Somewhere they're meeting on a pin head

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*]

After his conversation with Chuck during services that day, Castiel was back online, looking up global climate change and attempting to sort the truth from the "jackasses online" that Chuck had mentioned. He felt it was very important to understanding the human race better.

Angelbane was lounging nearby, looking at Castiel like he should know he had better things to pay attention to. Namely her.

Sometime after the radio broadcast, the rectory radio started to keen softly. A light, seemingly emanating from the very air itself, gathered around Castiel, and he turned his gaze upwards.

". . . It took you long enough."

He barely managed to have enough time to pull out his phone and make a brief call before the light grew overwhelming. Angelbane hid under the desk as the walls rattled, and Castiel disappeared into the gathering light.

And then it was over, leaving behind nothing but Castiel's computer, a browser still open to tabs about global warming (and maybe a few choice fanfics), and a very confused, very pregnant cat.

[ooc: And Castiel is off to do a bit of canon catch-up. Angelbane will be taken care of, and he'll be back sometime next week.]

Castiel, unaccustomed to sleeping in general, woke up first. He looked around at the surroundings, then at the teenager sleeping not far away, then around at his surroundings again. He thought over the weekend.

His eyes got very, very wide.

To say that the events of the weekend had been new and different would be a gross understatement.

Priestly woke up not long after to see Castiel standing at a distance, still taking in their surroundings. He pulled the open kimono tighter over his shoulders and sat up.

"HOLY HELL PUT SOME FREAKING CLOTHES ON."

Castiel glanced back, then down. "Ah. Right." And then he vanished, leaving poor Priestly out on the rocks alone with just a somewhat stinky kimono and two bad, rumpled suits for company.

[ooc: establishy. Look, I had to get to use this icon in character, okay?]

So. Castiel had a girl's phone number. She seemed to be very nice, and quite wise in the ways of modern technology, entertainment, and apparel. She had promised to teach him how to dance.

Now he just had to figure out what he was supposed to do with said phone number. Was there some sort of etiquette in place here that as a human he would be aware of? What was his own phone number, just in case he had to leave her a message, as she'd said? Was it bad that he didn't actually know her name?

So many questions. He could think of only two people who might have the patience to answer them. He knew Chuck had business going on in New York which he was perhaps better off not interrupting, so that left Dean.

He looked over the little piece of paper with her number on it as he dialed, wondering if there was some deeper, esoteric meaning to the numbers, or the manner in which they'd been conveyed.

People were so difficult.

[ooc: for him at the other end of the line]

Castiel had been getting the odd sense of something . . . tugging at the edges of his perception since last night. It was as if someone or something was calling out for help, but was far enough distant enough for the message to be distorted.

This could mean only one thing. Dean had failed and Lucifer was rising in his world. It was time to stop dawdling here in this bizarre but fascinating little nexus, and get back to his true purpose.

There was a faint flash of light and the sound of rustling feathers -- easily mistaken for a breeze in the branches of a nearby tree -- and the spot where Castiel had stood, looking out over the graveyard, was empty.

[ooc: yes, I decided that Castiel's angel-fu included at least a sense of the BDE -- which he then completely misinterprets. He's off island for the duration of the plot (since I'll be out of town) but will be back on Tuesday!]