"I see you've stopped going to therapy."

The voice stopped Sam Winchester in his tracks. He turned around and realized that no, he hadn't imagined it; the voice belonged to someone. Its owner was a man who was- Sam rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly- wearing a trench coat in 80 degree weather. "And you are?"

"A concerned party."

It was mid-August, and the sun was just starting to set over Singer Salvage Yard. Maybe this was a trick of the light and the heat. He could see Dean waiting for him over by the Impala. Better make this quick. "Y'know, I've never had a hallucination before."

"Yes, I know." The man seemed perplexed, but he had an intense gaze that was hard to read. He continued, "Over the past ten years, you have suffered from anxiety, pill addiction, impulsive behavior, and mild alcoholism, but you have never shown any signs of psychosis." He was staring at a spot in the air as if reading off a medical chart.

"So you're a hallucination that knows my track record."

"No, Sam Winchester. I am an angel of the Lord. My name is Castiel. I'm here to help you." He paused. "Rubbing your eyes will not alter the fact of my existence."

"Y'know what- Castiel, was it? - I'm just gonna…go over there now, before my brother sees me talking to myself. If you could do me a favor and disappear, I would really appreciate that."

There was a sound like rustling wings. Sam blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was alone. "At least it listens," he said under his breath as he made his way to the car.

"What the hell took you so long?" asked Dean when Sam got back to the car. "It's freaking nine o'clock." He got into the Impala and started the engine.

Sam smirked as he climbed into the car. "What, afraid of the dark?"

"Cute, Sam. Real cute. What were you doing in the Yard that whole time anyway? Jacking off to the cars?"

"Actually, I think I was having a psychotic breakdown."

Dean blinked. "Psychotic, huh? That's a first for the Winchesters. Probably inevitable, though. Frankly, I'm a little envious that you beat me to it." Sam let out something that was between a laugh and a sigh, and Dean turned to look at him. "So what, you had a hallucination or something?"

"Yeah. Um, it was an angel. Its name was Castiel." Sam's head was turned down, but Dean could tell he was almost smiling.

"Castiel? Where the hell did your subconscious come up with that?"

Sam laughed. "I don't know, man." He looked up and noticed Dean watching him. "Dude, quit staring at me and watch the road."

Dean ignored him. "Sam, you don't think it was…"

"A withdrawal symptom?" Well, at least that got Dean to finally look back at the road. "I don't know what it was, Dean. It just kind of…happened."

"So did this imaginary angel say anything to you?"

"Well, he listed everything the last few therapists could've told you, told me his name…and then said he was here to help me." Sam blinked. "Like a guardian angel, I guess."

"Well, God knows we could use one of those around here."
They were silent the rest of the way home.

The first time Castiel visited Sam was on a Friday evening. His second visit was the next morning.

Dean was sleeping off a late night, and if Sam knew him, he would be awake in a couple of hours, grouchy with a hangover. Sam was cooking breakfast, and he flinched when he heard the rustle of feathers behind him, losing his grip on the skillet. Scalding hot bacon flew through the air and stopped, centimeters away from his face, before gliding back into the pan. He turned to face the angel and said, "I don't think hallucinations are supposed to be telekinetic," his voice shaking slightly.

"I told you, I am not a hallucination. I'm your Guardian."

"Okay, let's say, for argument's sake, that you're real and that I believe you. Why are you here, in my kitchen, on a Saturday morning?"

The angel tilted his head slightly. "I am in your kitchen because you are. And I am here now because I did not get to finish talking to you last night before you banished me."

"Wait, so I can just make you leave by telling you to?"

"…Yes."

"That's…convenient." He took a deep breath and looked up at the angel. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but what did you want to talk about, exactly?"

"Your soul. It is my duty to protect it, and I have been…remiss."

Sam snorted. "My mom always used to say there were angels watching over me. She never said they'd suck at it."

"Technically, she was wrong. At no point before your mother's death did you have a Guardian. I was not assigned to you until you dropped out of college."

"Okay, wait, that was five years ago. If you're supposed to be guarding me, where the hell have you been this whole time?"

"Working covertly. Remember when Ruby left you? That was my work."

"What the hell, man? I almost loved her."

"She was unfaithful to you, and emotionally abusive. I got you out of the worst relationship of your life." Castiel's bright blue eyes were fixed on him with what looked like curiosity.

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. "You could've let me get out of that one on my own, Cas. Free will, y'know? I would've broken up with her eventually."

"Would you have, Sam?" said Castiel, stepping towards Sam, his stare becoming even more intense.

Sam broke eye contact. "Dude, stop tilting your head at me. What are you staring at, anyway?"

"Your bacon is burning."

"Shit!" Sam rushed to turn off the burner and salvage the rest of the bacon, not noticing that he'd woken up his brother until Dean's head peeked through the entryway.

"You talkin' to someone, Sammy?" Dean asked groggily. "I thought I heard- who the fuck is that?"

"Dean, it's okay, it's Castiel- wait, you can see him too?"

"Of course I can see the jackass standing in our kitchen wearing a trench coat. A trench coat, really? Couldn't you have hallucinated something cooler?"

"I am not a hallucinatio-"

"No one asked you!"

"Dean, I don't think it counts as a hallucination if we can both see him."

"Okay, y'know what?" Dean walked into the kitchen and started pushing Sam and Cas towards the door. "I am way too hung over to deal with this right now, so I suggest you and your angel friend go take a walk and talk about angel stuff for a bit while I wrap my head around this."

"But the bacon-" Sam started.

"Don't worry. I have the situation under control."

"But-"

"Go." And with that, Dean pushed the two of them out the door, and turned with a predatory grin towards the plate of only-slightly-burnt bacon.

The Winchesters' house was run-down, leaky, and held together mainly by the conjoined efforts and willpower of the two brothers and Bobby Singer. Bobby had found them the house, put in half the down payment without saying a word, and still came over on the odd weekend to help with repairs and have a drink with the boys. It wasn't much of a house, but it had a roof, two bedrooms, was close to the salvage yard, and more importantly, it was theirs.

It was also pretty damn close to the river. In the springtime this meant constantly having to worry about floods, but towards the end of summer, the river was lazy, curling slowly around the property like an old friend. Sam and Dean had spent many a Saturday afternoon swimming, fishing, or just walking alongside the river, talking and laughing or just sharing silence until the sunlight turned amber and the mosquitos came out. Today, it was Castiel that walked with Sam by the river.

"I just want a better explanation. Like, why would you choose to show yourself now? You owe me some answers, Cas."

The angel took a few seconds to reply. "You will probably not like the answers."

"Look, I'd rather have an explanation I don't like than live the rest of my life not knowing why I met a freaking angel."

Castiel sighed. "Do you remember the car accident four years ago that you and your brother miraculously survived?" Sam stared. "That was me. I had to beg my superiors for permission to let you live. I had to convince them that you'd be worth the miracle. And so far, you haven't done anything in your life to prove to Heaven that your soul was worth their time. That is why I needed to address you in person."

"So I have to meet some standard to prove that my soul is worthy? Otherwise what? I go to Hell? If you hadn't noticed, I'm probably headed there anyway."

"Not if I do my job, you aren't."

"And your job is what? Helping me find Jesus? You're a Jehovah's Witness in a trench coat?"

"My job is to make you into a worthwhile human being." Cas looked away from Sam's hurt expression before continuing. "Heaven and Hell emit something akin to magnetic fields, and Guardians are sensitive to the effects these fields have on the soul." He turned to look directly into Sam's eyes. "Sam, I can feel your soul being dragged downward, and as your appointed Guardian, it burns me. Every minute I spend in your presence, I can feel the darkness in your soul burning away at my Grace. You may not be able to feel it, Sam Winchester, but you are fucked up in ways that human beings are incapable of imagining."

They had both stopped walking by this point, and the only sound came from the slow gurgling of the river.

"Well, you were right about one thing," said Sam. "I don't like that answer."

"Sam…"

"Look, I don't blame you. You're doing your job. I know I've screwed up. But I just need to ask you one thing right now." Cas nodded. "Do you think you can help me?"

Cas looked into Sam's eyes and simply said, "Yes."

"Then that's all I need to know. But I need to go talk to Dean now, so could you do that disappearing thi-"

Cas was gone before he could finish the question.

When Sam got back to the house, Dean was finishing up the last of the bacon. Sam made an annoyed sound and poured himself a bowl of cereal, plopping himself in the chair across from Dean.

"So, had a nice chat with Clarence?" asked Dean once he was done chewing.

"Well, I wouldn't call it nice," Sam said with a sigh. "But I think I'm gonna trust him. He seemed pretty sincere, at least."

"Look, Sammy, I gotta ask….Go ahead and let him try and help you, but do you really think he gives two shits about you?" Sam looked genuinely surprised. Go figure.

"Well…he's doing his job, sure, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have good intentions."

"Oh, gimme a break, Sam. You know who else had good intentions? Dad."

"Don't you dare compare them. Dad was psychotic."

"I'm serious, Sam. If there's one thing life's taught me, it's that good intentions get you squat."

"But an angel with good intentions? Is it even possible for that to go wrong?"

"Famous last words, Sammy. And don't defend him just cause you've got some creepy crush on him." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off. "The last thing we need is another person walking in and trying to fix us. I mean, why does he just fly in all of a sudden and say he's going to help you? And what about me, huh? I'm as fucked up as you are. So where's my guardian angel? Where's my Castiel?"

He was interrupted by the sound of rustling feathers, and the sight of Cas standing on the kitchen table. His tie was askew, and his hair was even more disheveled than usual, but what had the brothers staring were the wings. They were dark, and looked more like a glimmering shadow than a tangible object. And they were huge- even partially folded, they scraped against the ceiling.

Cas looked almost sheepish. "I…heard my name being called," he said uncertainly. "Was I mistaken in assuming I was summoned?"

They continued to gape for a few seconds before Sam said, "Uh, we were kind of in the middle of something." The wings disappeared.

"Yes, I heard," said the angel, stepping down from the table. "You were discussing whether to trust me, and Dean expressed confusion over the fact that while the two of you have problems of equal severity, only one of you has been assigned a Guardian."

"So you were eavesdropping on us?"

"No. I have low-level psychic abilities, and I was listening to your thoughts." He paused. "I apologize. When I was briefed, I was informed that humans often react negatively to breaches of cognitive privacy."

Sam gave an exasperated sigh and put his head in his hands. Dean, however, had been silently lost in thought since Cas' attempt to summarize the brothers' argument. He finally chimed in. "Why are you here?"

"I told you, I was summoned-"

"So, what, you're Beetlejuice? We say your name and you appear? That's bullshit. Why are you here?"

"I don't understand that reference." He stepped closer to Dean. "And I am here to make you an offer."

"An offer?" asked both brothers asked at once, and then glanced at each other. "What kind of offer?" asked Dean.

"If I drop the other projects I've been working on, I can Guard both of you. I can devote my full time and resources to the Winchester brothers. But I need consent from both of you first."

Sam and Dean looked at each other for a few moments, with carefully guarded expressions. "I'm in," said Sam finally. "Hell, we share a house, a car, a toothbrush- why not an angel? And Dean deserves this as much as I do." Dean looked away, but after a few seconds said, "Yeah. I'm in too. Go ahead and guardianize me or whatever." The two of them looked back up at Cas.

"Very well," said the angel. "But you must be open to accepting my help. You have to be willing to listen to everything I say."

Sam nodded, but Dean cut in with, "Yeah, right. I'll hear you out, but no promises about following your every command." He met Castiel's eyes with a challenging stare.

Cas relented, slightly. "Okay. Then you must be willing to listen to most of what I say."

"Deal," said Dean.

Sam looked back and forth between Dean and Cas, who were still making eye contact. "So, are we done here, or do you two need to get a room?" Dean turned to grumble a reply, but was cut off by the now-familiar rustling of feathers. Cas was gone, and Sam couldn't help but find the kitchen emptier than it had been before he'd come. Both brothers felt the mixture of worry and anticipation that comes with making a decision that can never be undone.

"Well, at least he's easier to get rid of than a hallucination would be," said Sam in an attempt to break the silence. Dean grunted in reply before standing up and getting a beer out of the fridge. "Did we make the right decision, Sammy?" he asked as he opened the can, an uneasy expression on his face. "Letting that celestial douchebag take control of our lives?"

Sam looked up at his brother and, without hesitation, said, "Yeah. We did."

Dean shrugged, said, "Good enough for me," and walked out of the kitchen.

Sam stayed for a few minutes longer, before getting up and joining Dean on the couch. They sat in silence for the rest of the day, watching crappy TV shows and only getting up for beer and bathroom breaks, neither of them saying a word about what had happened that morning.

It was almost a week before they heard from Castiel again.