1

God was missing, but in this place Castiel thought that he could almost feel His presence.

He had awoken from death. The streets he found himself wandering were unfamiliar. His mind had tumbled over its own thoughts until he could barely put one foot in front of the other. He had known it the moment he came to, sprawled out on a bench like a common drunkard. Lucifer was risen.

Lucifer free. Lucifer walking. This very moment he would be circling his backup vessel. Sam hadn't given in yet, and Satan was certain to have alternative plans. He would manifest himself somehow.

For a time Castiel was consumed by panic. Lucifer walking. Lucifer free. And what was there to do? What hope was there? His friends had failed him, after everything he had sacrificed.

Then, like a gift or a sign, the sound had enveloped him: a host of voices, harmonising the old language. They drew him softly to the Church and through its vast oaken doors, into the cool echoing hall, perfumed by multitudes of candles whose flames blinked and bathed the walls in gilded loveliness. It was like a shadow of home, a child's imitation roughly sketched, but wholesome. Lowering himself into a seat like an old man, he allowed the choir's voices to wash over his body and relax his weary limbs.

His brothers and sisters had been born in the whitest of light, and remained so throughout the aeons. Somehow the dusky radiance cast by the candles appealed to him more. The fire was so human. It stretched back to the dawn of mankind. It was their essence – their burning spirit. It comforted him, to know that there were creatures left in the universe ignorant of the doom that hurtled towards them. Just one species of creation not intent on his destruction.

The music swelled and undulated around him, and though it was not the music of angels, it held a beauty in its own right. Yes, it was comfort enough. He had been right to rebel. He had been right to cherish the lives of his Father's children, as he had been told to at the beginning of the world. He had been resurrected for a reason. All hope was not lost.

Castiel's eyelids were sinking, but he still caught the outline of a hooded figure sneaking past him into the Church. It collapsed in a pew some way ahead of him, hands clutched together in apparent despair. Black against the candlelight, its shoulders trembled with uneven sobs.

He knew he should find the Winchesters without delay and make sure they were alright, but could not bring himself to set off. He had spent enough time denying his interest in human affairs, real human problems. He had just been brought back from Death. It was as good an excuse as any to take a minute for himself.

The figure flinched as it sensed him materialising just a foot away. He wondered if it would have been wiser to walk up the aisle – then his thoughts came to an abrupt and violent halt. The figure had turned its head to confront him.

She couldn't be human. There was something not quite right – something beyond – that took him completely aback. He peered into her tear-stained face, working furiously to identify the otherness that emanated from her. The closer he looked, the more it seemed that he was inspecting a mask through which a soft light was filtering. As she shrank from him the sensation diminished. He frowned deeply. Perhaps it was nothing of import after all. Perhaps she was just peculiarly pretty. Perhaps he was having symptoms of post-resurrection trauma.

Her jagged look sent a spasm of pain through his chest; the tears in her large, wide-set eyes were like still pools in an emerald forest.

"Something terrible has happened to you," he murmured. Her breathing picked up. Castiel heard the clamour of her heart.
"How did you do that?" she choked. "You just materialised."
"You are mistaken. I walked to the pew and sat down."
"No you didn't," she snapped.

There was a short silence. She drew a breath.

"I sound insane."
"Not at all."
"But I'd believe you. If you said you'd just materialised."

He searched for the safest reply, decided there wasn't one, and remained silent. Unfortunately she seemed to take this as an atrocious insult, and bit her lip as moisture fell in sharp streaks from her heart-shaped face.

"I'm losing my mind," she muttered.
"I doubt that."
The look she cast him was scathing. "Don't. Don't try to make me feel better."
"That wasn't the intended effect."
"Please just leave me alone. Or better – take me to the hospital."
"For what purpose?"
"To have me sectioned, for God's sake."

There was an awkward pause.
"Please do not take the Lord's name in vain," he said. "Especially not on his holy ground."

This was apparently the last retort she was expecting. They sat as though frozen until she broke eye contact.

"You're even stranger than I am," she said at last, "at least I'm not socially clueless."
"Excuse me?"
She turned on him with increasing indignation. "Would you mind backing off? Please?"
"You are in distress. I need to ascertain your safety before I leave you."
"Who made you responsible for me, Lancelot?"
"I take it upon myself. God has given me free will."

She gazed at him, tongue poised against her teeth as she took in this last statement.

"You're a Bible basher aren't you," she said finally.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Look, I'm already in a church. I don't need converting, thanks."
Castiel's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Why would I – bash a Bible? It's sacrilege."

Her full lips became a tight, straight line. "I really don't need the piss taken out of me right now."
"I am not taking your piss. I am here to help you."
"Just – stop! Get away from me!" she hissed, stealing a glance at the choir, members of which were beginning to give them curious looks.

Castiel looked about him in frustrated hopelessness and sighed. "I didn't want to do this. You were meant to believe my amiable human guise."

He reached out to touch her temple. Then he blinked. The scenery had not changed. Slowly, disbelievingly, he took his fingertips from her skin and scrutinised her as though seeing her for the first time. A few seconds later she regained her voice.

"What the Hell is this?" she snarled.
"I don't understand it," he whispered hoarsely, studying her with horror. "What are you?"
"What am I? What do you mean what am I?"
"I retained this much of my power. Why isn't it working on you?"

He stood uncertainly and walked away, unsure if he was abandoning the girl or leading her somewhere they could continue uninterrupted. It would all depend, he supposed, on whether she was 'insane' enough to follow. He reached the great oak doors when he heard a muffled curse and her light tripping footfalls. He kept striding in a determined fashion, on past the quiet unfamiliar streets until the edge of a park appeared ahead. He took the small footpath and followed it under the trees and occasional lamp posts. Her nimble steps kept a wary distance behind him.

"Look," she called eventually, "I think it's obvious we need to go to the hospital together and just hand ourselves in."
"Neither of us need medical attention," he came to a standstill in a yellow halo of lamplight. "In fact, I think if you were to let doctors assess you they would have a terrible shock."
"What?" she stood poised almost on her toes. "What does that even mean?"
"You are not human. Tell me what you are, and what you were doing in a house of God."
"Of course I'm human! I'm human, you're human, we're all human, okay?"
"You told me you believed that I could materialise."
"Yeah, well, I've got a lot going on and my eggs are pretty scrambled right now."

Castiel sighed. There was nothing else for it. The lamp above them began to flicker – it shuddered – and then exploded in a shatter of tiny electrical sparks. Lightning struck the sky and turned all of the leaves and grass blades to shocking silver, illuminating the face of the earth in violent radiance, as thunder rumbled overhead. Castiel unfurled his wings to allow the dumbstruck girl to see their shadowy outlines, each longer than his own body. Her eyes grew round, her jaw dropping enough to let her lips part.

"I am an angel of the Lord," he growled, "and you are an impossibility. I will not ask again. What are you?"
Silence dipped over them, and the cool night breeze chattered between their bodies in the patch of sudden gloom.

"I prayed for help," she said at last, "I didn't think it would come so quickly. Or in a trench coat."