My attempt at flash fiction. Let me know what you think. I love Jimmy's character and would love to work with him some more, I think :)

Beige

Jimmy Novak wasn't special.

Jimmy was the first person to acknowledge that. He was just Jimmy. Jimmy who sold ad time for radio on weekdays, went to the grocery store on Saturdays, went to church on Sundays. Jimmy who wore a tie to work and worked nine till five. Jimmy who lived in a normal suburban Chicago house with a garden. Jimmy who went on a small vacation for a week every July with his family. Jimmy who prayed every night to be safe and to be happy, and nothing more. And that was what he was.

What Jimmy Novak was, in effect, was ordinary. What he wasn't was adventurous, or inclined to question, or interested in anything slightly foreign beyond the occasional Chinese takeout. No. That sort of thing was for other people, not Jimmy, not Amelia, and not Claire.

If his life was a colour, it would probably have been beige, or cream, or one of those neutrals that designers always use in hallways – the kind that's nice enough to be acknowledged, but not enough to be memorable.

But the thing was, Jimmy Novak was content with this beige existence of wake up, work, eat, sleep. Nothing strange ever happened, and that meant safe. That meant comfort. That meant normal, and that was enough. There are some men who seek out action and adventure and adrenaline, and that was all well and good, it was just he wasn't one of them. He loved his wife, he loved his daughter. Life was beige, but life was good.

But then Castiel arrived, and the beige exploded into yellow. No, not yellow – scarlet. Bright, blinding, inescapable crimson. That voice; head burstingly loud yet mind numbingly quiet, so incredibly far away yet right there in his ear, a million leagues deep yet higher than the stars. A voice that rang with the fury of a thousand bells, but made his heart swell in exhilaration every time it called.

The first time was through the TV late at night, and he had fallen, shaking, his rolling eyes seeing a madman's masquerade of colours before he blacked out. When he came to, he thought he'd lost his mind. But then beige came back with breakfast, and he tried to forget about it.

Thing was, it didn't go away. He'd be at work, when –

James.

James Novak.

James.

Over and over from everywhere and nowhere. No one seemed to be work it out – just a faulty dial connection, a sudden loss of signal, aw-crap-the-TV's-bust. And Jimmy tried to listen. Because it couldn't be what it seemed to be. Angels? Demons? Chosen? It was all too… blinding.

And then, finally, contact.

James Novak. Echoing through the radio near the cooker. You have been chosen. That was when beige lost its appeal.

What was this mundane, apple pie, normal life, when compared with the Higher Beings? What was Jimmy's life, when compared with Castiel? What was beige, when compared with gold?

And then Amelia had found him, arm in the boiled water; screaming, panicking, hysterical, and yet Jimmy had never felt so calm. Was this peace? Or was it just truth? He'd tried explaining, that this was his chance, his opportunityto be more than just Jimmy. More than what he was. He could be all he could imagine, serve the greatest purpose anyone could imagine. He could serve God. Amelia told him he was Jimmy Novak. He was nothing special, not like that. He was crazy, delusional.

And then it all went wrong. Beige shattered. She threatened to leave. She almost left. She told him to leave. There was... nothing. Just black. So Jimmy turned to what he had come to know. He needed something. Anything. The yellow, the crimson, the gold. The – blue?

"Castiel?"