A Place That's Not Heaven

by Kiki van Turmeric

Shortly after returning from Purgatory while driving on his own Dean crashes on the outskirts of New Orleans, to be found by a reclusive witch who can bring back the dead and calls herself Misty Day. As she patches up his body, mutual fascination settles in, but the timing couldn't be worse for affections and tenderness, like drugs to those two for whom solitude was never a choice.

Drama / Romance
Rating: R
Dean Winchester (Supernatural) + Misty Day (American Horror Story)
timeframe: c. 2012-2013 (spn early season 8 / before ahs season 3)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (some of whom I wish I owned) or any objects / settings belonging to the corresponding universes. I do not profit from any content published herein in any way.

Disclaimer no.2: I am aware that Ryan Murphy coded Misty as asexual, in this fic she appears gray/demi, i.e. still on the asexual spectrum, this was not done to undermine anything or anyone.

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Fleetwood Mac

1
I recognised the vibe of death before I even as much as noticed a black car off the country road. I had no shoes on, the land was giving itself up to lauding God and the sun. Yet it was quiet and somehow whatever joy there was dwindled away the second I stepped out of the forest onto the road. Sorrow seized me and seized the air and every shred of grass. Someone got us all mourning.

I walked on, looking out for signs of tragedy. Then this black car finally caught my eye. Cautiously I approached to see what had happened. The man at the wheel must have died on the spot, skull broken at the left temple, not a single whole bone, blood all over him, his dark blond hair and his beautiful face. I have never laid eyes on anything remotely this beautiful, perfect in every possible way. Men I have seen in New Orleans would look like rotten food next to him. For a few seconds I am so transfixed I forget he is dead.

The car door gives in easily and his body falls outside at my feet. I haven't brought back a human in a very long time. This might as well be worth a try. And then this crazy urge comes over me, as if someone was forcing thoughts into my head that I must take him home and do anything I can, that too much depends on it, that his death was a mistake. And so I drag him across the road by the collar of his jacket, my heart leaping God knows why.

2

Wow. This totally rocks my socks. I was certain I might not survive this one, yet here I am. As I am trying to move, a crazy surge of pain in my side and shoulder convinces me I'd better not. The good news is my body seems real, so I am most definitely not dead. I can see sunlight forcing its way in through slits between old wooden boards. Must be some kinda cabin. There's a lacy curtain on the window, pictures of a blond girl on the walls, and the place looks neat and inhabited. Before I can start guessing who can possibly live here, an answer not so reassuring offers itself: a couple of rats climb onto the bed and come sniffing at me, getting close to where the wounds are. No way. This is so not happening. As I try to lift my arms, it turns out they are useless, still weak and broken. In fact I cannot move anything or climb off the bed, my body is completely butchered. Where are those angels when you could do with at least one?

As the rats keep exploring me, all of a sudden a girl with blond wavy hair enters, dancing her way in. Not looking at anything in particular, she snaps into space:
'Just what is this?'

The rats freeze for a moment and dart off I can't see where. At first I think she's the one in the pictures on the wall, but as I look a bit longer it turns out that they are simply very much alike without being the same girl. She has a short black sleeveless dress on, and I can't help noticing she has one stunning body, lean and graceful, and yet the amount of curves is ever so right.

'Sorry about this.' She keeps talking as if she was addressing me, only she's not looking at me. 'These rats just can't stay away no matter how many times I tell them not to come back. Curious little things, have to check everything out.'

Ok, apparently a stunning body, but not quite right in the head.

'Well you know, rats don't exactly understand human speech, do they?' I say, failing to shroud the irony in my voice.

'Ah, you've come round? Good.' She says matter-of-factly, finally noticing me and briefly looking my way, goes towards the door to open it and mutters 'Come on, go elsewhere', as five or six rodents rush out in a straight line. Eh… what? Can she talk to rats?

'What is this place?'

'The outskirts of New Orleans'

'What happened?'

'Your car crashed. Are you a hunter?'

Awesome, now I have to explain myself. 'As in?' seems to be the most sensible thing to say.

'I saw guns in your trunk when I went to get your fresh clothes'.

I take a look around the room. In fact yeah, a set of my clothes hangs in the corner looking very damp, underwear included. Simply brill. At least she's opened my trunk, which means she's not a demon.

'Look, what's your name?'

'Misty Day'

Miss what? I am already sorry for her. Having such hippy crap for a name must suck.

'Look, Misty… Day, I am not up to anything illegal if that's what you're asking, not running you into trouble or anything'.

Yeah. Very convincing. Of course she's not buying it. And I can't move to get out of here. Some massive hassle is on the cards it seems.

'Do you hunt animals?' she asks suddenly.

'Me? No way, have never killed an animal in my life. Must have eaten quite a few though'.

'Ah good, that's different', she nods slightly and I notice that the object in her hand is a little dead bird. Aren't things getting weirder by the minute, she doesn't care who owns guns as long as they don't go after animals and carries dead birds around, which is too weird even for an eco-nut with a screwy name.

'How are you feeling?' she asks stroking the dead bird, totally engrossed in it.

'Eh… Peachy I guess, comparatively speaking. All I need is full command of my body, and everything will be ace'.

All of a sudden I can see the bird is slightly moving its wing. In a matter of seconds it starts circling around the room and lands on my chest. It's a tiny grey flycatcher.

The girl I am still not quite ready to call by that horrible name smiles blissfully, eyes twinkling and all.

'No, not here', she says, apparently talking to the flycatcher who looks back at her, twisting its head sideways. 'Come on, get off him, he needs rest'. The bird flits onto her forearm as if it could understand her. She walks up to the door to let it out. I realise I've been completely mesmerised by this scene, even though I've seen much weirder things in my life. This place seems so out of the way.

'You're not an angel by any chance?' I venture finally, as if an angel could bring a bird back to life knowing it was meant to die this very instant, not any later.
She starts washing her hands, looking down.

'What makes you say that?'

'Well, that flycatcher was dead'

She gives me a frightened look.

'No no it wasn't, it was asleep'.

'It wasn't breathing. And you held it tight, it would twitch.'

'It was,' she looks like she's about to start crying.

'Wait,' it occurs to me suddenly 'I was dead too, wasn't I?'

She looks at me, completely terrified. At last she sobs:

'Please don't tell them. Don't tell anyone. No one must know.'

Eyeliner starts trickling down her cheeks in narrow grey rivulets. I can feel my heart pounding for no reason I can name. She's not an angel, more like a really messed up human. Probably a witch or something.

'You didn't fit in, is that it? They thought you were a freak and all that jazz…'

'How do you know?'

'I've met all sorts of misfits. I could say you're talking to one.' I manage a smile. Seems like my face is the only thing I can move. She comes closer and sits on the floor by the bed still crying. I try to reach her with my hand and make a few fumbling moves to wipe her cheek with my cuff.

'Come on, you haven't done anything wrong, have you? Hey listen I swear I won't tell anyone'

She picks up some stuff from the bedside table. A rich herby smell fills the room.

'Come on, I need to treat those wounds'.

She unbuttons my shirt and starts wiping me all over the place, her fingers making tender brushing moves around my clavicles, then getting lower. She seems barely aware of my presence, I could be made of wood or stone and she would still touch me that way.

'So what's the crack with you, do you go about looking for corpses and bring them back to life?'

'Sometimes', she shrugs slightly, focused on rubbing her balm into my skin.

'What about the will of God or well… whoever's in charge?' Whoever uttered the word of God yeah.

'If he wanted, he could have stopped me from finding them… finding you for example. As is he doesn't mind I guess. He made me this way, who else could have?' She pauses, her hand lingering on my side that still bleeds a fair bit. Somehow putting mine on top seems like a massively vulgar move, so it's for the best I couldn't do it even by accident.

'Sorry I mean I owe you big time'.

She gives me a tiny smile, one corner of her mouth going up a little bit.

'How's my car, did you see it?'

'Smashed.'

'How bad is it?'

'I don't know about cars.'

Right, of course she doesn't.

'Is it off the road at least?'

'Yeah.' She buttons me up. 'It's late, I'll have to move you over a little, I only have one bed'. She lies next to me putting out her lamp.

'How long have you been like this, Misty?' I ask, not feeling awkward for a second. My body must have gotten used to lying next to her while I was unconscious.

'I don't know. Forever.'

3

He said his name was John, but I didn't believe him. John is someone he is fond of and wishes he was, but he didn't pronounce it like his own name. He gave in right away, saying I won. His name is Dean and his eyes are my favourite shade of green.

When he finally came round I couldn't believe what I saw and heard. Somehow everything about him is the essence of radiance, only somewhat stifled and crippled. He became part of my bed, inalienable from it. Lying next to him at night seems the most natural thing I've ever done.

When I go to sleep I lie down facing him. Since no other diversion is available, I entertain myself trying to discern his features in the dark. He must have noticed I'm staring, because he asks: 'What?'

'Are you sleepy?' I venture shyly.

'Not massively. Been at it on and off all day'.

'Tell me about other witches you've met. What were they like?'

'I haven't met the likes of you. Have mostly dealt with ones who were trouble'.

'Have you met Stevie?'

'Who?'

'The singer from Fleetwood Mac'.

I swear he is suppressing a smile.

'No, I don't think so. I haven't worked on a case involving her. Guess she's not done anything wrong. I can look online for you though, if there's any pattern of uncommon things happening as she's been travelling'.

'Really, can you do that? Do you know where to look?'

'Sure, have been doing this kinda thing for years, told you'.

I can feel my face brightening up.

'Well, if you could… But I'm sure you won't find anything bad'.

'Probably not, you're right'.

'Anyway… Just tell me about the ones you've met that were trouble'.

Then he drifts off, despite not being sleepy, must be that soothing smell of my balm he's trapped in

I guess I could see it coming when he is gone when I return home after one of my walks. They all leave when they get well. They always trot away or fly away or walk away, not being mine to keep. Not like I wanted them to stay. I just wish this one had stayed a little longer. I know I must be grateful and all. Nothing I have brought back was this beautiful, God chiselled him so fine, now I'm the reason he hasn't perished. And yet this void penetrates me, as if something had been taken away from me. Something that has never been mine. I sink into the bed, the half that used to be his, digging my fingertips into the bedsheets, about time I changed these I imagine, they truly need washing. They all leave. They all leave me because I am irrelevant to their lives, I am only ever relevant to non-dying.
I have no idea if I have been lying like this long when sudden loud hammering overhead pulls me back into a waking state. With a start I rise, a stifling stuffy feeling taking over me. Insult to injury. I can protect myself from anything alright, I'd just prefer not to preoccupy myself about it now.
It would be maddeningly quiet outside, but for this hammering that echoes through the forest. A ladder is standing against the cabin's wall that wasn't there before. I don't know why I feel like the sun has been switched off, like light has gone out in the entire world for good. I make myself walk to the ladder and start climbing, looking at my feet to make sure they don't slip off, because they could.

I am nearly at the top when something grabs me by the arm hoisting me up. Before I can scream or get properly scared I recognise Dean as he puts me back on my feet onto the roof.

'What do you say? Every bit as good as new, no?' he beams, insanely golden against the endless grey and green of the swamp scenery.

'If you say so. When I first saw you you were no good at all you know.'

'I could hear you climbing. I mean I hoped it would be you.' He looks all euphoric to have his body back, as if he was suppressing the urge to dance. 'Now who is the coolest witch in New Orleans whom I owe God knows what?'

As I finally look around, I realise the slits and leaks in the roof have all been repaired. I never really got round to fixing them, somehow having my room regularly drenched with rainwater didn't seem tragic. Lacewings land on my arms and shoulders, on my hair too, about twenty of them, tiny and fluttering. The poignant feeling of being at home and having all I could ask for comes over me. I look up to the sky torn apart by gratitude for being around someone who doesn't judge me and doesn't care if I'm different, someone who treats me like I'm normal. 'Doesn't everything seem to fall in love with you?' he says quietly probably referring to the lacewings in my hair.

I go down to warm up sweet and sour ribs Dean brought from the city, which we eat on the roof without saying a word about anything but the ribs, just watching each other eat. I realise no one ever switched the sun off, it has been on all along. And I have never felt so close to anyone.
He wipes his hands against his jeans and says he has to go. We stand up simultaneously, in front of each other. A gust of wind blows my hair across my face, he starts putting it back in place, touching me so lightly I can barely feel it. He looks at me like men look at beautiful women. He does think I'm pretty I know it. He can't take his eyes off me, and he wants me to see that he can't.

'What?' I manage at length. 'What?' he asks right back and kisses me on the cheek quickly, then again and again. His mouth feels as beautiful as it looked. Joyfully I follow his lead. We are alone and yet somehow kissing on the lips feels out of bounds. It doesn't happen. He sighs, letting go of me with a melancholy smile.

'See you around.'

As he walks to wherever he left his car, he looks back several times.

4

This is pretty insane. Neon signs that promise peep shows, sexy time and the hottest babes in the county only have me looking away. I don't feel like walking into magazine sections at gas stations. And yet desire and longing take hold of me, without me having any idea what to do about them.
The boiling sensation at my temples gets unbearable. I need to shake it all off now. Let's give sexy time a try after all. As I walk in, I go straight to the bar and order whiskey. After 7 shots a girl with a dark red bob catches my eye. The mechanism of it all is so simple I barely need to do anything. She approaches, introducing herself as Miss Serena, I follow her into one of those rooms that could be anywhere in America. Dusty curtains of peach velvet, a burgundy bedspread, all that kind of jazz.

Parting her magenta lips with the precision of finely tuned equipment, eyes looking enormous in the dark enhanced by fancy eyeshadow, Miss Serena comes right at me.

'What can I do for you, Mr. SuperHot?' she runs her index finger down my chest teasingly, pausing around the belt. Is it for the first time in my life that I realise my longing will only grow more insane if I let things take their course? My body feels dissociated from me, as if Serena was touching someone else and I couldn't care less. This is not what I want. I am too drunk to reason with myself and yet I know I must not let anything happen, it will only make things worse. Something rings like a bell through my brain. How do I get on the I20 from here? I20, then I49, then I10 to New Orleans. Must be about 7 hours from me to New Orleans. New Orleans. New Orleans. That patch of swampland. That girl I never kissed properly. Miss Serena comes through as a 2D image, some kinda veil I ought to tear off to find pale green madness and fluttering waves of blond hair behind it.

'Listen babe, could you just get me more whiskey? And here' I rummage in my pocket and shove cash into her hand, the entire fare, then manage a lame smile 'Looks like no boner is on the cards, sorry for your trouble'. The next I record Miss Serena's presence is when she comes back with a double Scotch. I don't blame her for not looking resentful. My head is spinning. My body feels like it's about to give birth to an incredibly beautiful thing. Not a billion bacon cheeseburgers kind of beautiful. It's insane I can laugh at myself in this state.

I fumble all the way to the exit. Have to drive at 10 per hour till the nearest roadside joint to down 3 coffees in a row. I am so losing it.

My stereo is churning out ready for love oh baby I'm ready for love. I turn it up until it starts vacillating in my fingers that clench the wheel like mad. My mouth is swollen from kissing that never happened. The electrically lit road seems to vibrate in tune with my blood. My lungs go mad for the sweetness of the air that I inhale. Sure enough this is when the phone rings. Sammy talking some crap or other. checking on me, asking where in the world I am as if I was the one to have stood him up epically. I'll have to stop for more coffee. Be cool, pal, you can shake it off. You can't afford the luxury of losing your mind.

5

Occasionally I mope around the city. In fact no one seems to notice I am some kind of a freak as long as I walk on and keep my mouth shut, immersed in the sound my boots make against the pavement. Dean insisted I take a pile of cash because he "owed me shedloads more", so I stop to look at jewellery, but end up going though tainted bronze listlessly, unsure what I want and forgetting I am actually looking to buy something. As the salesgirl asks me if I'm alright I dash off instantly, hoping she will forget me the moment she sees no item is missing.

A man with heavily tattooed arms whistles as I go past him saying something about my stunning legs, I bite on my lips not to get into trouble, I knew every excursion to the city is a mistake, it always makes me sad. I should just remain in my world of flowers and plump ruffled flycatchers. I am about to go home when a woman at a little foldable table in the middle of the pavement calls me: 'Want to know your future, darling?' A fortune-teller I suppose. She's not exactly my kind, I know. But at least we are a little bit alike. I can see warmth in her black, unmistakably creole eyes. It is as if we share a moment, like a connection establishing itself. I simply know she is not evil, I have heard all those stories that they aren't allowed to wish anyone ill. I end up lingering in front of her. 10 dollars is not much when one has 400 to spend. I smile and nod. She says a prayer in a language that sounds like a hoarse, derelict version of French as she starts shuffling the cards.

'Let's have a look. You don't happen to be in love, m'dear? Because here I can see that you are.' Who would I be in love with? I never see anyone, do I? 'He's in a lot of pain is what I see,' the fortune-teller rattles on, but for some reason I feel like running. Home. Away. Anywhere. Yes, forgive me, keep the money. What is love anyway? My heels hammer like crazy against a battered sidewalk. My parents were married, they were together because of love they say. They say this happens when a man and a woman are alone or something. But then it did get to that point between me and boys on a couple of occasions and all I felt was… nothing. God loves the world and all living things. What does it have to do with me? If he loves me, is he in pain?

When I get in of all things I find Dean sitting on my bed, fidgeting with this thing he refers to as his phone. The door squeaks. He looks up at me with his moist transparent half-angelic eyes. One would think he is at a church service praying and having a spiritual revelation, but he's looking at me. I count seconds. I count three hundred of them.

'Well… hey, I had a bit of spare time and I happened to drive through the county. If it's not a good time…' he finally manages apologetically. 'I forgot to look up Stevie Nicks for you last time. Basically just came to say no cr… nothing tragic ever happened that I could connect to her'.

'I forgot you promised me that.'

Cautiously I approach. He leans forward kissing the inside of my elbow. In total dismay I stare at the glistening trace of his saliva.

'Why are you doing this? Do you want me knowing what I am?'

'I don't care what you are. I feel calm around you. Looking at you heals me. Forgive me.'

I can't cope with the suffering in his voice, it's as if someone had split him open with a razor and no one could put him back together, this kind of thing can never be fixed, try or not. His pain overwhelms me. Before I know what I'm doing, I find my hand on the back of his neck, sliding down until it meets the collar of his shirt.

'Then look at me, Dean. Really. Look at me.' I end up saying at length.

He has fallen asleep halfway through a kiss, how odd is that? I can feel myself smiling, can feel a smile forcing itself onto my face. But then he seemed tortured and exhausted from the beginning, of course he ought to sleep, did he say he drove from Wisconsin? As I look at him (I should so stop looking at him), I am trying to imagine Wisconsin. All I know is that it's pretty far from here, many miles of roads, hours and hours of travelling. I have never even been much further than New Orleans. I carefully untie his shoes to pull them off. Lumps of dirt he brought from God knows where (Wisconsin and possibly many more other places) fall off onto my floor. He used to moan or even weep in his sleep, every single night he spent in this bed before. Now he is not.

The morning comes to find us in a bundle of limbs, yielding to each other. The sunshine pours its way in becoming one with his skin, the room is filled with melting gold embracing me. I look at him, mouth against my breasts, he has the kind of face people have when given holy communion. With every move of his, with every shred of his disjointed moaning –"yeah let me take you there… God, isn't it good?" - I become insanely beautiful, a sweet lightness coming over me, an invisible glowing short-circuiting through my body, taking me there, wherever that is.

'It felt like heaven' I venture tentatively when I can finally speak.

'Oh no it didn't, you can trust me on that one. Heaven is pretty dull and uninspiring,' he replies like he knows all about it.

He drives me to town in that black car of his to get breakfast. As he ecstatically makes a go at an extra-large portion of bacon and eggs with beans on the side, I wistfully peruse the pot of yoghurt with honey I got, digging in my spoon. White looks so beautiful next to golden.

6

Yeah hello my name is Dean and I am totally falling in love. I am watching my love eat yoghurt with honey. For once I don't want any tablets or chasing or anything, just want to watch her bringing this scratched spoon to her mouth and licking off the yoghurt. Those eyes just won't let me be, they look like they're going to explode with all the light that's inside them and some kinda… I don't know… tenderness intended for no one, more like the world she thinks her God created. I don't flatter myself, she had that look in them before the whole thing got out of hand, she probably had them that way before she walked into my dead body. Even now as she smiles catching me staring for the fiftieth time (I don't bother to look away or at my food anymore), could it be anything beyond the usual post-coital bliss, anything beyond what any girl briefly felt before watching me drive off towards whatever the next stop was? I wonder if anyone has actually wanted me and not my looks or whatever, in fact I wonder if I am even anyone to claim anything on top.

It's crazy how Louisiana sun has no effect on her, she is white like milk. All of her. Melting into this herbal warmth she is made of, tracing her frame lit by orange candle-light felt like lying down on the ground to feel the land as it bears wheat and apple trees, some canopy or other above my head, protecting me on all sides, enveloping my body and my being. I haven't felt anything like it for the last thirty years of my life. My chest has been stuffed full of suppressed sobbing and unuttered pain, is it even a possibility for me to warm myself up ever again for good?

'What?' she asks with an indolent joy in her voice. I can see a little bit of yoghurt on her lips trying to memorise this moment forever, not like there's much of my life ahead left to live, but this I want with me. Before I die again at least I will have something to remember apart from those years with my dear back-stabbing brother.

'Nothing…' I can feel blood rushing to my face. 'You've got yoghurt around your mouth'. She reaches for a tissue to wipe it off.

'In fact…' My throat feels like someone has tied it in a knot. 'I wanted to tell you something. I wasn't just driving through the county like I said.'

'Ok.' she nods. 'Well if you ever happen to not just drive though the county again, drop in on me.'

So this how my weeks go by. Every time I look up to meet my brother's eyes, I instantly look away. And yet I keep acting like it's no big deal, the tablet business on my back and whatnot. I got some fancy chocolate sweets as I was passing through Chicago, the salesgirl giving me a weird look, as if she was convinced she was ever so much better than the loser I was getting them for. Ain't it funny. Sammy said I had to cut it out, being mad at him and stuff. Yeah brill. Awesome moral standards he's got. The only good thing about it is that the case we worked happened to be in Missouri, which for me meant a short drive south to see my love eat those sweets licking the melting chocolate off her fingers. Why is everything she does so beautiful?

Almost instantly upon entering her place I get feeling mellow, the case and the drive don't matter anymore. We walk to the swamp lake next to her garden. Not trying to fight it, I let her unbutton my clothes, take it all off and draw me in the water.

'Any alligators around here?' I ask just in case. This habit of permanently watching out is sometimes beyond pathetic.

'I'll tell them to go away' she shrugs, never leaving off smiling. 'Relax, it's really alright.'

There is something insanely erotic about being around her like this, lukewarm water enveloping my body as it starts softening. Or should I say not all of it softening, knowing she's only one foot away, imagining her waist and breasts underwater, distorted by the ripple and yet still ever so fine. Slowly I kiss her with my mouth open, desire getting the better of me. As if I had ever intended to get the better of it. And then being inside her is like coming home again, being held by the right one, not a random one. Like I'll never be in pain ever again, all it takes not to be in pain is to bury my face in her hair that sudeenly looks pearl white. See my baby, tell her 'bout the shape I'm in, I've had no loving since I don't know when… I sort of thought this song was just that, a song. Never thought that sort of thing could actually happen, let alone to the likes of me. We linger in the water not letting go of each other, there being no real reason to be anywhere else. But then the wrong thoughts come creeping again, nowhere to hide from them, is there?

'What?' Misty asks all of a sudden 'Is anything wrong?'

Telling her is easy somehow. I've said this a billion times to myself but it never made any difference. My brother betrayed me I don't know why. I spent my life running around him and this is what I got in return. For the second time actually, but who counts, right?

'But eventually you will forgive him,' she says wistfully when I'm done.

'Yeah? I feel like it's always there, the realisation that he was capable of that sorta thing'

'You will forgive him. You have too much compassion in you and you're too good to let this resentment take over. There can be no other outcome.'

I can hear myself sigh. Maybe she's right. Or not. At any rate something within me wants her to be right.

'Why can't you forgive those who did you wrong?' I ask, still in a bit of dismay. Never been good at cracking ethical ambiguity. Better when it's either black or white, nothing in between.

'That's not about forgiveness. One doesn't forgive or not forgive the rotten kind. One walks away.' I can feel her fingers get firmer for a split second, as they navigate my skin.

7

This is how it goes these days, like a strand in the wind in the web that is my own I begin again. I watch plump little birds hopping among yellow roses and there's music playing in my blood and in my liver and in my teeth and in my bone marrow. New Orleans looks dishevelled and somehow abandoned by God at sunset when the sky over the city turns salmon pink, and I can feel an angelic presence squeeze my heart till I can't take it anymore. The whole world becomes a giant crème brulee orchid, pulsing and breathing as if it was completely alive and ever so intolerably sweet. What, oh what did I do to have a thing so beautiful? Does God really love me enough to give it to me? I never lock the door at night and I sleep with nothing on because this is how memories of his body come back.

8

I know this is the last thing I ought to have done. Things are getting worse, it's obvious that Crowley means business. I kind of forgot what he's like when he plays against us. Kevin is still picking himself up after all the tortures and whatnot. As for Dean, he is going to New Orleans again upon the craziest of compulsions. I know it's wrong yet what can I possibly do? She's the only thing in this world that's about to crumble again that keeps me going. The war is so on again, and I'm running around addicted to affection, snatching more than I'm entitled to. Pathetic as hell.

'What's wrong?' Misty asks the second she sees me on her doorstep. I must be quite a sight.

'Nothing. Not much. A bad day in the office.' I try to sound collected and disinterested, but apparently without much success.

'You don't work at an office. And your wrinkles look deeper,' she retorts, passing her thumb under my eye.

We end up driving to town to get a drink, because I won't be any good if I don't have one now. As I'm done switching to the fourth, I place my hand on her arm wishing I never had to take it off. This little bit of warm pulsing skin responding to my touch is driving me insane, the world is falling apart (as usual), and for once I do mind dying very much, knowing sooner or later my luck will run out and this thing I have to leave behind is right here next to me, hand on top of mine, a tress of her hair caught in between. Suddenly she shakes herself free to reach forward. Turns out there's a dead bee in the lower corner of my windshield she picks up to bring back.

'Bees are cool,' I comment as if holding on to that bee, as if the possibility of fixing the bee meant some chance or other for the bigger picture as well.

'You don't say.'

Then she tells me to stop the car so we could let it out.

Once I get my hands on a coupla shots in a row, I finally start breathing normally. It's almost like being on a proper date, a stunning girl in front of me slowly sipping white wine (I got the best they had, Italian allegedly, anyway some fancy European stuff), a handful of various other girls looking at her as if they wished they could burn her alive (not for witchcraft I suppose), all that jazz.

'Better?'

'Yeah, loads. I just got a feeling like the world was falling apart.'

'Is it?'

'Not just yet.'

As I walk up to the bar to get more drinks – yeah another whiskey and another white wine, you know that European one, peanut whatever – upon some crazy hunch or other I turn around to watch the door open and suddenly stop short to correct myself. 'No, make it just the whiskey.'

No. No. Not this. What in the world should he be doing in New freaking Orleans? I know exactly what he's gonna ask when he approaches and the trajectory his right eyebrow will adopt. Basically there is no word to describe him but 'Crowley'.

'Hello Squirrel, how's tricks?' he half-sings as usual. If I ever die, I'll die because of his manner of intoning.

'Long time no see. And smashing.'

'Nothing you feel like recounting?'

'No. Did you want anything or what? Because I'm in the middle of something around here.'

'Indeed my messenger said he saw you walk in here with a girl.' His messenger what?

'Yeah you have to excuse me.'

Messenger my ass. I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. Get her out of here, Dean, as in now. Putting on a smile as nonchalant as I can manage I down my shot and approach one of those chicks that were shooting weird looks in Misty's direction, choosing the one that seems the most drunk among those that look above average, complete with some screwy cocktail in hand, one of those that have idiotic names. Anyone ever mentioned I should have gone to an acting school? In a few minutes the job is done and I've got this Monica (or was it Chloe? the music is suddenly on the louder side) wrapped tight around me against the bar's wooden wall, my hands languidly at work pretending to explore the patch of bare skin between a turquoise sleeveless top and tight jeans perhaps a size too small. As I'm double-checking what Misty is up to out of the corner of my eye, I see her storming out looking flushed and vexed. Crap. Seriously, crap. At least she's out of here and hopefully heading for the woods. And I still have Crowley to deal with.

'I'm at your disposal now, what did you say you wanted?'

'The Squirrel is running loose again?'

'Life's too short you know. Came to realise that in Purgatory. Catching up and stuff,' I effortlessly blurt out my thoughts being God knows where.

'I basically just came to say on our part there will always be the opportunity to make arrangements before anything rash and irreparable is done.'

'Damn right, got it.' I echo.

Yeah. I know that kind of arrangements. Crowley leaves as suddenly as he made his entrance, whilst Chloe Monica Turquoise prowls right back at me, and I have to buy her about 3 more cocktails to make sure she doesn't get her hands on me too much. Then it occurs to me I have to drive her home, because God knows who can take advantage of her, and I just wish I could leave her to be gang-raped by drug dealers for looking at my girl the way she did, yet I drive her home, which only means another delay.

Disentangling myself from a half-conscious embrace, I carefully leave her on her bed already asleep, cover her with one of those tacky pink bedspreads and make sure the door is locked.

Then I finally drive to Misty's place, but she's not there. As I wander around the swamp hoping to walk into her, anxiety takes hold of me. After two hours of searching in vain I see her with an alligator at her feet. I have never seen her like this before. She does have that look in her eyes other witches I've known invariably had, determined and ruthless.

9

'Leave me alone', I scream at the top of my lungs. 'Don't even think of coming near me.'

'Wait, this is not what it looked like,' he starts, but I am too vexed to listen. As he takes another step towards me, I signal the alligator to get him. There, that's for trifling with me. I see his face distorted with suffering as the reptile grabs him by the leg. It gives me no joy to watch this, and I force myself to look away so as to let justice be done. I can't help it, hurting him is like hurting myself. Has been for a while.

When I venture to look, however, he is still alive, wiping blood off a silver knife. The alligator apparently isn't.

'An angel blade wasted on that? Well done. Do you have any, I mean any clue what would happen to a woman if I as much as saw her twice and remembered her name? You don't wanna know. You have no idea what they could do to you to get to me'.

'Who is they?'

'Do you remember the man in black, on the shorter side, talking to me?'

'The one who didn't look like he was from New Orleans? Yes. So what?'

'He nearly killed my woman two years ago. I mean, mine back then. I've had to stay away from her ever since. I didn't expect him to walk into that joint of all places, but I couldn't let him see you, could I? I can't have feelings for anyone. At least I'm not supposed to, but looks like I haven't been good at keeping tabs on myself'.

His left thigh is bleeding heavily, blue jeans quickly turning brown.

'Do you need any help with that?' he gestures towards the dead alligator.

'I need help with that, come on', I point towards his fresh wound. As reason comes back to me, seeing it makes me feel all cut up with a knife and I find myself crying like mad, tears literally streaming down my face, as Dean puts his arms around me talking some trash or other. There, it's alright, it's really alright, there, stop, it's alright.

'You're stuck with me again, aren't you?' he asks when we make it to my house.

'Looks like'. I avoid looking at him.

'Hey listen. I really could get a shag in Cleveland or Minnesota or anywhere if I wanted one, there would be no need to drive to New Orleans. I could save money on gas for example, you know I don't exactly bathe in 100 dollar bills.' As he speaks I feel a delicious poignant lightness in my lungs, every inch of my body starts dancing motionlessly to his words. I kneel before the bed to pull off his shoes and then his jeans to treat the wound and wash off the stain before it settles.

'Forgive me', I venture tentatively, as I peel off the denim as carefully as I can so as not to hurt him. There is so much blood I can't see the teethmarks, 'that was…'

'Over the top, yeah, but I have to admit it's cool I was worth all that alligator campaign'. I look up to see one of those smirks of his I will remember him by one day.

10

Last night I told her about the tablet. She listened without interrupting, eyes getting moist now and again. When I finished she buried her face in my shirt, stroking the back of my neck. I was on the verge of believing in God, no one else could have possibly sent that girl my way. The wound is gone or thereabouts, at any rate it hurts very little. There is a cup of water on the floor by the bed Misty must have left for me. I put on my jeans still with traces of blood on them and still a bit damp despite being left overnight. Must be the swamp air.

The sky is greyish blue, the sun glowing through a mass of clouds like a pale yellow gas lamp.

Misty is walking about the garden dressed in one of those flowing green dresses humming something I presume to be a Fleetwood Mac song I don't know, stopping to talk to the herbs, then humming again. My body starts throbbing like crazy with tenderness and longing. Just watching her is driving me mad already, having to leave her again is driving me mad. I walk up to her. She stands straight giving me the look of a cat, surprised and half-expectant, but not by any means pleading. I don't remember ever biting on my lips this hard. At last I manage a hoarse 'hey'. She nods.

'I don't know what to say…' This is insane. She's got me stammering. I am looking at her, can't take in enough of her, her clavicles beneath a chaos of necklaces, her mouth gone pale, her hands with tiny lumps of dirt all over them. She looks like one of those ghosts of girls once beautiful, God knows when, as if she was about to fade into thin air. 'I want you to know I really wish I could take you somewhere, give you some home or other, but all I have is that car and a pile of guns. If you wanna close this door so you could meet someone else and have a family and all…'

'A family with whom?' she interrupts me almost violently. 'What would I do among people who burned me alive and would do it over and over? Don't ever talk to me about this again.' She picks up a watering can from the ground and shoves it against me, looking past me. 'Here, I need more water'.

She seems calmer when I come back.

'I can talk to you about whatever it is you want to talk about,' I venture tentatively.

'Fine.' she replies deadpan, focused on watering the flowers. 'I fixed the alligator.'

'Great news.' Too late to bite my tongue I guess. The joke is lame and lost on her.

'Look at my angelica, isn't it beautiful?' she points at some plant that looks every bit like any other plant, her fingers stroking fluffy off white flowers, her skin looking ever so much whiter. 'I wasn't sure it would be fine, it didn't feel so good a couple of days ago, but now it's looking quite happy'.

Well, at least the angelica is happy if no one else is, what can I say? She tilts the watering can to wash her hands. Then I follow her inside. She puts her music on and starts making the bed, barely acknowledging my presence. She rings like a bell through the night, wouldn't you love to love her?

'Do you want me to go?'

She walks up towards me, pressing her face into my chest. I carefully lift up her chin leaning down to kiss her, stroking my nipples with her hand. This only lasts a few minutes. I must have come from just kissing her. Yesterday must have been too wild a ride or something, so it was kind of fast, and yet it was deliciously violently sweet too, like that God of hers was holding us in his hand. My knees bend, I kiss her through the dress all over the place, pull up her skirt getting lost in the pleats, it feels like years of doing this to girls were all for the sake of doing it to this one. She is pulling on my hair with both hands asking if I'm sure I wanna do this as my tongue and fingers come apart with all the longing and love. Soon she drops into my arms whispering 'Oh God'. We stay there for a while, drunk on the smell of saliva, cum and sweet herbs. My miracle of the swampland, I just wish I could give you ever so much more.

11

He told me to get all my Fleetwood Mac tapes and drove me west. I passed out in the front seat to wake up many hours later. As I open my eyes, I see a postcard sunset the size of the windshield right in front of me and immediately look left. It is insane how lonely I felt in my sleep knowing he is not there to be with me wherever I was.

'I figured I'd better wait for you to wake up so you could see the desert,' he says wistfully scanning the horizon. Then he turns to me opening a bottle of water which he offers me. My throat is insanely dry, and as I drink, carelessly spilling refreshing splashes over my dress, I feel like every thirst of mine is going away for good. The one I love is right there next to me watching me.

'Dean, can I get out to take a look?'

'That was the idea. Come on,' he replies leaning down to kiss my shoulder.

The two-lane road is totally empty. I am standing taking in the sand and the rattlesnakes. Dean is barely surprised when I signal one of them to come near us, pick it up and look it in the eye.

'Never thought I could end up this way with a witch,' he says at length, observing me as I keep playing with the snake. 'I wish I could take your picture to look at. But hell, my phone could fall into anyone's hands and you know what.'

The lampshades in our motel room are red. I sit down on the bed feeling sleepy again, why in the world do I feel like drifting off when I should be seizing every waking second by his side? Dean comes through like a hazy vision, taking off his grey t-shirt with a half-smile, making himself seen, letting my eyes roam all over him, and then I'm not sleepy anymore. I get hold of his wrists drawing him towards me, pulling his hands towards the buttons of my dress as they get to work. I wonder if we both rose from the dead several times just so this could happen after God knows who else made love on these same sheets in the middle of nowhere.
The night before we got to LA he won $500 at darts and took me to a hotel in West Hollywood. I heard the reception girls say 'must be good to be a superstar, no one cares what you wear' as we turned to go up to the room.

We then drove to see the ocean, and I came apart at the seams crying, it was so immense and so beautiful, an immense dark blue living thing that radiated love. I couldn't contain it anymore, as Dean held me close muttering 'hey' about twenty times. I couldn't contain that either, sensing the skin I love through a thin layer of checked cotton fabric.

12

I can't bail out anymore when Sammy calls implying I had better get myself elsewhere, looks like this little getaway is coming to an end. I drive Misty back to Louisiana as she sings along to Fleetwood Mac. I have to admit she could have a much worse favourite band than that, so I can more or less live with it. Before I go we take one last walk around New Orleans, knowing that's gonna be it for god knows how long. As we pass by a church, we can hear some bits of sermon, a service must be on. I can feel her hand lingering in mine and falling behind, as if she wanted to stay and listen. So we loiter outside the doors, as the minister or whatever he is reads from the Bible.

'Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you: for where you go, I will go; and where you lodge, I will lodge: your people shall be my people, and your God my God: Where you die, will I die, and there will I be buried: the LORD do so to me, and more also, if anything but death parts you and me.'

I had no clue that book had bits like this in it. Somehow every word comes like a kick in the teeth. I was happy to give up, I really was. I was cool not to settle down with anyone, cool to put that part of life on the shelf indefinitely. Cool to walk away from it all so I could do what I have to do and not ruin anyone else's life. And then chance shoved her into my arms, this frail weirdness I had no right to make mine. I should have walked away from her when I still could, gone away for good the first time after she fixed me. And now look at this mess I've got both of us into.

All of a sudden I realise she has seen me biting on my lower lip, this time so bad it starts bleeding. It's better if she knows how I feel this way, there sure is no way in hell I could tell her. She has no people and I have no God. And what beautiful things we could give birth to if I could let myself do that kinda thing to any woman in the world.

13

I don't want him to feel sorry he can't be with me the way everyone else ends up together, he must have enough on his plate as is. And yet there he is, suddenly in shreds again for this very reason. I fancy a walk, so we say good-bye in the middle of the city, as it gets darker and all sorts of signs light up, bars and laundromats and junk food places inviting everyone in but us because we don't need anything. 'It really is alright you know', I venture unconvincingly. 'I knew what I signed up for, and I'm not walking away if you're not. None of this is your fault'. He pulls me towards him stroking my shoulders, then leaves with just another 'see you around'. I walk home in a trance chanting entreat me not to leave you like mad not loud enough for anyone to hear.

As I enter my room, before anything I see a plump black figure against the window. Last time I didn't take a proper look, but I instantly recognise him. It's the man Dean didn't want to lay eyes on me. Yet here he is doing just that, dressed in black, feet in shoes too perfectly polished for the swampland.

'Misty Day? They said that's what they call you.'

'That's right,' I retort nonchalantly, somehow figuring out it's better not to lie whenever I can. The next thing I know is that he holds out a picture of Dean (looking good as usual) for me to see with a gesture perhaps too expressly eloquent.

'Have you seen him?'

'Yeah, he's been around,' I am trying to sound as disinterested as I can, which comes along alright seeing how little sleep I've had for the past few nights. 'Why? Are you from the police or something?'

'You could put it that way I suppose. Would you mind answering a couple of questions?'

'No, not at all, whatever I can do.'

'Are you sure it's him?'

'You don't quite forget a face like this, do you?'

'Mmmm… I think not. And how do you know him?'

'We met in town. The name is James something. Or so he said.' I look up to meet his drilling stare. I can't remember getting worse vibes than now.

'Are you involved with… James?'

'We met two or three times, last time a couple of weeks ago.' I shrug as matter-of-factly as I can, my viscera leaping to my throat.

'Oh yes that's typical Squirrel for you, he just can't walk past a blonde with a decent rack, I wonder how many he has… made feel good.'

I know he knows. I could bet my life he does. Knowing he is watching every muscle of my face for signs of anxiety with those eyes of a disgusting shade of blue, I am struggling not to shudder and to breathe calmly.

'He didn't say where he was headed?'

'No, don't reckon.' I pause, then add: 'We didn't talk much to be honest.'

As he scans my room, to my horror I realise there is Dean's pale red shirt hanging in the corner. At least it's dry.

'Is that his? Looks like it could be.'

'No clue. I know someone left it behind not so long ago, but I don't remember whose it is. I could list at least five names but you don't care to know do you?'

'That's alright I'll let you have your privacy.'

'Mmmm that's it then.' I force a coy smile out of myself. I don't know anymore where the strength to do it all is coming from. 'Sorry I couldn't be of more help. Maybe you could leave me your card so I could call you if there's anything I remember?'

'Of course,' He rummages through his pockets. 'Oh how inconvenient, I've run out of cards. Perhaps I should drop in on you again, sweetheart, if I can think of something I forgot to ask.'

'Yeah sure feel free to.' I manage I don't know how.

Before leaving, he turns around one more time pointing at Stevie's photo on my wall.

'And oh, Stevie Nicks is sublime, isn't she? A nice taste in music you've got. How did that one go?

You didn't mean to meet her you cry

Oh but the sun goes down every night

She came to you when you were alone

And yes she matters to you

'Isn't it just divine?'

'Yeah that's a good one,' I smile and nod, completely unaware what I'm doing anymore, on the verge of throwing up. He isn't looking for Dean, he's been checking how close we are. I wonder if he bought anything I said. Either way, he'll be zeroing in. Or he could just gamble when the moment seems right. Once on my own at last, I sink onto the floor holding on to Dean's shirt, shaking and over the edge.

This love is killing him. He'll die and I won't find him to bring him back, I could walk all over America on foot without ever finding him. Then a fleeting thought passes through my head and suddenly my mind is quite made up.

It gets less easy to do what is right when Dean shows up on my doorstep ten days later saying he got away for a bit. 'For a very little bit, but still.' I nearly throw myself against him, agony firmly taking hold of me. I just want to feel that honey-golden sweetness once again, for one more instant at least. No, one more. I can feel his fingers tangling my hair, stroking my lower eyelids with brushing cherishing movements. I am doing the right thing, God, am I not? He is so not mine to keep and I can't let go of him, I can't let go of him so bad, I can feel my body shivering convulsively with vexation and fear as my half-open mouth is trying to memorise his skin and whatever it chaotically finds itself against.

'Hey what's gotten into you? Is anything wrong?' This low voice of his is touching me right between my lungs again, flowing through my body like treacle.

'Are you thirsty?' I bring myself to saying. 'I've made some cold herbal tea, curious what you think.' I almost shove the cup into his hands. He is not exactly an iced tea person after all.

'I'll be right back, I just need to check on my angelica, it's not well again. And do drink it, seems quite refreshing', I ramble on hoping I come across natural enough.

'Whatever you say, sweet thing, as long as you come back,' he replies cheerfully. In the doorway I look back. He is standing in the middle of my room, the sun shining from behind. Eyes wide open, pulsing and glowing. 'Because of me,' something inside me says bitterly. Please, God, help me walk into the garden, walk into forest, walk away from him, anywhere.

And so I walk, shutting the door behind me, counting the seconds. Hiding behind trees I am watching my door. Soon Dean lets himself out. I watch him going in the direction of the road with that walk of his, like he doesn't care about a single thing in the world. I follow him soundlessly, biting on my forearm to distract myself from the pain, making sure he leaves. There's no need to look away, he'll soon be gone. He gets in his car and starts the engine. Then he tosses something out of the window and drives off. When I approach I recognise my tape. Thank God the tea worked. His memory has been wiped clean of me. My forearm is bleeding. Instantly mosquitoes rush towards me by the dozen to feed on me.

14

Fleetwood bloody Mac my ass. How did it even end up in my stereo? Ok let's roll. Weird I can't remember what in the world I lost in that shack, I never black out, even when I drink too much. Yeah that's it. I took the wrong turn and that place somehow seemed safe so I stayed for the night instead of looking for a room. I reach out for my tapes, putting on the first one I happen upon. I was in New Orleans, working apparently. Yeah, that nutter Martin going after Benny, it all makes sense. I reach out for my tapes, grabbing the first one I happen upon and put it on. There. So much better.

I have heard this song roughly a billion times I guess. And yet for the first time it really disturbs me, as if something was twitching at the back of my brain and I can't place it or identify it even though I want to because somehow I seem to know it's important, it can't be a random nothing.

Angel you came to my window

Angel you came to my door
I was a fool and let you in
I sure ain't no fool anymore

Somehow it sounds like a déjà vu, or well not "already seen", more like "already lived" or "felt", but I can't remember ever feeling that way or living through anything like it. Not Cas to be sure, besides I will always end up letting him in and dealing with whatever crap crops up as a direct result. Why does it even stay on my mind, making me do one thing I have never been good at – over-analyze?

This is when Mick Ralphs kicks in on his les paul, I have always loved the raw power of this bit, I especially dig it when it coincides with the beginning of an interstate. As I push the accelerator, this weird half-haunting feeling subsides, leaving me in perfect intimacy with the road, no third party interfering with us. I must have imagined knowing that feeling, come on, how could it have happened to me? The sweetness of it would still be making me melt, and this is not happening, not to me. No, it doesn't come back. I knew it wouldn't.

As I stop at a gas station to grab a drink and a couple of magazines (angel you came to my window indeed… this kind of angels are the only ones I can afford anyway, not financially, but in every other way) who should I bump into but Crowley? Feeling completely shattered god knows why I approach putting on my i-don't-give-a-damn-about-anything face just in case.

'Having a bad day, Squirrel?'

'Running into you officially makes it bad.'

'As for me, I am having a misty day. At any rate my most trusted assistant is about to arrange for a very misty day to grace a certain secret location equipped with the most delicious torturing devices… So I was wondering if we could perhaps discuss the terms?' He gives me one of those disgusting leers and raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

Whiskey tango foxtrot. What is he on? Do his kind even get high?

'Do you have anything of importance to discuss? Because I am not in the mood to talk about weather, here or wherever.' I snap ready to leave.

His expression changes from mean to psycho-uncontrollably-violently-mean as he punches the counter spilling candy all over the floor.
Yeah, he's definitely on something. Rolling my eyes, I pay for my stuff and leave. Misty days, weather talk - that was kind of way over the top.

15

What did Dean say? That this man could rip me into pieces by snapping his fingers? I manage to take a couple of breaths as he approaches, already looking me in the eye with a disgusting tinge of mockery. His mouth is the essence of contempt and conceit. I am so accustomed to dying I forgot how to imitate fear of death. When he leaves my pieces will crawl together and I'll be whole in a few days. Whatever herbal tea Dean didn't finish will have gone mouldy by then, the possibility of oblivion that I'll toss into the swamp. I hope Stevie's tape is within reach when I come round, I don't want to lose it. I hope it doesn't rain either so it's not ruined. Funny how such minor things trouble my mind. That shirt back at my place looks so good on him. The LORD do so to me, and more also, if anything but death parts you and me. He was like sunshine to me, I wonder if anyone around him knows how much sunshine is locked in that tortured frame of his, it kept flooding all over me like glowing golden sweetness.

The gentleman in black stops right in front of me. He slightly raises his eyebrows and speaks. I hate the all-knowing irony in his voice and keep praying to whoever can hear me and do this much for me, make sure this monstrous man doesn't find out what I am, presuming me dead the second he's done with me. His voice reminds me of fur by some magic capable of turning into the sharpest of knives at no prior notice.

'I can't even start imagining what fun it will be to see you in hell and in pain', - he says very quietly.

PS: I don't own the few lines from songs quoted herein, which are as follows 'Ready for love' by Bad Company (ch.4), 'Travelling Riverside Blues' by Led Zeppelin (ch.6), 'The Edge of Seventeen' by Stevie Nicks (ch.7), 'Rhiannon' by Fleetwood Mac (ch.10), 'Kind of Woman' by Stevie Nicks (ch.13) and 'Deal with the Preacher' by Bad Company (ch.14).