"You're pissed."
"Yes, I'm pissed Sam!"
You know that kind of trance you fall into when your mind is just so tired and overworked? It all has different names-mind wandering, daydreaming, spacing out. It has two main causes- one of which has me glaring absently at a pale yellow wall for hours. Nothing outwardly happening but a shitstorm soaring around in my brain. Like trying to define a single drop of rain with just your bare sight- barely catchable.
He needs every rebellious Angel he can find. Every. One.
I couldn't be an Angel. Angels are celestials- beings of light. Born from existence, not biology. This begs the question of how you would lock up or suppress the Angel of a being- you'd be suppressing the cosmic being entity. Is there a cosmic being inside me? Am I the cosmic being? Am I just overthinking and need sustenance? Does a cosmic being need to eat or is it just a trick? An illusion to make them feel human.
"Can she hear us?"
"Doubt it. Been asking if she's alright but she won't even look at me."
"She ever been like this before?"
"Once. When her parents died and she came here. Got so far into her head it was a nightmare to tug her out."
"How'd you bring her out?"
"Katie. It was always Katie."
"What about Dean?"
"Boy's on a hunt. Dangerous bein out on a hunt without your mind in the game."
Slowly, I roll my neck to the side. Both Bobby and Ellen's brows shoot up surprised as if convinced I had remained oblivious to their entire conversation in my doorway. "Can I not think in peace?" I question their hovering "Or do you want to drink some dream root and go for a wander around up in my head?"
"No need to be a smartass", Ellen wanders further into the room, placing a glass of water beside my legs. I pull a small thankful smile towards Ellen. As my mouth begins to water I become increasingly grateful for the glass. Maybe the Angel theory just isn't right. Maybe I'm wrong on it.
Noticing the book on my lap as Ellen wanders off into the house, Bobby prod's "Angel's?"
Gently closing the tattered cover, I push the book aside into the stacks "Research. Makin heads or tails of what's fact and fiction."
Buying the lie I manage through my teeth- a half-truth perhaps- Bobby smirks "Always the bookworm." I accomplish a smile but I don't even convince myself. My mind is racing and spinning so ferociously I can barely navigate what direction my thoughts are taking. When he realizes my smile doesn't reach my eyes, Bobby rolls further into my old bedroom "You wanna talk to me about what's going on?" Pursing my lips, I adamantly shake my head. The last thing I want to say is what I'm thinking. It becomes real. Or I sound like a nutcase. Either way, it bods more questions- too many questions for answers I cannot provide. Instead, I remain silent and avert my gaze to my lap. "You know you can talk to me kiddo...Right?"
"I know Bobby", I sadly murmur into my lap. My heart growing heavier in the silence I quietly ask "Can you shut the door? Please?"
It is silent for a long moment and I only feel worse. But I can't say anything about this. If it's true... I might just be the very thing everyone in my life hunts. Not a soul can know this is on my mind. Nobody no matter how badly I need help searching for the sense. For that reason, I remain reserved as Bobby navigates himself out of the little messy yellow bedroom. With the click of the wooden door, the pent-up tears well finally break free. Rolling my lip to remain silent, I bang my head against the cheap plaster. "Jesus fucking Christ", I mutter aggressively under my breath, breathlessly raking my hands into my hair "What the hell is wrong with you?" I bite down the broken sob that falls from when my lips hear my phone vibrating. Swallowing the lump in my throat I don't even bother to wipe my tears when I answer, growling "Oh it's so nice to hear from you, Sam. How are you? What's the weather like? Are you remembering to change out the oil in your car?"
"I understand you're mad."
"Mad?" I laugh at his audacity, throwing my head back "Stubbing my toe makes me mad. Burning my chicken nuggets makes me mad-"
"You're pissed."
"Yes, I'm pissed Sam!" I snap harshly at his meek tone, straining to maintain my voice's composure in the quiet room "I told you to call and you've ghosted me for weeks!"
"After everything that's happened, I just thought you would've rather me not."
"I don't trust you, Sam. That doesn't mean I stopped loving you." Gritting my teeth I lower my voice, trying to let go of the raw sadness still lingering on my tongue. "What's going on? You alright?"
It's quiet for a long moment, "I need to come back. It's Lucifer. He's... he's speaking to me."
I'll admit, my thoughts falter "Like... he's there."
"No. No, he's in my head." There is a long stretch of silence as Sam pauses. Hesitating. "He's... I'm his vessel. I'm Lucifer's vessel."
Lucifers. Vessel.
Because of course he is.
I'm so silent Sam repeats my name as if I hung up. "Wherever you are pack your things", I instruct Sam quickly "I'm gonna call your brother. We'll sort this out." I don't wait for him to say goodbye. I just take a leap of faith Sam understood the urgency in my voice. If Lucifer is reaching out to him that's not good. Not good at all.
Dean answers almost immediately, "El the Angel's just sent me into the future and-"
"We're going to have to unpack that later", I abruptly cut Dean off, rubbing the tear stains out of my foundation "Sam's-"
"Lucifer's vessel", Dean returns the favor "Found it out on my Angelic acid trip- did Zachariah send you on the same one?"
"No. Sam called me", I feel my way off the floor in a hurry "Get Cas to swoop by and collect me. I told Sam we'd meet him so there's no time to waste caring about my bowel movements." Met with silence, my hurried pace slows. "Or Cas can bypass go and take me straight to him."
"No- Cas don't bat a wing- I'll meet up with Sam", quickly dismisses it "I got another tail for you to chase."
Dropping my boots on the carpet with a thud, I phrase "What is bigger than this?"
"The Colt."
"The Colt?" I scoff "In case you need the refresher Bela stole the Colt from under us and palmed it off to Lilith." Wherever the Colt is the secret died with Lilith and Bela."
"I definitely saw it when Zachariah just winged me into the future", Dean argues right back "It's not destroyed so where is it?" Arching my brow I remain silent. As much as I hate to confess it, Dean has a point. A hyper-impossible point. But a point. If it was never destroyed- appearing in the future as Dean claims- then it must have been stashed somewhere. Perhaps Bela actually kept it all along or sold it through an under-table dealing. It's not like I would put it past her. "Don't worry", Dean's voice interrupts my thoughts "Sam and I... we'll be okay."
Admittedly, that's not the question bobbing around in my mind. "Can I ask you something?" I wonder, my voice small "If Zach took you into the future of this...war... where was I?"
Greeted by silence my chest feels like it might collapse in on itself and I lean against the peeling walls. Like all the wind had been knocked from my body. I'm dead. In the future...I'm dead. "He took me there to show me I could change it El", Dean stresses to me, begging quietly out of Cas's range "We can change it."
Clutching the lore book in my hand, I breath a shaky breath "I hope so. I really hope so."
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"So he's convinced it's still out there?"
Shrugging at Bobby, I stare tiresomely at the laptop screen from behind his desk "Convinced enough that he's got me on a wild goose chase for the damn thing."
"How's that going?"
Lifting my frustrated glare over the screen, I regret to inform him "There's barely a goose to run after." Turning the screen around to Bobby, I let him deduce what I'm watching. A tiny little screen of a facial track on Bela's movements. She's not dumb- wasn't dumb. If she cut out Lilith then she would've had to be as sly as she's ever been. Double-crossing Lilith would have been a death sentence. If the real thing remained in her possession then she must've pulled it into visibility at some point- any point. Bobby pursing his gruff lips under his scruffy beard, I nod singularly "I know. It's pointless but it's the best I got."
"Sam and Dean?"
"Doing what they do best. Saving people and hunting... things."
Chuckling, Bobby is inclined to ask "They not killed each other yet?"
Leaning back in my chair, I consider the past couple of months "Suppose you could say they're growing as people." I'm half right. From what Dean's explained briefly over the past couple of weeks he and not Sam have been moving forwards. Slowly but at least they're moving and the effort is there. Noticing Bobby spacing out over the newspaper in his lap, I wonder "Seen anything?"
Gingerly, Bobby drops the paper and picks up his cell "Man died of old age."
Greeted with no further elaboration, my voice drips cynically "Oh how positively scandalous."
"His DNA matches perfectly to a twenty-four-year-old male."
Admittedly, I tilt my head at the curiosity of the article. Watching him dial, I presume "Winchesters?"
"Winchesters."
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Toothbrush hung from my mouth I briefly shut the journal in hand and spit out the paste. Squinting when the morning sun hits my eyes through the curtain I return to the kitchen. Perching the book atop the basin I scrub the pot I'd been soaking from breakfast. My eyes sailed over one of my ancestor's journals- Jerome Alexander to be exact. Born sixteenth-century Paris I've been flipping through the captured the ledgers of his hunts. And either my French is appalling or Jerome had a lot of dark things to say about the world- a lot. Still, with every mention of Angel, I lay another colorful pink tab on the protected preserved page.
I don't choose to see it as spiraling. I choose to see it as research. It helps prevent me from feeling like I'm losing my mind. Obsessing with the idea of something inside me that I'm oblivious to. Locked away and forgotten over generations. A part of me lost to time. If it is something...divine... then what is it? What's locked? Considering Castiel couldn't even provide the answer when I called it has me believing it's a secret no Angel outside the inner circle is allowed to know.
Observing the poor soul stolen from my bloodied grasps, dragged to the pits of Hell I sang a silent prayer for their chance of escape to be slim. They require revels of prayers for what awaits them is not fair or human. Their good done on this world obliterated by my soft grasp on their soul. Their unfair sentence lay before their feet resulting from my failure. Lord be merciful. Send the warriors after them. Arm my family for we cannot hold this line forever. This is not what they deserve. I say, not what they deserve.
Breaking my concentration, my gaze catches on Dean's names lighting up my phone. Quickly drying off my hands I wander over to the stack of books elevating my cell, "Ghostbusters, what do you want?"
"Hilarious sweetheart", Dean grumbles, intent on masking the smile I hear in the thrum "But you might wanna come down here. Pinemills Hotel." When I ask why he simply answers with the vague "Because I need my girl here to stop me punching out some whack jobs in my jacket- Sam that kid literally has an EMF made from a juice box-"
"Hey El", Sam greets, clearing having taken the phone of a frustrated Dean "You think you can bring whatever you've collected on the Colt and meet us down here?"
Gingerly closing Jerome's journal, I pull the plug in the sink "Erm... sure?"