It amazes me how far Angels Cry has come in my head. Origionally intended as a one shot, I got addicted to writing for it and quicky had it as far more than I intended. One chapter turned into three into six into ten. But not only that, I came up with further installments. Evil Angel is the first to be put out as such. It follows Sarah's perspective, which will be more meaningfull than you might first think.
Soon to be coming, once I finish with these two, is another spin off that will take the place of the episode Metamophisis in a full story I plan on writing. I hope you guys will like it enough to still be with me at which point.
Playlist coming soon
~Hold it together. Birds of a feather.
Nothing but lies and crooked wings.~
Blinding lights, blaring in her head. She closed her eyes shut tightly. A sound shattered through the air. Then, nothing. Just another light. But not so threatening. It shriveled away, fading to a sweet voice whispering her name.
In the blackness, a face flashed in front of her. One she hadn't seen or thought of much. His glistening hazel eyes and rich brown hair swayed slightly. There was a look of pain on his face.
All of the sudden, blood erupted out of nowhere along with a piercing scream.
Sarah shot up in her bed, her heart pounding like a wild drum in her head. Just a dream, just a dream, she chanted to herself till she began to believe herself. But as soon as she managed it, she almost wished she hadn't.
The light threatened to explode her head. The sun streamed in wildly through her window, casting tiny prisms of light across the walls. Not for the first time, she regretted putting so many damn windows in her room as she rose from her bed and stretch. She closed the drapes to the windows. Instantaneously, the room was plunged into darkness, more too her suiting.
According to the-most-useless-piece-of-tech-she-ever-had-the-misfortune-to-buy-known-as-her-alarm-clock, it was already nearly noon. She sat down on her bed, prodding the alarm button. It still read 9:30 am as a wake time. The damn thing never worked for the time she set it for. In a couple hours it would ring, though it clearly read way past the wake up time. She always meant to get it fixed or get a new one, but every time she did, something would distract her and she would forget till the next morning when it failed to wake her. Again.
Guess I'm not going to work today… she thought to herself with a sigh.
Her hands went to her face, rubbing her eyes gently. Her hands found her hairline and couldn't help but run through her slightly greasy hair. Today was just one of those days when she felt it was essential to not look horrible.
Maybe it had something to do with the high school reunion approaching or getting a phone call from her ex from college who wanted to have a coffee. She'd said no. But why she hadn't wanted to see him? The only reason they broke it off was a conflict of interest. She wanted to be a art dealer, just as her father had fallen into doing and he wanted to go to Hawaii to study whales.
She had originally thought it was because she had closed that door. Jake had, after all, gotten his dream. So had Sarah. So they were still worlds apart. But other things had also happened to Sarah. Things she couldn't explain. In the last few weeks, she'd felt weird, like something was missing. So when she looked in the mirror, there was something she didn't like.
There was always something. Something unplacable. She felt it every day. Every moment. Nothing fixed it. Not working out at the gym. Not putting so much make-up on her face it made head feel heavy and fake. Not that semi cute guy from the dinner who always checked her out when she turned away, pretending she didn't notice.
Her mind went to her dream. Those watering hazel puppy-dog eyes. Could someone she only had known for a few days still be such an influence on her life? He promised. He promised he would come back. At least for a visit. Not even one word since that day. No phone call. No letter. It was as if he just disappeared off the face of the planet. Weekly she unearthed stories about two men saving this person's life or doing this. She'd even got up the courage to call a few, ensuring she had the right hunters. Then, a few weeks ago, nothing. Not one story which seemed even vaguely tied to him.
It wasn't like she was obsessed or anything. She'd dated ten men since he left her. Most had been complete flops but one had been pretty serious. It was just, there was something about him, something about Sam Winchester. Some puzzle which could only be solved through him. She never told him the truth. Never told nearly anyone. How could she? What little she did know herself seemed to pose more questions than answers…
Sarah finally got up, giving a deep yawn. Tucking a simple blue dress and underwear under her arms, she made her way to the bathroom. She dumped her clothes on the counter and turned on the shoulder. As she waited for it to warm, she looked in to mirror, wondering about all of this. It felt like she wasn't meant to be here. Not here, not now.
Slipping out of her pajamas of sweat pants and a cami, she hand her hand out to the steaming stream coming from the showerhead. She jerked back as it scalded her palm, blowing on it slightly and turning the temperature down a bit. She touched it again after a moment. Finding it to her liking, she slid the rest of the way in, turning her head upwards with her eyes closed as her hair dampened.
She always loved showers. Just as she loved the rain. To her, they reminded her of boiling rainstorm. Soothing, powerful, like the thrum of a waterfall.
After she finished and stepped out of the shower, wringed her hair and wrapped it up in a second towel to dry the rest of the way, and had lotioned up, her attentions turned, as they always did, to the mark on her arm. She wasn't sure if it was a scar or a birthmark or a burn, all she knew is that it only showed up after water hit her. You could see it if you look careful enough without water, but it was always obvious after a shower. She sighed and turned her attention to the mirror.
After she was satisfied with her look for the most part, Sarah jumped into her car with one mission in mind. Today was the day she would actually follow through with her plan. A better alarm clock.
Her hand shifted to the radio. Instantly, Iris started up. The same song which had been playing in the car when Sam had picked her up so long ago…She always thought of him. When one of the men she dated had tried to make it their song, she found herself constantly comparing him to Sam and their relationship quickly fell apart. How could any man compete with something like that? That body, that personality, those eyes…
She found herself humming along with it as she turned into the Walmart parking lot. She found a spot close to the front. But before she could take the keys out of the ignition, her phone rang. She took her hand off their handle and reached into her bag.
The screen read unknown caller. She pressed the talk button and held it up to her ear.
"Hello?" Sarah waited for an answer. When she heard nothing, she asked, "Who is this?"
"He needs you." A voice said. She felt it was familiar, but had no idea from where.
"Who? What are you talking about?"
"You know…" His face flashed in her brain along with a neon sign reading: 'Moon Bar.' Sarah waited for more, but the line went dead. Closing her phone, she immediately backed out of her parking spot and drove right out of the parking lot. If he really was at the Moon Bar, it meant she might finally get some answers. The question was, did she really want them?
As she drove down the road, she began to have doubts. Was it possible she had just imagined the whole thing? Could that phone call really have been real? It didn't seem possible in any use of the word.
Her heart beat in her throat. What would be worse? If it was just her imagination or if it was real? If he really were there, what would she say? What could she say? She suddenly felt a primal anger rise up in her. She wanted explainations. Why didn't he call her? Why didn't he try to at least let her know he was okay?
And why was there a short obit written for him when there was evidence he was alive? Him and Dean.
But then again, her stomach churned. She hadn't seen anything which said he or his brother had been spotted. They could just be on vaction. Did the Winchesters take vacations? Maybe they finally caught up with their father and decided to take some family time.
But to her, that seemed less plausible. What if they quit hunting? While she didn't think that was the case, what if it was? What if her hero quit doing what he was meant to do? People are alive because of him. It was his thing….
Then a darker thought crossed her mind. What if something happened to them? Their job wasn't exactly safe….
Her breath caught as she turning into the parking lot. A lusterous black '67 Chevy Impala sat in plain sight, glistening in the midday sunshine. Other than that, there was a rusty grey Pontiac Grand Am and a midnight blue Infiniti G37 Converable taking up a couple spots.
It was almost impossible it wasn't him. How many Chevy Imaplas are in that good of condition? She smiled at herself a little. That is what a lot of guys liked about her. She was as much an art buffie as she was a car buffie. Her own car was a turquoise '96'N' Marcos LM 500 Spyder and she knew how to care for it as well as any man could.
She parked next to the Impala, sure to raise the hood of her own car before stepping out onto the scalding pavement, her heels clanking loudly. She could feel her racing heart in her chest and the churning butterflies in her stomach. She checked herself over several times, reapplying her lipstick and fixing and re-fixing her hair.
Finally as satisfied as she could be, she strode forward with determination and grabbed the handle. With a single pull and a gust of wind, she opened the door; a bell announcing her arrival. Her eyes took in the scene. There was a man in the corner, a scar down his face and black hair who flashed livid green eyes to her for but a moment. The bar tender, however, was all eyes. She could hear his gasp as the slim, scruffy man caught her in a grey-eyed, lustful gaze.
The final man didn't turn once to look at her. His shoulders were hunched and slumped over in an awkward way. He was more muscular and his hair longer than the Sam she remembered. She moved toward him, stelettos clicking on worn wood floors. The greasy locks shifted back a bit as strong, dirty arms raised the beer glass to his lips.
She stopped behind him, trying to decide for sure if this was her Sam and if so, how to approach him. His body suddenly went rigid, the glass in his hand cracking. It was as if he was ready to murder her. One hand subtly moved to his belt, where a little bottle sat. Her heart in her throat as she forced out his name.
"Sam? Sam Winchester?" her own voice sounded distant and foreign, as if his name was so unexpected to be heard aloud by her heart that even her own voice saying his name was off.
Instantly his muscles loosened, their former tenseness all but gone. His other hand moved up and he slowly turned. There was a twisted expression on his face, as if he had been sucking on a lemon for a while and proceeded to try and smile. His face was dusted in black and brown grime, with the faint lighter streaks, which belied tears running down his cheeks. His hazel eyes she'd dreamed of for so long were lined with bright red veins and carried more baggage than a rich girl. There was something in them, which made her heart ache for him. His clothes were torn and stained, covered in mud and blood and god knew what else. He smelled of a grave and looked like a zombie. Everything from the moist smell of soil to the mold to the blood and the vomit, which might accompany a weak stomach seeing an undead.
She realized that moment she was gawking and forced herself to quit. She gave him a friendly face, pretending nothing was wrong.
"Sarah Blake? Wow…long time no see. You look great." She didn't really know what to say to him. Origionally, she had been angry with him. But looking in his eyes now, the tortured soldier look, her anger melted away. "You don't have to lie. I know. I've seen better days. Much better, in fact…So what brings you here?"
"I was with my father collecting a few new antiques for our auction." She was shocked at how easy the lie slid out behind her teeth. "Went out to get lunch when I drove by this bar and I recognized the car." Before he had time to say anything, she added, "So why are you here? You working?"
"Ya, I had to dig another one…" He answered.
She stifled a giggle. With any luck, this was just a down day. "So that's the reason for the whole…"
"Ya…" He answered. "Uncomfortably comfortable, remember?"
"I can't deny it. You do look like Hell…" Sam got that look again, something sour. She took it into account, putting it away. Something to do with Hell… "Well, how bout you go get cleaned and sobered-up a little" here she eyed the vodka bottle. "and we can go out to dinner for old times sake. My treat."
"How long do you have? I'm pretty damn drunk." Obviously, she thought, forcing herself to keep a straight face as his words slurred.
"Well, maybe lunch tomorrow, if you're that bad." She really had nearly no intention of leaving, but she wanted to test and see if he really wanted her here. "You have my cell number still?" She asked.
"Probably not. I've lost so many phones this year, I think I've lost just about every contact I had." Something her heart found this statement alarming.
She grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out, sitting in the bar stool next to him. "Here." She said after writing down her number. She looked at the bleary-eyed expression on his face and deliberately moved the glass out of his reach. She was dismayed to see that while he didn't get up and grab the glass, his hands quickly found the whole bottle. She sighed, relenting. If she took the bottle, he'd just raid the bar.
But she was rewarded to see the sweet smile she's loved so much. Better and stronger than she'd seen since she got here. "So see you tomorrow then?" She asked, getting up. She turned her back on him, ready to leave.
"Don't go…" He said quietly. She couldn't help but smile. He did want her.
She turned back to face him, a playful expression dancing across her face. "Fine." She answered, sitting back down. "But if you want me to stay, you have to do something for me."
"What?"
"Stop hogging the vodka." The bartender, as if on cue, placed a glass in front of her with a sheepish smile. Sam filled her glass to the brim and she chugged it with no problem. The burn down her throat felt good, warming her stomach. "So what's the story anyway? The ghostee win the fight?"
"Nah, the shovel did." Sarah laughed.
"Oh-ho is that why there's a big glob of dirt in your hair?" She teased.
"What? Where?" Sam said, reaching back to his head to try and find it.
"All over." She gave a wry grin. It was true. He could hardly be dirtier with out being six feet under himself.
He shook his head, sending a huge gob of dirt into her empty shot glass. "You are soooo lucky I didn't have any more left. But now I need a new glass, thank you very much." She reached for the glass she'd stolen from him earlier, guzzling the rest of it.
"I've never seen such an educated girl drink so much hard liquor." He said after she finished her third glass.
"Well, you know, I have quite a few 'educated girl' friends who drink harder stuff than this."
"Really. I'd love to see it sometime."
"Maybe you will. Maybe I'll invite you sometime. I know at least one or two that would match Dean's type. Maybe I could hook him up." It took her a moment to really see the change. He shook, his breathing shallow and fast. Sobs raked his body.
"Sam? Are you okay?"
It was as if he didn't hear her. He stumbled up, his eyes blurry with sorrow. Attempting to move seemed futile, but he tried anyway. The vodka bottle quivered in his fingertips for a moment before crashing to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. He managed a slow, stammering pace. Sarah looked on in horror. His brother…something had clearly happened. Something huge.
For a moment, he was able to move faster. But all of the sudden his efforts became meaningless and he crashed to the floor, jagged pieces of glass carving through his clothes to split his skin. One sliced at his face. He tried to brace himself with his hands and get back up, but to no avail. "Sam!" Sarah shouted. She rushed to his side, looking into his eyes. There was such a look of deperation. Terror beyond what she could even imagine.
"Oh Sam…I'm sorry…" She whispered softly. Looking at him in such a pitiful, defenseless state made her feel weird. This guy killed ghosts. He killed vampires and demons. It was his job to save lives and bring hope. He was supposed to be a rock of safty in a sea of fear. Unbreakable. Strong. Safe. Yet here he was, this man who'd spat in the face of death, broken and shattered as a helpless child. For once, his eyes matched his behavior.
But what brought him to this point? What could do something like this? All of the sudden, the anger from earlier came back with a vengence. He'd been lying to her. Acting like everything was perfect. Something big enough to cause this much pain to someone so strong had to be huge. The least he could do was not lie to her face.
"You haven't told me everything and we both know it." She hissed in his ear. He pulled away, but Sarah wasn't done. "Sam, you're exhausted. You can't just get up like that. Not with all that alcohol you have in your system. And you need to eat something. You've lost at least ten pounds. You aren't getting up any time soon. Not alone anyway." She said. He wasn't about to get away that easy.
"M'okay. Really Sarah." Sarah looked him up and down. Who was this boy trying to kid? There was no way he was.
Sarah thought quickly. The bartender had gone ape, calling the police she was sure. Sam hated the police, that was for sure. This was her chance to force some answers out of this boy. "Sam, you've been on the floor, crying for ten minutes. And you weren't exactly yourself before then. There's something you're not telling me. So here's the deal. You want to leave so bad, fine. But if you do, you are going to tell me what happened. If you don't want to, you're just going have to go to the hospital." She left no room for compromise.
"Sarah…" He started to argue, but she wouldn't take it.
"No Sam. You just scared the crap out of me. I deserve an explanation." Sarah stared him down. There was the slightest trace of hate in his eyes as the sound of sirens distantly wafted to their ears. "Choose now Sam."
"Fine, fine. Just get me out of here." He half growled to her. She didn't take much provocation after that. She rose with no problems, extending her hand down to him. She had to juggle him around a bit, but eventually, she had her arm around his waist and his slung across her shoulders. It was a lot of work; Sam wasn't exactly a little guy, but finally she managed to get him over the threshold, a man dashing ahead to hold the door open for them. She nodded at him once before going on.
But the lights of an ambulance and two squat cars could be seen coming toward them. Sam groaned and Sarah could feel his face pressing into her shoulder, a muttered curse coming from his lips. She knew she had to hurry and somehow found the energy in her to go a bit faster and soon dropped Sam on front passenger seat of the Impala. But she was too late and the first of the emergency vehicles pulled in into the parking lot.
"Stay here. I have an idea." Sarah whispered rapidly. She didn't even wait for his response as a burly man followed the blood trail to the Impala and Sarah and Sam.
"Is there a problem here, little lady?"
"Nope. No problem. My brother ran off. A while back a relative of ours my brother was pretty close to died and he's been taking it pretty had. He cut himself up pretty bad before I could get to." She said softly, hopefully quiet enough that Sam couldn't hear. Then she delbibrately spoke the last part louder. "He can't really hold his liquor. He's been having a hard time recently and he's been getting really emotional. He ran off and it took me hours to find him. You know how they are…"
"And you're sure he'll be okay?" The officer asked, glancing into the Impala at Sam.
"Oh ya. Just a little rest and he'll be regretting this in no time." She smiled at him sweetly and he seemed ready to buy it, getting back it the cruiser and signaling to the others that it was all clear.
"Keys?" She asked as she took the drivers seat. She kept a straight face even through his obvious amazement.
Sam laughed bitterly. "What was that?"
"What?" she replied causally.
"You know what. You made it sound like you haven't had so much as a sip of even a light fruit cooler all day. Much less three vodkas."
Sarah shrugged. "Guess I'm just used to it. I mean back when my mom…" She was looking right at him the whole time, catching herself before she said anything else. She didn't want him breaking on her again in front of the officer. "Keys?"
"Oh, right…" He crammed his hands in his pockets. She fired up the ignition and backed out, ready to get out of here before anyone asked anymore questions.
"So what'd you tell him anyways?" He asked, semi-causally.
Sarah found herself lying again. Sam needed a pick-me-up, not the truth. "That you were my geek brother who lost his favorite possession, that Ghostbusters movie with all the cast's signatures including that flubby little ghost thing, in a card game and had ran off like a little girl." She was rewarded with a laugh.
"But how did you explain the blood?"
"You're a dork. Clumsy kind of goes with the territory…" She gave him a warm smile. The look he gave her in return reminded her that this was not out of the goodness of her heart that she kept him from going to the hospital. "But in all seriousness, Sam, you're going to need to tell me. But I think I'll let you sleep it off a bit first. You can stay with me as long as you need to."
"I thought your dad was with you." She caught his gaze.
Maybe it was time he knew a little of the truth. She felt off lying to him so much. "Okay, you caught me. I don't live with my dad anymore. I haven't for about a year now…I live around here now. I also admit it was no coincidence I found you, Sam." She looked at him softly. "I got a phone call."
Sarah saw his face go ashen. "From who?"
"I don't really know. He didn't say who he was. But he said you needed me and told me where you were…" she knew nothing she could say could keep the creepy feeling from him. Attempting to lighten the mood, she turned on the radio. She was surprised when Bon Jovi's Dead or Alive came blaring to life. If Sam was alone, what was he doing listening to classic rock? That never seemed like his kind of music.
His face told her more than she wanted to know. She quickly struggled with the radio, removing the cassette and turning on a song which she really wasn't paying much attention too. She was too busy stealing glances to Sam, twisted in pain. "I'm not helping, am I? You just can't get away from whatever's going on, can you?" Sam didn't answer.
She tried to calm him, using one hand to run through his greasy hair. It wasn't long before his eyes closed and he fell silent, slight rise and fall of his chest the only thing which gave him away as still among the living.
With his haunting eyes closed and body stilled, Sarah saw even more than she had before. Bruises and scrapes, both from today and long ago, littered his discolored, distorted flesh. It was as if he had lost the will to live. To keep on going. In his peaceful state, she would not be surprised if he was dead.
Suddenly, she stopped cold, lucky the neighborhood streets were bare. She had not noticed his clothing before. There was a splotch on his lower shirt, drenched in non-fresh blood. Enough that if it was his, it didn't seem likely he should be alive.
"What happened to you?" she murmured to herself, stroking his hair one last time before returning her attention to the wheel and driving off.
