A/N: I apologize for the wait on this chapter. I was 1/3rd of the way through when my keyboard took a shit. Found a wireless keyboard, got 2/3rds of the way through and then my motherboard took a shit. So, I had to write the whole thing over again. :D But, HERE YA GO!

Chapter title comes from "Breaking Inside" by Shinedown. Listen for the pun~

Then

The last thing Gabriel felt when he died was the intense pain of his Grace igniting as it reacted violently with the metal of his own Blade. And then nothing. No Heaven; no Hell; no Purgatory. Certainly no special dimension located at the second star to the right. Because for an archangel like Gabriel there was no afterlife. Not really. Perhaps other angels got a special niche in Heaven to kick back in, but he was not one of them. It can be argued that the reason Gabriel didn't get such fancy treatment was because, face it, he'd been a bit of an asshole. Definitely not the most angel-y angel in the Garrison. Certainly not the Archangel of the Month. Or year. Or past few millenia. But his delinquent behavior, astoundingly, was not what caused him to not rest in peace. It may have been the reason he was resting in pieces, however.

When his Grace reached its critical limit, it expanded and exploded outward like a dying star. And like the new-formed elements resulting from a supernova, the little pieces of Gabriel rained down, unnoticed, on Earth. No life-giving tree sprouted up overnight; no well that was once dry suddenly began to runeth over. Gabriel's death was remarkably unimpressive as far as Reality was concerned. A fancy light show in an unseen dimension for a brief second and then much of nothing.

Ideally, following the rules of physics that have scientists scratching their brains, the archangel's Grace would have floated harmlessly along the planet like, well, dust in the wind. After many, many years, the pieces would have weakened. They would have decayed like radioactive material and, once losing their potency, they would have succumbed to the energy requirements of the planet.

Ideally, Gabriel would have become a prime example of the great Circle of Life.

Fortunately for him, Reality was anything but ideal.

Now

Despite driving for over twelve hours straight and then staying up to angel-child proof the Bunker, Dean hadn't been able to sleep. He was screwed. He was beyond screwed. His thoughts danced around all night, bouncing from one problem to the next. Ezekiel. Sam. Cas. Gabriel's little offspring. All these different things on his plate and he didn't know how to deal with them.

Zeke was the most pressing issue. The angel possessing his brother held too much power over him. He didn't want to admit that. He didn't want to accept that he had willingly put himself in a position to make no choice regarding his brother's welfare. But he had.

Dean tried explaining to himself that he was just making the best of a horrible situation when he let Zeke save Sam. That he had Cas' backing to trust the guy. That there was no way, at the time, for him to suspect that Zeke might not be a knight in shining armor.

But he was lying to himself. He was lying to himself just as he was lying to everyone else around him. The only difference was that he didn't care that he was lying to himself. He felt horrible about doing it to Sam; he felt horrible about doing it to Cas. But…denial ran through his veins just as easily as it ran through Egypt and hypocrisy may as well be his middle name.

Sure, Zeke had basically threatened to kill Sam to get away from Cas, but he'd done so out of fear. Zeke, for whatever reason, had pissed off the angels-just as Cas had-and he was just trying to survive. He just wanted to stay away from Naomi's protégé and Dean couldn't blame him. After what she'd put Cas through, anybody in their right mind would try and stay away from her goons.

So, Dean told himself, Zeke just needed some reassurance. He just needed to be shown that Dean could protect all of 'em from the bad angels and that he wouldn't have to kick his best friend out to the curb to do so.

Besides, Sam wouldn't allow him to throw Cas to the wolves. They'd already had that argument more than once. His brother was a stubborn ass. Once Sammy'd made up his mind there was no changing it. And Sam had already put his foot down on the whole Cas thing. He wasn't worried about Bart, or whoever, finding the Bunker, he was worried about more reapers or angels finding Cas. Dean was an idiot for ever thinking a bunch of books were more important than their friend.

And Dean couldn't argue with him there. He had been an idiot. A panicky idiot. And, for hours last night, he had played through so many different scenarios regarding kicking Cas out of the Bunker it wasn't even funny. Seriously, none of them were funny. The fact that Cas was dead when they found him didn't bode well for many of the situations he'd cooked up in his head. Sure, Cas was warded against angels, but there were so many things out there that weren't angels. Dean knew he'd called the angel a 'big boy,' but after seeing him in that chair with a sword sticking out of his gut… Well, Dean's a seeing-is-believing sorta guy and he saw differently.

Dean, at about three in the morning, had finalized his decision regarding Zeke, Sam, and Cas. …The angel was staying. Not the one in his brother, the other one. Okay, so, the one in his brother was going to be staying too, but he didn't care about that one like he cared about the other one. At about three-o'-one in the morning, Dean'd desperately wished his thoughts were more coherent than they were.

At three-o'-two, with the majority of his screwedness mentally squared away, Dean's thoughts had gravitated towards the little Gabriel spawn chillin' in their Bunker. When he'd first laid eyes on the angel child, he'd thought he was just an ordinary angel. The wings had been a bit new, but he figured that the chains hooked into them were keeping them corporeal. Or maybe the holy fire was doing that. The sigils written around the warehouse walls. Something! He certainly hadn't suspected 'angel baby' was the reason.

As he had told Cas, he hadn't realized angels could even have babies. As far as he knew, the flying dicks with wings had no dicks. Or, y'know, vaginas. Of course, they were probably using their Vessel's equipment, but that's all manner of gross on so many levels. Plus, what did they do? Super charge the sperm or eggs with their Grace? Glowing jizz? Ew, no thanks.

Besides, Cas had said Lemuel wasn't a real angel child. Nephilim, or whatever, didn't have wings. So, Gabriel's not-quite-kid was a freak of nature of a freak of nature. Dean wasn't too thrilled with that. It was one thing to think of Gabriel getting his rocks off and forgetting to wear a rubber. Hey, irresponsible father of year was an award he could give to his own dad. It was another to think the asshole had somehow fucked up the kid after the fact. That was a thought that made Dean want to punch the dick in the face, the whole dead thing and the risk of breaking his knuckles on concrete be damned.

Add to the fact that Lemuel had been in the presence of Lucifer and then Crowley and, well. Dean felt for the kid, he really did. Normally, after going to some place looking for a weapon and finding a monster, he would've said, "Nope," and kept going. But, Sam was a bleeding heart and…well, it was a kid. So what if he had wings? Dean wouldn't be able to sleep at night if he just left the guy strung up like that to starve to death. Not that he'd slept anyway.

Furthermore, Dean had an idea that the angel child would be useful to them in some way. Maybe he had access to another Angel Blade, or some other angel perks like healing touch and smiting? Maybe he could bend reality like the Trickster used to? After all, Crowley wouldn't have been keeping Lemuel if he wasn't useful. Though the King of Hell was a demon, and demons were liars, all signs pointed to him being truthful about keeping the kid as a weapon. What kind of weapon Dean didn't know, but the point remained. Lemuel could very well be a ticket to destroying Abaddon.

All they had to do was make sure the kid recovered fine. That he was all right. Spic-n-span and ready to take on some supernatural baddies. Dean figured it wouldn't take him no time for his wings to heal and then they would just have to work on the other messed up parts. Like the fact that Lemuel was as skinny as a rail. Or the mental trauma that came from being a demon's plaything. Dean had experienced the latter firsthand while in Hell. Then again, so had Sam. And, he hated to brush the teen off on his brother, but Sam was-once again-the bleeding heart. And Dean wasn't as good at that whole talk about the feelings thing. So, when it boiled down to it, Uncle Sammy was going to have his work cut out for him.

At five-thirty in the morning, Dean finally decided to roll out of bed. He didn't give anything else much thought once his feet hit the floor. He was done thinking. He'd thought the night away. Now, all he cared about was his coffee. He donned his ol' Men of Letters robe and made his way from his room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen.

Dean was only half-surprised to find a kettle already made and waiting for him. If the other day was anything to go by, Zeke had probably given Sam his eight hours again and then the fitness nut had hopped out of bed, bright and early, and went for another jog. Gag.

Dean poured himself a cup, sat at the small table near the door, and spent the next few minutes silently sipping away. His goal was to savor the moment, and the coffee, and psych himself up for the confrontations he knew he was going to have.

He did not reach his goal because, just as he was about to get another cup, in came Sam. With his pensive and brooding shoulders. And a look that clearly stated he was not happy. A look that was directed at him. Dean wondered what he'd done now.

"Dean," Sam said, skipping straight to business mode.

"Sam," he replied, pushing himself away from the table to actually fetch that cup of coffee. "You look pissed. What's up?"

"I need to speak with you."

"…yeah? You're doing that now?"

"Regarding Castiel."

Oh. Oh, wait.

"And the fact that he is still within the Bunker?"

If Dean had managed his full eight hours, which for a Hunter was more like full four hours, then he would have caught on sooner that who had entered the kitchen was not Sam but Zeke. Sighing, Dean placed the kettle back on its wheeled tray. He made a point of taking one sip of coffee before continuing the conversation. Last thing he wanted was for Zeke to catch on to how nervous he really was.

"Look, Zeke," Dean began gently, "I know you told me to send Cas off. But…I can't do it, man. And don't give me that look. Sam gave me the same damn look when he found out I was going to give Cas the boot and, believe me, he looks a lot more intimidating using it than you do. Now, I know you're scared. You're afraid that-that-"

"Bartholomew and his angels?"

"Bartholomew is going to find you and-and do something to you. I understand that, I do. But what you have to understand is that sending Cas away is not going to help."

Zeke certainly did not appear to be following that train of thought as he brought himself to full height, "Oh, really?"

"Yes. Really." Dean nodded once for emphasis. "Look, man. We got angel proofing. We got… We got books that you feathered mooks would probably murder to get your hands on. We got a prophet of the Lord! There are ways for us to protect you, hide you away, from angels and reapers and whatever else you're terrified of. But, Cas? Cas has got nothing but some fancy writing inked onto his skin. If I send him out there, there's no guarantee that he'll stay hidden. There's no guarantee that the next time we see him won't be in a body bag."

"You are grossly underestimating Castiel, Dean," Zeke said as he walked behind the table. "He may not be an angel physically but he is still one mentally. He is a soldier. Always has been and always will be. He still retains knowledge of our secrets. That is how he knew what sigils to brand himself with. Castiel will be fine, Dean, when you send him away. But I cannot guarantee your brother's safety-or anyone else's in this Bunker-if Bartholomew finds us. I cannot allow him to find us."

"I'm not kicking Cas out, Zeke. And you're not skipping out on Sammy. We're going to put up some extra warding and stick together."

Dean's shoulders were tense as he watched Zeke. The angel obviously didn't like his idea, if the way his nostril's flared was anything to go by. He looked trapped. His eyes traveled around the room as he looked at anything but Dean. Dean took another calculated sip of his coffee before Zeke finally locked eyes with him again.

"Very well," the angel agreed. "We will follow your plan. But I want it to be clear that, should something happen as a result of this and I am put in danger, I will leave."

"And Sam will die. Yes, I know. But what I'm saying is that it's not going to come to that because we're not going to let it. For someone who's whole existence runs on faith you sure as hell don't have any. And why are you so eager to kick Cas out anyway? He had nothing but good words for you. You claim to like the guy! You healed him for Chrissakes."

Zeke opened his mouth to respond but, before he could, he clamped his jaw shut and locked up. Dean frowned in confusion and followed his line of sight to the open door. A second later, Cas strolled into the kitchen looking just as confused as Dean.

Cas was carrying a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. He stopped short when he noticed Dean and 'Sam' standing in the kitchen. When Cas made eye contact with him his whole body seemed to sigh with relief. Dean quickly glared over at Zeke, hoping-praying-that the angel wouldn't say anything to tip Cas off.

"Dean," he breathed. "Sam."

"Hey, Cas," Dean greeted with a smile. "What's up?"

"I can't find Lemuel. He wasn't in his room." Cas looked down at the food he was holding, "I know he's not got all of his strength back, so I made him breakfast again to help with the healing process. But, I don't know where he's at and I don't want the food to get cold…"

He couldn't help but smirk, "Aw, look at you, Cas. A regular mother hen!"

Cas merely gave him an unamused stare for a reply. Right. Serious Cas wasn't fun Cas.

"Uh. Sorry, Cas. Haven't seen him. But I'm pretty sure he hasn't escaped the Bunker or anything, so you'll find him eventually. Just keep looking!"

He gave Cas a quick pat on the shoulder and then reached for a strip of bacon. He squawked in surprise when he felt the top of his hand popped. Jerking it away from the plate, he looked at Cas. The other man was all but glaring at him.

"That's not for you," Cas grumbled.

Dean spluttered as Cas turned away and headed back out on his mission. He'd just wanted one piece of bacon! It wasn't like that would deprive Lemuel that much. Or would it? Hell if he knew.

Dean turned his attention back to Zeke. The angel had loosened up a little in his stance, but his eyes were still hard and trained on the area Cas had been standing in. With a sigh, Dean put his coffee cup down on the tray in front of him. The movement snapped Zeke out of whatever trance he was in. The angel turned his head to face him. Before Dean could speak, Zeke chose to.

"I do not wish to send my brother out into danger, Dean," the angel explained. "Just as I did not want him to die at the hands of that reaper. But…things have to be done, decisions have to be made, during times of war that no one wants. Heaven was still at war when the Fall happened. And I do not doubt that the angels will try to continue fighting on Earth."

Dean frowned, "So, what? You'd throw Cas under the bus to save yourself?"

"Not all of us have such a strong bond as you have with your brother. Few humans do and even fewer angels. I do not expect you to understand nor do I wish for you to. But you can rest assured that, for now, I will not act desperately because of my brother's presence."

Dean was silent for a long second before sighing again, "I guess that's as good a promise as I'm going to get, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Right." Dean replied, not at all assured. "So. Anything you can tell me about this Lemuel kid?"

"He will not expose me to your brother, if that is what you are worried about."

"Wait, he knows about you? Can he see you?"

It was one thing to worry about Cas or Kevin finding out about Zeke and blabbing to Sam about it. Those two would be easy to trick. Zeke just didn't have to talk too formally or, ideally, show his face at all and they wouldn't be none the wiser. But Lemuel? If the nephilim could see, with that creepy ass angel vision Cas used to have, that Zeke was inside of Sammy… Well, then, they were screwed. Again.

"He can," Zeke replied a bit too calmly. "He did. In the van when Sam was driving him here to the Bunker. The young one panicked and tried to attack, so I intervened. Sam informed you of this. He left out me, of course."

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, ignoring the haughty tone Zeke had used. Of course Sam had told him Lemuel had overreacted when he woke up. After all, he kinda had no choice since Dean'd called him to ask why he hadn't been following the Impala anymore. And, of course Sam had left out that Zeke had shown up. Duh. He didn't know the guy was in his head. For a moment, Dean was almost upset with the angel kid for leaving out that little tidbit of info. But, it wasn't like they'd been given much time to talk privately and it wasn't like- Wait.

"What do you mean he won't tell Sam about you? Or any of the others?" Dean asked. "How can you be sure?"

Zeke tilted his head, "Because he does not wish for harm to come to Sam. More specifically, he does not wish harm to come to Vessels. The boy will remain silent about my presence because he fears that, if he speaks, he will be the cause of Sam's death."

Dean pursed his lips, "And…we're just gonna go with that? Your hunch into this kid's inner psyche, or whatever?"

"Trust me," Zeke said confidently. "He will not say anything."

"Alright. I'm takin' your word for it. But, that's not what I wanted to discuss. What I meant before was: What is his connection with…everything?"

The angel frowned, "I am not sure what you mean."

"Gabriel," Dean explained. "And Crowley. Lucifer. Angels. Us. Everything!"

"I know nothing of Crowley or Lucifer, but he holds a very small portion of Gabriel's Grace within him."

"Yeah, Cas mentioned that. What does that mean exactly? Like, can we use that to our advantage? What are we looking at?"

Zeke didn't reply immediately. He browsed his surroundings again. It was almost a nervous tick the angel had. Dean had truly noticed it the first time when Zeke'd taken out the demons that had tried to kill Sam. Thinking back, he remembered the angel showing similar behavior when trapped in the holy fire and again before he jumped ship into Sam. Dean wasn't sure what the attitude meant, but he was keeping an eye out for it, now. It could mean nothing or it could be a tell.

"I am still unsure," Zeke admitted. "Normal nephilim would exhibit similar abilities of their angelic parent, though vastly less powerful. Since Gabriel's Grace did not bond properly with that of Lemuel's Soul, it seems to be exhibiting a far greater influence on him. Plus, what with it being an archangel's Grace…"

"I'm going to pretend I know what that means. That whole not bonding thing. I'm just going to assume that's why he has wings and shit. Can he smite?"

The smile Zeke gave him was borderline condescending. "I may be an angel, Dean, but I do not know everything. Lemuel's existence is not something that I have ever encountered before. I cannot instruct you on what to do in this situation. If you want him to face demons or angels, you will have to judge his strength on your own."

Dean was going to snipe something along the lines of, 'Well, then what good are ya?' but, just as he opened his mouth to speak, a shrill scream pierced through the Bunker. The look of confusion Zeke gave him was almost as comical as Sam's, but Dean was more focused on the threat of danger than the accidental humor.

He wasted no time running out of the kitchen into the hallway. He highly doubted Cas could hit that register, even in fear, so that left Kevin or Lemuel as the screamer. Regardless of who had screamed, the causes couldn't be good. Luckily, the sound had been nearby. He heard Sam's footsteps behind him, so he knew Zeke had followed him.

The two of them checked the adjacent rooms and on, each new room showing no occupant. Just when Dean was thinking of turning back to check the library and vestibule areas of the Bunker, he flung open a door that led to one of the bathrooms.

The first thing his eyes lighted on was Lemuel. The angel child was sitting in the middle of the floor, buck naked, with the shower head pointed askew so that the water would fall not in the shower but on him. The second thing his eyes lighted on was Kevin standing just in front of the door-and it was a miracle he hadn't been hit by it when Dean burst in-with his head in his hands and face red as a cherry. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened.

"Was that you?" Dean asked the prophet, genuine surprise coloring his voice.

He felt Zeke walk away from the scene, probably to avoid confrontation with Lemuel, as Kevin answered.

"I haven't slept and I forgot he was here and I forgot to knock and I didn't need to see that."

Lemuel didn't seem to mind the intrusion at all. He was more focused on…cleaning his wings, it appeared. The boy was meticulously separating each feather near the top joint on his right wing and was scrubbing them with his fingers. He must've been at it while, considering the puddle on the floor.

"You're getting water everywhere," Dean grouched.

Lemuel didn't look away from his work as he replied, "Yeah, well. My wings wouldn't fit in the shower and there was dried blood on them. It itched and felt gross. Would you walk around with blood caked all over your body?"

He had Dean there, but Dean wasn't about to let himself be out sassed.

"Yeah, well," he mocked. "You look like you're taking a bird bath."

Lemuel's fingers stilled. Then a very familiar mischievous smirk graced his lips and Dean knew he'd fucked up. Without further warning, the nephilim shook his wings out like, well, a bird. Dean and Kevin cried out and tried to protect themselves from the onslaught of water that flew at them. When the attack stopped, Lemuel looked him right in the eyes, smile still plastered on his falsely innocent face, and said:

"Tweet."

Yep. Dean was screwed.

Castiel was confused. The source of his confusion was Lemuel. It had been three days since Dean and Sam brought the nephilim to the Bunker. The young man had adjusted well, all things considered. Being rescued from the clutches of demons was bound to bring some relief to an individual, but…Lemuel sure showed his gratitude in strange ways.

For one, he seemed to have it out for Dean. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. Lemuel wasn't overtly aggressive towards the eldest Winchester, but he definitely took every opportunity to 'poke the bear' as the expression goes. Of course, Lemuel was snippy with pretty much anybody who tried talking to him, but Dean got the full force of his wrath. And, because Dean could give as good as he got, their verbal spats quickly almost became physical confrontations.

Sam and he had learned pretty quick when to intervene to keep such a thing from happening. Sam knew his brother enough to know when Dean was about to resort to violence; Castiel could read an angel's wings well enough to do the same for Lemuel.

Castiel hypothesized that the young man was just lashing out because he hadn't been able to do so when in the 'care' of the demons. However, such understanding didn't make Lemuel's behavior any less annoying. Or potentially dangerous. Though Dean suffered the brunt of Lemuel's hostility, Sam experienced a passive brand of it, as well. Not that Sam ever noticed. He doubted Sam would, considering that wing behavior wasn't something humans tended to know.

Whenever the Winchester would step too close to Lemuel the nephilim would puff up. It wasn't a blatant show of aggression for an angel, but still one that was meant to be heeded. Making one's feathers stand on end in such a way was the same as a dog growling. For some reason, Lemuel felt threatened or encroached upon in Sam's presence. On more than one occasion, Castiel had found himself wishing his own wings back just to convey a silent message to stand down. Instead, he had to settle for reproachful stares from across the library.

He had thought of bringing the issue up with Dean, positive that the eldest Winchester would want to know that their latest edition to the Bunker had a beef with his brother. But, with Dean's already strained relationship towards the young man, Castiel had decided against it. Though Dean had expressed his desire to help Lemuel, he wasn't sure such feelings would remain the same after such news. And, as Dean had said, thrusting Lemuel out into the world looking like 'an X-men or something' wouldn't be very polite. In fact, it could very well prove a death sentence. If demons didn't get a hold of him, the angels would.

That conversation had quickly led to a similar topic. Castiel hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd still felt abandoned and hurt after Dean had tried to send him away. So, he'd called him on it. Practically accused Dean for valuing a stranger over him with his tone. Dean had been equally hurt by those words. Castiel did feel bad about hurting his friend's feelings, but he had also been angry. He'd needed Dean to know that.

Dean'd apologized profusely. Stressed that he hadn't been thinking and that he was sorry if he offended Castiel. He decided to prove it by fixing Castiel one of his 'famous Winchester burgers.' He didn't have the heart to remind Dean that his love for hamburgers wasn't really his love. Besides, the hamburger had been quite enjoyable. He appreciated the gesture.

In fact, Castiel had made sure to observe Dean while making it. He was starting to pride himself in his skill with cooking. He wasn't a chef by any standards, but his inquisitive mind did allow for him to take to the art faster than most. At least, that's what he liked to tell himself. And, as he'd made it his job to prepare Lemuel his meals, Castiel wanted to branch out from run-of-the-mill breakfasts and dinners. After all, he was pretty sure that eggs, bacon, and toast were not healthy if consumed every morning.

On the second day he brought the nephilim his food, he had made a point to bring up Lemuel's aggressive behavior towards Sam. Lemuel'd proven to be unresponsive to his chiding, though. He acted like he hadn't heard him at all. He simply took his plate of food and began eating. But, after that, Lemuel started behaving differently towards him.

That's when Castiel's confusion of the nephilim also adopted a twinge of wariness. Lemuel started showing signs of submissiveness towards him. Not via his actions, he certainly wasn't correcting his behaviors when scolded, but via his wings. He would lower them. Loosen them. The first time he'd done it, Castiel had assumed it to be error. An amusing accident. But, every time after that, when Lemuel came around him, the nephilim would lower his wings.

Castiel didn't approve. Lemuel was, essentially, showing him respect on an angelic level and Castiel was no angel. Not anymore. And he had done nothing to warrant such a display. It was frustrating. He didn't deserve it. He was just trying to do the right thing. He shouldn't be treated like a superior for simply making sure the nephilim was well.

Lemuel had also started stalking him. Castiel could feel him hovering around like a shadow. Castiel also knew that the Lemuel knew that he was aware of being stalked, and that made it even more frustrating. He had no idea what Lemuel wanted, but he really wished he would stop.

Castiel tried thinking of reasons to explain this change in behavior. Was it because he was bringing Lemuel food and thus taking care of him? Was it some strange imprinting thing? Was it for some more nefarious purpose? Was Lemuel spying on him for Crowley?

The last question didn't really hold weight. Not with the submissive wing behavior. Unless, of course, Lemuel was luring him in with a false sense of security now that he knew Castiel could read his body language in such a way. That was a worrying thought. After all, he had been known to trust the wrong people.

He didn't like being followed. He didn't like being watched. Unfortunately, he also didn't like confrontation. So, Castiel found himself mentally mourning his privacy while being too hesitant to address Lemuel on his stalking. It wasn't like the young man was harming him or anything. Just…being really annoying and obvious. He had stood up for Sam because Sam was his friend and he thought Lemuel might do something that could ultimately harm the two of them. However, he couldn't find the gumption to stand up for himself. Not yet, anyway.

He almost had at dinner tonight.

Dean had cooked again. He'd said it was because he was trying to teach Castiel a few things, and he had observed Dean, but Castiel knew it was really because he enjoyed taking care of his 'family.' Sam knew it, too, and had wasted no time in teasing his brother over the domesticity. Dean'd quipped that, if Sam didn't shut up, he wasn't going to be getting any food. Kevin joined in on the fun. The mood had been, over all, jovial.

Whereas he and the others had sat at the two tables closest to the vestibule in the library, Lemuel had opted to sit at the table farthest from them. When asked to join them, the nephilim had shook his head no and remarked about not wanting his wings to accidentally get in the way. Castiel doubted that was his true reasoning. Not that he would fault Lemuel for being a bit anti-social. But all throughout dinner, Lemuel, for all his flippant air, never stopped paying attention to what was being said by them.

Castiel felt Lemuel's eyes on him most of the time. When he'd cut his eyes across the room to check, Lemuel had averted his gaze. But, on occasion, their eyes would meet. And, when they did, it looked like Lemuel wasn't really looking at him but rather through him. That, the feeling of being stared into, was what almost made Castiel break his silence. Because, then, he wasn't simply being followed for curiosity's sake. He wasn't simply being spied on for Crowley. He was being studied. Picked apart. And he didn't like it.

He'd kept quiet, though. After he'd eaten, he excused himself as quickly and politely as he could. He used the excuse that he wanted to help Kevin translate bright and early in the morning. Then, he hurried off to bed.

His bedroom was still blank. Boring in a way. Yet, Castiel liked it. It was orderly. Something that his life hadn't been in a while. His mattress was a little uncomfortable, but it beat sleeping in that old bus. It certainly beat sleeping in an alley during the rain. On the whole, he wasn't complaining.

He had entertained the idea of finding an old bookshelf somewhere. Either in a dumpster or a thrift shop. Maybe find some spare pieces of wood lying around so that he could make one. A bookshelf would add a little life to his room. The Men of Letters kept their library stocked with some very interesting tomes that he was sure Sam and Dean wouldn't miss. If they did, well, they could always come borrow them from him. And there were a lot of little trinkets the Men of Letters had hidden away in storage that weren't dangerous. They would probably make nice knick-knacks for the shelves.

As he was straightening the sheets on his bed, Castiel heard the door open. Thinking it was Sam or Dean coming to check on him because of how he'd left, he took his time in finishing his chore. When he did stand up and look over his shoulder, the hair stood on the back of his neck.

Lemuel had entered his bedroom. The nephilim was shutting the door behind him, careful to mind his long primaries on the door and nearby end table. Castiel glared at his back. It was one thing to stalk him, it was one thing to study him, it was a completely different thing to invade his personal space-something he'd come to value as a human-without his permission.

"Is there some reason you feel it appropriate to come in here uninvited, Lemuel?" He snapped.

Lemuel didn't seem flustered by his commanding tone. All the young man did was turn, lower his wings, and smile pleasantly at Castiel. That was not the reaction he wanted from Lemuel. He wanted Lemuel to understand that he had over-stepped his boundaries. Then again, maybe bad manners was to be expected from a child raised by demons.

"I know who you are," Lemuel almost purred.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" He challenged.

Lemuel shrugged cheekily, "I could hear them. The angels. When they talked to one another."

"You can hear the Host?" Castiel asked in disbelief.

Nephilim shouldn't have that ability. Of course, Lemuel showed obvious differences from the one nephilim he had met-and killed-but to be able to hear the frequency of the Host and even understand it. That was a very rare gift. Personally, he knew of only Anna that had managed such a feat. There were probably others, but…

"I could," Lemuel replied.

He walked over to Castiel's bed and threw himself upon it, bouncing once on his rump. Castiel's displeasure towards Lemuel increased as the young man wiggled himself comfortable and stretched his wings out onto the mattress. From the mischievous glint in his eyes, Castiel knew that Lemuel was purposefully trying to aggravate him by claiming his space. It was working. Plus, he'd just rumpled the once smooth sheets, making all of Castiel's hard work for naught.

Lemuel continued, "I stopped listening most of the time because the voices got too loud or annoying. Took me a while to figure out how, but all I had to do was wish very hard for them to go away and they did. I'd tune back in every once in a while, though. And, boy, the things they said about you."

He tensed and said, "I can imagine."

"You were a legend," Lemuel went on. He started to sway back-and-forth a little, "Some of them hated you and some of them loved you, but you were all they talked about."

"Why are you telling me this? Here? Now?" He growled. "If you came to antagonize me, you could have easily done so elsewhere!"

The nephilim stilled and frowned, "Because I didn't come here to antagonize you, I came here to talk to you. I came here to tell you that I can still see traces of angel on you. Like a shimmering mist that clings to the air around you. It's very, very faint, but it's there."

"And?"

"Sam looks different, too."

That caused Castiel to pause. Sensing supernatural auras wasn't abnormal for a nephilim, so he had no reason to believe that Lemuel was lying-about his aura or Sam's. The only problem was what Lemuel sensed around Sam. It couldn't be the demon blood. Ever since the Trials, when Sam tried to shut the Gates of Hell, Castiel himself hadn't been able to sense that lingering presence in the man's blood. Or his genetic make-up. But, that may have been because of the Word.

When he had told Sam that the youngest Winchester was changed in ways even he couldn't fix, that was what he had meant. The Word of God was being made flesh within the man, and It was changing him. Castiel was actually amazed that It hadn't done as much damage as he'd expected It to. That Sam had recovered fully after he'd stopped the Trials was nothing short of a miracle. And Castiel had to admit that, even as a man who'd lost his faith.

"Maybe it's the Word," Castiel mumbled, mostly to himself.

Lemuel hummed. "Maybe."

The careless way he'd said that made Castiel suspicious. "I ask you again, Lemuel, why are you telling me this?"

The nephilim finally removed himself from Castiel's bed, sliding off the mattress fluidly. Castiel tensed when Lemuel walked to stand in front of him. It was unnerving to look down into eyes that reminded him so much of Gabriel's.

"Because you're a good guy, Castiel," Lemuel explained. "You've done a lot for me. Despite what I've done to you. And you tried to protect Sam from me. You care. Because of that, I trust you. I trust you to do what needs to be done to protect those you care about. You always have, haven't you?"

Castiel frowned as Lemuel pulled away. Nothing was making sense. Had Lemuel been testing him? Gauging his reactions based on what he had heard over Angel Radio? Was that why the nephilim had been studying him so intently at dinner and all the other times he'd followed him? Why the need for such secrecy?

Lemuel didn't speak after that. He exited Castiel's bedroom as silently as he'd entered. Behind him he left a messy bed and a mess of thoughts.

Castiel was confused. The source of his confusion was Lemuel…and Sam.

Kevin was nearing the end of his rope. First, there was the translating. Then there was the sleep deprivation. On top of that was the nephilim running around the library. His stress levels were ridiculously high and he was starting to think they would never go back down. He was either going to stroke out or have a heart attack at the ripe ol' age of nineteen. It was ridiculous.

He'd thought he'd been on to something with the whole archangel thing, but… Maybe he'd thought wrong. He had checked the angel Tablet over and over again for any sort of further information. Any clue as to where he was supposed to head next with his research. But, he was getting nothing. Of course, he couldn't really concentrate. The lack of sleep was one thing. Lemuel was another. Lemuel was a completely different ballpark.

At first, Kevin had been extremely intrigued by the nephilim. He thought it would be nice to have another young guy running around the Bunker to interact with. So what if he had wings? The wings were equally interesting! But, Lemuel proved to be extremely rough around the edges. Kevin could understand why, he really could, but. It was a bit disappointing trying to strike up a conversation with the guy only to be either ignored or mocked. Kevin just didn't have the patience with Lemuel that Castiel did. Watching Cas interact with Lemuel was like watching a saint work. Kevin really gained an appreciation of the term 'angelic.'

So, instead of hang out or try to be friends with the guy, Kevin chose to keep to himself and study his Tablets. Which would have been a wonderful idea had Lemuel not suddenly decided the library was the most interesting place in the entire Bunker. Anytime Kevin came into the area to look for another book on dead languages or mythical creatures, Lemuel was sitting around reading. Or, Kevin suspected, he was trying to read. The nephilim stared a book down with his eyebrows scrunched up in such a way that Kevin wondered how the guy didn't get migraines.

It wasn't just Lemuel's presence that threw him off his A-game, however. Lemuel also liked taking the books he needed. At first, he thought it was just a fluke. An unfortunate accident that made it so he had to either ask for the book or simply do without in a grumpy fit. But, after a few days of the books he was reading constantly winding up in Lemuel's hands, Kevin knew the nephilim was doing it on purpose. The only thing Kevin couldn't figure out was if it was some sort of joke or not. He didn't know if Lemuel was being an asshole or if he was just curious to know what was going on. Either way, it was annoying and causing him problems.

One time, he'd made the mistake of leaving his notes out. He came back from the kitchen to find them shuffled about and out of order. He knew Lemuel had been the culprit. Dean, Sam, and Cas wouldn't have bothered touching his stuff because they knew, from previous conversations, that such 'pranks' could seriously hinder his progress. He'd glared at Lemuel, who'd been sitting quietly in a corner, staring at a book like he was trying to burn it with his eyes. Kevin had wanted to say something to him so bad, but he didn't. He figured he would if it happened again, but one time because of curiosity shouldn't warrant his full-blown, I've-finally-snapped rage. Luckily, it didn't happen again.

Now, four days after Lemuel had arrived, Kevin was at a standstill. Castiel had volunteered to help him for the day, but even he couldn't give Kevin pointers as to where he should look. He could describe the archangels' previous jobs and the like, but he couldn't instruct him how they had vanquished the Knights of Hell. Or why. He and Cas could theorize the obvious answers, but it was always best to know for certain how the deed had been done. However, Cas did make for a good translator regarding the cuneiform. The fallen angel was rusty, but he was generally in the ballpark regarding what the symbols stood for.

Around noon, and just after finishing the sandwiches Castiel had made for them, Kevin nearly jumped out of his skin as Lemuel slammed a book down on the table in front of them. Cas didn't seem as thrilled about the violent interruption, either.

"Lemuel," the fallen angel scolded.

"Angels are energy, right?" Lemuel asked.

Kevin looked at the book that had barely missed crashing onto the edge of the Tablet. It was about angels. Figures.

"I would best describe them as wavelengths of celestial intent," Castiel replied.

The frustrated glare Lemuel gave him almost made Kevin chuckle. Obviously, the poor guy had no idea what that meant. So, he clarified.

"Yes," Kevin said. "You could call them energy. Sound and light are both forms of energy that have wavelengths."

"Technically-"

"Baby steps, Cas."

Lemuel looked between the two of them. "Is electricity energy?"

"Yes?" He half-asked, wondering what the nephilim was getting at.

"When you turn the light off, does the electricity stop?"

He frowned, "No? The current stops moving, but there's still power running to it. It's why they tell you to unplug your appliances to save a little extra money on your electric bill."

"So, because the electricity is still there, you can turn the lights back on."

"What are you getting at, Lemuel?" Castiel questioned.

"Why don't you turn an archangel back on?"

Kevin's mental processes hit a wall on that one. Lemuel's question was so off the wall that he couldn't think for a few seconds. But, when his brain managed to boot back up and actually process what the guy was saying, the gears started clicking. Yes, the nephilim had worded his question extremely simple, but Kevin was starting to see what he meant.

Though Lemuel seemed to be basing his theory on simple observation of a light switch, there was a law in physics that allowed for what he truly meant. The ever popular Law of the Conservation of Energy. Energy could neither be created nor destroyed within a closed system. If they were to base angels as beings of energy that operated within the closed system of, Kevin wasn't sure, the universe, maybe, then…it stood to reason that they couldn't truly be destroyed. Changed but not destroyed. When he thought about it, that's what Souls did, right? Just moved on to Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory without being destroyed?

The Winchesters had said Lucifer and Michael were trapped within Hell, but Raphael and Gabriel had been killed. Maybe an angel's Grace acted like a Soul and their Grace still remained somewhere. The Winchesters were known for bringing people back from the dead, so it wasn't a far stretch to think that they could pull something similar with an archangel. Wait.

"How do you know the archangels are dead?" Kevin accused.

Lemuel shrugged, "I read some of your notes."

"I knew it!"

"An angel's death is a lot more complicated than shutting off a light," Castiel spoke up.

Kevin frowned at him, "Where do angel's go when they die?"

He was surprised that the question seemed to catch Castiel off guard. The fallen angel opened his mouth and shut it a few times, looking distressed. He sighed.

"I don't know. Every time I died, I didn't remember anything when I came back. One moment I was there, and then I wasn't, and then I was again."

"So you can come back?" Lemuel stressed.

"No."

"You did," Kevin pointed out.

"Because I'm broken!" Castiel shouted. His jaw clenched as he realized he'd snapped. "I wasn't… I wasn't made right. At least, that's Naomi said. I thought… You know what, it doesn't matter what I thought. The point remains that I am not the best example to use for resurrecting angels."

An awkward silence descended upon their little group. Kevin had known Castiel was struggling with his own issues regarding his newfound humanity. It wasn't just the, 'Oops, had sex with a homicidal reaper,' thing, either. He had lost a vital piece of himself. He was coping as best he could with everything, but he still had difficulty processing some things. Emotional things. Inner troubles. And his outburst just now revealed he'd been having problems for a while. Kevin knew how that felt. He knew that Cas needed somebody to talk to but that he probably didn't realize that he did. Kevin had tried getting Cas to talk to him on more than one occasion, but the fallen angel seemed hesitant to share his troubles with the 'prophet of the lord' that he barely knew. Dean was probably the best candidate for a pep talk, considering how much Castiel seemed to trust him.

"Gabriel is broken," Lemuel finally spoke. When Kevin and Castiel gave him confused looks, he explained, "I have a piece of him inside of me. That's what you said. That piece is still alive, right?"

"That depends on your definition of alive," Castiel muttered.

"It exists," Lemuel seethed, growing frustrated. "Why did a piece of his Grace left within me continue to exist as it always had after he died? You may not remember what happens when an angel dies, but I think I'm living proof that they don't simply disappear."

Kevin shifted uncomfortably. Things were getting a bit too heated.

"He has a point, Castiel," he said hesitantly. "I mean, Souls go somewhere, right? They don't poof away and never come back. Maybe. Maybe an angel's Grace just kinda…hangs around, or something?"

Cas looked between the two of them. He didn't look like he wanted to agree, but he did look like he was starting to regardless.

"Hypothetically speaking," the fallen angel began, "if an angel, a being of pure energy, died but could not be destroyed it isn't unfathomable to believe that their essence would remain behind in some form. When an angel dies, their Grace explodes. It's ripped asunder by the force of their death. Whatever condition Gabriel's Grace is in now, years after his demise, it is certainly not whole and certainly not useable."

Kevin thought about Cas' words. "What if we made it whole?"

"How?" Castiel asked, clearly dreading the possibility of an answer.

He shrugged, "Lemuel's got a piece of it, right? Is there anyway to use that as a magnet? Draw the other pieces to it?"

Castiel frowned. He was silent as he stared blankly at the table in front of them. Kevin cast a quick look at Lemuel and was surprised to see that the nephilim looked upset. Almost angry. But that anger didn't seem to be directed at them, so he didn't ask what was wrong. Eventually, Castiel spoke.

"In the insane scenario that Gabriel's Grace remains, in pieces, across the globe, the only way that I can conceive of putting it back together, like an impossible jig-saw puzzle, would be to gather as much of his remaining energy and then perform a summoning ritual for him. The Grace, drawn in with the call, should try to bond with itself, eventually forming back into a whole."

"Would that really work?" Lemuel questioned.

"I want to say no," Cas replied, looking at him. "I want to say no and call both of you fools for even believing in such a hair-brained idea. But, I've become accustomed to doing the impossible."

"So, it'll work," Kevin said.

"Hypothetically."

Hypothetically. Hypothetically was good. Hypotheses could be tested, after all.