I don't own anything, only bow down to the creators and writers of these two TV shows. I didn't want to keep the story too tied down to any plot already in place. I wanted Annie to be working in The New Found Out for obvious reasons, but some of the timelines will obviously not meet up, but there you go. It is set around Series 2 for BH and the end of Series 4 of Supernatural. Please review if you enjoy, and if not, let me know why!

A crowded pub, for someone who usually spent time alone, was probably not the best choice of venue. Especially for someone who only really ever spent time with dead people or other monsters that roamed the Earth as he did. But The New Found Out was, as pubs go, the best choice for someone like him. It was dull, miserable, and emptier than the bar was in front of him; littered with drinks he half remembered drinking. And, because of his habits, his interactions with real living human beings had been minimal, and most experiences were unhelpful- Dean and Sam were no more well equipped to live as a normal human than he was. The fact that he was even in a bar meant that he was clearly without faith or without conscience. He had been drunk once before, Castiel reminded himself, but his own mind seemed to hide the details of the matter.

He sat compacted on his stool, as if he could simply wish himself invisible, his trench coat splaying over the edges and creasing where it fell in a beige waterfall crumple. He drank slowly but often, and allowed himself a hiatus every now and then in order to reassess his surroundings. The bar was quite quiet, which definitely appealed to him, except for the bar tender who seemed to be trying to start a conversation even though they both knew it was never going to happen. She was definitely committed, but Cas continued to do nothing. As long as the drinks kept coming, he wouldn't ask any questions. And the various groups of people who were in the pub were quite happy to talk amongst themselves and continue, blissfully unaware, as he was, that there was a drunk sitting at the bar. Downing another whisky, Cas leaned his forehead against the tiny glass and tried to empty his mind but the cold shock immediately surpassed its purpose. He continued to think.

Drinking never solved a problem. There was no use him trying to muddle a brain already a puzzle. There were so many pieces to it, and each piece ran through his head: prophets, angels, demons, Dean, Sam... He took another drink, already placed on the bar within his reach, not even registering the burn down his throat. The infinite knowledge he possessed was useless when it came to human beings.

Especially when he was stranded, with no money or power, in a small pub in Bristol that was less interesting than one of Dean's favourite TV shows like Doctor Sexy M.D. Cas never understood it, but that was just another part of being human he didn't understand. The dilemma continued to weave its way through his many thoughts: He placed his finger on the rim of one of the many glasses in front of him and traced the circular shape, his thoughts going round and round inside his head. The names of all the prophets seared into his mind, Lucifer and Michael, round and round and round, killing Lucifer but saving Sam, Dean saying yes; he pulled his hand away. He just couldn't understand. His head was almost touching the bar top and he suddenly inhaled, placing both hands on either side of his body and gripping the bar, the wood beginning to splinter under his fingers.

When it came to identifying every other beast or monster in the world, his knowledge was incomparable. Cas had watched humanity for two thousand years, he had seen the first sea creature crawl onto the sandy shores of Earth, and seen man evolve, and yet he recognised a ghost before recognising any human emotion. This infuriated him.

He looked up into the bartender's face, her mouth still forming words. She was perfect; with black curls of hair, grey ugg boots and what he thought were long johns. His brow furrowed. She looked almost normal. She was there, but just a little distorted, as if her whole body had shifted a little to the left but an imprint of it had been left behind. He assumed it was only him that had noticed this, even if the pub's numbers had dwindled to five. She smiled down at him and obviously thought it appropriate to speak again, even though she had continued unabated for the past 10 minutes and he had shown her no sign of actually listening. His glare was still pretty visible and his face had, so far, cringed a little with each syllable she had spoken.

"Do you think I'm doing ok?" Annie asked. Cas didn't answer her. It had worked alright up to now but he had looked at her and there was no way of ignoring her now.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice groggy but still rough and resonant. He hadn't even noticed the pain until then, as if he had been disconnected to his senses but trying to tune into her voice had made them all return at once. He remembered the banishing sigil he had carved onto his chest and his fight with the other angels, before remembering to listen for her reply.

"Well, you're a drunk, and Hugh said I shouldn't try and talk to you but I think it's quite relaxing don't you? I mean," Annie began again.

"I don't understand, how can you be a ghost?" he interrupted her. Then, she started to laugh. It was nervous and controlled, and her eyes became glassy and wide.

"What did you just say?" she asked again, still trying to retain her smile, although it was now just a mask.

"You don't look like a ghost," Cas reached forward to grab a ringed finger, but she snatched her hand away and turned for the door.

"Sorry, not today thank you. I think you're drunk, you need to sleep it off, that's all, just give me a minute and I'll," the door shut behind her.

"Look, I'm sorry guys, I was just serving this man a drink, and I talked to him... George, you know how Hugh said I shouldn't talk to people who are on their own drinking, well I think that's rubbish so I did, and well, he said that I was a ghost,"

"What, he actually said that?" Mitchell asked, who hadn't been listening to Annie and one of her trivial yet frequent over exaggerations and had been instead reading a magazine, sprawled out across the sofa. He had obviously decided to join in, even if he would probably regret in the near future.

"Well no Mitchell, not exactly," Annie started, thinking about it a little in her head.

"Well then, what did he say?" George asked. He looked worried, as usual, but he was leaning against the wall and he had his arms folded. He obviously didn't believe in it either.

"Right then, the man said he didn't understand how I could be a ghost. Ah ah ah..." she held a finger out before either of them could ridicule her, "And then he said how I didn't look anything like one."

"Well, that's good isn't it," George interjected.

"It could mean anything," Mitchell fought back, "Did he look like a writer? If he was a writer, it's perfectly normal. They usually come up with crap like that. He was probably talking about your quiet nature or your... "

"Yeah right Mitchell, that's not very likely." Her eyes narrowed and looked toward him. "And no, he didn't. He was wearing a trench coat with,"

"And?" Mitchell questioned from his position on the sofa. He had now thrown down the magazine and was looking angrily in her general direction.

"Can you just come over and," she signalled to the still open door, "Come on, please Mitchell." He made a loud and clear noise that was perfectly inaudible but also perfectly clear for Annie, and made for the door.

"Right, you," he pointed to the man from the doorway, "you're coming with me." Mitchell grabbed the man with fingerless gloves and tugged him toward the door. Cas didn't react to this. The remaining people in the pub looked around, eyes wide and distressed. "No need to worry, the man didn't pay for his drinks is all," Mitchell shouted out as he struggled, pulling the man across the street towards the pink house on the corner. Annie was left alone, stood a little inside the pub.

"Sorry, he's just my friend, he's... I'll be right back, so get your money out," she began before quickly following Mitchell through the doors, a nervous laugh starting in her throat before she concealed it with a few coughs, and listened for all the pushing and scraping of chairs and fumbling of change in pockets.