Demon Hunt

ONE

DEAN WINCHESTER

One year. It's been on year since Metatron, the mega-douche angel, cast down all the angels unto Earth. He took a heart from a Nephilim, an angel-human baby; a boy from a cupid; and the grace of an angel, who just so happened to be my best friend, Castiel. It's been one year, and we had to cope with all the angels roaming about. We couldn't do anything to stop it. There was no way to stop it, either. The Trials were over for Sam, and his - what do you call it? - illness was cured. Cas had to learn to be human. Everything was . . . good. And by good, I mean, bad. Terrible. I'm trying to lift my spirits up, but it's hard teaching a grown-ass-man how to use the restroom - since Cas never ate or drank. It was also hard to hear the crying and sobbing all night. I mean, I don't blame the man; I would be crying too if my family fell from the clouds. And he kept on waking up, screaming, waking up the entire bunker. Again, I don't blame the man.

After six months of crying and sobbing and nightmares and screaming, he finally . . . coped. Like nothing ever happened. But you could tell . . . something did happen. He carried a heavy weight on his shoulders, and his face had said that he'd seen too much shit. Basically, if I saw him on the street the way he was, I would run away.

After about eight months, we started teaching Cas how to be a Hunter. He learned the basics: Cut a vampire's head off; shoot or stab a shifter with a silver bullet or blade to the heart; shoot a werewolf with a silver bullet; etc. Cas became . . . quite good. Just not as good as Sam and me - we're the best.

So where were we twelve months after the angels fell from Heaven?

"Dean! Sam! I think I found a case!" Cas screamed from the library of the bunker of the Men of Letters. My eyes fluttered open, and I dreaded it the minute I did so. Why did Cas wake up so freaking early? Why couldn't he let me sleep?

I heard footsteps approaching my room - I liked the sound of that: MY ROOM - and I sat up straight, scratching my head. Cas ran in. "Did you hear? I think I found something!"

"That's good for you Cas, that's . . . really . . . Is there breakfast?" I asked.

Cas's blue eyes twinkled under the light. "Um . . . there's pie."

"Pie? Like pie pie?" I asked, suddenly wide awake, getting out of the memory foam mattress (it remembers me!).

"I pretty sure there is no pie flavored pie, Dean," Cas said, looking extremely confused. He knitted his eyebrows and stared directly at me. "Are you on something?"

"What?" I was bewildered by the question.

"I read online that acting weird may be because you're on something. Are you on something? And what is a something? Is it a drug? An alcoholic drink?" Cas said this very fast.

"No . . . no Cas," I said. "I thought you were smart."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, never mind." I walked to the door and turned to Cas. "What kind of pie?"

"Apple."

I smiled. "Apple pie for breakfast. Awesome."

I walked out of the room and into the kitchen - the gigantic, beautiful, luxurious kitchen. I made hamburgers for Sam and I here. I made Sam's soup when he was doing the Trials here. I made Cas some welcome-to-the-human-life-you're-gonna-have-a-shit ty-time cookies here. I loved this kitchen. I looked across the room and saw the pie in a glass case. I walked to it, rubbing my hands, smiling ear to ear. I opened the case and took out the pie. I sniffed. It smelled delicious. I found a knife across the counter and grabbed it. I cut myself a piece and placed it on a plate that appeared out of nowhere. Well, I might've seen it if I wasn't paying attention to the pie.

Pie.

I grabbed a fork from the drawer and made myself to the library. Sam was already up, his voluminous hair sticking up in places. He scratched his head. "Morning Dean."

"Sam." I sat down in front of him. "There's pie. Apple pie."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. Cas was all excited you were happy."

I looked up. "Of course he is. I am flawless when I'm happy." Then I took a piece from the pie and put in my mouth.

It was delicious.

"So. Case?" Sam asked. "Cas!" he shouted.

Cas ran in and sat next to me. He was staring at my pie. My pie. "Yes Sam?" Cas asked.

"The case?" Sam said.

"Oh, yes, um. . . ." He reached into his trench coat pockets and pulled out a newspaper. Sam grabbed it. Cas continued. "A young boy with the name of 'John Doe' - weird last name, by the way, and it's very common - was found on the sidewalk, lying down, muttering, 'Angels have fallen-" He stopped talking, looking remorseful, and then continued, "He is coming."

"Who is 'He'?" Sam asked.

"Do you think it's God?" I asked, taking another bite of the delicious pie. "Speaking of pie, where the hell did you get this one?"

"Do you like it?" Cas said.

"Hell yeah I do."

Cas blushed and looked down. "I made it."

I looked at Sam, who was looking just as I felt. Cas can bake? More importantly, he can back delicious pie? "How did you -" I started, but Cas interrupted.

"Well, I started by putting flour, salt, and sugar in a food processor -"

"We don't have a food processor," Sam stated.

Cas's face flushed. "The case," he hastily changed the subject. "Why haven't you asked where the case is?"

"Um . . . Castiel, where is the case?" Sam asked.

He smiled, and I felt extremely uncomfortable. "Los Angeles, California."

I looked up and smiled. "LA? Oh, haven't been there. This'll be fun." I smiled as I took another bite of the pie.

We packed into the Impala and drove for twenty hours. Finally arriving at LA, we found the nearest motel and dropped everything off there. The walls were red, and there were two twin beds. I grunted. Where was Cas supposed to sleep?

"Um . . . I'll, um, sleep on the chair," Cas said, pointing at the actually comfy-looking chair. I instantly felt bad, but felt impulsed not to say anything. Instead, I tried for a look of pity. I guess it worked; Cas returned it. I sat down on my bed.

"So when do we get to go to the beach?" I asked with a smile.

Cas looked up. "What does the beach have to do with the case, Dean?"

I frowned. "I. . . . I don't know." I looked at Sam who shrugged and took his laptop out of his bag and opened it. He walked to the mahogany table near the window and put the laptop down.

Cas and I gathered around him as he typed in his password. He then clicked Safari, but a pop-up came up, blaring: YOU NEED INTERNET TO ACCESS SAFARI. PLEASE CONNECT.

Sam gasped. "What?"

"What? What is it?" I pushed him.

"I usually have wi-fi, what the hell?" Sam said, exasperated.

"I know what the problem is," Cas said. "You usually have wi-fi when you need Internet."

Sam looked at me and I looked back. "You really are an airhead right now, aren't you?" I said. Cas looked down at his feet, and mumbled something that sounded like, "I made you pie."

I didn't reply and looked back at the laptop screen. "Connect to a server."

"I've never done that before," Sam said, pouting.

"Shut up, Sammy, and just connect to a server," I said, slamming my fist on the table. Cas and Sam jumped. "I did it for dramatic effect, Jesus."

"You know Jesus was just a man, right?" Cas said, matter-of-factly.

I looked at Sam, who looked just as exasperated as I felt. He's said this more than once, and made sure we replied more . . . than . . . once. Yes, I love Cas as a brother, but damn . . . the whole I-need-attention-because-I'm-no-longer-an-angel phase needed to end. I looked back at Cas, rolled my eyes, and looked back at the computer.

"So . . . did you connect?" I asked.

"Um . . . It's called 'Motel Wi-Fi for the Lonely.' I'm not lonely, am I?" Sam asked.

I paused. "This looks like a very bad sitcom with very forced jokes."

"Shut up."

Sam ended up connecting to the wi-fi a half-an-hour later, debating with Cas whether or not he was actually lonely. During that time, I decided to go to the closest fast food drive-thru and order a burger. They were so bad in a very good way. I came into the motel room to see Cas in the corner, his head down. I shook my head. When he did something wrong, we would send him to the corner. Since he knew no better, he would obey.

I kind of felt sorry for him.

"So, find anything?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I found the boy's real name. Angelo Heffer. He -"

"Angelo? Heffer? Angelo is short for D'Angelo, which means "from the angel"; it's Italian. Heffer is short for Heffernan, which is Irish, and after a couple of translations and origins, means 'demon,'" Cas said, really really fast.

"Wait . . ." I said. "His name is angelic, but also demonic. And Italian and Irish. Is it . . . Is what he is like an angel demon?"

"No, Dean, that's stupid," Cas said. "There's no such thing."

"Yeah, but was there, like, myths in Heaven, like Lucifer in Hell?" I asked.

"Well . . . I can't believe I forgot," Cas said, suddenly straightening up, having an epiphany. "I was told when I was very young, once, and I quote, 'They fall, a half demon, half angel shall arise. He will arise.'"

I looked at Sam, completely bewildered. "That's it?" he asked. "That's all you have?"

"Well . . . there was the fact that there was no way to stop him, no way to end him, no way to . . . to . . . send him back where he came from, but is it really important?" Cas asked.

My eyes widened in shock and I looked at Sam. "Of course not, Cas. Not telling us there's no way to kill a half-angel, half-demon is not important at all," I said sarcastically. "Of course it's important, you airhead!"

"Dean," Sam said, warning me. "That may not be it."

"Of course it's it!" I screamed. It was the only explanation.

"Castiel, are there other myths?" Sam asked, in his I'm-here-for-you-and-I'm-okay-with-any-other-myth voice. Okay, I know that isn't a good metaphor, but you understand what I meant, right?

Cas looked bewildered, then thought, then looked like he knew something. He shook his head, and looked up. "No. Nothing." But there was obviously something. Something he wanted to keep to himself. Something he didn't want out. Something he won't tell us.

I acted like I didn't notice, and I thought Sam did the same. I looked back at Sam. "What institution is he at?"

"Uh . . ." Sam looked at his computer screen. "'Cedars Sinai Psychiatry Department.'"

"And where is that?" Cas asked.

"Near Beverly Hills, why?" Sam asked.

"Because we're going right now."

I started towards the door, trying to stop Cas from leaving. "Woah, Cas. It's like . . ." I looked at my watch. "One A.M."

"So?" Cas said.

"'So'? 'So'? Everyone's a-friggin'-sleep!" I screamed.

"Isn't this the city that never sleeps?" Cas asked, suddenly confused.

"That's New York City, Cas."

"Oh . . . Then we'll wait for sunrise. Goodnight."

He walked to the comfy-looking chair and lay down, closing his eyes. I guess I'll go to sleep now. I walked to the bed to the right and lay down on it. My eyes suddenly felt heavy and I fell into a deep sleep.

Leviathan. Cas walking into water. Benny. Cas. Purgatory.

My eyes flew open, sweat dripping down my face, my heart pounding so hard, it felt like my rib cage would break and I would die . . . again. I sat up straight, only to realize the sun was out, and Cas was sitting upright, in the comfy-looking chair. There was a doughnut in his hand, and he took a bite. He looked up, saw me, smiled, and looked down.

"Good morning, Dean," he said.

"Um . . . did you go to Cedars?" I asked.

"Yes, I did."

"And?"

Cas stared off at the distance, as if he knew something no else knew. Then he shook his head looked at me, and said, "He kept repeating 'Angels have fallen. He is coming."

"Of course."

But I knew he was lying.

And I suddenly felt extremely estranged from Castiel for one of the only few times of my life.