HOLY SHIT, I know I was supposed to post this the day I left but I was too stressed out and emotional with the whole task of moving out of home and into another freakin' state that I couldn't bring my A-game to the story. Turns out I left at the right time since, a few days later, my city was struck with those Queensland floods that's been on the news lately. IT'S THE APOCALYPSE!

Erm, anyway. Here's the final chapter at long last, which doesn't really add anything, really, lol.

"The World Trade Center used to be over there," she said, pointing. The finger then shifted over a few inches. Liberty Island. "And I was over there. Actually, no, I was on the ferry on my way there, so I was forced to watch the first tower fall while I was on it, and I was forced to watch the second one fall when I got on the island."

At 1AM, the Empire State Building's 86th floor observation deck was deserted; their only company being the dazzling kaleidoscope of city lights before them, challenging those of the night sky. Her arm was looped around his, reviving a tradition he had missed, with her lazing her head snugly against his shoulder further to his fancy. It had always failed him as to why humans randomly attached moods and sentiments to things; music, colors, the weather, etc. It seemed so pointless in essence. But now, he was beginning to understand.

Everything about this felt… romantic. The scenery, the body language, the stillness – not silence, as it implied a conscious absence of words when, to them, it was presently unrecognized. To a bystander, they were two completely different people from completely different societal backgrounds. Strangers on the ground below, but uncommon lovers 1050 feet in the air.

That was, until she said the above. Looking down at her, he found her obscenely shadowed lids still drooped over her eyes that were fixed to the view (or rather, to the memory tied to such a view).

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he acknowledged, with a low note of empathy.

A soft snort. "You've seen worse, I'm sure. You've been to Hell."

She seemed dismissive. Especially since she didn't look at him when she said this.

"I'm not after competition with your experiences," he put forward, his tone inflected with something resembling reassurance. When it threaded her attention, he added, "I don't trivialize it at all."

When she stared at him then, with startling acuity, it reminded him that her talents of profoundly fixed regards were almost as good as his. It was curious to for once be on the receiving end of such a needling stare. After a long moment, rousing in her eyes was the burning curiosity she'd had forced to lie passive. Her arm unlooped from his.

"I have so many questions for you that I know, already, I don't want the answers of," she muttered, stepping to front him. "Like, where did those terrorists go? Heaven or Hell? They weren't evil, they were just horribly misguided by their religion – is their God even real?" Her words seemed to rebound back to hit her. "Oh, see? These are fatal questions!" she cried.

These conversations were a given, and although he was well aware of this, an urge to sigh harassed him, which he respectfully desisted from.

"You should not dwell on these things," he told her, tenderly cupping her face with his hands as he enclosed the space, "They're no concern of yours." His words were sealed with a kiss. The icing on the sickly sweet "Romance on top of the Empire State Building" cake.

It was only one kiss, but when he pulled away, she breathed comfort. The feverish light in her eyes had been wheedled away by that kiss when she opened them to him. Filling it instead was, to his relief, her characteristic playfulness that promised amorous to borderline lewd utterances. It made his lips pull to one side in advance. Communicating without words – they were back to normal.

"You know what's a concern of mine?" she asked, coloring her tone with coyness. Her hands slipped under his trench coat and she laced her fingers behind his back. "Maybe you could help me," she purred, a flirty little smile growing partly on her face, "since you're oh-so wise."

Just as coyly, he cocked his head inquiringly at her, forever finding her kittenish demeanor compelling.

"It's a bit of a pickle, it's probably out of your hands," she prattled on, feigning neutrality, "but y'see, I'm a human girl, right? And there's this guy. An angel of the Lord, to be specific –" her hands behind his back pulled him closer, and the flat expression on her face came alive with affection, "– and I've fallen in love with him. It. Him. Whatever."

The reminder that she was his (she was his, she was his!) made him smile. "It should be received as a compliment to your character that your sentiments are requited, let alone felt at all."

Her eyes adored him. Then they squinted with second thought. "I'm talking about you, Cas," she threw in abruptly, casting him a sharp look.

His smile vanished. "I… know."

Pleased again, her smile reclaimed its place, and she raised herself onto her toes to give him a kiss. His lips were at the ready when she jolted back to regard him, wide-eyed.

"You never did tell me what you thought about that book," she noted perkily.

His eyes went astray for three seconds. Then back to her. "It was nice."

The word made her lips stretch outwards, grinning without showing teeth. "Surely a classic like Peter Pan would warrant something more than that unimaginative adjective?" she questioned innocently, dallying with the knot of his tie.

"Fantastical elements are very foreign to me," he replied, his mechanical tone discordant with the way his arms flowed around her waist, reciprocating her embrace, "especially since I've forever and only been cognizant with stark realities of the universe."

The way she tilted her head at his answer could only have been of his own influence. "You're a real life Alice," she observed, voice bouncing with amusement. "Well well then," she outstretched her arms, gesturing the… everything, really. "Welcome to my tea party, Alice! Not to be confused with the political movement," she added discreetly. Then, eyes alight, and in an English accent, "If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

He regarded her as though her face was a maze and he had fast become lost. A charmed little smile began to peek when it occurred to him that this little oddity before him was all his. His reaction was responded with a thin pressing of lips in a contemplative expression as she bobbed her head with grave decision.

"Hm. You'll have to read Alice in Wonderland too." Her embrace left him. "Wendy should have stayed with Peter, don't you think? Like a companion! Like a Doctor Who companion! Wouldn't it be fun to follow someone around to exotic places and have adventures? I could totally be Donkey to someone's Shrek. Or a Marty McFly. No, I'm no McFly. I'm the Doc! Always, the Doc…"

While the latter half of that had been tossed out lightly before she turned away from him, the weight of unthinking suggestion hit him hard. It… would be pleasant to have her around all the time, constantly baffling and captivating him at the same time, challenging his intellect and seducing him into corners.

Before he could even consider the definite drawbacks, he blurted a question. "Do you deem yourself that bold?"

Head whipping back to him, she pasted a look of hurt onto her face. "Excuse me, I was born without fear. Like inhibition, or a second kidney!"

He was still fumbling to catch the answer she'd thrown at him when she strolled off. Still processing it on some level, he followed. "If someone were to ask you to run away with them, would you do it?"

The spontaneity of his question caught himself off guard, and he stopped. It was as though it had been sequestering itself in the deep corners of his mind, only to just then make a fast escape on him.

After making a face that puzzled over this for a second, she answered breezily, "I'd consider it. Depends who it is, and it depends where we go." Misreading his stilled expression for muted outrage, she smirked and smacked him sportively on the arm. "Don't worry, you can come too!"

He blinked out of the reverie he had indulged himself in, shading his features with gravity and nodding the same way. "Good. I don't ever wish to leave your side. This is forever, as I am."

"As is waiting in line at the post office," she joked feebly. The lack of levity in her bearing became more pronounced. "But, um, are you sure it's wise to pin, you know, eternity onto us?"

"Do you see any wisdom at all in our situation?"

His retort earned him a wide, open-mouthed smile, comprehending, before she pointed a finger at him and then tapped her nose twice, conveying a "touché". Then, she continued.

"Well anyways, at some stages you would have to physically leave my side," she pointed out, her manner suggesting she found herself to be pretty insightful in doing so. "Surprising me last night in the shower, while exciting, was not exactly decorous of you."

He tilted his head eloquently. "I'm wearing your lip gloss and it's not anywhere near my lips." His eyes were keen and darkly provoking. "You can't claim you're decorous either."

"Either?" There was that gleam in her eyes again. "So you admit that you're a dirty —"

"Do you say these things as means to provoke me?" he quizzed, not exasperated but discovering himself to be progressively arch around her.

"You let me keep you on your toes," her voice was pitched low and lilted seductively, as was her stride to him, "and I'll let you shove me to my knees."

"Duly noted."

As it was the only way to congest the unbridled flow of ridiculousness from her unblushing mouth, he reached forward for her and brought their mouths together, silencing her giggles.

Only she would have the audacity to know the reality about him, and his nature, and the universe, and still set out to flirt immodestly with him. He was doomed to her and couldn't care less anymore. There was no doubt in his mind that he very much preferred Can't-Keep-Her-Hands-Off-Of-Him Audrey over Go-Away-And-Leave-Me-Alone Audrey. She was truly a unique being. Almost unwisely fearless in suggestion and seduction, refined by those long lashes and that quick mouth.

He also wondered what his own increased prurience said about himself. Sam and Dean, particularly Dean, must never know. He would never hear the end of it.

It was only when something in the distance caught his eye that he broke the kiss.

"I'm the size of that building."

Her eyes flicked down at him for a split second. An eyebrow quirked satirically. "Think a lot of yourself, don't you?" she quipped, glazing her lips with a fresh coat of gloss.

The weary look he turned on her was adorned with a quiet smirk. "I was referring to the reality that my true form bears similar dimensions," he said flatly.

All satire left her face, now glancing between him and the building behind her, wondered. "The Chrysler?" Her smile curled in one corner. "Remind me to call you if Cloverfield ever happens."

"What's a Cloverfield?"

"A really bad movie."

It didn't matter that all talk of pop culture was entirely beyond his knowledge, as he had noticed that she had already abandoned that boat and jumped back onto another. When he followed her gaze, he found that it hit exactly where he expected it to hit. Again.

"Audrey," he murmured, "I couldn't have interfered with the ways of the Lord." He said it as sincerely as he could. He tipped his head in the direction of where the Twin Towers once stood, and where the regrettably new One World Trade Center now reached for the skies. "It was fated to happen."

Heavy, gloomy eyes blinked at him. "Like us?"

His jaw twisted around in thought. "Perhaps."

She regarded him in silence. The stir in her eyes told him that she was bursting with questions, but was struggling to sort through them. Finally, in one exasperated breath, "It makes no sense that it's supposed to make sense that I'm not supposed to understand something that doesn't make sense. Does that make sense?"

A considering pause. "It's likely that that is the most coherent thing you have ever said."

Instead of taking offense, she dimpled reluctantly. Her rare moments of genuine demureness were rather endearing. It made him smile. Made him want to kiss her.

"Uh uh!" She raised a finger, halting him when he sought her lips. "You don't wanna kiss me."

"But I do," he replied, almost in a tone of question. He dipped his head toward her once more, only to be stopped again in the same way.

"Not unless you want Maybelline lip gloss all over your face," she forewarned. "I just put it on."

He paused, looked down at her lips with a particularly thoughtful expression, before producing a tissue from the pocket of his trench coat. She caught this motion immediately and her eyes flew open.

"But that doesn't mean you can – mmmf!"

With little regard for her wish to speak, he wiped the tissue across her lips.

"Dammit, Cas!" she mewled, once his hand withdrew, "That was supposed to last for the rest of the —"

This time, he silenced her with his lips.

No resistance was met and she swung both her hands over his shoulders, crossing them behind his neck in one fluid motion as she kissed him back. It was an ineffable feeling, having this human all to himself in such a way and yet not suffering beneath the burden of deceit. The Winchester brothers were right. Suffering was needed to fully appreciate joy, and oh, how he enjoyed her. No more "mere existing" for Castiel; his Audrey brought him alive. His Audrey. She was his. It astounded him every time it struck his mind.

Her hair was his to rake his fingers through. Her eyes were his to stare into. Her body was his to touch and worship. Her lips were his to kiss and appreciate every word that fell from them. His, his, his. The reality was recognized and sealed with one assertive kiss after the other.

Neither withdrew from the intimate proximity, basking in it instead, when they adjourned the kiss. In the stillness, everything around them seemed to be suspended in time. There was no indication of movement save for the twinkling of lights around them. Everything was perfect, finally perfect.

"One question, then. Just one," he heard her mumble into his neck, breaking the respite. "If Heaven exists, where is it?"

Ah, this impossible question. Almost as a gesture of consolation, his fingers stroked through the tresses that spilled over her back. "I can't simply point in a direction to indicate its existence."

Pause. "How about north, south, east or west?"

Taking her by the shoulders, he guided her away from him, holding her at arm's distance to cage her full attention. "I'm not being cryptic, Audrey. Do not have the idea that I don't wish to share it with you. I simply can't. It's one of the few things that is ever really, truly, literally impossible to do."

He painfully watched as her gaze fell and dragged itself away, in a rather sore expression of resignation. It pained him to disappoint her, and he was a walking reminder of her failure. After a minute of silent disappointment, he reached back over to her. She looked back at him the instant his hand touched her chin to tip her head up to him. Decidedly toning the solemnity down a notch, he spoke.

"But," he carried on delicately, "if I had to affix a position for it," he pointed a finger to the sky, steering both their gazes toward it, "it would be the second star to right and straight on 'til morning," he glanced back to her, pleased to find a smile blooming at her lips and her eyes, "and one day I'll take you there."

Humming in favor, she bridged her arms over his shoulders. "I look forward to it," she whispered lovingly, before drawing him down to narrow the space with their lips.

The end.


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No, wait.

A few feet away from them, a payphone began to ring.

The two parted. Shared a look of mutual bemusement for one, two, three seconds. As one, they turned in the direction of it. They stared at it, stock-still.

Another empty three seconds passed before, after reviving from the stillness and granting her a cautioning look, he walked over to the ringing device and answered it himself.


The impact of the voice on the other end startled him when it emerged.

"AHA! Castiel! It's Gabriel! Hoo, y'know, I called twenty-seven other payphones before this but finally I've found ya! And now that I have, I have to ask you to come to Vegas! Nope, sorry, let me remove the word "ask" and replace it with the word "order". You gotta come here, bro! I'm pretty sure I impregnated a demon and now I'm being forced into a shotgun wedding and while I do love the notoriety that comes with quickie Vegas weddings, especially when it's being performed in the same chapel Billy Ray Cyrus had his wedding in, which we all know what dreaded act of God stemmed from that marriage, I CAN'T MARRY, CASTIEL, I CAN'T, I AM NOT A ONE WOMAN ANGEL."

His mouth opened to interject, but Gabriel went on without a beat. "And! I am pretty sure Sir Elton John is under my bed but he's too afraid to come out and frankly," his voice shrank, almost to a squeak, "I'm too afraid to look! So! Assuming AngelGate is over, pull out whatever body part you've inserted inside your crimson-haired Daisy Buchanan, head to the nearest Walmart, "liberate" a gallon of mayonnaise, motor oil, none of that Castrol crap, an enema kit, a magnifying glass, some Mentos, Coke – as in Coca Cola, but cocaine would be fabulous in any case – a turkey baster, a pack of Depends, three-way light bulbs – yes, that's what they're called – the Who Framed Roger Rabbit DVD, Vaseline, a box of tissues, a pack of Red Apple cigarettes, the biggest mirror you can find, something with refined sugar, and also, find me a white Honda Civic, would you?"

There was beeping in the background. "HOLD YOUR HORSES, I'M COMING, I'M COMING!" To Castiel, he clarified. "My microwave. Anywho. Drop all the bits and pieces in the Spanish villa of Caesar's Palace and meet me in this nice, innocent little gentleman's club called The Pleasure Chest; I have some friends I'd like you to meet. And no, it's not the brothers Winchester, buuuut if my calculations are correct, they should be driving down the Strip aaaaany minute now. Adios, amigo!"

Just when he thought he had finally earned a moment to speak, he heard the beep, beep, beep, informing him that the line was dead. To say that Castiel was disorientated would be an understatement. It even took a bit of studied effort to will him into remounting the phone receiver onto its platform. After a few dithering seconds of casting an air that said "Um, er, uh", he spoke.

"I have to go," he said, before peering at her for her reaction. His traditionally sober expression bore an added shadow of dejection. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay with her.

Her lips pouted a little as she tugged the sleeve of his trench coat. "I don't want you to go," she mumbled. "I don't want that lesbian near Rockefeller Center hitting on me again."

"I believe that was someone named Dana Carvey."

"No idea who she is."

Resisting the urge to correct her and tell her that Dana Carvey was actually a man, he resumed, "I don't wish to leave you either."

Her pout dissolved into a dejected but resigned smile, before giving him her blessing by squeezing his hand. In recognition, he took her chin in one hand, bringing her close to tenderly kiss her temple.

A job had to be done and he had to leave her behind.

And he would have to do so every single time.

Was this really worth it?

Nodding grimly, he turned and walked away.

The end.


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He stopped. His face clouded.

He didn't want to – couldn't – wouldn't – wouldn't ever leave her again.

So, he did exactly what the universe cheered him on to do: he turned around.

"Audrey," he called.

From her reverential watch over the dazzling city below her, she angled her head to reacknowledge him. When he just stood there, she pointedly fixed him with an expectant look.

He stepped forward and asked.

"Are you at all fond of the city of Las Vegas?"

She smiled at him.

Blaahekfdljsflk. Flimsy ass ending, I know. Oh well.

Thank you so much to everyone who took an interest to this story! Hopefully the next time you hear of me, my name will be attached to a project as director or screenwriter…

As for a sequel, well, if I had the time to write a sequel, I certainly wouldn't have condensed and rushed this story in the first place. So, I'm leaving it open to your imaginations. ;)

PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK! 8D (or donate to get my hometown the hell out of the water.)