As I fall, it occurs to me that this could be how I die.
I never took into count the large gap between Heaven and Earth. I am too scared to scream as air swallows me, shoving me down towards the Earth as fast as it can. I whimper as something burns my skin, and I find myself feeling warmer and warmer. My hair hurts me as it whips around crazily in all sorts of directions.
But I just lay face-up, keeping my eyes open. My arms are open on either side of me, and I'm just falling freely. I break the cloud surface, and I flip myself around so I can see the quickly approaching Earth. I release a wild scream, my face breaking out into a wide smile. I can now see the colors of lakes, the expanses of fields, the dark green of forests. The world is quickly approaching and it's more beautiful than anything I've ever seen.
Suddenly, my falling ceases. I can hear the flapping of wings, and I know what it is. My eyes train on crystal blue ones, as alive and filled with life as any eyes I'd seen before.
"Who are you?" The angel asks, his brown hair blowing around through the wind.
"Myra Evans," I reply simply. His large wings span out forty feet each, white and bearing the same stiff, white feathers I used to stroke intently. "Who are you?"
"Azeriel, the angel," He replies.
"I figured."
In a split second, we are on earth. I do not recognize where we are, as I stare up and down the dark ally, the night sky creating minimal lighting. Azeriel is wearing a nice suit, so compared to those who are homeless just down the way from us, he looks wealthy.
I shiver. It is cold out tonight, and my thin shirt does not do much for me. Rain comes down from the sky, wetting me down almost immediately. I look at the homeless people, and then back at Azeriel. However, the angel is now gone. I spin around, desperately searching for him, but come up with nothing. So, I make my way down to the homeless people.
The rain is loud in the alleyway, smacking against the pavement in a pitter-patter hum. It's a constant drumming sound that's soothing to the ears. Once I reach the homeless, I find myself underneath a small bridge thing that connects two buildings. There's an empty oil can that people stand around, their clothes in tatters, dirty faces and hands. They look up as I come over, and then back down at the fire.
I stand next to one girl, who's hair is in a blonde, matted mess. She wears a hat that has a number of holes, and her clothes are thin and not nearly good enough for the weather outside. However, I shouldn't say much. My thin shirt and jeans are not exactly suffice to the cold weather and rain. The girl glances at me, her green eyes holding a deep understandings, that only someone who's been homeless before has.
"I am not used to being cold," I state, shivering against my will.
"Well, it gets to be part of the job," She murmurs, shivering herself. I nod, and stand closer. She slips off one of her thin jackets, handing it to me. "It won't help much, but it's something," She smiles. I shake my head.
"I cannot take your jacket."
She thrusts it towards me once again. "Please, I remember when I first started this life. I was praying that someone would give me a jacket."
I nod, and reluctantly slip the thin material over my shirt. Like she had said, it does not help much, but it does help a little bit. I huff, resuming my hunched over,shivering position. "It amazes me how someone with so little could give away so much."
"It's because we know what it's like to want- to need -something," The girl answers.
Just as I'm about to reply, I hear the sound of beating wings. When I turn around, there stands Azeriel. The other homeless people look up at him, and cold looks cross their faces. Even the girl beside me gives him a nasty snarl. I furrow my eyebrows, they were selfless not one moment ago, what happened?
"Oh look, another rich kid" One of the homeless men snaps. Azeriel does not blink.
"I am no child," He simply answers. The homeless laugh, their laughs cold.
Suddenly, everyone blinks. Instead of the eyes filled with need and want like before, their eyes are the black that is only worn by demons. Even the girl beside me has the soulless black eyes now, an evil grin spreading out across her face. I jump back as one of them begins to run over at me with a knife. I roll to the side, and grab a piece of pipe laying on the ground. Just as I'm coming up, the demon slashes and cuts my left arm.
I grit my teeth so hard they could crack, but swing the pipe with my right arm. I catch him across the chest, the piece of pipe's jagged edge cutting through his skin. I feel poorly, since inside these bodies are actual people, watching and screaming from inside the demon's head. Trapped within themselves.
The demon cries out, but it gives me enough time to shove him out of the way. A flood of light fills the alleyway as Azeriel holds his hand to one of the demon's heads, their eyes and mouth exploding with light. With a scream, the person falls to the ground, their eyes burned out of their skull. Through my moment of distraction, a demon tackles me to the ground from my side. I end up being pinned to the ground, the demon punching me across the face. I growl, and shove it off of me.
Azeriel tosses me an angel sword, and I discard of the old pipe immediately. The sword feels perfectly weighted in my hand, and makes for perfect fighting. As I glance at the hilt, I notice the letter M engraved in it. My sword, from home. I don't have much time to think about it as another demon approaches.
With my new and improved weapon in hand, I slice across the demon's throat and watch as it spills blood down the front of him. I listen to one last demon cry out, and then the alleyway falls silent. I breathe heavily, sweat slicking my forehead. When I glance down at my arm, I find blood tainting the fabric around it, turning basically my entire arm red. I wait for Azeriel to give me a progress report, but realize soon after that that's not what he's here for.
He looks at me, and glances at my arm. "I am taking you to a place where you will be safe. You will find yourself in the woods. I will be gone. Once you're there, walk forward for a mile, you will see a marker on a tree and then turn left for half a mile. You will find a factory. Go to the stairs underneath it, and knock."
Before I have time to answer, Azeriel puts a hand to my head, and when I open my eyes, I'm in the middle of the woods. When I look around, I find myself in no place that I've ever been before. When I look at my arm, it is still cut, still bleeding. Apparently he didn't heal me.
Like Azeriel said, he is not here. Knowing that I don't know what's in these woods, I do exactly as he says. I walk through the woods, angel blade clutched in my hand. I do not know what's in these woods, whether it's filled with monsters or filled with woodland creatures. But I keep walking forward, casting glances in every which direction.
Suddenly, I see the mark that Azeriel had referred to. A pair of wings, engraved into a tree. Turn left, and walk for half a mile. His instructions ring through my head. I do as I was told, and continue on. As I walk, I have time to think. I think about Emmaline, I think about the vessels the demons had used and how they're now dead because of the rotten things that had been inside of them. It's a cruel world, and almost no one knows about it.
When I see the peaks of a factory rising through the trees, my eyes widen and my heart beat quickens. I begin in a light jog, into a full sprint. I run for the answers I might find, for the safety that might be waiting for me. I run frantically, my legs burning and my chest on fire, hair whipping around in a matted knot behind me.
When I reach the factory, I circle it for the stairs. When I find them, I trip down them and land on my hands and knees. They sting, my hands having bits of dirt and gravel in them, my jeans cut and my knees in the same situation. I stand up though, and knock frantically at the door. I glance around anxiously, just waiting for a monster to pop out and devour me whole.
The door opens after what seems like a lifetime. I don't know what I was expecting, but what I find standing there is not what I expected at all. A man, extremely tall with brown hair that comes down to just below his chin level. He looks at me with a confused look, his eyebrows furrowed in his mouth open slightly, body drawn back by surprise. I duck in behind him, watching as he whirls around. Just as he's about to hit me, I put up my hands.
"I was sent here my Azeriel," I try to reason. It stops him from hurting me, but his face is now stone cold, and his eyes are now filled with a fury that shows he could snap at any second.
"Who?" He asks for clarification. Now it's my turn to be confused.
"Azeriel, the angel?" I inquire, but the man shakes his head. "Please, I don't know what I'm doing here or who you are or where I am, I don't know anything. Azeriel just told me that this place would be safe."
His body relaxes slightly, yet not totally. His facial expression relaxes, and he no longer looks like he wants to hurt me. Just as he's about to say something a voice sounds from downstairs.
"Sammy! Who is it?" A strong voice shouts from some place unknown. Sam freezes before he speaks.
"I don't know," He calls back.
Five minutes later, I'm sat at a table in what seems to be a library. I have a blanket wrapped around me, still cold from when I was out in the rain. I also have a cup of tea in front of me, that I know has been made from holy water. Just by glancing at the books around the place, I know these are Men of Letters. I've read of them before, and even heard a few stories told by angels at dinner. They seemed more like librarians than hunters, however they knew how to kill just about everything.
The man with the brown hair and his brother, whom has dark sandy blonde hair, a rough cut face, and green eyes that freckles surround, sit opposite of me. They both sit with their hands folded, eyes narrowed into slits as they observe me, gazes intense. Their gaze makes me uncomfortable, like I'm being picked apart. The man with the brown hair looks at my arm as I scratch my head.
"You're hurt," He comments. I glance at my arm, then look back up with a straight nod.
"Yes," I reply. He looks at me with a quizzical look, and then a sympathetic one.
"I'll grab the medical kit," He says, his tone soft and full of the sympathy that floods his eyes.
When he leaves, it leaves Dean and I together. He observes me, his lips pressed together and his eyes squinted. I look back at him, my eyes blank.
"What's your name?" He asks, leaning back in his seat. He becomes more relaxed, but I know that he's still tense.
"Myra Evans," I answer. Short and simple.
"How old are you?"
"25."
"Where are you from?"
"Heaven."
He gives me an astounded look, then furrowing his eyebrows and leaning over again, folding his hands. He raises his eyebrows at me. "Heaven?"
"Yes, that is what I said, isn't it?" I furrow my eyebrows, gazing down at my hands.
"Yeah, yeah....just, how did you get out?" He questions.
"I walked through the front door."
He looks surprised."That easy?"
I scrunch my nose up, my turn to be astounded. "I fell from Heaven. There was nothing easy about it." He scoffs.
"I mean, if all you had to do was walk through the front door, why didn't you leave before?"
"I was scared."
What I say is true. My entire life, I have heard stories from angels of death, torture, and pain. The stories of angels were filled with every emotion, pain; searing loss; but also good emotions, like joy and never ending, never ceasing love. These emotions, the stories, the monsters, the wins and losses, the good and the bad- all of it scared me. In Heaven, I knew of many things. But, only two things rested at the core: good, and evil. I knew more about evil.
"Scared of what?" The green eyed man asks. The tall one returns, bearing a medical kit and a bottle of a golden brown liquid.
"Everything," I answer green eyes. I look at the tall one. "What is in the bottle?"
He glances down at the bottle and then back at me as he sets the kit on the table. "Whiskey," He answers, but I furrow my eyebrows. I've never had whiskey, but I do know it's a type of alcoholic beverage.
"Why do you need it?" I ask.
"It'll clean your wound," He breathes. He gets me to slip off my jacket. "Can you take off your shirt as well?"
I stand up, back away. I eye him up and down, my lips curled up in a snarl as he looks at me, confused.
"Certainly not," I snap. He rolls his eyes, and motions at my arm. I flick my eyes to it, and then back at him.
"The blood has dried your shirt to your arm. I can't get to the wound to stitch you up," He explains.
I close my mouth. Reluctantly, I peel my shirt off. I glare at the man with the green eyes as I feel his eyes on me, taking in my body. I stalk towards his brother, giving the staring the glare of what monsters are scared of. He gulps, and then averts his eyes to his folded hands. I blow out through my nose and then look at Sam. I'm relieved when he isn't looking at me like his brother, but more out of concern. He takes the cap off the whiskey, orders for me to brace myself, and then pours the golden liquid down my arm. I wince and grit my teeth, but look straight ahead, focusing on the bookshelves.
Their spines are different colours, the same colour for the same series. As Sam weaves the needle in and out of my skin, a slight pain runs through my arm. I focus on the names of the books, but realize that I've read all of them. Some twice, even three times. Cover to cover.
"You look relaxed," Green eyes says in astonishment.
"I've felt worse," I reply. He squints his eyes at me.
"Like?"
"Being injected with every disease out there, being healed by an angel, and then having the next disease roll on in," I say, turning my head to look at him. "Or, try fighting every supernatural creature ever existed. When I was thirteen, I killed the last Dybbuk."
"What's a dybbuk?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows and sitting back in his seat. I squint my eyes at him.
"Exactly my point."
He stays quiet after that. When I'm all patched up, Sam goes and gets me one of his shirts to wear. I slip on the blue t-shirt, and then sit back down. Green eyes is introduced to me as Dean, and the two of them tell me about their being hunters, their work and their "legacy". When I ask about family, Dean stays quiet while Sam explains the nursery fire of his mother, curtsy of the demon Azazel. They also explain of their father, also dead, also curtsy of the demon Azazel. When I hear the gist of their story, the whirlwind of emotions that I was so afraid starts running at me full tilt. These are no longer stories told by angels that seem more like tales, the things Sam and Dean say are truth, and come straight from the heart.
When I speak of my exhaustion, Sam leads me to a bedroom. He tells me that tomorrow he will take me to buy clothes, and then he leaves me to my own. Not knowing what else to do, I take off my pants, fold them, and set them on my dresser. As I clamber into bed, I notice that the room is not like mine at home. No more giant windows, crystal chandeliers, cashmere sheets or silk comforters. No more giant chef's kitchen, or dinner with angels who tell the tales of humans. Now, I will be listening to humans tell the tales of angels. A turnaround, if you ask me.
In a few short minutes, after contemplating what I have accomplished today. I fell from Heaven. I defeated a horde of demons, alongside of an angel. I found the bunker. As I look back on it all, I think that I deserve some rest.
****
When I wake up, it takes me a moment to realize where I am. But, once I remember everything from yesterday, I simply get up and slip on my pants. I take a shower, and put my hair back in a French braid so it will stay out of my face. My hands and knees are already starting to get better, thankfully.
When I'm all ready, I make my way to the kitchen. There, Dean is making himself a breakfast sandwich. I move past him without a word, and begin to make myself eggs and toast. Dean glances at me and shakes his head.
"Good morning to you too, sunshine," He snorts, grabbing his plate.
"Good morning," I reply shortly. I crack my eggs into a pan on the stove, bursting the yolk with a spatula.
"Did you sleep okay?" Dean asks, leaning against the kitchen island. I nod.
"Yes."
"Do you ever emphasize what you say?" He questions. I shake my head.
"Don't speak unless spoken to, don't ask questions, and short answers only," I relay the instructions I've been given throughout my life. He nods, furrowing his eyebrows and pursing his lips.
"Have you ever told a joke?" He asks. I give him an astounded look.
"Jokes are for those who evade from their work. Jokes are nothing but distractions," I spit out. He looks taken aback, almost offended.
"Jokes are the best! And what about music?" He inquires. I shake my head.
"Music is used for relaxation, fun, or to influence emotions that are not necessary. Another distraction. If I do ever listen to music, I listen to classical," I explain. His lips curl up in distaste.
"So no Metallica? Def Leppard? Styx? Kansas?" He questions. I furrow my eyebrows.
"Who you list I do not know of," I answer. He chokes on his food, sets down his plate, and runs a hand through his hair.
"What is wrong with you? How do you not know those guys?! They're legends!" He argues, throwing his arms up.
"Listening to music is known as fun, as humans put it. I do not take part in such activities," I counter. He shakes his head, running a hand down his face.
With my eggs done and my toast done as well, I put them both on a plate. I butter my toast and put salt and pepper on my eggs, and sit at the nearby kitchen table. I eat my food without a word after Dean leaves, and wash my dishes when I'm finished. I then make my way into my own room, and sit on the end of the bed, staring at the wall.
I sit for a long time, waiting for someone to retrieve me and to give me orders. My back begins to hurt, yet I sit still, waiting for instructions. When my bedroom door opens an hour later, I find Sam standing there, giving me a confused look. I look back at the wall.
"What're you doing, if you don't mind me asking?" He inquires, looking around my room.
"Waiting for orders," I reply simply. He makes a face, though I cannot see what face as he is only visible in the corner of my eye.
"Orders?"
"Yes."
He freezes. I look at him. "I do have a job here, yes?" I ask. He purses his lips.
"Is this what you did in Heaven?" He asks. I nod.
"A twelve, I eat lunch. At seven is dinner. Any time in between that I am either assigned an array of text to read or a monster to hunt," I explain. He straightens up, eyeing me up and down.
"And this is how you've lived for how long?" He asks.
"17 years."
"You've been doing this since you were seven?" He asks in an astonished tone. I nod, giving him a quizzical look.
"Of course. When I first started, the angels were more laid back. My reading material wasn't as advanced until I reached around age twelve. Also, when I first started, I only hunted maybe once a week, and not difficult monsters. I would kill a shapeshifter, or a ghost. My documents of hunts are all in Heaven."
Sam looks completely taken aback. He orders for me to stand and to follow him. I'm taken to a gun range, where he gets me to shoot different targets with different guns. I hit the little dot each time, and then respectfully place the gun back on it's rack. Sam shakes his head, and then out of nowhere, throws a punch at me.
I catch his fist in my hand, digging my nails into his hand and twisting it with no facial expression. He grunts, and moves to grab my hand that's holding his fist. I just grab it with my other hand, twisting both of his arms in a way they are not supposed to. He barrels forward, knocking me off balance, making me release his hands. I regain my balance just as he charges me, and simply pivot out of the way, kicking his side as he passes me. He falls into one of the separators in between the shooting zones, and stands up. He looks at me with a shocked expression.
He approaches me, fists raised. I do the same, but making my arms parallel from each other in front of my face, just below eye level. We circle each other, and when he throws a punch. I dodge it and uppercut him, catching him under his chin. As he stumbles backwards, I kick his side, charge him, and slam my elbow in the chest. His eyes pop open as the wind gets knocked out of him. I grab his arms and spin behind him, twisting and holding them to his back. I stomp on the backs of his knees, and put him in a chokehold.
He taps out, and we stand up. He shakes his head, nods and holds out his hand.
"Welcome to team free will," He mumbles with a sniffle. I shake his hand, and he takes me out to the library where Dean is on his laptop. He eyes Sam up and down with furrowed eyebrows.
"What happened to you?" He asks. Sam juts his thumb at me.
"She's on team free will," He groans, rubbing his neck. Dean looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"You beat up Sammy?" He asks, and I don't respond. Dean shakes his head with a light chuckle. "Well, Sammy, we'll have to brush up your combat skills."
Sam doesn't laugh. "I told her that we would take her out to get some clothes," He explains. Dean smiles, and whips a credit card out of his pocket.
"Great! I just got this, let's go!"
Dean gives me a leather jacket for me to wear over Sam's shirt, and we head to a garage. As we approach a black car, I recognize it as a 67 Chevy Impala. Along with books on monsters and things that go bump in the night, I have read books on other things. Cooking. Cars. Art, just about everything.
Dean gets in the driver's seat, Sam in the passenger's seat, and I in the back. I sit with my eyes forward, not making a noise. However, Sam and Dean talk, about cases and making jokes. I unintentionally fin myself gazing out the window, amazed with the quickly passing scenery. During my times on the Earth, it's always been fight, report, and then back home. I haven't actually seen a lot of Earth.
The trees at the moment are a medium green, some small and others seeming to reach the sky. The grass is a vibrant green, and the road a rocky grey. I've only ever lived in the sky, but I've never seen it from below. It's a brilliant blue that stretches on infinitely, with white clouds dusted through it here and there. The clouds look like big cotton balls, stretched out and strewn together. Birds fly through the sky occasionally, a black silhouette against the harsh sunlight.
When we arrive into the city, the amount of people and buildings amazes me. I've seen cities before, but have only ever been in them a handful of times before. Unwillingly, a smile breaks out on my face as my eyes dart from place to place, trying to take it all in. I see people walking dogs, mannequins posing in shop windows, and buildings that scratch the sky.
We pull into one place, and I jump out first. I remind myself of composure, and put on a straight face, closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Once I'm composed and I've snuffed the flame of excitement out, I make my way in with Sam and Dean.
People walk around all over, some on phones, some in groups, others baring a million bags on their own. There are people of all different ages, races, and languages. There's a constant buzz of conversation.
"This is what is called a mall," Dean whispers in my ear.
"What do you do here?" I ask. He laughs.
"You shop!" He exclaims. Shop. The term in unfamiliar to me. Every once in a while, an angel would bring me new clothes, but not very often.
We make our way into one store, and I'm taken aback by the different types of clothes. I pick out a handful of shirts, and one lady helps me find some makeup. She also tells me that I can find more online. When I explain that I don't understand the term "online" Sam and Dean quickly step in, thanking her and pushing me out the door.
I stop and glare at them. "What was that?" I snarl. Sam rolls his eyes and Dean gives me an incredulous look.
"Try to act like you haven't been locked in Heaven for your entire life, alright" He whispers, and I furrow my eyebrows,
"I didn't know I was," I reply. He sighs, and looks at me.
"Smile more, and don't speak so formally. You don't have to walk with your back so straight, but don't slouch. And don't look like you're going to kill someone when they bump into you," Dean tries to explain quickly. I furrow my eyebrows, trying to think it all over. "Try a smile."
I look at him, and shoot him my best smile. He shakes his head, and uses his hands to poke at my face, trying to give me a more "relaxed" smile. Once he has it down, I nod.
"How does that feel?" Sam asks.
"It feels unnatural. Why must we do this?" I ask. Dean gives me a pointed look.
"No formal talk. Use a little slang, abbreviate some words, just act more relaxed," He tries to emphasize. I nod.
"Alrighty, can we get going now? I need more jeans," I breathe, giving my best shot at "normal talk". Dean and Sam smile, giving me thumbs-up.
We go to a couple more stores before leaving. On our way back, one song plays out of Dean's cassette collection that sounds really nice. I find myself smiling at the story the words in it tell.
"Mama told me when I was young
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say.
And if you do this
It will help you some sunny day.
Take your time... Don't live too fast,
Troubles will come and they will pass.
Go find a woman and you'll find love,
And don't forget son,
There is someone up above.
And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Baby, be a simple kind of man.
Oh won't you do this for me son,
If you can?
Forget your lust for the rich man's gold
All that you need is in your soul,
And you can do this if you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Baby, be a simple kind of man.
Oh won't you do this for me son,
If you can?
Boy, don't you worry.
You'll find yourself.
Follow your heart,
And nothing else.
You can do this,
If you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Baby, be a simple kind of man.
Oh won't you do this for me son,
If you can?"
I listen to the song, immersing myself in the story of a mother giving her son some advice. The song feels like a tale from the angels, filled with emotion and the soul of someone who's experienced what they sing about. When I asked Dean what the song is called, he answered with "Simple Man, by an awesome band named Lynyrd Skynyrd. See? No more of that classical crap. This is where it's at," and then he turned it up louder.
I listen to the songs and stories sung by Lynyrd Skynyrd, Metallica, and David Bowie. Though sometimes their voices are hard to understand, you can still hear their emotions of love, sadness, anger, and happiness. These songs, I realize, are just stories told in a different way. But my favourite out of all the songs I listen to is Simple Man. I find myself wanting to listen to this boy's mother's advice, and find myself wanting to be a simple girl. But somehow, I don't believe that will happen.