-A/Ns: (I suggest you read if you are invested in this story's future) I'm sure some of you noticed this story go off radar for the entire month of September. Turns out, my month was quite the lengthy one and I feel I should explain my absence, though I can't apologize for it this time. My trip to my internet-less, heavenly Lake went well and started off with a bang. Not only was I able to get a surprise chapter up right before I left, but I ran into none other than freaking Gabriel at the airport (and by Gabriel, I, of course, mean Richard Speight Jr!) Hell of a nice (and daaaaaamn, good looking) guy. And absolutely not as short as those gigantors make him seem on screen. So yeah, nice start to my September. However, coming back home to excitedly check my inbox for the first time in three days and not have a single new review...well, I'm not gonna lie: that hurt like a bitch.

Guys, I wish I wasn't the type of author who needed your support, but I am and that is why I write fanfiction. I have other responsibilities and interests: one of which is getting an original novel published. This story takes *hours* of my time and life, and writing it is *not* the part I love. Planning and sharing, that's what does it for me. I chose to put hours of love, sweat, and tears (and there have absolutely been tears, guys) into this story because I love sharing it with you and getting to "see" your reactions. If you don't share those with me, I don't get the motivation I require to continue writing. I have stories about book-hoppers and bowler hats and boys with no luck and anxiety driven, anti-depressant-pill-popping detectives I could be writing about, damnit, but I choose to spend my time with you guys because I love to fangirl with other fans. Writing fanfiction is how I do that.

Sharing a chapter that I'm excited about and getting almost nothing in response is like being so excited about news and having the person you're telling answer with, "...so what?" We've all had that moment, and that moment *sucks*. Talk about a motivation killer. So if you guys want this story to continue, I am asking you take five minutes out of your life *once* every *couple* of chapters and tell me that what I'm writing is actually getting a reaction out there in the abyss. I don't need waxed poetics: I just wanna know the part that made you laugh or gasp or cry or wanna murder me in my sleep, so that I keep wanting to write those parts for you! That's it!

To continue my lovely month of September and this oh-so-exciting tale, I got sick for two weeks and then thrown on a project at work I left my last job to get away from, resulting in 12-16 hour days for two weeks straight, followed up by this final week of exhaustion-recovery and eye strain so bad I couldn't spend time on my phone (reading fanfiction) or my laptop (working on this story). So, I know this message is pissy and bitchy and angry, but I'm pretty pissed off, feeling like a bitch, and I'm angry because I'm *hurt*. And only, like...probably 25% of that actually has anything to do with you guys, and the other 75% is that I'm tired and cranky and feeling unappreciated in both my work life and my writing life. And there hasn't been *time* for a social life, so work and this story is just about all I got right now. So...I'm not gonna apologize, but yeah, okay, this little letter of mine probably could have taken a less bitchy tone.

-Chapter Warnings: Uriel is a misguided soul, Castiel's a good brother but a naive angel, Angela's on her honeymoon, and Bobby's finally trying to kill his house guests.

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The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 21

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"So you believe Hell is up to something, brother?"

Uriel's voice, while serious, did not quite match his features, which swirled with mirth and amusement, as they so often did around Castiel. The other angel was no good with humor, as he had been told on multiple occasions, and he never did understand what Uriel found so entertaining about his presence (endearing, was what Balthazar had called it, then he'd made a face at the idea of having anything in common with Uriel.)

"There were too many demons: too concentrated," Castiel responded, staring straight ahead with his brother by his side, as they so often were. "They were waiting for something, Uriel, and what they got was Balthazar and me."

Uriel and Castiel had excused themselves from the areas more populated by their brethren to find privacy in a secluded section of Heaven. A beautiful courtyard, in fact, filled with white-barked trees peppered with dark green leaves that shimmered in a non-existent wind. Flowers lined the smooth stone tiles along the walls and floor. It was little used now, as Heaven was ever expanding, ever shifting, and this courtyard currently sat on the outskirts, too out of the way for the main masses of the Host. It was a place for seclusion and solace, one Castiel used on occasion when he did not want to share his peace of mind with the other tenants of his home. He knew the space well, and was confident they were alone in it.

"Ishim's flight was dispatched," Uriel countered, having heard the tale through the celestial grapevine as it was. A tale told from the very angel's point of view, heavily laden with his unit's successes and Castiel's disobedience. Benjamin had fiercely countered parts of it whenever he was around but with a permanent vessel and an almost indefinite assignment on Earth, it wasn't often enough to stop Ishim's version of events from spreading.

Castiel ignored them the best he could, in part because a moment of mourning would always follow for their fallen brother. Balthazar deserved the honor, but Castiel's grace ached for the loss, still fresh, and guilt was still quick to follow. The other part was that Ishim was what Dean Winchester would call a dick – one who seemed particularly unpleasant whenever Castiel was around – so much so that the angel preferred to avoid his company whenever possible.

"The demons were destroyed or scattered," Uriel continued with a shrug, and Castiel could see he didn't find anything out of the ordinary about it, just as their supervisors hadn't either. "Whatever the hellspawn were planning, the might of our brothers has ended it. It's over."

The smaller angel was quiet, contemplating his next words, for they were dangerous. There would be no going back, and while he was confident in his choice to confide in Uriel, Dean's words continued to thrum a chord of anxiety in the back of his mind.

"What if it wasn't?" Castiel's eyes flickered up to his brother's, the hesitancy in his voice not something he could hide so he didn't try. "What if the demons were just the beginning?"

Uriel regarded him with a caution all his own, one Castiel suspected was his brother deciding whether to take this seriously or make a joke of it. Castiel might not be good with humor, but even he could imagine Uriel could spin quite the laugh out of this somehow. His brother was always the best at weaving humor from the least humorous of situations, and the Apocalypse certainly seemed an epitome of such.

"I returned to Earth. A second time," Castiel confessed, and Uriel's expression broke open into shock, and no small amount of amusement.

"You, Castiel? You disobeyed – on purpose?" Uriel laughed boisterously, and Castiel found himself biting back a frustrated noise.

"This is a serious matter, Uriel."

The larger angel did sober, though Castiel could tell he was still regarding half of this as humorous at best and simply not worth solemnity at worst. "What did you find on Earth, brother?"

Castiel hesitated for only another moment more. There was no going back, after all. "A boy. One with demon blood in his veins."

Uriel's colors shifted so abruptly that as a human he would have been aghast, something angels rarely were. His expression was no longer mirthful, all traces of amusement gone. His disgust was palpable in the meaty furling of his grace. "Abomination."

The smaller angel hid his reaction well, saving the cringe and desire to fidget deep within himself. This was not the time nor the place to display further doubt. What he was presenting Uriel with would be enough for the angel to process; Castiel did not want to add the argument that Sam Winchester was a good man.

"His brother bares a righteous soul."

Now Uriel straightened and his features shut off entirely, solidifying in a dark, colorless mass. Castiel could not read him, but he knew this brother well enough not to need to. "So it is time, then."

"If it is, and the first stages of the End are in motion, why has Heaven not struck back?" Castiel leaned into his brother's peripheral and a sliver of color slithered across Uriel's grace. "Why are the gates still shut, Uriel? Why has the host not been dispatched to investigate amassing demons?"

Uriel turned his gaze away again, and Castiel let him. It was a lot to think on. A lot Castiel was asking his brother to consider. "Perhaps they did not believe you."

The angel had to bite back his immediate words – which sounded off with a surprisingly Midwestern American accent and not a British one – and calm himself to prepare a more reasonable, less incriminating response. Castiel took a deep breath, before plunging into that deep pool of no return. "I don't think that is the case, brother."

Uriel stared, something that was not as common coming from the larger angel who preferred physical intimidation to prolonged eye contact. He was clearly taken aback by his brother's implied accusation, which was only too easy to parse. Uriel was still staring by the time Castiel looked away.

"You believe Heaven is aware and doing nothing?"

Castiel could not confirm his certainty of it without incriminating himself in far more than he was currently prepared to tell Uriel. Dean's warning – concern – still echoed in his thoughts. So he went with something that was no less true. "I fear it."

The larger angel was silent, his features stony. Finally, he regarded his brother with a sidelong, troubled look. "I will think on this, Castiel."

Without thought of his actions, Castiel reached out to grab his brother's arm. He didn't know if Uriel had been planning on leaving, but the hint of panic deep within Castiel's grace was enough to make him act. Uriel dropped his gaze to the fingers, manifestations of grace wrapped around his own, with something a lot like surprise, and perhaps a touch of suspicion. Angels did not often engage in physical contact, and both Castiel and Uriel knew this.

"Please, be careful, brother. This information is… sensitive."

Uriel stared at their intertwined grace a moment longer, Castiel's shrinking away under the scrutiny, before he met his gaze again. That wicked grin – Uriel's specialty – was suddenly back on his face. Despite the expression rarely bringing anything good Castiel's way, the smaller angel still relaxed at the familiarity. Uriel patted Castiel's hand.

"This secret is safe with me, Castiel." He said it like it was a joke, but his face was still that blank slate of grey, and Castiel knew he was serious from that alone. "We will figure this out, together."

Oh good, Castiel thought, because, "There's more."

Another vein of color sliced through that stone cold grey: something light blue, surprised and, as ever with Uriel, brutishly amused. "More than the end of the world? Just how many unauthorized trips did you and Balthazar take?"

Castiel did not grace his brother's mockery with a response, though he had the distinct thought that if Balthazar had been here, he would have managed a human eye roll one way or another. The two had never gotten along very well, often united only in their Heavenly purpose (and even then, not that united, as Balthazar had never been particularly devout, as far as angels went) and, when that didn't get them through their disagreements, their loyalty to Castiel. It was often like being a mouse between two bickering lions. Something Castiel had not once found enjoyable.

He would have willingly endured it now, though, if only to have Balthazar back.

"This is not about Earth," Castiel returned, rather than indulge Uriel with humor he didn't understand, so rarely answered correctly, and was certainly not in the mood for. "Do you know of an angel named Naomi?"

If the new topic seemed out of place to Uriel, he did not show it. His demeanor fell back to his more natural stance, still held stiff but not rigidly so, and that dull, disinterested yellow flickered through his being. "I have heard the name, but I am unfamiliar with our sister as anything more than that."

Castiel refused to entertain the trill of something worrisome deep in his gut at another angel who had not heard of this Naomi, like she was some sort of dirty secret Heaven kept locked away. Heaven was not supposed to have secrets. However, that was clearly Dean's influence on him. Two was a terrible sample size, for starters, and there were thousands in the Host. Castiel did not know all of his siblings personally; Uriel not knowing them all either was not proof of a conspiracy.

"Why do you ask?"

The angel startled, realizing he had lost focus. Uriel was watching him, flickers of lilac curiosity sifting through his grace. On the heels of his suspicions about the Apocalypse and Heaven's upcoming role in it (or lack thereof), the question concerning a random sister of theirs was bound to catch Uriel's notice, if not his interest.

"I heard a… troubling rumor," Castiel decided to answer with, since it wasn't strictly a lie and he was uncertain how else to frame what Dean had told him. Uriel would surely notice the lack of a named source, but Castiel also knew he wouldn't ask. It was one of the many reasons he chose to approach this brother first; Uriel was not one to gossip. "I have heard she is responsible for brainwashing angels into obedience. Wiping their memories. Con-" The smaller angel had to pause to clear his throat. "Controlling them."

Castiel frowned at the own skip in his voice and the way his grace waivered, ever so minutely, as he said it. He did not like the way that image he'd glimpsed from Dean's mind – the human's impression of him, in Jimmy Novak's body, standing over him with bloodied fists and a blank expression – interrupted his thoughts enough to cause that stutter. Castiel liked even less how long it took him to banish that image from his mind.

Uriel was regarding him silently, expression filled with stormy swirls of greys and deep blues. When Castiel finally succeeded in pushing that intruding memory far away and re-center himself, he realized with a start that his brother was not adamantly denying the possibility, which is what he had expected Uriel – or any brother – to do.

Because it shouldn't be possible.

As the smaller angel stared at him, wide-eyed realization taking shape into something ugly – something terrifying – Uriel confirmed the unthinkable. "I have seen it."

It was Castiel's turn for shock to flash through his swirling grace, and his brother shifted beside him, as uncomfortable as the angel had ever seen him.

"Do you remember Egypt? The slaying of the firstborns?"

Castiel recalled the orders, issued by God, and knew he had buried his own sorrow at the command deep within his being. It was God's word. It was just. But it was still the death of thousands of innocents, and Castiel had mourned each of them.

"I was not there," he responded evenly, "but I recall the event."

Uriel sent him a look, not quite head-on. It was as pointed as it was evasive, and something in Castiel's grace froze, solid and hurting and brittle, as he realized what his brother was saying without words.

No, Castiel thought, desperately, and he had to turn away for fear of letting slip all that he fought so hard to keep buried. Emotions he knew he could not let get the best of him, no matter what a pair of humans with brightly burning souls had to say of it.

"I lost track of you," Uriel began, thankfully unaware or blessedly unwilling to mention Castiel's roiling feelings, blatantly spread across his very being.

Castiel could not help but turn back to him, to stare, eyes blown wide in horror and disbelief, at the confirmation that he had been there. That what Dean had said was true. That he was missing memories (memories of horrible things). That he had already been a victim of this Naomi and her sinister reeducation once before.

"We split up, and I did not see you again until after the mission was complete."

Castiel could only stare, something terrible and violating shivering up his grace.

"When I reported to Heaven, our superiors told me you had already returned." Uriel's expression was dark, with traces of silvery regret flowing like small rivulets through flashes of angry red. "But I did not see you for some time, and it was decades later that I thought to ask you about it. I recalled our glorious success that night. How the pharaoh wailed and the might of Heaven proved too much for the insolent human to bare." Uriel turned to him, that deep red winning out over everything else, anger evident in his shifting grace. "You said you had not been assigned to the mission at all."

Castiel remembered that. He remembered his brother coming to him, jovial and celebratory in their latest mission, and how he had reminisced of others. Egypt, particularly, which had struck Castiel as odd. Uriel was not the forgetful type (no angel was; it was an impossibility for their kind), but Castiel had not been sent on that mission. Instead, he had been selected to patrol the borders of Egypt, to keep out interference from the other Pantheons that might chose to aid their patrons. He and many others.

"You were there, brother. With me." Uriel spoke softly, perhaps the softest Castiel had ever heard of the angel. Uriel was not known for such softness. "I knew something was off that day."

"Why did you not say something?" Castiel asked, voice and grace numb while his mind flew.

Uriel shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. "You were always fine afterward. An honorable – admirable – soldier. I thought, perhaps they were collecting your memories of battle for further analysis."

It sounded weak, and Castiel could tell Uriel thought so as well. Still, the angel could hardly blame his brother. He had also refused to believe the possibility, even with the memories of a human who had nearly died at the hands of that brainwashing. It was little fault of Uriel's that he had chosen reason, however feeble, to explain the unbelievable rather than confront it.

Despite all of that, Castiel did not miss the fact that Uriel had spoken in plurals.

"How many times has this happened?" he asked, cold, breathless. This couldn't be happening. It should not be happening.

"I don't know. But I believe something similar occurred in that city lost to sin, where those filthy monkeys demanded to know us."

Castiel's grace rippled with distaste, which was at least something other than the numbness that had overtaken him. He remembered the occasion. It had been absurd. Outrageous. And the last in a list of unforgiveable sins that had ultimately doomed the people residing there. Uriel had destroyed the blight upon their father's beautiful earth while Castiel got the only righteous man and what family would come with him out of the area.

But Castiel recalled that; he remembered the mission and its conclusion. What part was he missing?

Uriel could not tell him. "We were separated in our task, and again I lost track of you. By the time I returned to Heaven, you were already with our superiors."

Or, as they were both beginning to realize, this Naomi.

"Do you know of any others?" Castiel asked, voice still too quiet, too empty, grave devoid of colors for fear that if any showed at all, there'd be nothing left. The angel was trying to think of all the missions with Uriel that he had separated from the other angel, that such a reeducation experience may have happened, and there were many. He was often paired with Uriel; a good counterbalance to his brother's tendency towards wrathful vengeance over diplomacy. It was well known among the garrison that Castiel was slower to anger and therefore violence, and good at tempering such in others. His brothers had called it, on more than one occasion, a good match.

Castiel had never thought on it further. They made a good pair and always had. But how many of those missions had ended with Castiel's memories wiped? His mind told lies which he believed (how could he not? He didn't even know there was an alternative). His grace, his persons, felt violated. It was terrifying, the number of times it could have happened, and Castiel would never know which of them were at fault. Had no way of ever knowing.

It was too much to process. Too much, with everything Dean had also promised was coming, was wrong. Castiel was quickly reaching his capacity to contain it all.

"I am sorry, brother," Uriel spoke, the sincerity clear across his grace even as his voice grew deep and his expression swirled with growing anger. "I did not realize what they had taken from you. It is appalling. Unforgiveable." The angel was fuming, his grace puffing up with building indignation and maybe less-than-righteous fury. "Heaven is not as we thought."

"Sodom and its sisters was destroyed thousands of years ago," Castiel replied numbly, aware of his brother's impending explosion but unable to find room for it among the buzzing in his mind. There was a terrible shudder in his grace that never seemed to end and he could not control it. Like his memories, apparently. Or his actions, or his mind.

This was too much.

"Egypt was not so long after," he continued, and Uriel was staring at him, anger paused if only for the moment. Castiel met his gaze. "Was Heaven ever more than it is now? Then it was then? What proof is there that our home – that our brothers – have not always been this way? That we were not just too blinded – brainwashed – to see its stains?"

Uriel was visibly upset at the implication and, worse yet, at the lack of argument against it. He fisted his hands and his wings furled and unfurled in clear agitation. Castiel was grieved to be the messenger, but he did not regret coming to his brother. He was unprepared to face this alone.

"How long have we played this game," Uriel muttered, staring into the distance of a Heaven that suddenly was not so bright. To be truthful, it had not been bright to Uriel for some time. Heaven's light had fallen with its Morning Star and it was only now that he was ready to accept it for the truth that it was. "A game with rules that do not make sense!"

Castiel dropped his head, for he had no answered for his brother, clearly as hurt at this betrayal as Castiel had been. Still was.

"We will right this," Uriel suddenly declared, and Castiel raised his head, surprised by the adamant fury in his brother's voice. Deep brown eyes, filled with years of fighting side by side, met Castiel's gaze. There was a determination there that the smaller angel was not sure he should find comforting or terrifying. "There are still things worth believing in, Castiel."

He wanted to believe that. Was fairly sure he did believe that. Though, given the recent turn of events and the future promised to him by a man who had already seen it, it was unlikely the same thing Uriel was talking about.

For, mistakenly, Castiel was sure his brother spoke of God.

"I will seek out others," Uriel continued, a new strength in his voice as his grace solidified from its whirlwind of emotional output and distress.

Castiel's eyes widened, his own grace leaping with panic, but Uriel merely folded his hand atop his smaller brother's, patting it once more. There was something in his eyes – a swimming sort of awe that Castiel was surprised to see in his usually brutish friend – and Uriel actually smiled at him.

"I will be discreet, brother," he promised, though it didn't settle Castiel's apprehension nearly as much as he wished it would. "We don't have to wait any longer. Others will join us. We need only be unafraid."

With a final pat to his hand, so odd for the often overbearing but physically reserved angel, Uriel took flight and Castiel could not summon the words to stop him. He was uncomfortable with the thought of the other angel spreading word of this, but he also knew that Uriel would honor his promise. They would face this together. He understand the risk involved; he would be discreet. And Castiel knew they would need help in the coming times: others to stand with them against the wrongs that Heaven was soon to pursue. It had been his winning argument against returning to Heaven, after all.

Castiel sank down onto one of the courtyard benches, the silence only echoing Uriel's last words, and the angel realized he was afraid. For the first time, in a long time, he was well and truly afraid.

-o-o-o-

The distant humming of the cosmos, always a present melody that vibrated within the walls of Heaven's constructs, was doing nothing to soothe Castiel, whose world was very surely crashing down around him. He knew the feeling was not a literal one. Heaven's walls were sturdy. Impenetrable. They would never crumble, not so long as there were angels there to maintain their strength and beauty.

Angels that were not strong or beautiful. Some of them. But which ones?

Castiel let his head drop to his hands and tried to even out the swells of his grace, like a human breathing through panic. But he could not. His mind had been tampered with, his thoughts adjusted, his very being fixed. All so he would be a good soldier.

But how – when – had he not been? Castiel could not imagine himself disobeying to an extreme that demanded such cruelty. Such violation. But was it the reeducation – Naomi's brainwashing – that had him unable to imagine such a thing? The thought was terrifying, and led to much bigger, far more unsettling questions that Castiel was not ready for.

(Who am I? Am I myself? Or am I what Naomi has made of me? What was I before? Who was I before? Am I that person still?)

Suddenly, the walls around him really were closing in. Too close. The leaves fluttered too distractedly. The flowers smelled too strong. Overwhelming. His brothers' voices, perpetually raised in song, as always there was song being sung in the Heavenly Kingdom, were not comforting, but intruding. Spying. Ever present, looking over his shoulder, always there, always watching. One misstep, and he would be taken to Naomi, an angel he had never met, to his knowledge. But knowledge – everything he had ever known – was no longer reliable.

Obey.

Obey who? Dean had been right. Heaven was not in God's hands anymore, and if it was, then He was no longer a father Castiel could be loyal to. His only choice left was to disobey.

Castiel couldn't breathe, something that was incredibly absurd, because he knew he didn't need to. Among the mounting panic, an echo of a memory – traces of James Novak's voice in his head, offering a kind ear – grounded Castiel for only a moment, but the moment was enough.

He opened his eyes and looked down at himself. His grace was rippling, minute tremors running like waves through the translucent, ever shifting essence. He was shaking.

Castiel could not stay there. He could not stay in Heaven. Not now, not in this moment. He could not be there, where it wasn't safe. Where anything – and he didn't know what – could land him back in this Naomi's hands. Where no one would listen, or those that would might join him in his punishment. He needed safety. Sanctuary. He needed… he needed…

That memory of the warmth of his own grace, burrowed in the supernova of a righteous soul, connecting him to another in a way he had never yet experienced, was suddenly a demanding ache, tight across his panicking chest.

Obey.

The angel took flight before he allowed that voice in his head – the voice that had always been with him but which he'd never before known as familiar – could talk him out of it.

-o-o-o-

Angela Anne Garrett was on vacation. Her pre-marital, honeymoon-recon vacation with Mark. Actually, she was pretty sure she was on her second pre-marital, honeymoon-recon vacation. Oh, her first honeymoon-recon vacation a second time.

It was hard to explain. Harder yet to grasp onto. She was pretty sure she'd done all of this before, but anytime the feeling made it through the cocoon of happiness, Angela struggled to hold on to it. In the end, she always surrendered back to the blissful ignorance of a week with Mark on a beach in Aruba (something her mother thought was just ridiculous. 'You live in Hawaii! Why on Earth would you want to spend your honeymoon on a beach? Go to Iceland or something!')

Angela didn't pay the fluctuating feeling much mind. Ten days of paradise with the love of her life wasn't the worst thing to have on repeat, if that was, in fact, what was happening. She was pretty sure it was.

That certainty cemented one late afternoon when she looked up from her favorite romance novel and spotted Castiel. She and Mark were stretched out on their favorite beach chairs beneath a blue cabana that had become 'theirs' during their stay here, waiting for one of the most beautiful sunsets she would ever recalled seeing. Although it took her a moment to place the out-of-place man (first there was curiosity – amusement at the man in his fuzzy slippers in the sand – then confusion, recognition that this was a friend, and the feeling she should go greet him as such quickly dashed by a foreboding that finally brought forth his name and purpose here), Angela was suddenly very certain she would not be seeing that sunset tonight. She sat upright as things fell into place with a clarity they had not had for the last several days.

The angel was standing in the sand, water almost lapping at his slippers with each reaching wave. That silly trench coat looked even hotter in the Aruba sun than it had in Hawaii. His blue eyes were locked on hers. She set the book aside, her fancy cocktail with its little umbrella set on the side table. The movement dislodged her fiancé's hand from her thigh, arm stretched across the gap between their chairs, and he startled from his light snooze, free hand automatically catching the Tom Clancy novel as it started to slide off his chest.

"What is it, honey?" Mark reached up to drag his sunglasses lower on his nose, looking to her over the rim of them, but she could tell they were sleepy just from his voice. She couldn't help but smile at him, this man she loved to the ends of the Earth – if the earth indeed had ends – until she once more remembered the angel waiting on her.

"Just a friend," she answered softly, eyes shifting back over to him. He hadn't moved. Hadn't come any closer, like he didn't want to intrude. Or he didn't know if he was welcome. But she could tell even from their spot a dozen feet away that something was wrong. Castiel looked wrecked. No, that wasn't quite right. He looked like a person trying to hide how wrecked he was.

"Oh, great." Mark laid back down, a lazy smile on his face and Angela knew he was already well on his way back to his nap. "Didn't know you knew anyone in Aruba."

"He's a new friend." She climbed off the chair, grabbing her swim wrap and throwing it over her bikini. There was something about greeting an angel in so little clothing that somehow seemed…inappropriate. Which was frankly silly, considering the guy was in her head right now. Didn't get any more intimate or personal than that. Still.

"Should I come with to meet this new friend?" Mark asked, forgoing the call of sleep to sit up, sliding his sunglasses atop his ridiculously curly, full hair. Island blood; her jealousy of it knew no bounds. She couldn't wait for to see their children. They were going to be gorgeous.

"No, I'll just be a moment…" Angela trailed off, realization settling in again that she likely wouldn't be right back. She faltered, unsure what to tell Mark, suddenly unsure if she even wanted to go to the angel she had been seconds away from jogging over to. But something told her she still should, even if she wasn't quite sure why.

So she turned to Mark and cupped his cheeks in her hands. He grinned up at her, a lascivious glance darting down her body following after, waggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner that had her laughing even as she bent down. Angela pressed her lips to his: slow and sweet and loving and long.

"I'll be back soon, fiancé," she whispered against his skin, running her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks and chin.

"Soon to be husband," he responded with a wink.

There was something sad about this, deep within the fuzziness wrapped around it, fighting through the cloud of happy the same way the idea that this had all happened before had tried, but Angela chose not to pursue it. She didn't want to know. She kissed her man again, savoring the moment, before pulling away with a smile and jogged down the beach towards the waiting angel.

"Castiel," she greeted, slowing in her jog and tucking the swim wrap around her a little tighter. He didn't greet her back right away, and she bit back a sigh. "None of this is real, is it?"

"A memory," he supplied, and he sounded even worse than he was trying not to look. "May I have your permission?"

Castiel's hand was fisted by his side and he didn't look away from her, but that intense gaze hardly seemed focused on her. She hesitated, only because she had no idea what had caused this change in him and was worried about what it meant (for her, for him, for the world). She glanced over her shoulder at the cabana, where Mark was watching them from his chair, even as a waiter brought over a fresh beer from the bar.

"Will he be here when I get back?" Angela turned back to the blue-eyed angel and Castiel nodded, eyes solemn and serious. "Then yes."

-o-o-o-

They both woke up, two lives in one body, in Bobby Singer's spare bedroom upstairs, right where they'd left. Castiel immediately removed the ventilation tube and other necessities for keeping a human body alive, along with the several monitoring wires and intravenous feeds connected to her arms. The machines began flashing lights, warnings popping up across the various screens, but the alarms made no noise, likely a setting Sam selected so as not to disturb the occupants of the house the next time Castiel returned. The angel switched the machines off with a simple thought and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

"How long has it been?" Angela asked, awake within Castiel's conscience, protected from the experience of housing an angel the best she could be with Castiel's grace.

"Two weeks," the angel supplied, standing from the bed and testing the fortitude of the vessel, urging her grace to flow through the atrophied limbs and repair any damage that two weeks of bedrest had inflicted.

She could feel Angela's surprised. "Really? I definitely wasn't in Aruba for two weeks."

"Time flows differently in the mind than it does on the conscious plane, particularly when one is immersed in memories." It had not been only the one memory either. Castiel had placed Angela in a loop of her most cherished times, unwilling to leave her in that empty comatose state again. If the angel was the one keeping her from Heaven and the paradise of memories to be found there, the least that could be done was to give the human a facsimile. What she could provide would be a more noticeable arena than that of Heaven itself, and Angela would likely be aware what she was experiencing wasn't real if she went looking, but Castiel sensed that anything was better than the vacant pool.

"Thank you," she said, the depth of emotion in her voice suggesting she'd heard far more than what Castiel had voiced aloud.

The angel shifted, unfamiliar with the discomfort stirred by the human's gratitude. Angela was the one doing Castiel the favor by volunteering her body. "You're welcome."

"So what's our next move?"

Castiel was already heading for the door. "We should locate Sam and Dean."

Because they were her charges and she had promised to check in as soon as she could. Not because her grace was burning with uncertainty and lingering fear – something else she was unfamiliar and uncomfortable with – leaving Castiel with a misplaced but driving need to visually confirm the humans were safe as well, and perhaps reconnect with that flare of grace that could confirm for her that all of this would be okay.

Not that Castiel had a clue how any of this – any of the things she had learned from Uriel today – could ever be okay.

"We should let that other man – Bobby? The one who owns the house – know we're here first." The angel frowned at the human's words, unsure why telling Bobby Singer of their return was necessary. Surely he would notice on his own. Angela must have sensed the confusion. "It'll probably creep him out if the body he's keeping alive in the attic mysteriously disappears."

"We are not in the attic." As if to emphasize her point, Castiel opened the bedroom door to reveal the second floor hallway beyond. The stairwell to the first level was to the left, other bedrooms and the bath to the right.

"Okay, word of the day. Word? No, phrase? Never mind: human thing of the day!" Angela Anne Garrett was very fast paced with her words and often did not make sense, particularly in direct correlation to the speed at which she spoke. "Human thing of the day today is: Exaggeration for Dramatic Emphasis."

Castiel furled her brow, standing in Bobby Singer's upstairs hallway, trying to figure out the human in her head. "Why would the location of the room emphasize anything?"

Other than the location of the room, which would not be an exaggeration, but a fact. Humans did not make sense. Another fact.

"Because the attic is creepy. Just like an almost dead body stuck on a ventilator, breathing away hour after hour – all comatose-like – is creepy."

The angel worked through that for the underlying importance, which was not inherently clear. "So, the location of the attic increases the creepiness of the comatose body?"

"Exactly. You're getting it. Now, imagine going to check on that body, tucked away in your attic, only to find it missing." Angela sucked in a breath she wasn't capable of breathing, but Castiel got the impression it was for further 'dramatic emphasis.' "That's horror movie material right there. Think about it; where did it go? Did it get up and walk away on its own? Did somebody steal it? Is it still in the house with you?"

She was almost whispering now, yet somehow her voice seemed loud. Castiel raised her eyes skyward, to the attic above which she could sense clearly through the layers of the floor and insulation. There was nothing to fear there, to her knowledge. However, there was little that an Angel of the Lord would find 'creepy' and much that a mortal might.

"In regard to all those questions, the answer in this scenario would be yes."

"See?" Angela sounded immensely satisfied with the answer and, what Castiel suspected, was her performance. Both seemed suspect to the angel. "Creepy."

"Yes." Castiel turned and started for the stairs, deciding that while she could perhaps comprehend what Angela was talking about, she hardly understood it, nor did it seem particularly important to do so. Regardless, she would indulge the human, who was attempting to teach her human things (on a daily schedule, apparently). "We will inform Bobby of our return, so we do not 'creep him out.'"

In addition, he may know the location of Sam and Dean, sparing Castiel the effort of searching for them. The angel started down the stairs.

"Next time you use that tone of voice, raise your hands with just your pointer and middle finger up – like bunny ears – and curl them twice. Like this.' Castiel turned her gaze inward to watch the human demonstrate as she continued her way to the first level of the house. "They're called air quotes. Do it around Dean; he'll love it."

Castiel was uncertain if she was serious (there was something about the amusement in her voice that reminded the angel of when Balthazar would make fun of her) but didn't think she was entirely joking either. An opportunity to do something that would please her human charge was something Castiel would certainly make note of, however, considering Dean Winchester's sometimes volatile mood.

The angel stepped onto the landing of the first floor, the last of the stairs squeaking as she did so, just as a shotgun blast broke through the silence of the house and their conversation.

Castiel hardly flinched, though the surprise of the hit – the buckshot ripping through the t-shirt Dean had been kind enough to offer her, piercing flesh and muscle beneath, and the strangled cry Angela had released before Castiel was able to shove her deep, deep down – was enough to make the angel blink in surprise and glance down at her damaged chest. She looked back up to Bobby Singer, standing in front of his desk, eyes blown wide as he realized who it was he'd just shot.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered beneath his breath, lowering the shotgun, the end still smoking from the recent fire. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!"

The angel frowned, scanning the older hunter once over. "You do not currently have any blood clots that appear worrisome. Thought there is a fungal infection on your right largest toe that should be treated."

The look Bobby Singer sent her was hard to decipher. Castiel gathered that her attempt to appease the hunter, both in his now and future health, had misfired.

"Gee, thanks?"

Yes, that tone definitely suggested a misfire. Still, it would be rude not to respond at all.

"You are welcome."

Bobby let out a haggard sigh, muttering something about male testicular anatomy under his breath and setting the shotgun against the desk. "Can you heal that, or do I need to be worrying about yer vessel?"

Castiel glanced down at her body, filled with buckshot and salt, and repaired the damage to flesh and cloth alike with a quick flare of grace. She also took a moment to assess Angel's soul, which was certainly shaken but soothed with relative ease beneath the angel's calming probe. Still, Castiel sensed it might be best to give the human some time before raising her conscience once more. She placed her back in her memory loop, with an underlying mantra that all was fine, and returned to the physical plane.

The hunter in front of her seemed oddly relieved by the physical restoration to her vessel. The tension in his body bled off into more annoyance than distress, which Castiel had heard Dean refer to as 'gruff.' Idly, Castiel wondered if a ventilated, comatose-like body in the attic was even creepier with a bullet wound to the chest, but decided not to bother her host to just find out.

"You looking for Sam and Dean?" Bobby was staring at her expectantly and Castiel realized she missed several of the hunter's last words, though they had been mostly muttered and not entirely intended for her (something about getting her a bell? Castiel was uncertain what the purpose of that instrument would in an angel's hands.)

"Yes," Castiel answered, internally warring about the reason she had come in the first place. What had seemed so desperate and insurmountable in Heaven now felt foolish. "If…they are not otherwise preoccupied."

Bobby reached over to his desk, snatched up a small, dark, rectangular object, and lobbed it Castiel's way. "Ask 'em yerself. Boys are on one."

Castiel caught the object with ease and opened her hand to reveal a cell phone. The angel knew the purpose of the device. She had seen enough of Heaven's souls using them throughout their memories, often talking to their favorite loved ones who lived too far away to see in person. Over the years, the power of the device had grown global, nearly limitless, but Castiel remembered the very first of them that had revolutionized human communication and, more importantly, human relations. Now, as she stared at the largely unknown device in her hands, Castiel regretted not paying more attention to how those humans used their phones.

The angel looked back up with a blank face and a long silence. One party filled that silence with several blinks, the other with absolutely none at all. Finally, Bobby made a noise in the back of his throat and trudged over to show Cas how to use speed dial.

-o-o-o-

Uriel landed in the Lesser Hall, in the eastern reaches of Heaven. There were actually three Lesser Halls (and two Greater) in Heaven's expanse of cathedrals, grand halls, domed amphitheaters, archways, hallways, gardens, and courtyards. No matter how Heaven shifted – how some rooms fell off while others were born anew, or some simply became something else entirely (so that one day you were enjoying the company of your brethren in the Northern Lesser Hall and the next day it was a broom closet (not that Heaven needed brooms. None of the angels had yet really questioned why they had a broom closet to begin with)). But no matter how their home shifted and grew and changed, there were always two Greater Halls and three Lesser. And it was the Eastern Lesser Hall that Uriel flew to now, a quick search of his target's grace leading him there.

"Malachi." The Anarchist. He turned as Uriel touched down, dull surprise lighting his aura, likely due not only to his brother's unexpected presence, but Uriel's downright joviality. Uriel was never jovial, unless you were at the butt of his most recent joke, and Malachi was not known for a sense of humor. Or patience. Or civility with either of the aforementioned traits in others.

As a matter of fact, the two were hardly close. They had spoken a handful of times, if that. However, there was mutual respect there, even if it remained – would remain – unvoiced. They were, after all, both specialists, though their skillsets certainly differed. Still, in this matter, Uriel was confident he would find a like-minded compatriot.

"Uriel," the anarchist greeted in return, that look of surprise still there, though it stunk of derision. It matched his words. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have news of great interest, brother." Uriel drew himself up to his fullest, chest puffed, muscle and sinew of pure grace bulking. "News which I believe you and I share a similar interest in."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

-A/Ns: And so it begins. (to the reviewer who requested Heaven's civil war to happen during the Apocalypse... it's like you *know* me ;D)

-Reviews: I really don't want you guys to feel obligated to comment on this story, but my continued interest in writing it does rely heavily on knowing people are out there enjoying it. So I would appreciate some brief feedback - just a couple of words - when something I write gets a reaction out of you. I don't expect every chapter to do so, but please, let me know when I do. Or if I'm wrong altogether and don't have a story that's causing reactions to begin with.

To those of you who have reviewed: Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with me. They have influenced and supported this story more than you know.

...and okay, I apologize for the bitchy tone of the AN at the start of this. I don't apologize enough to go back up and change it; I think it was fair for me to get that out. But...yes, I apologize for the tone because you guys don't deserve to get bitched at just because I needed to bitch.

Until next time.

-Silence