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Fourth Dimension Fine Arts & Antiques, Friday

Sophie was carefully studying an article in the New York Times. Two articles, really: one saying that a very wealthy banker had divested himself of his assets, and was now technically bankrupt, not paying child support to his ex-wife and three children, and yet still living in his penthouse in Central Park West and riding in his Bentley to his consulting firm. The other, linked news item mentioned that his collection of Chagalls was being exhibited at a gallery on the west side. Hmmm.

Still on exhibit: Susan Seddon Boulet: Goddesses and Shamans.

And a sign: Help Wanted - Inquire Within.

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Castiel entered in the usual (for him) way, a flutter of feathers when Sophie might have happened to be looking elsewhere, and there he was.

"What is it you require help with?"

The sign had said to inquire, after all.

Sophie turned around, blinked, somewhat unnerved, and said, "Hello? When did you--?" She shook herself, and said, "Are you referring to the sign in the window?"

"Yes, it says you require assistance."

"I do, rather. And you're looking for a job?" Sophie assessed his appearance and frowned slightly; nothing too out of place, but just the rather intimidating air of an IRS auditor who'd been up too late and was in need of coffee. She'd been expecting high-school students to apply, not adults, but still. She ought to at least give him a chance. "I'm Sophie Devereaux, the owner."

Not her real name, but pfft. Names.

"Ah, the sign referred to a need for employees." Castiel nodded. "I already have charge of the local church, so I would perhaps not be the best candidate. Though should you require assistance in another capacity, I'd be glad to help. I am Castiel."

"Oh, hello-- Reverend?" Sophie tried tenatively, non-plussed. "Thank you for the kind offer." He'd thought it was a call for help? Um. "Would you like some iced tea?" she offered. "Or lemonade?" She looked around at the exhibit, and put on her best smile. "You aren't going to object to the paintings, I hope."

"Just Castiel," he corrected. "And no, thank you." He looked around at the paintings. "What would I object to about them?"

"Well, some people of strong religious beliefs might find art about non-Christian gods-- challenging, or disrespectful." Sophie hoped that she hadn't just created a problem where none existed. "The former is perhaps deliberate, but not the latter."

"I'm not here to judge humanity for its errors." Castiel shrugged. "Or misinterpretations or excess personifications. I admire humanity's creativity, even if the ideas presented contrast the truth I know."

"The truth that you know," Sophie asked, interest piqued, even as she was relieved he was not objecting to the art on display. "Do you mind my asking, do you think there's only one truth? For everyone?"

"I . . . used to." Castiel shrugged. "Coming to an island where the various dimensions intersect has somewhat changed my perspective."

As had, you know, the whole year since he dragged Dean Winchester out of Hell. Life was so much easier before the world started ending.

"It's certainly changed mine," Sophie had to agree. "Magic! Vampires! Things I never dreamed possible. Or wanted to. And yet..." She poured herself some iced tea, and asked, "I wouldn't wish my horizons any narrower, certainly. It's just difficult to integrate." She toasted him with her glass, amused at her next thought. "And therefore, art."

"I've been aware of magic and vampires for quite some time, actually. Though the latter are close to extinction in the world I'm familiar with."

"Really?" It was reassuring to know that not all worlds with vampires were like the island she'd been pulled into. She watched Castiel over her glass consideringly. He really didn't seem like a run-of-the-mill priest or minister. "That's reassuring. What have you found especially difficult to reconcile, then, since you arrived?"

"The flexibility of destiny and the parallelism of possible worlds."

"Well, that's not unintimidating." Sophie blinked at him, then thought of Parker. "You believe we can change the future? Or not?"

"That which is written cannot be changed," Castiel said. "The word of the prophet is the Word of God, and an attempt to alter it can bring the direst of consequences." For a moment he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Sophie. He tilted his head. "Like getting thrown out of your own world and separated from your brothers." He looked back up. "Do you believe your future may be changed?"

"I'm so sorry you've been separated from your family," Sophie said sympathetically. Then, slightly cautiously, "Since I doubt anyone's written any prophecies about me, I do think so." But then again... "I don't know. Maybe one has to change oneself, first. Or the same mistakes and choices will be made, won't they?"

"You lot have been making the same mistakes over and over since the beginning of time," Castiel observed. "It's one of the more fascinating -- and frustrating -- things about you."

"'You lot'?" Sophie gave him a very dubious look. Then blinked. "Ah. You're not human, then?" But... the beginning of time?

"Ah, no." Castiel was starting to forget that people didn't already know that. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

"You're wearing a trenchcoat." Sophie's skepticism was increasing by the moment. Insanity was also hardly difficult to find on the Island either. (Which reminded her; she really had to stop by and say hell to Minsc.) "And, forgive me, I was always of the understanding that angels were invisible to human beings."

"It's what my vessel was wearing when I got him," Castiel said, all innocence. "And it's not that we're invisible, it's just that most people can't handle looking upon us in our true forms. Your eyes catch fire. It's not pretty."

Sophie gave him a deadpan look. "Really. You haven't changed the clothes on your-- vessel? Since you got him? And when was that?" Even Barbie dolls got more than one outfit, honestly. "And you've actually seen someone's eyes catch fire after looking at you?"

"Yes. Her name was Pam and she didn't deserve that. But I did try to warn her." He sighed. "I've been in this vessel for approximately a year, now. Give or take a few days when I was . . . otherwise indisposed."

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