The rectory of Our Lady of Fandom, Thursday afternoon

Honestly, Castiel had barely made it to the point of consciousness in, like, weeks. The newly discovered wonders of a diet of mostly vodka would do that to a guy, mostly-fallen-angel or no. The kittens -- who were no longer entirely kittens -- had taken to prancing around on his chest to remind him to do things like eat and move around occasionally -- after all, if he was feeding the cats, he might as well feed himself something, and playing required movement. It wasn't as though Castiel figured he had much better to do. The residents of Fandom had gotten along without him for quite awhile before he arrived, and would do so again. Neither Winchester nor Chuck was still around. What was the point of it all?

Over all, it was pretty pathetic. And Angelbane had had about enough of it. She climbed on top of the empty dresser into the window sill, peered up at the clouds, and meowed as pitifully and obnoxiously as she was able until the rectory filled itself with bright, glaring light.

When the light cleared, Castiel and the cats were gone, Castiel dumped onto a shrimping boat off Delacroix Island, Louisiana, just in time for his universe's Winchester's final bid against Lucifer and the angels, Angelbane and her no-longer-kittens into a cozy corner of Bobby Singer's salvage yard to chase unwary British accented demons and mice and wait for the smoke to clear.

In Angelbane's opinion, it was about bloody time.

[ooc: NFI. Due to RL time constraints, Castiel is now officially expatriated. *snuggles the emoest angel of them all*]