but instead turned to Cass expectantly. "What do we do when they come back?

"I dunno." Cass shrugged. "Play dumb? I'd rather they not find out about my part in all of this, since they're likely to torture me for information if they find out…" Then, with dawning horror, she realized aloud, "Fuck. I shouldn't have yelled at them."

Cass worried her lower lip, thinking. If she'd been thinking clearly before, she wouldn't have said anything—but no, then Dean might have responded to them, and there's no telling how that conversation might have gone. Anyway, it didn't matter anymore what she should have done. What she needed to do now was figure out a way to pull herself out of the hole she'd dug herself into.

"That's not gonna happen," Sam said firmly, reassuringly. If Cass didn't know any better, she might have believed him and felt comforted. It was easy to think he could protect her when he stood tall like that, broad shoulders back and eyes sharp. Unfortunately, she did know better.

"No offense, Sam, but there isn't a lot you could do to stop them if they tried," Cass said, trying to be gentle. "We don't have any weapons capable of killing angels. The most we can do right now is banish them for a while—I'll teach you the sigil."

Cass found the relevant portion of her notes in her room and returned downstairs to walk them through the sigil. It was fairly simple, so all three men had it down quickly. They drew a few banishing sigils in each room and, just in case, a few in strategic, mostly hidden places on the outside of the house, and on the front and back door. But then they were as prepared as they could be, and Cass had nothing to do but pace the front room and peek nervously out the window, jumping at small noises.

Bobby and Dean had retreated, Bobby to research more on angels, Dean to who knew where. Sam stayed to watch Cass pace agitatedly, a book on angels open in his lap, unread.

"You're really nervous," Sam said, voice lightly questioning. Cass shot him an unimpressed look at the statement of the obvious, then sighed and schooled her expression into something more charitable.

"Angels are ruthless," Cass said simply. "Anna was very much the exception to the rule on that front. No, not even that. She was just ruthless and on our side. If we were armed—" She laughed abruptly, humorlessly, and shook her head. "Who am I kidding? If you guys were armed with something that could even make a scratch on an angel, then I'd feel a lot better. But you're not, so… yeah. I'm nervous."

Cass resumed her pacing, then jumped at a slight rustling noise outside. She peeked out from behind a curtain, hoping it would just be a squirrel or the wind, the way it had been the last few times she jumped.

No such luck.

"They're here." Cass quickly ducked back behind the curtain when she saw figures on the front lawn, hoping she hadn't been spotted.

"Dean! Bobby!" Dean's pounding footsteps were already coming down the stairs before Sam spoke—he must have seen the angels appear from an upstairs window. Bobby followed soon after him, and all three of them traded serious looks.

Bobby turned to Cass. "You stay inside." He nodded to the sigil nearest to her. "Be ready to activate that sigil if things get hairy."

"Gladly." She wouldn't pretend to be upset about being told to stay behind. She wanted to live free and un-tortured, and mouthing off to angels was not the best way to go about that. Dean, Sam, and Bobby all tromped out of the house through the front door and down the steps. Bobby closed the door firmly behind him, and Cass pressed her ear to it, listening.

"Dean Winchester." Cass furrowed her brow. That wasn't Castiel's voice. Who had come? "Tell us the name of the one who raised you from perdition."

"How about you tell me your names first, huh?" said Dean. Cass could practically see the defiant look on his face. "I don't see why I have to answer to you."

"I am Castiel." There he was. But then, who— "This is Uriel. We are angels of the Lord."

"Oh, fuck." A part of her had known that more than one angel was speaking— the otherworldly voices had said 'we' and 'us', not 'me'— but she hadn't really thought about the implications. She certainly hadn't expected Uriel to be here.

"Angels, huh." Dean sounded appropriately skeptical. "Right. And you're here, why?"

"We seek the one who pulled you from Hell," said Castiel.

"Why? So you can thank them for doing your job for you?"

"It was not yet your time to be saved," said Uriel. "Whoever rescued you disobeyed direct orders."

"Well, if you do find out who they are, let me know so I can write 'em a thank you note," Dean sassed. "I don't know who pulled me out. Hell, I don't remember anything except waking up in my own grave. How are you so sure it was an angel?"

"Their grace lingers on you." Castiel paused then added, puzzled, "It is… familiar."

"Fuck." Castiel had known Anna. Would he recognize whatever grace of hers had rubbed off on Dean when she saved him?

'Who is the woman cursing inside the house?" asked Uriel suspiciously. "The one who could hear our voices."

"She's no angel, if that's what you're asking," said Dean.

"She is not one of your known associates," said Castiel.

"Not one of—" Dean stopped.

Sam finished his thought. "Have you been watching us?"

"Apparently not closely enough," said Uriel. "Who is she?"

"None of your business." Cass couldn't help the swell of affection she felt for Dean at the hard refusal in his voice. He might be a dick sometimes, but he was a brave dick.

"I'm growing tired of your deceptions," said Uriel, impatience creeping into his tone.

"The fact that you've warded this house against us shows you know more than you should," Castiel said, though he still sounded more puzzled than upset.

"We may not be able to enter the house," said Uriel grimly, "but we can bring it down."

The house began to shake again, even more dramatically than before—because this time, Uriel was actually trying to damage it. Cass froze for a moment, watching in horror as the walls rippled and books fell off shelves. Uriel wasn't bluffing. She'd have to face them, unless she wanted to be crushed by the second floor of the house collapsing down on her. Heart pounding, she turned to the front door and pulled it open.

Uriel smiled. It was an unfriendly expression, more like an animal baring its teeth than the human expression of warmth it imitated.

"Like rats," he said, satisfied, then narrowed his eyes at her. "Now. Who are you?"

"Cass Holmes," she said weakly. "I'm…" She trailed off. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she could say.

In the end, she didn't have to say anything. Castiel spoke instead, looking somewhat awed.

"You are a Prophet of the Lord."

Cass stared at him, mouth open. He looked just the same as she remembered, complete with dark hair and trench coat, though his eyes were bluer than she had been anticipating. And he'd said… he'd said…

"She's a what?" Dean asked, voice rising.

"A Prophet," Castiel repeated, explaining to Dean without taking his eyes off of Cass. "A living conduit for the inspired word." He nodded towards her. "It's an honor."

"Inspired word," Sam said, brow furrowing. He cast a disbelieving glance over his shoulder towards Cass, his eyes darting between her and the angel. "You mean… the word of God?"

"Yes."

This couldn't be happening. It didn't make any damn sense. She wasn't a prophet. She wasn't even from this dimension. But Castiel was still looking at her with what could only be described as respect, and maybe even a little reverence. Uriel, meanwhile, was looking like he'd sucked on a lemon.

Cass finally found her voice, and croaked out a disbelieving, "What."

Castiel's lips flickered for the briefest moment into something like a smile. He turned to Uriel and said, "She reminds me of Luke."

"She reminds me of Eve," Uriel said darkly. Cass shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and glanced to the side to make sure she was still in reaching distance of a banishing sigil, just in case. "Prophets are meant to watch and record, not interfere."

"Yeah, you would say that," Cass muttered, stealthily pulling a small knife from her pocket so she could draw the blood needed to activate the sigil.

"What was that, ape?" Uriel said sharply.

"Uriel," Castiel said, sounding surprised and lightly reprimanding.

"Hey, uh, Castiel?" Cass said, keeping her eyes on Uriel. "Angels aren't allowed to harm a Prophet of the Lord, right? No matter what?" She knew the answer, but it would make her feel better for him to confirm it out loud, as a reminder.

"Of course not," Castiel said, brow furrowed, clearly not understanding why she would feel the need to ask such a question. "It would be a great offense against our Father. Any who dare to harm a Prophet face the wrath of the archangels."

"Good. That's good." Cass drew the blade along her hand, just enough to draw blood, and hovered her hand over the banishing sigil, in case her next words went badly. "Because, the thing is, Uriel over there is working for Lucifer."

"What?"

It wasn't just Castiel who spoke. Sam, Dean, and Bobby also turned to look at her, looking various shades of alarmed. Uriel closed his eyes, looking pained, though whether that was from the revelation or from the sheer effort of containing his desire to smite her, she couldn't say.

"This is why all the best prophets were men," Uriel said lowly, opening his eyes. "They knew their place."

"Uriel." More emotion than Cass thought Castiel was currently capable of was rolled up in that one word. Surprise, hurt, betrayal, denial. "You are my brother. We fought together, for centuries. When did you forsake our father?"

Uriel sighed. "This is not how I wanted you to find out, Castiel. But it's not too late. You can still join us."

"Us?"

"The others in our garrison who have seen sense," Uriel said appealingly, "who care for angels and not these whining, puking larva! Together, we can raise our brother!"

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "You mean Lucifer."

"You do remember him?" Cass wasn't sure if Uriel hadn't heard Castiel's hard tone, or if he was just ignoring it. "How strong he was? How beautiful? And he didn't bow to humanity. He was punished for defending us. Now, if you want to believe in something, Castiel, believe in him."

"Lucifer is not God," Castiel said roughly.

"God isn't God anymore," Uriel said impatiently. "He doesn't care what we do."

Castiel shook his head, just once, and said, "I still serve Him." And then an angel blade fell out of his sleeve and into his hand.

Uriel sighed again, looking genuinely regretful. A blade of his own appeared in his hand. "You haven't even met him. There is no will. No wrath. No God."

Castiel did not answer. At the same time, they two angels launched themselves at each other, silver blades flashing furiously.

"Cass!" Cass glanced away from the fight to see that Sam, Dean, and Bobby had backed away from the scene, toward the door and, in Bobby's case, toward one of the banishing sigils painted on the outside of the house. Dean continued, alarmed, "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, but you better hope to God the one in the trench coat wins," Cass said bluntly.

"Let me guess," he said, "this is another thing that wasn't supposed to happen?"

"I told you already," Cass said, voice rising with panic as Castiel just barely dodged a stab from Uriel. "The more things change, the less I know."

Her fingers were still hovering over the sigil, but she didn't know what would happen if she activated it while they were fighting. She didn't want to risk hurting Castiel.

"Should we help?" asked Sam.

"I don't know. Maybe?" She shook her head. "No, you can't. You don't have an angel blade and—"

Castiel spun, trench coat flying, and managed in one motion to twist Uriel's angel blade out of his hand and kick him so hard in the chest that he flew backwards, folding the junked car he landed on nearly in half. Castiel strode forward with the cold eyes of a soldier, hand gripped tight around the angel blade. Uriel looked up at Castiel once more, looking resigned. And then, with a flash of light, Uriel's vessel was crying, falling forward off of the car and curling into a protective crouch, but presenting his clasped hands to Castiel like he was in prayer.

"I have a family," he said quickly. "Don't hurt me, please…"

Castiel stood before him and sighed. Uriel's vessel flinched as Castiel reached on hand out to him and pressed his fingers to his forehead.

"Sleep," said Castiel, softly. Uriel's vessel slumped to the ground.

There was a long beat of silence, during which all of the conscious humans stared at Castiel, and Castiel stared at the sleeping form of Uriel's vessel, looking lost. Dean was the one who found his voice first.

"Okay, what just happened?"

Castiel blinked, looking like he was waking up from a daydream. He turned to Dean and said, in a vaguely clinical tone, "Uriel abandoned his vessel. He has likely joined his comrades in Hell. He will not be welcome in Heaven now that his treachery is discovered."

Then, turning his very blue eyes to Cass, he said in a voice that wasn't clinical at all, "What am I meant to do?"

Cass swallowed hard. She didn't envy his position, and she couldn't imagine what he must be feeling right now. Slowly, she drew away from the front door and walked down to sit on Bobby's front steps, then patted the wood beside her with her unbloodied hand.

"Come sit down, Castiel," she said, as gently as she could manage. "I'm afraid there's more you need to hear."

Stiffly, Castiel obeyed. Cass was somewhat surprised by how tall he was in person. Even after he perched awkwardly on the step beside her, it was clear he must have a good five inches on her. She supposed he simply looked shorter when stood next to Dean and Sam, who were tall and giant respectively, and who now stood next to Bobby, leaning on the porch railing and listening intently.

Cass blinked in surprise when, once seated, Castiel reached over without a word and took her bloodied left hand in his. He clasped his own hands around hers for a brief second, and when he let go, the small cut she'd made on her palm was gone, along with all the blood. Then he sat looking at her, wide-eyed, ready to hang on her every word. Cass shifted uncomfortably.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her hands in amazement before looking back at Castiel. "I'm sorry. About Uriel."

Castiel's brow furrowed. He seemed to take a moment to think, and then he said, sounding apologetic himself, "I don't understand your apology."

"It's not—" Cass cut herself off. She'd forgotten how literal Castiel was at times, before he became more used to being around humans. She thought for a moment, then rephrased. "What I meant, is that it makes me sad to know that you feel pain because of his actions."

"You are experiencing empathy," Castiel said, his voice clinical once again.

"Yes."

Castiel's brow furrowed again. "Is that what I needed to hear?"

"No," Cass sighed. "What you need to hear is… There are three kinds of angels right now. There's the ones on Lucifer's side, like Uriel, who hate and resent humanity and want to wipe us all out. Then, there's the angels who are loyal to Michael and Raphael, who don't really care about humanity, but who are all about following orders. Both of those groups want to start the Apocalypse—the first with the express goal of killing all of humanity, and the second not caring one way or the other how many humans get caught in the crossfire."

Castiel listened to all of this quietly, face unreadable. Then he said, "And the third?"

"Angels like you," Cass said gently. "Angels who actually want to protect humanity."

Castiel still looked lost. "But what am I supposed to do?"

"I can't tell you what to do, Castiel," Cass said, apologetically. "I can only tell you what I know."

Castiel absorbed that for a second. Then he asked, "Do you know the name of the angel that saved Dean Winchester from Hell?"

"Why?" Dean cut in, leaning over the porch railing to stare suspiciously at Castiel. "So you can go tell your angel buddies? So you can hunt her down?"

Castiel ignored Dean, keeping his eyes on Cass. "She is one of this third group, isn't she?" He paused, then said, haltingly, "I would like to know that I am not alone."

Cass considered the look on his face. He seemed sincere enough, and he was looking incredibly lost, and lonely. She decided it was safe to tell him.

"Anna."

Castiel stared at her. Then, abruptly, he stood up and marched up the steps of Bobby's porch, where he approached Dean and squinted hard at him.

"Hey, man," Dean said, trying to push the angel backwards, without success. "Personal space!"

Castiel took a single step backwards, looking crestfallen. "That is why the grace is so familiar," he said lowly. "She gifted the last of it to you."

"She what, now?" Dean said, voice rising.

"Anna," Castiel said. "What is left of her lives in you."

"I've got an angel inside me?" Dean whirled to face Cass, and said accusinging, "You said they needed consent!"

"Anna is dead," Castiel said bluntly. Cass sucked in a surprised breath. "She is not 'inside you'. She must have passed on what little grace she had left before she perished."

Dean gaped at him. "What?"

"She did say saving Dean on her own was basically a suicide mission," Cass said softly. She felt shaken. It had never occurred to her that Anna might actually die. "I didn't realize she meant it so literally."

Castiel closed his eyes, looking pained. Dean, still edging away from him, said, "You, uh—you knew her well?"

"She was my commander, once," said Castiel, sounding distant. "I looked to her for leadership, before she fell." Then he said, eyes downcast, "I am alone."

"No, you're not," Cass said quickly. "There's other angels out there who want to protect humanity, who really do want to stop the Apocalypse from happening. They just don't realize right now that obeying Michael's orders isn't the way to do it."

Cass raised his head to look at her. "Then it falls to me to tell them," he said, slowly, like he was piecing together a puzzle. "To show them another way."

Cass wished she could take away the pain in his eyes, wished she could tell him that he didn't have to walk the hard road before him, but she couldn't. They needed Castiel on their side. They needed him to rebel. "I'm afraid it does."

Castiel nodded gravely, with the resigned look of a man about to walk to the gallows. "If that is God's will, then I will see it done."

Cass opened her mouth to correct him, to tell him that it wasn't God's will, that he just needed to do what was right by him, but he was already gone, vanished into thin air with a small whoosh.

Everyone was quiet for a beat. Then Dean turned to Cass and demanded, "What the hell was that?"

"I think," Cass said, wincing, "that was me accidentally starting a civil war in heaven."

"Since when are you a Prophet of the Lord?" Dean pressed, looking pissed.

"I don't know!"

"How is that even possible?" Sam asked, leaning forward across the railing. "I mean, you're not even from this dimension."

"I don't know!" Cass repeated. "Contrary to what Castiel seems to think, I don't have God whispering in my ear."

She had spoken to God, of course, but they didn't need to know that. And at the time, he certainly hadn't mentioned anything about making her a prophet. Though she supposed he was really the only one she could blame for this. After all, at this point in the timeline, he was supposed to be the 'Prophet of the Lord'. Maybe he had switched the mantle over to her after their conversation. While she certainly appreciated having a very good reason for angels not to torture her for information, she wasn't sure that being a Prophet of the Lord would be a net positive. She didn't want to end up like Kevin Tran, the poor kid.

"All I know is what I've seen," Cass said, rather than betraying her thoughts. "As far as I know, I shouldn't be a prophet."

"Any chance it's some kind of mistake?" asked Bobby.

"I doubt it," Cass said, lips twisting in thought. "The names of all the prophets are ingrained in angels' brains. Both Castiel and Uriel recognized me as a prophet, which means that it must be in their…" Cass waved her hand vaguely. "Their source code."

"So all the angels out there know you're a… a prophet?" Dean said.

Cass shrugged, and nodded. "On the upside, I don't have to worry anymore about being tortured for information. They're not allowed."

"Wait a second," Sam said, peering at Cass with intense interest. "Their 'source code'? What do you mean, 'source code'?"

"I mean, there isn't some angel Sunday school where they learn the names of all the prophets like we learn the alphabet," Cass explained. "They're just born—or, I guess, created knowing."

"But if they're created knowing, then your name must have been in the code for…" Sam paused. "For thousands of years."

Cass wasn't sure she liked where he was going with this. "Yes?"

"What are you trying to say here, Sam?" asked Dean impatiently.

"I'm saying, maybe bringing Cass here wasn't just some accident," Sam said quickly, sounding half-excited, half-amazed. "I'm saying—maybe I was supposed to flub the ritual. Maybe you were always meant to come here."

"I'm from a different universe," Cass said, disbelieving. "The version of events I've seen isn't even what's happening. How does that make any sense for a prophet?"

"Sister, none of this makes any goddamn sense," Dean said flatly. He wasn't wrong. Cass rubbed at the tension headache building in her temples and groaned.

Bobby leaned forward to look at her. "So, Prophet—should we be worried about the angel war you just started?"

Cass sighed tiredly. "Yeah, probably."

Author's Note: I know at least a few of you were excited about seeing more of Anna, so I'm sorry I've killed her. It's not like there are a lot of strong female characters in these early seasons, and what few there are don't last long. I hate to contribute to the trend of killing them all off, but unfortunately, I just couldn't see a way for her to get Dean out and survive unscathed. I think the show mentions that while Castiel did the actual "raising from perdition", there was actually a garrison of angels which went down to do the deed—which makes sense, considering. (I can't find an actual episode reference for that, but the wiki tells me it's true, so that's what I'm going with.) Also, once Dean broke the seal, I doubt Hell really cared whether Heaven busted him out, so I doubt they'd be putting up too much of a fight. But in this story, the first seal hasn't broken yet, which means Anna was one angel facing down the full and very motivated forces of Hell. Anna's a badass, so she managed it with a little bit of grace left to spare.

In my head, she might have been able to survive, but she wouldn't have lasted long on the run with all the damage she took in her assault on Hell, and she knew it. So instead of clinging onto her own life, she breathed the last of her grace into Dean instead, making her final act one of standing with humanity and giving a big middle finger to Heaven in the process.

Also, thank you to everyone who's reviewing, I really do appreciate it. I don't reply much to comments, but seeing the notifications in my inbox really does make my day.