This chapter is about 9/11, so do not read it if this kind of thing upsets you. You'll be missing nothing relevant to the plot, since there is no plot, lol.

"Hang on," Dean interrupted, his arm shooting up and resembling something reminiscent of the Hitler salute, "you've only known her for a day? Not even a day, like a few hours?"

"I haven't finished my recount yet," Castiel said, eying Dean's suspiciously Nazi arm and then lowering it for him with a masterly wave of his hand from where he was seated. "I believe the next time I encountered her, the incident didn't come to pass as smoothly."

"What did you do?" he heard Sam ask.

He bristled at this question. The affronted angel directed a frown at Sam, who stared cluelessly at him in return. Why was everyone making him feel quite stupid lately?

"What compels you to immediately assume that I did something wrong?"

"Dude, come on," came a scoff from Dean's direction, snaring Castiel's attention once more. Dean stood up and crossed over to the mini-bar. "If we looked up "socially awkward" in the dictionary, there would be a picture of you with your classic "I don't friggin' know what's going on" face."

At that, Castiel blinked.

"There it is!" Dean grinned, pointing to the angel's face, before burying his head in the mini-bar.

"Well, what happened?" Sam guided them back to their original discussion. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"Sammy, it's Castiel. The angel," they heard Dean say, his voice slightly resonating as his head was still buried in the mini-bar. "He has the capability to do anything with superhuman power. Including screwing up things of massive proportions."

Both Sam and Castiel held a silent agreement with their eyes to ignore the elder Winchester.

"I saw her again the following night -"

"Did you stay in New York during the day?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, I stayed."

"What did you do? Did you stalk her?" Dean interrogated, appearing out of nowhere, beer in hand. "Is that why she was mad?"

Castiel's eyes shot upward in annoyance. "No. During the day, I went to ground zero."

The comical aspect of their conversation vanished in an instant, as the room suddenly plunged into a prickly silence. Castiel knew that he had thrown an elephant into the room, and it obviously had to be addressed to end the ever present hum of awkwardness he had sparked. He glanced to and from each brother, trying to deduce their expressions.

"Oh," was all Dean could eventually muster, while Sam directed a somber gaze elsewhere.

The silence pressed on, the tension as apparent as a sore thumb, though for a moment, it looked as if none of them were going to address it further. Castiel had never really introduced typical concerns of the six o'clock news into their conversations. He had never sat down with the brothers and mentioned the momentous events of today, or in history, that had nothing to do with the supernatural or the divine and everything to do with the human condition itself.

Technically, as an angel, it was none of his business. The way he saw it, terrorism was a product of mankind, and they had no one to blame but themselves.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. He stood from his seat. At this move and under his tangible gaze that held some obvious questioning (that would no doubt be conveyed verbally any second now), the brothers squirmed uneasily, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Did this affect you? Did the events of 9/11 affect you?"

"No," came Dean's brisk answer. Unable to rival Castiel's impenetrable stare with his own, he looked away. "Not personally. As a human being, and as an American citizen, yes."

The angel looked to Sam for further elaboration, and all he received was a sober nod in agreement.

They relapsed into another silence; this time, the room held less tension and more of Castiel's palpable curiosity on the sensitive subject.

"It's strange, thinking about all those things," Sam went on, hooking all attention as he broke the silence. Though he seemed to be more vocalizing his thoughts rather than addressing the two of them, he continued, "We're so busy trying to save the world from demons and other beings, we tend to forget that the world is killing itself at its own hand." He chuckled humorlessly. "I always forget that there's a war in Iraq. Humans killing other humans, it's nuts."

Castiel strove to see it from the average human's point of view; of course, humans killing other humans would seem so commonplace in comparison to demons killing humans, or vengeful spirits killing humans, etcetera. That was a reality that they would never know of.

"I'd just graduated from high school when it happened," Sam murmured pensively. Dean was clearly having none of this dramatic change of atmosphere any longer.

"I try not to think about it," he interjected in a harsh tone. "It discourages me from doing my job. I get doubtful. I start to think, "They don't deserve to be saved. Why bother?"" He visibly stopped himself right there, as if to suppress a rant that was a long time coming. Dean's exasperated eyes, which seemed to waver madly around the room for a moment, stopped on Castiel. "Come to think of it, it should discourage you too, as a heavenly messenger and whatnot."

"The events of 9/11 do not concern me."

Oh. That really didn't sound too good.

When two pairs of eyes shot at him immediately, Castiel knew that he was right to feel regretful over his choice of words. Both brothers' gazes sharpened to a dangerous point that seemed to abrade the angel's composure, just by staring at him. Perhaps that hadn't been the most considerate thing to say…

"I meant to say," Castiel quickly managed, briefly shutting his eyes with a wince, "the events of 9/11 didn't concern me … until I visited the site of destruction —"

"No, wait a minute –" He trusted Dean not to let it go; Castiel had watched him advance on him while he had rephrased his words. "– you mean to tell me that until you visited that place, you didn't give a rat's ass about 9/11?"

Sam merely appraised him with eyes similar to Dean's, yet somehow held more tolerance.

Castiel restrained his regret from manifesting, and held his earnest composure, raising his chin just a fraction as though to remind them both of what he was. "You've known me for a while now, Dean. You shouldn't be surprised about where my sympathies do and do not lie. Let me explain."

Castiel knew something very bad had happened on September 11, 2001, but his being in heaven and detachment from earth denied him any chance of knowing specifics. Back then, he didn't really care. People ascended to Heaven everyday, sometimes in crowds. On that date, a group of almost two – no, three thousand former human lives appeared at Heaven's proverbial gates, and Castiel barely bat an eye. He had seen more in the past. World War II? The 1556 Shaanxi earthquake? The 1931 China floods? The Bengal famine of 1770? Now those were great losses.

The Castiel of 2012, who was now standing at the borders of Ground Zero, wondered how he could have been so heartless. Literally speaking, he had no heart to call his own, but he wondered, as an angel of God, where his compassion for humanity had gone. Loitering around on earth had certainly rekindled those sentiments.

Closing his eyes, he spoke a silent prayer for those people. He still did not know exactly what happened, only that there used to be two very large towers here, but nonetheless, he prayed for them.

"Lost someone here, pal?"

His eyes flew open, and spotted a man of about his vessel's age standing next to him with his hands in his pockets. He looked tired, and slightly miserable, but all in all approachable. The man seemed to derive something from Castiel's still expression as he offered him what appeared to be a tight, sympathetic smile, and turned his head to observe the site.

"I know how you feel," he murmured with an exhausted sigh. He had a strong regional accent; perhaps from Boston. "The past … it haunts you. You think if you got to the root of things – say, coming to the scene of whatever incident had transpired – you think it goes away, like you get closure or something."

He then gave Castiel a hard, significant look, as if trying to highlight a commonality between them. "It doesn't do anything. Doesn't alleviate the pain, doesn't put the mind at rest. If anything, it stirs those memories even more. We're masochists, in a way. Having to remember is the most painful thing in the world, but we want to. We want to, but we don't want to."

"You feel that it's your responsibility to remember." Castiel was unsure of his words, but it came out as a statement.

The man's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Yeah! You got it, man. It's painful for us and we don't have to remember … but we do. Running away from the pain only makes it hurt more when it catches up with you, so what's the point in running? We remember because we love them."

He held Castiel's gaze for a few more moments, as though to let that last statement linger, before looking away mournfully.

"I lost my sister here," he heard the man murmur. He was staring straight ahead, as though he had given up trying to find one place in the scene to fix his attention to. "I still love her. I didn't know anyone else who was a victim here, but even though they're all strangers to me, I love them. "

Castiel frowned. "Why?"

The man turned to Castiel and said, "All you need is love." He smiled gently at Castiel's expression of muted interest. "Merry Christmas," he bid with a gracious nod, before shuffling away with his hands in his pockets.

Pain must have been a complicated thing, but Castiel could only observe from the sidelines. He knew that there were two kinds of pain: physical pain and emotional pain. He was vaguely familiar with the former, but as a being who could heal itself, physical pain had always been nothing more than just a brief hindrance.

The latter kind of pain, he hadn't quite experienced just yet. Confusion and frustration were emotions that he was rapidly becoming familiar with, and that was "painful" enough as it is. But apparently, these emotions didn't hold a candle to "heartbreak" and "mourning". The angel realized that emotional pain must have been powerful, as it was the only thing that could make a Winchester brother cry.

The room fell back into its usual air of awkwardness (events of which seemed to transpire with alarming regularity whenever Castiel was around) as the figurative clouds of his flashback faded from the foreground. He watched as Dean and Sam exchanged glances in their usual manner, with Dean looking stark incredulous as Sam shrugged, the gears evidently turning in his head.

"We don't – we don't cry a lot, do we?" Dean's chuckle bounced with paranoia. The sudden puffing of his chest, the elaborate knitting of brows that followed, and his seemingly endless and rather frantic gulp of beer were the kind of subtle movements that Castiel inwardly noted. Manhoods had obviously been threatened.

"Exactly my point," Castiel responded, nodding, "emotional pain must be so strong, so painful, to make the both of you cry."

The brothers – more Dean than Sam – seemed uncomfortable with the tiny, three letter word, though he only vaguely sensed their discomfort before his thoughts turned inward. His own thoughts happened to be quite unfathomable, so much to make Castiel's eyes twitch into a rather pained scowl at the carpet (yes, carpet! This motel had an extra half star next to its name!). He began to pace. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he believed that physical movement would stimulate some sort of conclusion.

"I have… never … experienced … emotional pain," Castiel managed with some difficulty. Remembering frustration and impatience, he then added, "At least, not to any extremities."

"Heh, you scared?"

Despite Dean's teasing tone, Castiel regarded him with the utmost sobriety, and it was his intense yet eternally cryptic gaze – tinged with the slightest shade of distress – that wiped the look of amusement right off of the Winchester's face.

"It is foreign ground," he said simply. He blinked once, and his look of intensity fell. "Perhaps I am." He frowned, as if, upon reflection, he was ashamed of admitting this. He had pretty much acknowledged this vulnerability and embraced it. His dismal look vanished as curiosity crossed his features. "How do you avoid emotional pain?"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head dismissively as he set down his beer bottle – a simple move that informed him that Dean was ready to tackle the conversation with full attention. "No no no, this is the thing: you can't go through life without enduring it."

Castiel frowned in bemusement and canted his head to one side, his eyes flickering with confusion – basically, his usual reaction to everything.

"Why not? Would it not make your whole existence on earth more pleasant?"

"If there's no suffering, then there's no joy, there's just … white noise," Sam explained. His shrug was assured yet rueful when Castiel regarded him dubiously. "A middle ground with no ups or downs. That's not living, that's just existing."

The angel nodded as he allowed himself a moment to absorb these observations. "So… to live, one must seek emotional pain."

"Of course not!" Dean quickly shot in. Castiel saw that he had reclaimed his spot on the bed and was casually crossing one leg over the other. "You have to find what makes you happy. And sometimes, because life's a bitch, it throws you lemons and you have to deal with it."

Castiel then faced a very disturbing mental image of himself walking down a seemingly harmless suburban street and then suddenly being flattened by a mountain of lemons.

"How do lemons hold any import to your existence?"

A wry smile emerged on Dean's face that seemed to translate to "Wellll, I should have seen that one coming,", also explaining why Castiel wasn't greeted with another roll of his eyes.

"I mean, to quote a Stones song – you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need."

There was a climactic pause.

"… lemons?"

"Wha — no!"

Castiel glowered determinedly. He could almost feel Sam's sympathetic smirk from across the room and he knew Dean well enough to know that he was rolling his eyes right now.

He tried again. "Emotional pain helps one … gain?" He immediately did not know whether or not to acknowledge his accidental rhyme.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, gain – knowledge, experience, wisdom, understanding."

"What if one already has all these properties?"

Dean shared a bleak look with his brother, before responding, "No one does. Life is about learning."

There was another pause as the brothers allowed the angel to digest everything.

"An ongoing discovery of our own ignorance," Castiel concluded distantly.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that Dean was now swapping disturbed glances with his brother. "Yeah… that – that's one way to put it."

"Ignorance…"

"So!" Dean piped with a grin, his usual levity reviving, and captured all attention with a clap of his hands. "Back to this girl, what did you do to piss her off?"

At this, Castiel turned his gaze aside, and he wasn't quite sure why. Was it normal to feel uncomfortable when talking about women? Especially when Dean Winchester was one of the people he was conversing with – the notorious heartbreaker. He kissed the girls and made them cry. Castiel then recalled Chastity … then decided that that very same phrase could apply to himself, too.

"I may have … insulted her ignorance."

"About what?"

Castiel looked up sheepishly.

"… Oh God."

"Yes, about God."

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