"What the hell do you mean you 'couldn't get it'?!" Dean bellows, ready to rip Castiel to bits.

"Dean, listen, I can explain," the angel bargains.

Dean places his hands on his hips. "Please do."

"When I raised you from perdition, it was very difficult to keep your soul intact. I'm the one who raised Sam from perdition, yes, but I couldn't get his soul. It was too risky."

"Too risky?" Dean tries him. "You pulled me out in one piece. You're going to get Sam's soul, so help me God."

"God won't help you," Castiel corrects. "And I can't do it. They know by now it was me, and they'll be expecting me."

"Damnit Cas!" Dean yells. "Couldn't you have just grabbed the damn soul on your way out?!"

"No, Dean. It doesn't just sit on some holy coat rack, and it isn't being held in the usual place."

"I'll show you a fucking holy coat rack," Dean grumbles. Castiel shoots him a look. "So where is it?"

"When Sam went to Hell, the reaper that took him took his soul with them into the veil. There's a sanctuary of souls in the veil that's guarded by reapers; only certain souls go there."

"How do we know you didn't put it there on purpose?" Sam interrupts.

Castiel becomes visibly angry at Sam's query. "How could you possibly think that?"

"I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas," Sam says. "I've been trying to figure out why I've been so messed up for the last year and a half, and only now am I learning that I don't have a soul anymore, when you've known this whole time!"

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologizes. "But I can't fix this."

"You feathered bastard, you will fix this," Dean seethes. But before he can lurch toward Castiel, the angel is gone, leaving thin air as a trace.

"What are we going to do, Dean?" Sam sighs. "We have no clue how to get into the veil. I know of a few spells to make contact with beings in the veil, but nothing to literally put us in it."

"Can we make contact with someone in the veil that can get us in?" Dean asks.

"We don't know anyone in the veil right now," Sam shrugged, "so it would be a shot in the dark."

"Alright, well, you start on the east side of the archives and I'll start on the west. Let's see if we can find something to get us into the veil."

I sit and stare blankly at the traffic of reapers. Each one carrying a different soul, on a unique path to damnation or salvation. Today is slow for me – my father, the grim reaper himself, doesn't think I'm reaper material. Instead, I guard the soul sanctuary.

When I asked my father what it was, he explained to me that it's a special places for souls that are neither damned nor saved, and also not going to purgatory. It's a very small percentage. Maybe one or two souls out of the weekly one million average are brought to this sanctuary, and they have to go through me first.

These souls have a special path to be taken, either in life or the afterlife. People can live without their souls, and souls can live without their people.

A while back, one particular soul came to me that sparked my interest. It belongs to Sam Winchester, and it is still in my possession. I obviously allowed its entrance into the sanctuary, but not before giving it a thorough look over.

According to his soul patterns, Sam is an extremely moral man, save for hustling pool and a few one night stands. He doesn't like hunting. He doesn't like killing things. It makes him sad, and has stained a good portion of his soul a dark blue color. Souls are supposed to be white.

Soul patterns are small holes in the shell of a soul that allows the light of humanity to deep through and manifest itself. When someone has no soul pattern, we call them a sociopath. When someone has too much soul pattern, we just call them softies.

Everyone's soul pattern is different. The holes are specifically mapped and sized depending partially on your beliefs, but mostly just on how the soul itself develops.

Sam's soul is much different than John Winchester's. John's isn't in the sanctuary, but I've gotten my hands on it before. He's a borderline sociopath. When he passed through the veil, I took a look at it, and there's barely a pattern. Only in a few spots, concerning his family and people depending on him.

Mary Winchester's pattern is where Sam gets his. Mary's is the same case as John's – not here, but I got to look at it. It's practically a wiffle ball of good intentions.

The only Winchester soul that I haven't gotten to study is Dean's, assuming he has one, too. I've watched Dean for some time now; his morals seem to be extremely low, and very dependent on Sam.

Anyway, the reaper traffic.

My dad doesn't usually have me reaping because he doesn't want me to get hurt doing anything. He believes sternly that my intuition is a powerful thing, not to be overexerted on reaping, but skillfully portioned on the sanctuary.

I never knew my mother. Dad says she died in delivery. I think of that often; my mother died to bring me into this world, but here I sit, doing nothing to help people or make a difference of some sort. That knowledge can go far in terms of making someone feel worthless, but I'd never admit to it. Not to anyone here, anyway.

Being down here, I wish I had a sibling or something. I do have a friend named Jasper that passes through a few times a day with souls in tow. Whenever he isn't busy, we'll skim through the assortment of souls in the sanctuary and try to guess how their lives went.

Mostly though, Jasper is busy. The only socialization I really have is with my dad. Don't get me wrong, my dad is okay most days, and usually tolerable, but there's not much casual chatting with Death.

There's one question I've always wanted to ask my dad – do I have a soul? He didn't fail to inform me once during an argument that he doesn't have one, and my mother's was placed in the sanctuary early on in their relationship.

Obviously, I know souls aren't inherited. Patterns, of course, are a different story, but everyone is born with a soul unless there's some type of divine intervention – in which case, a soul is the last thing that person should have to worry about.

I think I have a soul. I have a sense of judgement and something to tell me what's right and what's wrong. However, I feel a strong sense of complacency most of the time when it comes to emotional subjects.

"Mallory," my father calls from down the way. I turn to see him approaching. "You can go take a break for a while."

"Okay," I shrug. "Thanks."

He takes my place and watches over people dutifully. So much more tentative than I am.

I wander off to a garden somewhere outside the central corridor. I enjoy breathing the fresh air and seeing the plants. It makes me feel as if I'm on Earth, and maybe a little bit human.

I'm almost jealous of humans. Really, I'm just an overhyped reaper. There's nothing special to me; I can do everything my father can, just at a lower power, because I'm not fully a reaper, and obviously not a horseman (horsewoman?). My father told me that my mom was human, and that complicates things.

Humans obviously don't have any special power. They're quite ordinary, which is what I'm envious of. They get to feel things, they have things that they care for and value. They're so ordinary, they're extraordinary.

Another thing I envy is the fact that they get to sleep. I've never slept a blink in my life, simply because my supernatural status of being doesn't require it. I've never felt tired. Bored, yes, but not tired.

And that's how I do what I do; I don't sleep at all. I stand watch over the sanctuary for hours on end. Usually 15-20 at a time. Then, my dad comes to relieve me and I take a break for a few hours to relax and daydream of having a purpose.

This is the time that I watch humans. My father doesn't know that I leave the veil and walk around on Earth. I keep myself hidden obviously, as I don't want to cause trouble.

Today, I decide to sit in a park, and watch the people have fun with their friends and families. It's a warm summer day. The sun is shining, trees are swaying in the wind and the air smells sweet.

I can see two parents, chasing after their young child as she squeals with delight. She picks a dandelion and blows the soft white seeds into the breeze. I follow their trail and see a teenage boy, walking his dog, with his earbuds in. I can tell by peeking at his aura that he's sad.

Lastly, I see a couple sitting on a blanket. They're both basking in the sunlight and each other's company. Their auras are just the right colors; pink, red, white, and a little of purple. Love, some purity, and some passionate emotions to be discovered. It's clear that they'll be married one day. You only see those auras in soulmates.

I watch in jealousy as the male hands his lady a fist full of wildflowers and dandelions, then kisses the back of her hand. It's a beautiful thing to see two people in love. I've given up on that emotion; selection in the veil isn't optimal, and I'll always be under my father's rule.

With the note of my father, I am being called back to the veil to retake my position.