I didn't know Dean well enough at the time to realize that he'd genuinely cared about my sister, maybe even loved her. He was a master of masking his emotions, something I'd later learn he'd perfected when he was still a kid. In his line of work, with what had happened to his family, he'd had to. Maybe if I had known, I wouldn't have let his sarcasm get to me. Maybe I would have employed some of my professional training and delivered the news of Lisa's death with a little more care and understanding - rather than just blurting it out the way I did.

The moment he'd clapped eyes on me, Dean had been nothing but contrary. He'd demanded answers rather than asking questions, grilling me about how I'd found him and why I was there. Mentioning Castiel hadn't helped me build my case. Apparently, there were some hard feelings between the two, something my angelic friend had failed to mention. I was quickly and tersely told to go back home to Chicago. It was the "tell your sister I said 'hi'" that pushed my patience to its limit.

"Sorry, Dean," I sneered. "Can't do that."

He responded almost reflexively. "Why not?"

"Because she's dead."

It was that little pause, a tiny hitching of his breath before he whispered, "What?" that gave him away. I knew then that I had screwed up. Big time.

I sighed heavily as I crossed the library and picked my purse up from the couch. A quick search through its contents produced two envelopes. I handed them both to Dean.

For a painfully long minute he just looked at them, then finally looked up at me and swallowed hard. It was then that I saw it and silently cursed myself for being so stupid. Fear and anguish darkened his eyes and caused his hand to shake as he reached out and took the envelopes from me.

The topmost was the heavy, white vellum embossed in gold that contained my sister's death certificate. I don't know why I'd kept it in my handbag but I had since I'd picked it up from the courthouse the day I'd been given legal guardianship of Ben.

"She died on a Thursday morning," I said softly.

Dean's fingers toyed with the edge of the flap but never opened it. "How'd it happen?" he managed, his voice little more than a harsh whisper.

"Auto accident," I answered. "A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and T-boned them. Ben was a little beat up but nothing serious. Lisa never regained consciousness."

He closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. For just a moment, he let his walls slip and I could see the weary, wounded man beneath. It scared me. No one should look like that. Like their humanity was hanging by a thread and just the slightest tug in the wrong direction would destroy what was left.

"When? When did she die?" Dean asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"September 18th," I answered automatically.

The strangled sound that came from his chest isn't something I could ever forget. It was chilling and heartbreaking at the same time. His fingers crushed the two envelopes in his palm as he turned on his heel and slammed out of the front door, leaving me behind with his brother and Bobby knowing I'd missed something important.

I got the quick and ugly version from Sam. Dean had been pulled out of Hell on September 18th. There was something to wrap your mind around. Dean had been in Hell - after trading his soul for Sam's life - and an angel had pulled him out. But not just any angel: Castiel. The list of important details that hadn't been provided were rapidly stacking up and not in Castiel's favor. The next time he decided to pop in for a visit we were going to have a serious chat.

Dean's eyes were red-rimmed and a little watery when he came back inside a few minutes later with Lisa's open letter dangling from his fingertips.

"Where's my son?" he asked, his voice breaking over the last word.

"He's upstairs sleeping," I replied, my own voice wavering a little. "He doesn't know. I thought you might want to be the one to tell him."

He started towards the staircase but paused before he reached it. "Thank you," Dean said quietly.

I nodded though we both knew there wasn't anything to thank me for. Ben was his son, my nephew. In a way, we were family.

Dean disappeared up the stairs while I sank down onto the couch and buried my head in my hands. Family. For so long, Lisa and I had been all each other had. Then Ben had come and we became the Three Musketeers. Now Lisa was gone and I couldn't help but feel like I might have just lost Ben too. It was selfish, I know, to feel that way. Dean was his father, after all. Still, without my family I was lost.

I felt someone sit next to me on the couch and looked up to find myself staring into Sam's concerned hazel eyes.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Honestly? I don't know," I confessed.

Was I okay? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was pretty fucking far from okay and probably never would be. It wasn't just the reality of handing my nephew over to his father. It was everything. It was Lisa's death, dealing with angels, stopping the Apocalypse. I was slowly losing what control I had over my emotions and suspected a psychotic break wasn't far off.

When I went upstairs a little while later to check on Ben, Dean was sitting in the small chair in the corner watching him sleep. Neither of us spoke. I pulled the blankets up, tucking them more securely around Ben and after pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, slipped out of the room. There was an innocent awe in Dean's eyes as he looked at his son. The moment was too personal and I didn't want to intrude.

I found myself heading back downstairs and out of the front door. I sat on the porch steps. The night was quiet and cold. It was late - or early depending on how you looked at it - and I should really have turned in, tried to get a little sleep. But I couldn't. Nightmares had been plaguing me the past few nights, horrifying dreams filled with pain, evil and most disturbing of all, a longing I couldn't explain, wasn't ready to admit even to myself.

"You should be inside the safety of the house."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Son of a bitch!" I squeaked, slapping a hand to my chest. "Put a bell on, would ya?"

"It isn't safe to be out here, Lily. You should go back inside," Castiel said, looking out into the darkness.

"And you should be a little more forthcoming with information. Guess we can't have everything we want, huh?" I drawled sarcastically as I pushed myself to my feet and looked up at him with my arms crossed over my chest.

His eyes narrowed. "I have my orders," he said flatly.

"Screw your orders," I hissed. "You could have told me. You should have told me."

Confusion wrinkled his brow. "I don't understand."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he didn't. "Lisa died the same morning you rescued Dean from Hell. Curious little tidbit that you should have mentioned, Castiel."

"The date doesn't change the fact. I don't understand the significance - "

Losing what little patience I had left, I grabbed the lapels of his trench coat, fisting my hands in the fabric, and pulled myself up onto my toes so that I could look him in the eye. "After three thousand years, you still don't get it, do you? He loved her, really loved her and she died the same day he came back to life. Dean thinks Lisa's death was somehow his fault, Castiel. Is it? Are they connected?"

I was practically growling by the time I stopped. My knuckles were white on his coat and I was panting with a desperation I didn't realize I was feeling. I wanted, no needed to hear him tell me Dean was wrong.

Castiel didn't disappoint me. His hands closed gently over my own, drawing them away, as he shook his head. "No," he said softly. "They are not connected."

My head dropped forward to rest against his chest. I took a deep, steadying breath and was about to thank him when I noticed a dark stain on his suit jacket beneath the trench coat. I reached out and had to stifle a gasp of alarm when my fingers encountered the sticky warmth of blood.

"You're hurt," I said dumbly.

He shook his head a second time. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing. You're bleeding, Castiel. What happened?"

Sadness so deep and heart-wrenching clouded his eyes. "A battle. One of many more to come," he said. I didn't realize he still held my hands until he gave them a small squeeze. "Go inside the house, Lily. I need to know you're safe." Before I go. The unspoken words hung between us.

He didn't expect to come out of this thing alive, I could see it in his eyes and right there on Bobby Singer's front porch something inside me snapped. I slapped Castiel, just drew my hand back and let it fly. My hand struck his cheek with a loud crack. Every single truth I'd been denying for far too long was wrapped up in that blow. It came crashing down over me with the intensity of a tidal wave. I was utterly and completely, one hundred percent irrevocably in love with an angel. God forgive me, but I loved him.

As if my life wasn't screwed up enough, right?