This started out as a one-shot. I was struck with the idea sometime in January of 2012 while listening to "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. (Yeah, I know, weird song to get inspiration for a Cas story. It kinda explains itself as this chapter goes on.) After posting this, one reviewer, MyEffect, got into a discussion with me over private message and encouraged me to expand this. So, now, this has become a randomly updated whatever-shot. Whenever I come up with an idea, I'll write it and post it, but I'm not keeping any obligation to this story. It's a bit of a side project, I suppose. Wherever I leave it, that's where it will stay for however long. Just thought I'd let any of you who may soon be eagerly awaiting the next update know how this is gonna work.

Also, this is in no way affiliated with my Not Strong Enough series. At least… not yet.

I don't own Supernatural or any references to anything else you may recognize.

"Maybe… maybe Joshua was lying."

"I don't think he was, Cas. I'm sorry."

Castiel turned his face up to the ceiling, glaring up at Heaven through the cracked plaster. He was shaking with barely restrained fury and absolute disappointment. For the first time in his entire existence, he felt as though he might cry. "You son of a bitch," he cursed, hoping that his father, wherever he might be, would at least feel the force of his son's fury. "I believed in—"

Castiel didn't really remember how he had come to be sitting on a park bench in Chicago and conversing with a prostitute, but there he was nonetheless.

It was kind of late—almost midnight. He had left the Winchesters an hour or so ago, right after sharing the most devastating news that he could imagine: God was nowhere to be found. It was the middle of the Apocalypse, and God was, as Dean would say, AWOL. Castiel had put so much faith in his father, only to be let down time and time again. Maybe his brothers and sisters were right, or maybe Dean was. Maybe God really was dead, or maybe He really just didn't care anymore.

The moment Castiel had realized that his search was a waste of time, he had decided to give up, to stop caring as of right then, and seeing the prostitute sitting alone on the park bench had been a perfect coincidence. After all, wasn't that how Dean dealt with his problems—imbibing copious quantities of alcohol and indulging in meaningless sexual relations until the pain eventually faded into the background?

The woman was beautiful—even being an angel, Castiel could appreciate the gentle curves of the woman's body, the shine of her soft brown hair, the smooth, unblemished look of her skin. This woman didn't look as though she belonged in the business of selling her body. She carried herself with a sort of pride and dignity he rarely ever saw anymore, even in Dean—especially in Dean.

At about that moment, Jimmy's human cravings kicked in—they had been doing that a lot lately—and Castiel had the sudden urge to touch and to be touched. Before he was consciously aware of it, he was walking over and awkwardly sitting down beside the prostitute on the park bench.

She looked up and smiled at him, faltering when she noticed his expression. "You look like you could use a friend," she said kindly, her warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled again. "I'm Jillian, but you can call me Jill." Castiel stared at her stupidly, big blue eyes wide with nervousness as he tried to figure out what to say. "It's okay; you don't have to tell me your name." Jill looked him up and down, scrutinizing him closely, then said, "It's like seventy five degrees out here, and you're in a business suit and a trench coat. Aren't you like sweatin' to death or something? I've barely got any clothes on as it is, and I'm about to have a heatstroke."

Castiel didn't really know what to say to that. "Technically, it's an overcoat," he replied quietly, playing with one of the buttons on his favorite piece of Jimmy's clothing.

"Ah, so he speaks!" Jill said with a laugh, and Castiel briefly thought that he was being mocked as he so often was by Dean; then he realized that Jill was just being friendly. There was still so much he didn't understand about humans, and always being around Dean, who spouted sarcasm and backhanded comments constantly, didn't help that. "Well, I'm gonna ask anyway. So what's your name, stranger?" she asked him. "And why so blue?"

Castiel looked down at his hands and thought that his skin tone was perfectly normal, then looked back up at Jill with confusion. "My name is Castiel," he replied, furrowing his brow. "And my skin is how it should be." Jill busted out laughing, a loud—but not obnoxious—sound that was occasionally pierced by small snorts. "I said something amusing?" Castiel asked, puzzled.

"Sweetie," Jill said, placing her hand on his arm as her laughter subsided, "when someone asks 'why so blue?' they're askin' why you look so sad."

"Oh," Castiel said, still not understanding. How could a color be sad? His suit was blue, and it wasn't sad—it was clothing.

He stared at Jill for a moment, wanting her touch and wishing he knew how to love, but also wanting to just talk to somebody about his recent faithlessness, somebody who had no attachment to him or his problem whatsoever. Dean was always too busy—he called when he needed help, and that was it. He didn't have time to have a conversation about faith with a doubting angel, especially considering how little faith he had himself. Castiel knew that Sam believed, but also knew that, after meeting the angels last year, his disappointment made him guarded.

Castiel sighed. He shouldn't be so resentful. The Winchesters—and even Bobby—had faith in him, whether they had faith in God or not.

"Hey, um, what was it… Castiel?" Jill said, jolting the angel out of his thoughts. "Angel of Thursday, right?" she asked. "That's who you were named for?" Castiel nodded, having learned by now that telling people you were the Angel of Thursday didn't usually go over well. "Well, penny for your thoughts, Mr. Thursday?" she asked, and after a moment of confusion, he held out his hand, expecting for her to give him the copper coin. Jill laughed again and said, "Just another expression. It means I'm concerned, and I wanna know what's botherin' you."

"Oh," Castiel said again, blushing embarrassedly and starting to withdraw his hand.

"But, here," Jill said, pulling a small red money-pouch out of her cleavage, rummaging around a bit, then handing him an old, dirty penny. She put the pouch away, smiling brightly. "So, now that I paid you," she said, grinning triumphantly, "you have to tell me."

He turned the penny over in his hands, thinking, then fixed Jill with a pleading look, hoping she would understand. "I've lost faith," he said simply.

"I'm gonna need a little more to go on."

"My… my father left me," Castiel began hesitantly, "not very long ago. He's always been there for me, and for my siblings, and even though I never saw him, I just knew he was there. I had complete faith in him. I worshipped him. He was everything I wished to be and more." Jill squeezed his arm reassuringly, apparently noticing the utter devastation in his deep, monotonous voice. "Recently, I went looking for him. I needed his help, and badly—I still do. Before, I could always find him, or at least contact him, but now…. I've searched everywhere, and he's nowhere to be found. I trusted him, believed in him, and he left me, the only one of his children who still had faith. Now, I'm lost. I don't know what to do. I have no hope, and I've lost all faith."

"I know how you feel, Cas," Jill said softly, sliding her arm through his.

"You… you do?"

"Sounds like you have the same problem I had about a year ago. I caught my husband cheating on me, right after I found out I was pregnant. I divorced the son of a bitch, and he took everything—not that we really had all that much. I moved into that apartment over there." Jill pointed with her free hand to a run-down building covered with graffiti, and Castiel stared at it in disbelief. People lived in that? "Couple weeks after I moved in," she continued, "I fell down the stairs. Didn't have any major injuries that I knew of, but I went to the doctor just in case. And he told me… he told me my baby was gone." Jill sniffled and hugged Castiel's arm tighter, and much to his surprise, it felt kind of… right. "That baby was the only thing I had goin' for me, the only good thing for me to look forward to—I always wanted a baby, ever since I was little, and I always loved kids—and just like that, my only hope was gone. I'd always been a pretty devout Christian 'cause both my parents were and everything, but right at that moment, I lost all faith in God. I'd never done anything wrong—how did I deserve that?"

"You didn't," Castiel replied, covering her had with his own in an effort to be comforting, and it seemed to work. "Please, go on. How did you regain your faith in my fa—in God?"

If Jill noticed his slip-up, she didn't act like it. Wiping her eyes with one hand and giving him a watery smile, she said, "I prayed. I prayed for a sign, something that would tell me God hadn't given up on me yet."

"And?" Castiel pressed urgently, the need to know stronger that anything he'd ever felt.

"And the next day, right outside my apartment, I saw a flyer for an orphanage that needed another nanny. I knew it was my sign—literally. I went by and started almost immediately. I'm workin' with kids every day, and once I get enough money to move, I'm gonna adopt one, or maybe two, or even three of them."

"But you're a—"

"A hooker, yeah," Jill finished, nodding. "But it's only an extra way to get cash. Soon as I can afford it, I'm quittin' on the spot. I'm gonna give my kids a great home, and I'm gonna protect them from everything that comes their way. I'm not gonna let them end up like me. For right now, this is where God wants me, and until I know it's time, this is where I'm gonna stay."

"Thank you," Castiel said, stunned by Jill's story, and he once again felt the unfamiliar prickling of tears in his eyes. That couldn't be right. Could angels cry? "I can never thank you enough."

"Don't mention it," Jill said, waving her hand like it was nothing, but it was everything to Castiel. "Now, if you want me for the night, you can have me, no charge. But you don't really want me, do ya? You're just not that kinda person."

"No, I'm not," Castiel agreed, feeling a spark of hope in his heart once more.

"Didn't think so." She gave him that crinkly-eyed smile of hers, her brown eyes sparkling. "So get out there, Mr. Thursday," she said, pecking his cheek lightly. "Use those angel wings and go find God."

Ignoring the bewildered look that he gave her, Jillian the prostitute turned her back on the angel and walked away, leaving him with a renewed sense of purpose and faith.

"Thank you," he said once more, much too quiet for anyone to hear. Opening his hand, he stared down at the tarnished, practically useless coin, then tilted his face up to the sky. In the same, barely audible voice, he murmured, "Penny for your thoughts, Father?"

With one of his rare smiles, Castiel tucked the penny in his pocket and walked away from the bustling city.