Frank owned a commercial quality toaster that featured a conveyer belt. It was able to produce continuous quantities of hot toast, dumping them onto a plate at the end of the belt. The toaster appeared to fascinate Cass. The angel was leaning down, ducking until he was eye level with the device, peering through the opening at the end to watch the toast turning brown as it traveled the conveyer.

This suited the doctor just fine. The doctor, whose name, Dean had learned, was Greg, had wanted Cass to have one more IV dose of antibiotics and finish the bag of fluids, just to be certain he was safe. Dean didn't understand enough about medicine and IVs to be able to explain it to Cass, which meant Cass understood nothing at all. All he'd known was that there was a tube sticking in his arm, and tape and a dressing securing it that irritated him. He'd started out by rapidly shaking his arm, trying to shake the annoying thing off. Then he'd started peeling at the dressing, trying to twist his wrist free from the tape, or simply trying to walk away from the IV pole, coming close to pulling it out of his arm several times. They'd finally attached a short thin wooden board to Cass's arm, wrapped it with several layers of gauze, and firmly told him that it was very important he leave it alone. But the angel had been sitting absently picking at the dressings anyway until Frank had started the toaster.

Dean was letting him explore as he ate. He'd already gotten a bowl of hot cereal and several pieces of toast into Castiel, as well as a glass of milk. Now that he was distracted by the mysterious workings of Frank's toaster, Dean relaxed enough to feed himself. But Dean's attention was primarily on Frank.

"I was given my ability when I was a child," the old man began. "I remember walking to school and an old woman came up to me. She told me that I had a chance to do great things, touched my cheek, and suddenly I could see the girls smiling down at me. I don't remember exactly when or why I named them Charlie and Patience. But I learned pretty quickly not to talk about them because no one else could see them. There was a time when I very nearly ended up with a lobotomy, and I gotta tell you, son, that leaves an impression on a fella. Well, like I said, I could see them, and I could see other angels as well. And of course, I could see demons. The demons terrified me until I came to understand that the girls would always defend me from them."

"So they always fight demons, but they let you get shot?" Dean asked.

"That's right." He indicated Greg. "The doc here tells me that he told you a bit about me, where I came from and some of how my life has been?"

"I did," Greg called. "And Castiel is poking his fingers into the toaster. Is it alright that he's poking with the toaster?"

"Be careful, Cass, that's hot!" Dean called. "If you keep poking your fingers into it, you're going to burn yourself."

"Alright." Cass continued to poke around with the toaster and hissed when he burned his finger.

"And what did you learn?" Dean said calmly. "Your feathered ass is worse than a child sometimes." He was secretly pleased with himself for letting Cass learn this lesson, rather than demanding he stay away from the toaster.

Cass looked sadly at his burned finger. "Sorry."

"Just stick it in your mouth and suck on it a bit, Castiel," Frank encouraged, not looking up. "Here's the most important thing to remember about guardian angels, Dean: They are divine, and the only thing they're really concerned about is the divine. So if a demon comes along, they'll give it a good swift kick in the can fast it can blink, because they won't give it a chance to upset the divine plan. But humans are anything but divine! Now, that's not to say that they won't interfere if there's something they really need for me to do, and they've saved my sorry ass more than once. But I've never seen Patience hit a human with her shield or Charlie swat one with her sword. The most exciting thing they did was stick out a foot and trip someone trying to attack me."

"Of course both angels and demons have their own agenda, but all they can usually do is try to sway humans to do what they need done. You see a few rare cases of demons actually possessing people, or someone like me who can see the angels and get direct messages, but for the most part, it's very subtle. Take that crack Castiel made in the pavement, for instance." He shook his head and chuckled. "I will confess, that confuses the hell out of me. But if I were you, son, I'd keep an eye on that crack. Because a divine mission isn't assigned on a whim. One day soon, something very significant will happen that will be able to be traced back specifically to that tiny crack."

"He just stuck a fork in the toaster," Greg reported dryly. "Castiel is cooking a fork now. Do we think that's part of any sort of divine mission? There is a fork moving through the toaster right now, does anyone care that there is a fork in the toaster?"

"I already figured that there had to be a bit more to that whole 'crack the sidewalk' thing than meets the eye, and you can bet I'll keep an eye on it," Dean agreed. "But I'm still stuck on why your girls don't protect you from humans. Cass has defended me since he showed up, got into a fight when I got jumped by my asshole neighbors and everything. And he's not even a guardian!"

"And that is a very significant fact," Frank stressed. "Every angel, from the highest of the archangels through the guardians and down to messengers like Castiel, is a holy warrior. They're soldiers of the heavenly host, and as you've seen firsthand from the three with us here, they're all fighters. But messengers typically aren't called on for protection duty for an extended period of time like the girls are. Mostly they just escort someone for short periods of time until they either get whatever message they're there to deliver, or the person exercises their free will and the messenger has to try someone else."

"Cass said he was escorting me," Dean recalled. "That's what he told me he was doing almost from the beginning."

"Well, to be fair, if he's bound to you, he has a certain amount of self-interest in doing so. But that only further illustrates my point. Castiel was escorting you, and that actually makes a messenger, in a way, even fiercer than a guardian. A guardian is accustomed to be patient, to watch over her charge and allow him to make his own decisions. Because of that, they will stand by and let you make a bad one. God knows I've made enough of those that they stuck with me through. But the goal, the focus, of a guardian is long term. A messenger's focus is very short term. They're goal oriented, there to accomplish one very specific task, and short of impinging on free will, they'll do what they have to do in order to accomplish that goal. The fact is, when most people speak of guardian angels and divine intervention, they're not actually talking about guardians at all. They're seeing the work of messengers like Castiel."

"Aaand there goes the third fork, and I believe that was a spoon he just fed into the toaster," Greg reported, sipping his coffee. "Frank, your silverware is getting very well toasted."

Frank had one of the books he'd written on angels out on the table and was leafing through the pages. Finding what he was looking for, he pushed it to Dean. "Since I could see them, I figured I had an obligation to study them, angels, obviously," he explained. "This is the last book I wrote, the culmination of my research. Now understand, the 'real' angel experts blow me off as an old kook. I don't have any sort of degree, after all. No, all I could do was find something or puzzle something out, ask the girls, and have them nod or shake their heads to let me know if I was right or wrong, if they chose to answer at all. What the hell do I know?"

Dean chuckled at that. "Ok, this is, what, the job description of a heavenly messenger?"

"You got it. Above and beyond anything else, their title says it all. They're messengers, and they show up when they have a message to deliver. Once that's done, they're gone, off to the next mission."

Dean tried to keep his expression neutral, hoping the pang he felt at that didn't show. "So what's your message, Cass?" he called. "What were you trying to tell us when you cracked that sidewalk?"

Cass looked back at him and frowned.

"Eh, it was worth a try, but I doubted that would work," Frank sighed. "The message of a heavenly messenger is usually only intended for one specific person at one specific time. Sometimes it's bigger, of course. The missions vary and they can be real efficient about getting tasks done."

"He's real efficient about trying to get that saucer into the toaster," Greg commented. "I don't think he'll… Nope, he just proved me wrong. Castiel is now toasting a saucer."

Frank tapped the book. "You see what the number two task is on that job description, right after delivering messages?"

"Escort duty!" Dean read. "The messenger escorts a specific person and keeps them safe until that person can complete their assigned task."

"Precisely."

"Dammit," Dean grumbled. "Why the hell couldn't I have found you or at least this book about a week ago? But I guess it wouldn't have mattered. When we were trying to do some research and understand what Cass was and what was happening with him, my friend looked at this exact same book. But she was looking up guardians, not messengers. We had it right in front of us, and we didn't know it."

"Don't feel bad, kid," Frank comforted. "You couldn't have known the difference, especially not if Castiel wasn't entirely honest with you."

Dean glanced at Cass. The angel had gone stiff for a moment, watching as an assortment of cutlery and table settings came out of the toaster but obviously having heard what Frank had just said. When the blue eyes turned towards him, Dean gave him a reassuring smile. "It's alright," he said. "Yeah, that hurt me, buddy, that you'd lied. Our relationship took a hit from it. But number three on this list of duties is 'provide comfort.' And I know I got a lot of comfort from thinking you were my guardian angel, sent to help me. It hurt that you lied, but in the end, it doesn't really make a difference. You fought for me with your life, and if that isn't being a guardian, I don't know what is."

Cass's face broke into a sunny smile. He shyly looked away, and once again his attention was drawn to the toaster.

"Cass did tell us a few things about guardian angels," Dean said, returning to Frank. "He said that people with guardians are real special, have a chance to make a big change that affects a lot of people. Based on what Greg told me, it sounds like you're exactly that kind of person, Frank."

Frank shrugged. "I won't lie and tell you it's an easy life. You know that old story about the man at the drawbridge?" When Dean shook his head, Frank explained. "The tale goes, this man was responsible for lowering the bridge when a train came, to allow it to pass over. But one night, his young son followed him to his station, and just before the train came, the boy fell into the gears. The man knew that if he lowered the bridge, his son would die. But if he didn't, then everyone on the train would die. And so he lowered the bridge to save the many people on the train, and the people, knowing nothing of the man's terrible sacrifice, waved cheerfully to the man as the train passed. The moral of the story here is that sometimes individuals are called on to make the deepest of personal sacrifices for the benefit of those around them. And even though I accepted that early on when I chose to follow the path before me, it was never easy, young Dean."

"Uh, I really think maybe you should stop him this time, Winchester," Greg suggested. "Castiel is about to feed a towel through the toaster, and that will probably catch on fire."

"Ack! Cass, no!" Dean jumped up, turned the toaster off, took the towel away from his fascinated angel, and steered him away from the toaster to sit at the table. He drew the IV pump closer and took Cass's free hand as the angel's eyes once again fell on the dressings securing his IV. "How much longer does he have to have this IV in his arm?" he asked Greg.

"At least another hour," the doctor replied, bemused.

"Fine." Dean turned to Cass and put on his most pleading expression. "Cass? Will you stay here with me for an hour or so, until your IV gets done?"

Cass's smile became somewhat strained.

Frank was shaking his head. "Hard to believe Crowley and Morningstar want you to fight a pit lord," he commented. "Sometimes you seem more like a child in an adult's body than a holy warrior. But they called me early this morning while you were in the shower, Dean, wanting to know if their prize fighter had survived the night." He paused. "They also wanted to know his sizes. It sounded like they were going shopping for you, Castiel."

Cass went still and quiet. Dean clenched his jaw.

"They seem fairly certain that they're going to have you by Sunday evening," Frank continued. "And unfortunately, your idiot young friend here signed a contract in blood that will all but ensure it happens unless specific conditions are met. Never a good idea, but it's done now. Problem is, no one ever asked you what you thought about it."

Cass didn't say anything. His smile had vanished as he shook his arm with the IV. He tried gently to pull his hand away from Dean's, clearly intent on picking at the dressings on his arm. Dean held on, sandwiching Cass's hand between both of his. Cass looked at his trapped hand and frowned slightly.

"Here is the thing," Frank said, still addressing Cass. "I learned a long time ago that the needs of the many usually outweigh the needs of the few. Fergus Crowley and Luke Morningstar are evil bastards, make no mistake. If they take you away, your life will be difficult, Castiel. They'll enslave you completely, use you as a prize fighter and however else they want, and when they don't have a use for you, you'll be locked up in a cage of some sorts. You'll never see Dean again, never spread your wings again. If you do beat this pit lord thing, well, I imagine your next opponent will be even tougher, maybe two pit lords, or three, until they finally destroy you. And even if that doesn't happen, even if no one is ever able to challenge Crowley and Morningstar again? You'll never know another day of happiness or freedom. Sooner or later, one way or another, I imagine you'll find a way to end it."

"But there's another side to that," Frank continued. "Even without a divine mission, as an angel, you're obligated to act in a manner that does the most good for the most people. If Crowley and Morningstar are able to win this blasted tournament? If they can make you into the champion fighter they believe you can be? They won't need to enslave more demons for a long time. They'll go back to their studies, they won't have to do any more human sacrifices for a decade or so, and best of all, they'll keep out the younger warlocks and their pets that have caused a lot of trouble around this neighborhood lately. In other words, Castiel, if you let them take you? You'll save lives and make this neighborhood much safer for a while. By sacrificing yourself, you'll have a chance to help a lot of people who won't even know what you've done. You would be that man at the bridge, doing the one thing that would provide the most good for the most people."

Everything in Dean wanted to cry out, to protest and argue. But somehow, he kept still. Cass's eyes were fixed on the table, serious and blue and deep in thought. Finally he shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't want them to take me away. They're bad, and if they take me, they'll use me for bad. Less bad isn't the same as good."

"Amen!" Greg called, raising his coffee mug in salute.

"Then that's your choice," Frank declared. "And Castiel, I owe you an apology. I felt that I had to offer you that option, to let you make that choice. But you're right. Less bad isn't the same as good. It's not even remotely good! I'm old, and I'm tired, and I've lost too many friends fighting this battle already. But I got some more fight still in me." He smiled, his eyes fierce. "If those damned warlocks start their foolishness again? Then I'll go to war again."

"We're still with you, old man," Greg said. He reached over and squeezed Frank's hand, and with a start, Dean realized suddenly what Frank really was – the closest thing he'd ever find to a real life paladin.

Frank smiled at Greg for a moment. Then he once again turned to Castiel. "So the way Dean here set it up, you have a few options. You're a messenger, although very different from any I've ever seen before. This binding spell flimflam they have on you is probably why you can talk, but once it's gone, it's anyone's guess what will become of that. Chances are good that, once you're free from Dean here, your ability to speak will be gone."

Dean hadn't realized that, but it seemed Cass had. He was nodding as he listened, his eyes focused on the table in front of him and his face solemn.

"Your first option is to go back to being what you were," Frank continued. "Assuming you don't use your powers, the warlocks don't find some way to cheat and they're forced to let you go, you'll be free of the binding spells and can return to your true form and go back to Heaven. Then you can go back to delivering messages." He paused. "Sorry to digress, but there is one thing that I don't understand. Castiel, you came here a week ago, right? But your mission wasn't supposed to happen until yesterday?"

"No." Cass's gaze was fixed to the table now. "I was supposed to do it that first night."

That made Dean's eyebrows go up, but Frank raised a hand, his attention fixed on Cass. "Alright, I suppose I can understand that the events taking place at the time might have necessitated you waiting for a while. But yesterday was the latest you could have done it?"

"Yes."

"But you could have done it at any point before then."

"Yes." Cass seemed to shrink.

"Castiel?" Frank called. "Why did you wait?"

"Because I didn't want to do it!" The angel's voice was so soft it was barely a whisper. "I did it because I had to. I didn't have a choice."

Frank's eyes bored into him. "Why didn't you want to do your divine mission, Castiel?"

And now the blue eyes rose, looking into Frank's. For a long moment, the two simply stared at each other. And then Frank straightened. "Oh."

"Oh what?" Greg asked. "Come on, we're dying of suspense here!"

"It seems that Castiel's message is for me," Frank said. The old man suddenly looked even older as he looked at Dean. "You remember how I told you I'd never heard an angel speak? Well, that wasn't a lie, but my gift has given me a certain insight into the nature of divine messages. You ever see people set up those dominos, and tipping one over creates this massive chain reaction? Well, heavenly messengers don't usually talk, and it's a rare thing that someone gets a direct message. It's more like those dominos. The messenger sets up a series of dominos, and then they tip the first one. The message itself lies in what happens when that last domino falls." He indicated Cass. "Castiel is hardly the first messenger I've ever met. And every time I have met one, that message was meant for me. I suppose I should have known that this was no exception. After all, this is one message I've known was coming for a very long time."

Greg suddenly gasped. "Not yet," he pleaded. "Frank, we need you!"

"Oh, shut up, Greg," Frank grumbled. "I'm old and there's a part of me, maybe the larger part, that's been wanting to hear this for a while now."

"Someone tell me what's going on," Dean demanded, looking from Cass to Frank to Greg and back. Cass stared at the table, but his grip was tight as he held to Dean's hand.

"What's going on is that Frank has been waiting for years now for his replacement!" Greg exclaimed. The tough former gang banger was openly crying. "Frank wasn't born able to see angels, someone passed that ability on to him when he was a child. He told us a long time ago that the day was coming when he'll complete his last mission, the girls will leave him, and he'll be alone. Then he'll know his replacement because he'll see someone with their own pair of guardians. And that's the one who he'll pass his powers on to. Once he does that, his work is finished, and he'll… Frank will…"

"That will be the day I die," Frank finished. "And the one chosen has the chance to pick up where I left off. I'm fine with that, Greg. I always have been."

"Yeah, well, I'm not!" Greg wiped at his eyes. "I figured when you told us Castiel was an angel that he'd been sent here for you. But he got diverted from his mission! Couldn't his message have changed?"

Frank didn't answer, and of course, that was an answer in and of itself.

Dean was looking hard at Cass. So Cass came here for Frank, not for me. Dean expected that to hurt. But while there was certainly a twang of pain at the thought, he was surprised to find that it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. Still, something about what Frank had just said didn't feel quite right. While Cass seemed to like Frank, the angel's odd reluctance to complete his mission was puzzling. Dean believed that Cass still hadn't told the entire truth about his divine mission. But it seemed he would get no further answers today. Cass had gently pulled his hand free and was absently picking at the dressing on his arm, not looking up.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, Cass's crack in the sidewalk has to do with your replacement?" he asked.

"So it appears. I imagine it's one of those dominos I mentioned, and it will be interesting to see just what happens when it falls. But let's not dwell on that, shall we? That's for the future. Our concern needs to be for the immediate present, and that involves Castiel here."

Dean nodded. "Right. So I guess we start with the basics." He waited until Cass looked him in the eye and then began. "Yesterday when the warlocks wanted to take you away, you told me to let them take you. But now you've changed your mind?"

To Dean's relief, Cass frowned shook his head. "I don't want them to take me away. I never did. I just couldn't fight them anymore! Don't let them have me, Dean, I want to stay with you."

Dean paused for a moment, letting himself bask in that before speaking again. "Cass, you've got a couple of choices here. One is that you can go back to Heaven and be a messenger angel again like before. And the other is that you could stay here and live as a human. But either way, you just need to make it until sunset on Sunday night without using any of your powers. If you can do that, the warlocks will let you go and you'll be free to choose. And I want you to know, I'll support whatever decision you make." He frowned and slapped at Cass's hand. "Except this one! Stop trying to pick the dressing off of your wrist. You need that IV, Castiel!"

Cass scowled. He shook his arm irritably, looking like a petulant child about to have a temper tantrum. "Take it off of me!"

"Is it hurting you?" Greg asked.

"No, I just want it off. You said I can choose what I want. Why can't I choose to take this off?"

"It's only for another hour, buddy," Dean soothed. "You can stand it that long, right? Come on, what's wrong with it that it bothers you so much?"

Cass scowled some more and gave his arm another hard shake. "I want it off. I won't run away again, Dean, I promise. Please take this off of me? I don't need another thing on my wrist to keep me here!"

Dean had the dressing and the wooden splint off of Castiel's wrist before he even registered Greg's protests. "Dean!" Greg yelled, grabbing Dean's arm just before he pulled the IV free. "He needs to finish that antibiotic. Do you want him to be sick again?" To Cass, he gently said, "You're not tied down, alright? It's not there to trap you, it's there to make you stop being sick. Do you understand? It's not confining you in any way. You can move all around as long as you take the pole with you, and as soon as it's done, I'll take it out. We can leave the splint off, and if you just sit quietly here with Dean, you'll be finished before you know it. Will you do that?"

Cass considered, frowning at the IV. Dean felt sick. He hadn't even considered what the medical device attached to his arm must seem like to the bound angel. But after a moment, Cass nodded. "Alright."

Dean smiled, shook his head, and caught Cass's free hand in both of his again. "Ok, I think that was a vivid reminder of what we're dealing with here," he declared. "First off, I'm so sorry, buddy. I should have asked you a long time ago why you kept picking at that IV. You don't talk much, and it's hard to tell sometimes what you do and don't understand. But you can talk. Seems like you're unique that way. So talk to us. We need you to tell us exactly what it is that you want, ok? The bottom line here is that this is all up to you," he stressed. "You have a decision to make, and I think we're all agreed that we will do what we can to support whatever you decide. So now, I need for you to tell us what you're thinking."

Castiel suddenly grew serious. His eyes locked on Dean. "I can't," he said.

"Can't what, buddy?"

"Forget it!" the angel spat.

"Whoa, ok, calm down," Dean soothed, startled by the sudden unexpected venom in Cass's voice. "It's alright."

Cass stared at him, his mouth twisted into a scowl. Then he pulled his hand away and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your words are stupid!" he announced.

Dean blinked at him, speechless for a moment. Then he frowned and shook his head. "Alright, Cass," he said. "Why don't you just tell me exactly what it is that you want?"

"Bessie," Cass announced.

"I am too old for this," Frank complained. "I fell off of this train a while back."

"Don't worry, I have no idea what they're saying now, either," Greg offered.

"It's my guitar," Dean explained, flabbergasted. "He wants my guitar."

"Well, give it to him! Greg, isn't this IV done yet?"

"About another half an hour."

"Fine," Frank declared. "In half an hour, get the damned thing out. Then take him home, Dean, and give him that guitar. It sounds like he's got a message for you, too."