Had Castiel not been graced with a tolerance level only heaven could provide, he would have been rubbing his what-would-have-been-aching brow at the sight of Dean pacing the room like a caged animal. Instead, he monitored him with uncompromising eyes, crossed arms and a solid resistance to relenting from his word.

"Our best course of action would be to strike at midnight," the angel stressed. Though in a room full of anxious ears, his words were leveled only at the elder Winchester. "Although they'll be in their least vulnerable state, we'll at all events be able to orchestrate the needed ritual, which entails a midnight execution."

Dean, being his routinely difficult self, was already shaking his head in refusal. "No. I don't like it. We might as well go over there swingin' in blindfolds, and considering the hour, we pretty much are!"

"You've made that quite clear, Dean," he retorted, resounding his facial expression of tired exasperation to the hilt, "but have yet to propose a better option." Stepping forward, he addressed the cabin of hunters at large. "This is the means with the most potential in our favor. At no stage did I ever make an assertion of guaranteed safety."

The hunters stirred with grudging agreement, inspiring a scowl to appear on the Winchester's face. He whirled around to one corner of the room, eyes stopping on its subject.

"Sam! Help me out here!"

It seemed that Sam had been one within that grudging stir of agreement, simply making a vague gesture of reluctant acceptance under his brother's regard.

"Dean, he's right. It's the lesser of two evils."

His scowl soured, but restrained an urge to argue, setting it aside for later. "See, this is why the world sucks!" his internal commentary escaped. "We shouldn't have to settle for lowdown crap like this!"

"I was under impression that you had reached that judgment long ago," Castiel remarked. At Dean's attention, he neared, demonstrating to the room his natural force of presence. "Do not believe that I am unmindful of the risks, because I am painfully conscious of them as much as you are. But this plan, of which I very much do not desire to personally lay claim to, is everything and nothing we have." If possible, his gaze exacerbated further. "So, if you still trust yourself to be unbelievably arrogant in thinking you are above this moral deadlock … uh, haters to the left."

Ceremoniously, the angel swept out of the room as it plummeted to a silence. Though already silent to begin with, the sound of all mental thought stopping somehow made remarkable contrast. Sam's lips were pressed in a firm line, suppressing a look of untimely amusement, while Dean continued to regard the air itself where Castiel had just stood, his expression of discontent recoiling into one of stark bewilderment. He was stationary for a long moment, feeling puzzled gazes being thrown about the room, before he started out this paralysis and wheeled around at his middle to his brother.

"What did he say?"

"… it was truly unalike anything I've ever witnessed before. I still fail to understand why it happened. The plan came to completion with … an unprecedented precision achieved by humans, but nonetheless, I've yet to find the explanation for as to why our enemies disintegrated into glass once dispatched by a hunter. They were the last of their kind, and although barbaric and unworthy of this world, I feel that we could have learned more about their nature. Yes… learning more about the Adversary could ultimately be of benefit."

"Uh huh, uh huh," Gabriel pretended to acknowledge as he poured hot milk into a coffee mug. "Tell me more about Little Red."

Castiel, who had been boring a vehement stare into the counter-top, glanced up. "I didn't mention Audrey."

Eyes glued to his task, he smirked. "But you're itching to." At the absence of response, he settled down the pitcher and pasted on an expectant glance. "What, suddenly we have nothing to say?"

Upon view, Gabriel discovered that he hadn't demurred from speaking, but was rather fixating on the thought of her in a wistful calm.

He spoke slowly, still undecided with words. "She is so …"

"Hot!" His gaze flew to Gabriel, bewildered, finding that he was actually addressing a customer he was presenting a coffee to. "— so be careful with that!" Their eyes met again and he beamed. "Go on."

Though slightly thrown off, he resumed. "I have stumbled upon many anomalies on this earth, but when it comes to her, I can only —"

"Butter that muffin?" He peered up again. He was talking to another customer. "As in, would you like me to?"

"– describe her as being —"

"In heat? For thirty seconds? Sure!"

"– utterly indefinable, which in truth, I find is quite —"

"— possibly something you'd like to tear off a piece of and devour 'til your insatiable desire for its finger-licking sweetness is spent? They're our new Upside Down Cherry Muffins, folks! Low fat!"

"… charming."

Turning away from the patrons of coffee, Gabriel grinned broadly in the face of such delightful innocence. "So why the uncertain face?" Pouting, he added, "Why so serious, hm?"

His judgments twinging him, Castiel fidgeted a little. "On occasion, she can strike me as being somewhat of a —"

"Tart?"

At this, his focus snapped back to Gabriel, who was holding out to him a small dish that held the last mini peach tart.

"No thank you."

Looming out of the darkness onto the corner of Christopher and Seventh, he sighted nearby the warm, golden light being spilled onto the pavement like a humble ray of sunshine from the windows of Central Perk. It emanated the atmosphere of a cozy, intimate cottage that local residents of the Village sought quick comfort in. A dainty little bell chimed as he entered, the icing sugar on top of this idyllic setting which amazingly sustained itself within the brutality of the surrounding world, and straightaway he spotted her sitting at a high top table smack in the middle of the room, staring with unusual interest into her coffee mug as though it could foretell her future.

Almost automatically – and, even to this instant, remaining a riddle as to why – his attention fell straight to her legs. For all one knows, this could be normal human behavior – it may be that the lower limb area was the customary zone of direct attention. But then again, he had never turned this manner of scrutiny to either Winchester brother, and for some enigmatic reason, he instantly decided against it. There was nothing wrong with the human body, but the idea of looking at them the way he looked at her? That was enough to make him internally grimace in a rare show of revulsion.

Garnished by her continued unwise penchant for fashionably intimidating mini-skirts, her legs extended from within them, one settled over the other and for once not sheathed in stockings. Instead, tonight, and it could be that this fashion move was even more unwise, she sported yellow socks that stretched right over her knees. Boots had been snubbed, as avowed, but substituting them for the luridly pink Mary Jane heels she wore didn't make much of a tactful improvement in the end. The whole image cooperatively screamed virginity and its inverse, the visual paradox oddly inviting.

A spoon poked out of her mouth as she took a photo of her half empty (or arguably half full) coffee mug, for reasons that probably made sense only to her. He took a step forward just as the flash winked, his movement in the background hooking her notice. As soon as she saw him, her jaw dropped, the spoon clattering onto the table, and said three words, very slowly.

"Oh. My. God."

That instant, five heads whipped in her direction, attached to the bodies of the regulars who often lounged around the neighboring coffee table. At their glimpse of Audrey, they breathed a collective sigh of relief, as though they were expecting to see someone less desired.

"Audrey," he said by way of greeting as he moved towards her table. She stayed seated, gaping as he approached, until she leaped from her stool and gave him a big hug, camera still in hand.

"Hi!" she caroled, dropping back onto her seat as he claimed his own. She gestured him. "I haven't seen you in a week! And a day. Or two."

"Do you find that to be overly extensive?"

"Mmnot as such. But I didn't get to see you for Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day, or New Year's Eve, or New Year's Day…"

"I apologize for my absence," he said, lacing his fingers together on the table, "I've been busy."

"Busy on those dates?" She shot him a look of great pity. "Your job sucks."

"It has its limitations, yes." His regard, which had fallen to her coffee as recollection of the mission enveloped him, refocused suddenly. "Was there a reason why you were photographing your coffee?"

"You know how some people see the Virgin Mary or Jesus in their food?"

His eyes flashed up to her, then to the beverage, before unceremoniously reaching out and pulling it towards him for inspection. "That is impossible —"

"I see Jimmy Fallon in mine." His hard scrutiny eased at this. She leaned over the table to survey it for herself. "Oh, now it's Oliver."

Discontent burgeoned within him as she pulled it back to her, nostalgia passing over her face as she observed its frothy contents. Wanting very much to rid her of any thought of him, he plucked a clean spoon from the serving platter of a passing waitress without looking and flung it into her drink, succeeding in diverting her and eliminating whatever image she was deriving from the liquid.

"With all due respect, I find it difficult to believe that you were involved with him." Her lips curved modestly, otherwise focusing on twirling around the new spoon. "He doesn't seem like your ideal acquaintance, aesthetics aside," he found himself pressing on, "I had expected you to be romantically interested in someone like —"

"Someone like you?"

His gaze adjusted to her from the spoon in her hands, darkening eloquently. "I'm the last person I expect you to become involved with."

She made a face of mirthful disbelief, allowing the spoon to rest. "Oh, right, sure," she scoffed, folding her arms on the table and inclining forward coyly. "Alright then – who do you think is my type?"

He dipped his head towards something behind her. "Him."

She twisted around in her seat, only to swiftly whisk back around with the addition of a horrified grimace. "Gunther?"

Frowning at her and the blond she thought he was referring to, he shook his head. "No. Look at the framed photograph, up there."

Making the same motion, she returned to him wearing an expression of amused discombobulation. "The Naked Cowboy? Because I'm obviously the Naked Cowgirl."

"You're both unconventional," he offered.

"But he takes it to a whole new level! In the music world, I'm Lady GaGa and he's… the Village People member they cut."

Castiel decided not to show his ignorance by asking. Being above finger-pointing, he directed a gaze to another male. "Him."

"Stoner."

"Him."

"Stoner's dealer."

"Him."

"Stoner's dad, and do you really think I go for older men?"

"I'm –" and he meant his vessel, "– nine years your senior."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Her mock naivety was received as a challenge he would see to later, and then directed his gaze to another. "Him."

She snorted. "That's you, with glasses."

"That's not an answer."

Her smile grew sly. "Maybe. Maybe if he loses the glasses."

A weary sort of amusement marked his features, and she noted the significance of it immediately. "Sorry, I shouldn't say stuff like that," she said, shamefaced. "I don't wanna lead you on."

Trademark tilt of his head. "What do you mean?"

"You know – to give someone misleading signals." Her smile was sheepish. "I'm–I'm trying to stop that now."

He stared at her. Then, hooking his foot around one leg of the stool she sat on, he steadily pulled her towards him, and she jumped in her seat, unprepared for its sudden movement.

Once their knees touched, he said, "Well done."

A blushing smile escaped her restraint as she averted his gaze, contriving to appear occupied with the camera in her hands. "The Force is strong with this one," she quoted in a smiling mumble.

Then, with a sigh, deciding wisely to treat this with more discretion, she settled down the camera and looked him in the eye. Finding that his eyes had been on her the entire time, it nearly threw her off again completely, but she clung to that ounce of composure in defiance.

"Cas," her smile swelled at the feel of his name, "you know I would love to mess around with you but…" The smile thinned as something cynical constrained her.

"What?" he prompted, frowning.

She studied him, wanting to phrase her words just right in deference to his evident interest. "I just … don't have a good feeling about that. It's not you, it's the idea of knowing you in that way. I can't put my finger on what it is exactly," she mumbled the latter while Castiel frowned, crestfallen, but not at her. Was the universe inspiring this apprehension within her to obstruct him?

"I understand," he nodded solemnly. It must be the universe. Telling him to either leave her alone or disclose his true self to her: two options with an equal lack of appeal.

Smiling ruefully, she reached out to squeeze his hand. "Thank you." He barely acknowledged her gesture, focusing purely on her eyes. Disappointment simmered behind them, her true desires not far beneath. This apprehension was her – their only obstruction. All she really needed was a little push. That measure was to be deferred when someone behind him caught her eye. "Oh my God."

Bristling briefly at this common utterance, he looked over his shoulder. A man of about Audrey's age had entered, either oblivious or impervious to the lovely atmosphere and instead fully engrossed (and noticeably frustrated) by something on his cell phone. Short, stout, bragging a healthy head of curly hair and donning a pair of Clark Kent-type glasses. In a world of his own, he hobbled in, jolting away guiltily after swatting random people by accident with the umbrella he kept protruded under his arm. Castiel looked between him and Audrey's stare of wonder, latching on to the significance.

"Him then," he muttered.

"No no no, I know him!" she whispered fervently. "That's Professor!"

"Professor who?"

"I don't know his actual name," she chuckled sheepishly. "We went to the same school. He was a bit of nerd, so everyone called him Professor."

They both watched as "Professor" tucked away his phone with a nettled whine as a taller, lankier figure, who had been one of the five to glance paranoiacally at Audrey earlier, moved for the exit. Professor, recognizing him, gave him a respectful nod as he stepped aside.

"Professor Geller," he nodded. This stern, masculine facade he had assumed was such an ill-fitting appearance on him, not at all coordinating his manboyish qualities.

"Professor —" They leaned forward, anticipating the name that followed, but unluckily, Professor Geller looked equally as lost. After a climactic moment of searching the air for a name, he nodded, a sober expression in place. "Professor," he acknowledged conclusively, before striding out, leaving a slightly dejected but none the surprised Professor in his wake.

As he approached the counter, Audrey flailed a hand uncouthly at him, halting him. "Heeey! Professor!"

"Hello?" he replied, in an effort to appear genial but confusion getting the better of him. "I–I'm sorry, are you a student of mine?" He had a very mousy quality; he seemed perpetually skittish as though he had something to hide. And then there was the slight ten year old boy lisp he possessed.

"No, it's me, Audrey Hathaway! I went to Calhoun with you. I was a sophomore when you were a senior, we were both in the school's production of Annie —"

Already, recognition had pleasantly blossomed on his face. "Oh! Oh, wow! Hi! I–I didn't recognize you with the – with the red hair! Very Poison Ivy, I must say."

"Yes," she giggled, vainly flicking a hand through her hair. With the same hand, she gestured Castiel. "This is Castiel, my, um…" Their gazes merged dubiously. "… good male platonic friend."

Professor observed this gaze from the sidelines, thoroughly furrowing his face in bafflement before shaking the angel's hand amiably. "Nice to meet you. Um, listen, I'd love to chat, really," he said, raising a finger at Gunther, non-verbally requesting his usual order for the night, "– to tell you the truth, I, heh, could really use a social life, but I–I–I have a class to teach."

"You're a teacher?"

Demurely, he smiled and nodded. "I'm a … professor."

As trademark as Castiel's frown and head tilt, there appeared her pageant smile. "You lived up to your name, that's nice!"

"Yeah, I'm a physics professor at NYU," he embellished, chest swelling with pride. "You know… you're–you're free to join me, if you'd like!" he proposed to them both, with wide eyes reflecting hope, desperation and an unmistakable desire to be loved. "You wouldn't be impeding the students' learning in any way. The class is extra-curricular and totally recreational."

"Oh!" In an instant, Audrey's pleading eyes clung to Castiel. "Can we go? Can we can we can we go? We should go! It would be so fun! I've never been on a college campus since Columbia."

At its mention, Professor grimaced. "Ewww. Go Bobcats!"

"No, go Lions!" she playfully argued. Both turned to the angel expectantly. When he did not respond in accordance, Professor spoke.

"So, Castiel, is it? Wh–where did you go to college?"

Rummaging far into the mental archives of information, he pulled out a detail from Sam's life. "Stanford," he answered.

Having not been fully acquainted with Castiel, this didn't take Professor by surprise at all, who nodded at this admission with an acknowledging hum as he accepted his coffee-to-go from Gunther. So the only pair of eyebrows raised were indeed Audrey's.

"Wow, I really can't picture that," she said, directing to him an arch smile. "Eighteen year old Castiel, living on the West Coast. In the nineties."

"So, so, what was your major?" asked Professor, thumbing the bridge of his glasses as he shepherded them outdoors.

"Yes, what was your major?" The glint in her eye and tone of voice suggested to him that she imagined this piece of information would aid her in fathoming the mystery that was his career.

"Philosophy and Religious Studies." Technically it wasn't a lie at all. His whole existence majored in this. Her interested gaze dimmed a little, this information clearly not clarifying much.

He found he rather liked that she was keen to know. He nearly smiled.

Professor, however, laughed and elbowed him sportively. "Religion, huh? As in, theology? Heh, I guess – I guess that makes us adversaries, hey buddy?" His attempt at male camaraderie was a bit sad.

"No kidding!" Audrey interjected. "Castiel is actually a professor at, um, the Union Theological Seminary!"

As Professor blew out a whistle to hail a cab, Castiel assailed her with an appalled stare. What was it with her and fabricating stories? On some level, he concluded that she must be a pathological liar.

"Oh! On–on Broadway, right? And affiliated with," Professor made a face, "Columbia?"

"Yep. Somehow, this guy here," she looped his arm around his, a move of which he was immediately mindful of, "made me realize that jargon, not content, is what turns people off of religion." Fabrication aside, he stared at her in surprise. It sounded like a genuine opinion. From his scrutiny of her, he noticed Professor standing at her other side, eying her with what was probably indignation.

Then their eyes met. Castiel managed a small smile, but wouldn't be surprised if it emerged a smirk. "I'm certain physics is equally as compelling."

"Oh it is! V–Very compelling!" he said, rounding to his side of the cab. "A plethora of verifiable FACTS –" he emphasized the word like a slap in the face over the top of the cab, "– what fun!"

Professor embarked the vehicle, dodging the brunt of Castiel's withering facial expression of "Bitch, please!", before following them both inside.

"Facts are good," Audrey decided, claiming the middle seat.

Professor dimpled, glowing with appreciation. "Thank you."

It was then that he realized what this was. They were competing not for her affections, but for her preferred philosophy. And if he couldn't have her intimately, he had to have her intellectually.

"Faith is more worthwhile existentially," he proclaimed.

Turning to him, she nodded. "A fine point."

Professor quickly fumbled for a shot of his own. "Uh, uh, fact is more reliable."

She nodded to him. "That's true." She then became spectator to their tennis match of quick parries.

"Faith encourages morals."

"Fact is absolute!"

"Faith is transcendent."

"Fact is empirical!"

"Faith is beyond empiricism."

"HEY!" They all jumped in their seat (excluding Castiel, who jumped for no one) when the cab driver's patience snapped. "Do you people have a place in mind or should I be charging you to sit?"

In a hangdog mumble, Professor imparted their destination. "M–Meyer Hall on Washington Place."

I'm getting a bit worried, guys. Since I got into my film school, I can't really continue with this story post-2011 because I will be busy as hell. I'd have moved out of home and into a different state with my best friend, struggling to makes ends meet on our own. So I have two options: write this story in its full length even if it means writing into 2011, but there lies the risk that it becomes abandoned because I'll be constantly imposed with real life, or condense this story hardcore, and I really don't want to do that. I'd try rushing my updates but sometimes my muse to write just isn't there, and even still, to achieve its intended length would mean two or three updates a week, which is impossible for me, unless you'll settle for first drafts of chapters, lol.

Oh and yes, I did allude to only five Friends characters up there. The sixth, being Joey, moved to L.A. for the show Joey, remember? ;)

Read and review (and advise?) :)