[open]

[gotbottle]

The next thing she's going to do, she thinks, is buy a new messenger bag.

Rachel Conway is standing at one end of a trail of her personal belongings, on a sidewalk in the middle of Grant Park. She was walking home, shifted her bag on her shoulder, and the next thing she knows the clank of metal and the thump of non-metal on concrete is heralding

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[sitherequietly]

Castiel is sitting on one of the benches that Rachel is walking by, and watches as her bag splits open and everything spills out. He doesn't know why humans carry so many things with them, but this woman seems to need help keeping them all.

He pushes up from the bench, and crouches down to help her pick things up. He doesn't know how she's going to carry them again, but he figures that he can at least try to help.

[gotbottle]

Rachel hasn't been back in Chicago all that long; her return marked the fourth time in the space of just a few years (relative to her perspective, anyway) that she was suddenly uprooted and put somewhere else, far away from what she'd known. Her belongings--especially the tools, the tools of her trade since she mysteriously gained a near-mystical understanding of everything mechanical and how to fix it--are something of a security blanket. It's hard not to feel like she needs to keep everything of value on her person in case she gets pitched someplace else without so much as a by-her-leave.

But she knows Chicago. She knows it's a big city full of people who are just too busy to deal with anything beyond their own needs and destinations, too wary to get too close to a perfect stranger. So she's surprised, and pleased, when someone crouches beside her and begins helping her gather up her spilled belongings. Perhaps chivalry isn't dead after all.

"Thank you," she says, offering an earnest smile. "This is really nice of you."

[sitherequietly]

"You're welcome," he replies, glancing over to her with a small smile. "You seemed like you could use the help."

He stands once they've finished gathering everything and just ... continues to hold it all in his hands. He doesn't know where she wants him to put it, so he'll just hold onto it for now.

[gotbottle]

"I did. Thank you, really."

She gets back to her feet, shuffling the things she's holding so she can reach for her bag, hanging uselessly at her side. The bottom's fallen out but what if she makes that the top? She can get her things home that way, surely, and deal with this properly once she's there.

She shakes out the bag and upends it, dumping her belongings back in. She's about to suggest to her helpful friend here that he do the same, when she's interrupted by the unmistakable sound of velcro separating.

Oh. That's right. The bag's only got a small velcro closure on the flap.

The disaster plays itself out all over again, on a smaller scale.

"...Okay, then." She sighs, and bends to fetch her things again.

[sitherequietly]

Castiel, however, is one for thinking on his feet. He pauses for a moment, watching as her things fall to the ground again. As she bends to pick them up, he disappears for a moment, before returning a second later, holding a cloth shopping bag in his hand and holding it out to her.

"This should help."

... Don't ask him where he got it. It's probably better that you don't know.

[gotbottle]

Forget about the shopping bag. There are far more important questions to be asked here, such as "...Where did you go?"

And, "How did you do that?"

And, finally, "...What are you?"

[sitherequietly]

"I am an angel of the Lord."

He figures that should cover question two as well as three. One, however, is that question that possibly shouldn't have been answered. "I went to the one of the stores. I see humans use these to carry their food." He is trying to be helpful. He isn't sure if it's working.

[gotbottle]

There's a moment of panic when the word angel falls from his lips. She's looked him in the eye, he's not a guardian, is he, please, God let him not be a guardian, she doesn't want another and it'd break Wes' heart.

So it takes her a moment to realize he hasn't described himself like other angels in this city do. She's heard of guardians, children's angels, even angels of vengeance, but angels of the Lord? She's only ever heard of those in Sunday school.

The Rift... couldn't have done that, could it?

She takes the bag with a grateful smile, shaking it open and dumping her things into it. "Thank you. This is great. I really appreciate this. What's your name? I'm Rachel."

[sitherequietly]

"My name is Castiel," he replies. He takes the things of hers he has collected and dumps them into the bag as well, making sure that all of her things were in one place. "It is nice to meet you, Rachel."

[gotbottle]

"Castiel," Rachel repeats with a smile. "That's beautiful, I like it."

Is that a weird thing to say to a guy? Maybe. Ask Rachel if she cares.

"And it's nice to meet you too. And thank you." She slings the bag over her shoulder. "I really appreciate this. Can I get you something for your trouble? A cup of coffee or something? I'd like to."

[sitherequietly]

He shakes his head. "I am fine, thank you. I am just happy to help."

[gotbottle]

"Well, I'm glad you did. It was gonna be a pretty bad day otherwise."

She appreciates him going out of his way to help; so many people would've just kept on going or looked away, not lifting a finger. She kind of feels like she owes him something for it, but at the very least, she doesn't want to lose track of him after this.

Helpful people can be hard to come by in a place like this.

"Do you live around here?"

[sitherequietly]

He nods, before pointing back in the direction of the Kashtta, even if he's not exactly pointing at it.

"At the Kashtta. I don't need much of a living space. It's more for my kitten." But he's starting to admit that it is nice, having his own space that he can call "his."

[gotbottle]

"The Kashtta! I live there too. I mean, for now." She's earning good wages at Wes' shop--sometimes suspiciously good wages, she thinks, but she knows he'd be hurt if she brought it up--and she'll be moving into a place of her own as soon as she can swing it.

"You have a kitten? What's your kitten's name? I didn't realize they allowed pets, I might've gotten a cat."

[sitherequietly]

"There seemed to be an invasion of ... tiny teleporting kittens not too long ago," he says slowly, having no other way to explain it. He knows that ridiculous things are his tools of trade, but even to him that sounds ridiculous. "One of them ... attached himself to me. His name is Chuck."

[gotbottle]

There was a time in Rachel's life when the phrase "invasion of tiny teleporting kittens" would've made her bat an eye. Not anymore.

She smiles. "Chuck. That's a cute name. And it was kind of you to take him in. I'm sure he was glad for that."