Previously: Castiel gets a phone to contact the Winchesters who are hidden from the Angels' radar, and he takes Dean's necklace which, according to Balthazar, lights up when God is present. Castiel travels the world in search of God, but without any luck. Meanwhile, Anpiel fails to get the Angels to join Castiel's cause.

oOo

The Sistine Chapel

The walls are covered with hundreds of depictions of human bodies. Time has washed out colors and the paint has cracked in a few places, but my overall impression remains the same as it was a few centuries ago when the chapel was just completed.

It isn't the shrunken penises - typical of that era's artistic tastes - but rather the portrayal of my Father as Humans imagine Him to be, that leaves me deeply troubled.

I have known for a long time that the Lord created Humans in His image, but I still find it hard to visualize Him with a flesh and blood body, a beard and genitalia. Dressed in a flowing cloth, he looks stern as he extends his hand to the man I assume to be Adam.

Around me, a thick crowd of clothed Humans is whispering in a variety of different languages. Above us, a multitude of unclothed Humans, forever captured on the walls and ceiling.

And in the palm of my hand, the amulet still won't light up. The silver face's blank stare almost seems to be mocking me. I angrily close my fist around it and stuff it back into my trench coat pocket.

God isn't here.

My Grace freezes in my veins when I feel a celestial presence moving among the hundreds of Humans crowding into this confined place. I would know this aura anywhere since it has guided me throughout my entire life. I don't even have to look over to tell who's come to stand beside me, her wing brushing against mine.

"Did you really believe you would find Him in the Vatican, Cas?"

Her voice stirs in me a troubling combination of feelings that I can't begin to analyze. She spoke in Enochian, possibly so the tourists around us won't understand.

"Anna."

I glance at my fallen sister, meeting her gaze. Her dark red hair enhances her human face's white skin.

"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to find God. I too have prayed and searched for Him in every holy place in the world. Never has He answered me."

Folding my wings back so that they are no longer touching hers, I turn to look her straight in the eye. Her vessel is shorter than mine, which makes her look up at me. And yet, I struggle to repress millions of years of bending to her authority.

Those days are gone.

"Why are you here? I had you arrested. You're supposed to be in solitary confinement until the Council decides your fate."

"I escaped."

"No one escapes from solitary confinement. This is impossible."

I know from my own experience in solitary confinement that there is no way to exit the ring of holy fire without perishing, and that it requires authorization from the hierarchy to enter or leave this plane of existence.

A faint smile grazes her lips.

"Let's just say I had… some help. Believe it or not, I still got allies in Heaven who support me and keep me informed. I know quite a few things. I know that the sixty six seals have been broken and the Cage is open. I know that Michael and Lucifer are searching for their vessels and that Raphael himself descended to Earth to track them down."

A touch on my arm makes me flinch. Anna laid her hand there, sliding it up to cup my cheek, tracing my cheekbone with her thumb. Her smile grows softer and filled with sadness.

I guess her years as a Human is what made her so handsy. Her warmth and aura make me shut my eyes, bringing me millions of years back in the past, when everything was so much easier, when doubts and feelings had not yet corrupted me.

"I heard what happened, Castiel. You rebelled. You're like me now. Fallen. Hunted."

I open my eyes again but find myself unable to hold her gaze. Shame, revulsion and wounded pride invade me. I don't know if I want to shove her away or just fall at her feet.

"I'm proud of you. So proud. You have no idea how much."

Her hand slides off my cheek and I keep my eyes fixed on our feet as I struggle to contain my Grace from bubbling up. All around, the crowd is still moving and whispering without paying attention to us.

"I'm not like you."

At my words, Anna tilts her head to the side, her red hair flowing off her shoulder.

"We are much more alike than you would care to admit. I've always seen it in you. This species…" She gestures to the crowd of people gathered in the chapel. "… wasn't your original favorite. But over the millennia, you came to love them as much as I do. Like me, you sacrificed everything to save them and it still wasn't enough." The look in her eyes hardens. "The Cage is open and it's only a matter of time before Michael and Lucifer take possession of their vessels. There's nothing you can do to stop them, and you know it. You think that finding God is the solution, Cas, but you're wrong. You're only wasting time here and we need to act before it's too late. It's already started, you know. The Horsemen of the Apocalypse are out, Angels and demons are fighting all over the globe. The Apocalypse is nigh."

"How come you know all this, Anna?"

A smile curls up her lips playfully.

"I have my ways. You've only been the General of the Garrison for two decades, while I've been working in the highest spheres of the hierarchy for tens of millions of years. I still have some connections up there, I know how they operate and I know how to get what I want from them."

I look back to the abundance of nude bodies depicted on the painted walls. I have been looking for God in all churches, cathedrals and holy places in the world, before covering the continents and praying constantly, but I could not find Him. I need to accept the evidence that God is hiding far better than I thought, unless He doesn't want to be found for some unknown reason. Either way, I have reached a dead end. I've wasted a lot of time trying to find an invisible ally while the situation is getting out of hand and the Winchesters are in danger. Anna has always been a brilliant strategist, so it can only be beneficial to get her input.

"I don't know what else to do," I admit after a few seconds hesitation. "I did consider the idea of recruiting troops from the heavenly armies to overthrow the Council, but... you know better than anyone that any revolt, no matter how massive, is doomed to fail. Finding God is the only viable strategy to stop the Apocalypse."

"No, Cas." Anna shakes her head, taking a step forward to get me to meet her eyes. "No, this isn't the only strategy. I can think of a much better and easier one that will instantly undo the hierarchy's plans and send Lucifer right back into his Cage. A strategy that will reverse your downfall, bring back to life our slain brothers and sisters and allow me to resume my position as commander of the Garrison."

"… I'm listening."

She takes a deep breath, flashing me a sharp look.

"The only way to save Humanity from destruction is to travel back in time and prevent the Winchester brothers from ever being conceived. So they will never be born, they will never break the Cage's first and last seal and the hierarchy's schemes will be defeated."

I can't keep my wings from twitching as it all becomes clear.

"You intend to kill John and Mary Winchester."

That was a rhetorical question, but my sister nods gravely, determination burning in her eyes.

"It's a sacrifice we need to make."

The look on my face must convey how appalled I am by the very idea, as what looks like pity flashes through her too human eyes. Her hand grazes my wrist and she clasps her fingers around it tightly.

"I know you care about Dean and Sam. And I understand, Cas, I really do, believe me. I myself once felt affection and compassion for Yaël. But I require you to set aside your sympathies and look at things dispassionately: if the Archangels' vessels do not come into being, it will take thousands of years for the Council to generate new Humans vessels of such quality and to orchestrate Lucifer's liberation. Which will buy us time to plan a strong uprising and impeach the Council."

I look down at her hand infusing her warmth around my wrist.

"What happens if you fail to kill them?"

I whispered these words hoarsely, barely above the hushed chatter of tourists taking pictures, unaware that they are standing next to two fallen Angels. My sister lets a few seconds pass while she strokes the crease of my wrist with her thumb.

"I know a few ways to kill Humans and destroy their souls in the process. It's tedious, incredibly painful and far from ideal, but I will do it if I have to. I would rather not, though, come to that. Dean and Sam would be better off never existing at all than suffering such agony. Never being born is different than being killed. I'm sure you agree."

I silently nod. I feel unable to speak a word. My Grace is straining to rush through my veins.

The thought of rewinding, of erasing the last few decades as if they had never happened, it's overwhelming. To get the Garrison back to the way it was, blissfully ignorant, obeying Anna and Zachariah's orders... To have Levanael, Miz and Uriel by my side again...

And for that to happen, it would take Sam and Dean to never have existed.

"I know it's hard," my sister's voice sounds like it's coming through a veil of mist. "I know it's unfair. But we have no choice. Their very existence is a threat to their species' survival. Come with me to the past. Together we'll save Humanity. Just you and me, Cas, like in the good old days."

I gently draw my arm out of Anna's grip, holding my head down.

"I can't."

Anna lets her hand fall down along her body, disappointment flashing through her eyes.

"So be it. I will go alone then."

In the second it takes her to spread her white wings through the crowd of Humans, I've made my decision. I act swiftly, releasing my aura to halt the flow of time as my Grace hardens in my forearm vein, forging my blade that slides into the palm of my hand. The Humans freeze like statues around us. Before Anna has a chance to react, I charge at her like an eagle and drive my blade straight through her heart.

Her eyes widen and she stares at me like she's seeing me for the first time, in horror and disbelief. Her flesh-and-blood body sags, I catch her with one arm and hold her against me, keeping my blade deep in her chest.

"Cas…?" she breathes out.

I hold her gaze unblinkingly as I kneel down, bringing us both to the ground. I can feel her Grace boiling and igniting at the sharp end of my blade. Blood and light are pouring down her chest and onto my fingers while her wings are weakly twitching.

Despite all our differences, Anna is my sister, my former General, one of the rare Angels who can actually understand me. We fought side by side for millions of years and I've always held her in the highest regard.

But I have made my decision. I can't let Anna live if she presents a threat to Sam and Dean. The Winchesters are my charge, the very first living beings I chose to take under my wing. I won't stand aside and live with my regrets for the rest of my life, just like the memory of that boat during the Flood has never stopped haunting me. Never again.

Once again, I'm sacrificing an Angel's life to keep Sam and Dean safe. I felt nothing when I took Mgam and Eboza's lives, but murdering with my own hands my closest sister, the one who has been a support and a role model since the first day of my creation...

It's infinitely harder.

"Farewell, Anna."

My sister stiffens in my arms and a burst of dazzling light shoots out of her eyes and mouth with a scream that sends ice through my veins. My vision clouds up with the purest white, her wings blazing like a thousand suns, and suddenly it's all over.

I withdraw my bleeding blade from her body and let it dissolve and reintegrate my Grace through the pores of my skin. Her head rolls into the hollow of my shoulder and her hair spills in a waterfall of dark red as I hold her lifeless body against me. Her eyes are closed, her face forever stilled in a sad and peaceful expression.

Still frozen in time, the chapel feels so dark now. The ashes trace on the ground the outline of the charred wings. Taking a deep breath, I join our foreheads together as a final farewell.

Her skin is cold already.

oOo

No one will mourn Anna's death. None of the beings she so fiercely fought for will shed tears for her or even know how much she sacrificed for them.

That thought and its trail of regrets still haunt me as I land with a soft rustle of wings in Junction City, Kansas. More precisely in the Dreamland Motel room 7 where Dean told me he was staying. Now that I got rid of the threat against them, I need to make sure that they are safe. To remind myself that the sacrifice I made was worth it, that the benefits outweigh the loss. The curtains are drawn and the bedside lamp's light is bathing the bed and the desk with a yellowish glow. On the mattress lies an open bag with a bloodstained machete sticking out. The room is empty, but the steady sound of water running in the bathroom indicates that there is someone inside.

I step over the clothes scattered on the carpet and open the door, diving into the steamy tiled room. Through the shower curtain, a male body can be seen, with hot water pouring over it. I extend my hand up to the curtain, but before I can reach it, it flings open and a detonation rings out like a bolt of thunder.

Before me stands Dean Winchester, naked and dripping with water and soap, aiming the smoking barrel of his gun at my forehead. His face is tense and a hard glare darkens his eyes. When he sees me, though, his expression shifts dramatically from defiance to bewilderment and a hint of disbelief.

"Cas?!"

He lowers his gun and stares at me as I reach up to my forehead for the bullet stuck in my skull, right above my left eyebrow. I pluck it out and drop it to the floor with a tinkling metallic sound while my Grace heals the damaged skin.

"Hello, Dean."

The water keeps pouring out of the suspended showerhead in a steady downpour hitting Dean's back and skull, spraying my trench coat with droplets. Dean shows no resistance as I take the gun out of his hand and set it on the toilet seat aside.

"What the hell are you doing here? You can't just show up out of nowhere and without warning!"

"I wanted to make sure you're alive and safe."

I squint to inspect his body, staring at his parted lips, the curve of his neck, the muscles under his dripping skin, the sharp angle of his pelvis, and…

"You're wounded."

I reach forward to touch his thigh's lacerated skin with my fingertips, as it bleeds into the water and taints it pink. Dean's reaction to the touch is both unexpected and disproportionate. He rears back so abruptly he nearly falls over, then grabs the shower curtain to yank it back over his crotch, eyes widening.

"Fuck, Cas! No! Don't do that!"

I tilt my head to the side in confusion. The wound is not very deep, and I know better than anyone else the excruciating tortures he went through in Hell before he gave in under Alastair's scalpel. A light touch on such a shallow cut can't possibly inflict enough pain to cause such a reaction.

"I can no longer heal you and I have no access to Heaven," I remind him, looking up into his eyes again. "I would be unable to help if you were to be badly injured, or worse, killed. You need to be more careful, Dean."

Dean's cheeks flush red, probably due to the damp heat in the bathroom. There is something in the way his soul's fragments are shimmering in the green of his eyes. I can't tell if it's anger, shame or something else entirely.

His lips pinch into a line deepening the dimples on his cheeks, and he wryly turns the water off.

"And you need to stop spying on people when they're showering, checking them out and touching them like this."

"Why?"

Dean blinks, staring at me like he always does when he's about to lose his temper.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. I'm not kidding."

For some reason, Dean seems to think I'm joking. I'm not. I've always been curious about human habits and customs throughout the ages, even more so when it involves the righteous man, whom I've searched relentlessly in Hell for forty years, whose soul I held in my hand before regenerating every cell in his body. The one I rebelled against Heaven and sacrificed my life for.

Dean heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Give me the towel on the sink."

Still staring at him, I reach for the folded white towel and hand it over. He snatches it from my hands and yanks the curtain back between us. When he opens it again and steps out of the shower, the towel is tied around his hips. He didn't even bother to dry himself. Water droplets are rolling down his calves and pooling on the tiled floor at his feet. In contact with his wet chest, my trench-coat is soaking up too.

His body is radiating steam and warmth.

Dean meets my gaze and instantly lowers his eyes, clearing his throat.

"Ever heard of personal space?"

His voice is hoarse, tinged with frustration.

"No. What is it?"

Dean rolls his eyes and walks around me. Again with this annoying tendency of his to be constantly moving around when we're having a conversation. I spin around to face him again - he's now leaning against the sink, arms crossed and a disgruntled fold deepening between his eyebrows.

When I take one step closer to keep reading the expression in his eyes, he stops me with a commanding motion of his hand.

"Okay, that's it. Let me teach you a couple of things about how we humans work. You can't keep doing stuff like this."

I obediently stop, frowning. Have I done something wrong? Human rules and boundaries are sometimes hard to understand, if not completely absurd. I have seen Humans getting slaughtered by their own kind for using a word at an inappropriate time or setting foot in a specific place.

"What stuff?"

"Like walking in on me while I'm taking a shower, and checking me out while I'm butt-naked. It's weird, okay?"

The distant memory of Adam and Eve confectioning clothes out of fig leaves to cover their genitals comes back to me.

"Oh, I see. This is about modesty."

"Damn right it is! You can't just waltz in and check my dick out! This is not cool!"

I've never really grasped the whole modesty thing. I understand that Humans have grown the need to cover their bodies to keep warm as evolution and fire skills made them lose their fur, but why are they so intent on hiding the genital organs that nature gave them?

"Dean, I recreated your body myself when I brought you back to life. I know your penis better than you ever will."

Dean's cheeks grow redder, which makes his freckles look paler.

"Stop! From now on, no more talking about my penis, and if I'm not fully clothed when you show up, get the hell out and come back later! Capiche?"

Judging by his racing heartbeat I can hear from here and the angry look in his eyes, this modesty thing is very important for him. So I decide not to argue about how ridiculous his reaction is and raise my hands in what I believe to be a universal sign of pacification.

"Alright. I capiche. I will be careful from now on not to mention your genitals or look at you when you are naked. Anything else?"

Dean clenches his jaw, still glowering. His soaked hair is dripping, and water keeps drawing wet trails on his body.

"Yeah. Try to keep at least three feet between us when we're talking."

Although I can accept the notion of modesty as a basic principle of Humanity for thousands of years, this rule makes no sense at all.

"Why?"

"Because…"

Dean pauses and averts his gaze, his abdominal muscles contracting in what seems to be some unconscious nervous reaction.

"Because normal people don't usually stand that close to each other." His voice is rough and he moistens his lips even though they are still wet. "It can be perceived as a threat or as an invitation to…" He trails off and steps away from the sink, heading to the door to the bedroom. "Anyway. It's just weird. So don't do it."

I watch him walk out of the bathroom and over to the bed, his feet leaving wet patches on the floor.

I never realized that the distance between two people could have a meaning for Humans. Did I appear threatening to Dean every time I spoke to him, when all I was trying to do was to see the subtleties of his emotions in his soul through his eyes?

Come to think of it, I did use proximity as a threat once when I was attempting to pry information out of Lavavoth. But I had never thought of this before, as Angels have always conveyed their state of mind through their Grace or wing movements.

I leave the bathroom and walk towards the bed. Dean is sitting there, reaching into his bag to pull out a bottle of alcohol, and he shoots a blank stare at me.

"What happened to your hand?"

He points with his chin to my blood-stained hand. I look down at my sticky fingers and close my fist, chasing down the sense of emptiness and unease that Anna's death has left in me.

I guess that in a similar situation, a Human would go through a wide range of agonizing feelings. The ones that Anna yearned to feel herself.

"It's not my blood."

With a thought, I disintegrate the blood molecules encrusted on my skin and sit down on the bed, very careful to keep exactly three feet of distance between Dean and me.

"Where is Sam?" I ask as I watch him pour alcohol onto a piece of cotton.

"Not here."

Dean's face is closed and hard to read.

"I need to make sure he's safe."

"Sam is doing great, safer than ever. What about you, how is your god hunt going?"

I squint at his blunt tone. I think I know Dean Winchester well enough by now to be certain that he is intent on not answering me for some reason.

So far, I have only called Dean with my phone to ensure that the both of them are safe. Perhaps that was a mistake. I should probably have called Sam too, even if it would have cost me more minutes on my prepaid card.

Rather than pushing the issue, I pull the necklace out of my pocket. Hanging from its leather string, the pendant swings left and right, still desperately switched off.

"Badly."

Dean pulls up his towel just enough to expose the cut on his thigh, which almost stopped bleeding already. Gritting his teeth, he pours alcohol all over it to disinfect, with little concern for staining the sheets.

"Did you check the churches, just in case he's there?"

I close my fist on the amulet while my Grace simmers with frustration and growing anxiety. All will be lost if I don't find God soon.

"I searched all churches, cathedrals and Christian holy places in the world. I explored every country, including New Mexico. And I haven't found Him."

Dean screws the bottle lid back on and rummages into his bag again to pull out some bandages, then proceeds to wrap them around his thigh.

"When looking for something, you need to proceed with logic. When and where was the last time you saw your old man?"

"I have never seen the Lord with my own eyes. Rare are those who have had this privilege."

He pauses and sends me a sidelong look.

"Never? Not even when you were a baby angel?"

My feathers puff up indignantly. I hope Dean isn't picturing my true form as a chubby infant like some of his kind's iconography likes to portray us.

"I never was a… baby angel. I was a thousand feet tall celestial warrior ready for battle from the very second I was created."

Dean stares at me, raising his eyebrows high.

"A thousand feet tall," he says flatly.

I nod, holding his gaze.

"A thousand feet? How the hell do you fit in there?"

The disbelief in his voice brings a hint of a smile to my lips, almost against my will. I am tempted to stay longer with Dean to explain how a celestial entity like myself can be contained in Jimmy Novak's small organic body, but I already spent too much time here, time that I should have spent searching for God. I have to stop the Apocalypse or else my sister will have died for nothing.

But first, I need to make sure that Sam is safe. He must stay out of Lucifer's reach. And if Dean won't tell me, I'll go find the answers myself.

"I have to keep looking for my Father. I'll keep you informed."

I leave the room in a flutter of wings. But this time, I don't fly far, only flying to a few dozen meters outside.

The American flag hanging from the hotel's front door sways in the morning breeze. The Winchesters' car is speckled with dew and reflects my vessel along with the wide blue sky. I reach into my trench coat pocket and pull out my phone, turning my eyes to Dean's bedroom window. The curtains are drawn, but I can make out his silhouette through.

I flip the phone open and the screen glows up. I press the buttons to enter the contacts, and this time I select Sam's name instead of Dean's.

The dial tone in my ear is the same, and it hardly rings three times before I hear Sam's voice.

« Castiel? »

"Hello, Sam. Where are you?"

The silence on the other end of the line makes me squint and squeeze the device closer to my ear.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"

Finally, there is a sigh.

« Look, Castiel, don't take it personally, but I don't want to be involved in any of this crap anymore. »

"What crap?"

« The Apocalypse, the supernatural, demons, angels, all of this… I'm done, okay? I've had enough. I'm out of business. »

"This is absurd, Sam. You can't just decide to be out of business."

« Watch me. I just don't care anymore. Don't bother to call me again, I won't reply next time. »

I blink as I hear the beep indicating that he hung up on me. Staggered, I remove the phone from my ear and stare at the screen that informs me that the call lasted one minute and twenty-two seconds, and that two minutes have been deducted from my phone card.

Now, that makes things more complicated. If the Winchester brothers are no longer together, they are more vulnerable and the Angels and demons have a better chance of finding them. I need to know exactly what is going on to fix it. Since I have no idea where to search for God on this planet, I should at least make sure that both of the Winchesters are safe from harm.

I can only think of one person who could help me with that. Their substitute father, Bobby Singer.

I put my phone back in my pocket and with a flutter of my wings, I appear in the Saint-Martin hospital corridors, a heavy smell of antiseptic filling my senses. The staff is so busy that no one seems to notice my sudden arrival, and I make my way through the hospital beds and nurses to get to the room where I met Bobby and the Winchesters when I came to collect the amulet. I hear the hunter's angry voice as I walk up to the door.

"… therapy, my ass!"

I push the door open to see a doctor in a white coat pushing his glasses up on his nose disapprovingly.

"I think that would be good for you, Mr. Singer. You can no longer live in denial. You are never going to walk again, it's time for you to accept it."

"I'll give you denial! Get me a competent doctor!"

"Please be reasonable! You have been examined by our finest specialists and all of them have..."

"Get out of my sight, you quack!"

Bobby's lunch tray flies at the doctor's face who promptly jumps back. I step aside to let him leave the room, and then the hunter's eyes meet mine.

His face red with anger, he frowns even more when he sees me and turns his wheelchair wheels to face me.

"Look who's there. If it ain't Mister No-Mojo."

"Hello, Bobby."

He squints, his eyes stormy under his cap, hands clutching at the wheels.

"Cut the foreplay and get straight to the point. What d'you want?"

The green beans get squashed under my shoe as I step toward him, and the empty cup rolls right under the bed. I stop right in front of him, looking down to watch the expressions on his face.

"I need your help."

"Can you heal my legs?"

"No."

"Then you can shove my help up where the sun never shines."

I frown as he starts to make his wheelchair rotate and turn his back to me.

"Sam and Dean's safety is at stake. I'm worried about them."

Now that makes an impact. The hunter's hands freeze on the wheels and he shoots a sidelong glare at me.

"What have these two idjits done now?"

I move one step to the side to face him again, not bothering to avoid the puddle of orange juice on the floor.

"It would seem that they have split apart. I called Sam, but he won't tell me where he is. Angels and demons are twice as likely to find them if they are not together."

Bobby averts his eyes, muttering something I can't make out in his beard, but I can tell by his lack of surprise that he already knows about the situation.

"These brats will be the death of me…"

"Do you know where Sam is? Did he tell you anything?"

Bobby rolls his eyes and spins his wheels again to move around me. I'm starting to get where Dean got this annoying habit from.

"Sam decided to quit the business."

I turn around to find Bobby reaching for a shelf to grab his bag and clothes and drop them onto his lap.

"I already know that. What I need to know is where he is located and why he is no longer with his brother."

Bobby turns his wheelchair to face me with jerky, angry motions.

"Sam and Dean got it into their heads that the whole damn Apocalypse is their fault and they better stay away from each other and not make things worse."

"This is absurd. This Apocalypse was planned and written thousands of years ago. Sam and Dean are merely pawns on the game board. No matter what they do, it would all come down to the same ending."

Bobby narrows his eyes and I can feel the air fill with anger.

"And exactly who do you think planted that idea in their heads, huh?"

The way he's glowering at me throws me off balance and I suddenly remember clearly blaming Sam and Dean in that same hospital room for destroying the world and causing me to lose everything.

"… Oh."

"Yeah. Oh, indeed. Now make yourself useful and fly me home pronto. I ain't staying one more minute in this hospital filled with sons of bitches who expect me to cry on a shrink's shoulder and would have my butt fused to that fucking chair."

He spoke in a commanding, aggressive tone. Never in thousands of years of punctual interactions between celestials and mortals had I witnessed a Human addressing an Angel that way. In other circumstances, I'd have been inclined to remind him of his place, of whom he is talking to. But I no longer even belong to the celestial army. I'm nothing but a rebel, an outcast from Heaven.

Without a word, I reach out and put my hand on Bobby's warm shoulder, then unfold my wings. In a wingbeat, I pull us out of the hospital, fly us across miles and make a landing inside the hunter's house surrounded by car wrecks. The one that was described in many scenes of the Winchester Gospel.

"Balls!"

Still on the wheelchair I brought with us, Bobby Singer is bent over and looks like he's about to throw up. Same reaction Dean had the first time I carried him while he was awake.

Funny how such a brief travel can have such an effect on the human organism. Regurgitation is supposed to be a purging action to prevent poisoning and bacterial infections.

The air is heavy with static dust that glows golden in the rays of light streaming through the drawn curtains. Piles of documents and books are stacked on the desk, and more than a dozen phones are marked and hung on the wall. I know from Prophet Chuck's holy writings how Bobby acts as a source of information for the Winchesters and all the other supernatural hunters in the country. This could be quite useful for me, as I am cut off from the celestial communication networks.

When I turn my attention back to Bobby, he seems to breathe much better, despite the greenish color of his face.

"We need to make Sam understand that he can't run away from destiny," I say. "No matter if he wants to be out of business or not, Lucifer and his demons will keep searching for him. Staying alone is too dangerous."

Bobby snorts and heads out of the living room with angry jerks on his wheels.

"You think I haven't tried? Every day I try to call him but he never replies, the boy's pigheaded, y'know. Even worse than his dad."

I follow him into the kitchen and open one of the upper cabinets for him when I realize he can't reach it. Far from being grateful, he looks offended that I help him, but still points to a bottle and glasses for me to bring down.

"Let's share a drink. God knows we need it these days. Speaking of the big man, you still ain't found him with your magic amulet thingy?"

"No. I haven't found Him. Not yet."

I open the bottle and pour the alcohol into the two lime-stained glasses, then hand him one.

Bobby takes it and make the amber liquid swirl inside before he holds it up to clink it against mine. I don't know if there is any cultural significance to this ritual. But I assume that I cannot refuse to ingest the liquid now without offending the hunter.

"When I couldn't find something, my wife used to tell me," Bobby says, placing his lips on the glass, "to look where it definitely shouldn't be." He shrugs and tips his head back to empty the glass in one gulp. "Never helped me find anything, but it's a suggestion like any other."

I bring the glass to my lips as I consider that thought and drink the liquid, letting it flow down my throat and ignite my stomach with a weird kind of warmth. Not uncomfortable, but weird.

There is indeed somewhere that I haven't explored, that I haven't even thought of exploring because it would be so unlikely to find my Father there. There are wide areas on this planet that the Lord must value, since He filled them with many creatures.

Oceans.

But first…

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, flipping it open with my thumb.

"I need your phone number and your help to find the Archangel Raphael. I heard that he came down to Earth to hunt down Sam and Dean. I must find him before he finds them, and I learned from the scriptures that you are good at providing information. If I succeed in capturing Raphael, he will tell me where God is."

Bobby stares at me for a moment before rolling his eyes and grabbing the bottle for a refill.

"Balls. Like the day couldn't get any crappier."

oOo

In the next chapter

"You lied to me. You betrayed me."

"Since we're washing our dirty linen in public, let's get it all out, shall we? Do you even realize how much I've risked to protect you?"