I watched without moving, catching my breath as angels fell out of the darkened sky, burning golden light as I yearned to reach out and touch them. They were stars bursting from the heavens, beautiful and bright, losing their wings and gaining a humanity I knew they never wanted.
The inky midnight blue was lit up with the glow of the angels, a waiting in the air though awe filled my mind. It was lovely, and sad. It was never meant to happen this way, and I called out to the world around me that if I could just stop time . . .
. . . but the moment was not rightfully mine, and the radiance of falling before my eyes took my heart and its last song, for the sky was not well and neither was I.
I also had the down-putting suspicion I was dreaming.
I opened my eyes.
"Dang it," I said aloud.
As it turns out, I was, in fact, dreaming. Darn it.
I crawled out of the big bed and staggered over to the door.
Then I fell right through the carpeted floor. Onto some guy who really should not have been standing under me. Or he could have at least had the decency to be comfortable, but nooo. It was like falling on . . . on . . . something, but I tell you, it definitely wasn't a soft something.
I lay there for a stunned moment before pushed myself up, swaying only slightly before catching my balance. I then turned slowly to stare into the shocked hazel eyes of one Sammy Winchester.
I stared at his beautiful face in awe. "Pretty."
There was a moment of silence.
Then I said, "I'm not in Kansas anymore, am I, Toto?"
I looked down at Dean Winchester, the poor, unfortunate victim on whom I'd fallen and watched as he staggered upright.
Very suddenly, I had the attention of three trained hunters and, much less thrillingly, three loaded guns.
No one blinked. Truthfully, it was getting a bit creepy.
I held up my hands in surrender. "Whoa. Are those guns in your pockets or are ya'll just happy to see me?"
"Who are you?" Dean demanded.
I raised an eyebrow. "Buddy, I'm the queen of worlds. They call me the Boss, the Chief, the Big Bad Biscuit, and Better Than Cheesy French Fries."
I heard Bobby snort.
"How did you get here?" Sam interrupted before Dean could say something rude.
"I plummeted from a wooden land upon waking from my deepened rest, slicing through dimensions and years that I couldn't see."
"Yeah, now say that in English," Bobby said.
"I fell through the floor of my bedroom trying to get to the door and ended up here," I translated. "You wouldn't have happened to see someone else come through, would you? She'd have the same eyes as me, be a few inches taller, shorter hair, but her wit is as sharp as mine. Sometimes. I mean, there's just those days, y'know? You insult your sibling, they insult you back, it turns into an all-out war and suddenly you're five years old again. Except with less maturity."
"Right . . ." Sam said, obviously rethinking my supposed sanity.
Who told him I had any in the first place?
I turned to Dean. "Dude," I advised, "you should try chimichangas sometime instead of all those pies and burgers. Seriously. They're better than getting laid."
Sam frowned. "You're only at least sixteen years old."
"Fifteen. Yah. That's how I know. Virgins who don't care will think of thousands of things that're better than getting laid. For them, at least. Once they do it, they're ruined forever. Innocence lost to the whims of a godforsaken society."
"You like drama, don't you?" Dean said.
"Who doesn't?" I replied. "I mean, jeez, it's like a drug. Once you're addicted, there's almost no going back. Except for you, Sam. You've got, like, less drama in your soul than a badly cooked meatloaf."
His expression seemed lost. "Meatloaf?"
"You've never seen a badly cooked meatloaf, have you? I tell ya, they practically drain all the fun right outta you. You can hear them screaming faintly, their tiny voices going 'Help, help! I'm badly cooked! Kill me now, world! Kill me nooow!'"
"Okay, wait," Sam interrupted me. "Look, who are you?"
I gave him a thumbs-up. "Lizzy 'Lost-My-Mind-In-The-Garbage-Disposal' Awesome, at your greatly attractive service."
Sam let out a small laugh. "Okay, Lizzy, where are you from?"
"A dimension where you and Deany-boy over there are characters in a TV show," I answered.
Dean groaned. "Not that one."
I pointed a finger at him. "Yes, that one, Dean-o. You're immensely gorgeous and I am enamored with your studly jaw."
"Uh, right. Well, do you know how to get back?" Sam said over Dean's "What?".
I snorted. "Dude, if I knew, I'd be long-gone by now. Except I wouldn't, because how many people get an opportunity like this? Nah, I'd be long-gone . . . sometime later, but definitely long-gone and I'd never, ever come back 'cause deep down I'm really my sister's flunky and those monsters ya'll face are very, very scary. Very scary."
"Okay," Sam said slowly, "that could be a problem."
"Small problem." I held up my thumb and index finger, spacing them inches apart. "Very small. Long as I've got my beautiful boys, I'll be fine."
"Your 'boys?" Sam asked.
"You guys!" I cheered.
"Us? You want to come with us?"
"Where else am I gonna go? Stay with Bobby? Okay, maybe. I'd likely only annoy him, though. But, Sam," I said, looking into his eyes, "I'm not good. I'm not brave. I'm basically useless, aside from what I know of the future. And that . . . well, I can't tell you. But I promise you, I'm going to change this. Okay? You, Sam. You don't deserve what's going to happen. Dean doesn't deserve it. Bobby definitely doesn't deserve it, and Castiel . . . he just wants to be able to do something. He wants to help. He wants to make everything better. Who here doesn't? But I don't like it. Castiel is just too powerful. Things will happen along the way. As I do this, I'm not certain what lies ahead of us. But I'm not going to just sit back and watch it happen because I'm afraid. 'Kay? 'Kay." I sat back, satisfied. "Also, I'm going to change the tunes on your car. Baby could use some different music once in a while, and despite what I think is great taste, I don't know the lyrics to any of it. I need to sing, Dean, I need to be wild and free. So whaddaya say? We have a deal?"
We didn't have a deal.
"C'mon, Dean," I complained from the back seat of the Impala. "You can't do this to me. I'm like a beggar starving for food. Except I want my music instead. I promise I won't put on any terribly girly songs. I know plenty of bands that aren't girly. Please?"
"No. No way am I letting you change my music."
"You could turn off the music and I could just sing what I want," I suggested.
He snorted. "No."
"Sam," I complained, turning to my last resort. My eyes filled with tears and my lips trembled.
As I expected, he quailed, giving in to the terrible effect of my adorableness.
"Dean, just let her sing what she wants, all right?"
"My hero," I said, looking at him adoringly.
"Sammy, you can't tell me you're falling for this," Dean argued. "She's a con, you know that."
"I give candy to the poor and beat up the rich," I said, deadpan.
Dean snorted.
"Why can't we all be friends?" I sang.
Dean pointed at me. "No."
"When we're together, we're stronger, when we're alone, the hours seem longer . . ."
He threw something at me.
I gasped. "I was just singing for you!"
"Sing for someone else."
"But I'm so cute," I protested. "How can you deny THIS?" I gestured at my face.
"Very, very easily," he told me.
I shrank back, giving him a wounded look. "You have no heart."
"Thank God."
"I think your brother needs a hug, Sam," I murmured, straightening up. "Heck, who doesn't? C'mon, brotherly love, man. Be a pal."
"Don't you dare," Dean warned Sam.
"I wanna get you guys alive t'gether," I said. "I want ya'll to burn bright like you did before. I want you to catch each other as you fall, and pull yourselves up before you hit the ground and break into the pieces, sharp and cracked, that will make you up and save you all."
"What does that even mean?" Dean muttered.
I looked at him. "It means I want you both to slowly draw each other to the light." I smiled, knowing they wouldn't understand the importance of what I was saying, and what it later meant at the end of the trials to Sam, and then to Dean. "The one at the end of the tunnel. The light called hope, and faith. Belief and life. The one that calls you to stand up and not drown. The one that blinds you and then revives you, keeping you in well mind. The one that I'm telling you about all sage and Zen and awesome an' stuff 'cause I know my goodies and you should really listen to me so's I don't have to get Bobby to beat on you guys until you finally get it, which you still aren't so I should really get his phone number."
There was a moment of silence.
"You're worse than Sam," Dean accused.
"Yes," I said triumphantly.
And that was the end of it.
"So are ya'll still bitter over Papa Winchester?" I asked over breakfast. Waffles, yum.
Dean choked on his hamburger and Sam nearly drowned himself with his glass of water.
"I'm just asking," I said mildly. "It's not like I asked for the details of doing the bedroom boogie with Ruined-Your-Life Ruby."
If I continued on with this, someday I'd give them both heart attacks.
"Nevermind," I said dismissively. "Of course you're still bitter. I mean, dude. S'not like he just keeled over from too much baked beans." I paused. "Does he eat baked beans? Are they good in tacos? Wait, I'm getting away from the topic. The point is, I like chili and rice. And cheese. It's even better with cheese. Who doesn't like cheese? It's like a universal thing. It just doesn't happen. You can't not like cheese."
They were staring at me. Had I said something wrong?
"Not that I have anything against people who don't like cheese," I soothed. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll find a kindred spirit one day who doesn't have a fondness for cheese, either."
They ignored me. I had a feeling I was going to have to get used to that.
"You find anything?" Dean asked Sam.
Sam unfurled a newspaper and handed it to his brother.
"'Man attacked by his own toothbrush holder'," Dean read aloud. "Okay . . . that's definitely something you don't see every day."
"Think it could be a ghost?" I asked, wolfing down my food like it's going out of style. Which it did. About nine-hundred years ago.
"Yeah, mayb-"
"Dean."
They both jumped. I started to suffocate on the waffle stuck in my throat. Eventually, one of my flailing limbs caught my glass of water and I dumped it in my mouth, slapping my chest with my free hand.
No one noticed. What was I, invisible or something? Why did no one see my waffle-induced anguish?
"Damn it, Cas," Dean cursed. "What have I told you? You can't just suddenly appear like that."
"I apologize, Dean." He paused and looked at me. "Who is this?"
I gave him a pinkie wave as I dabbed at the water currently soaking into the shirt Dean had lent me. "Lizzy Awesomesauce, your fluffy-winged greatness. I promise you, I'm not trying to steal Dean's affections." I ignored Dean as he choked again. "I think I'm more likely to get beaten up, actually."
I watched delightedly as the Angel tilted his head. "Why would Dean want to hurt you?"
"He wouldn't," I assured him. "I'm just amazing that way. I'm like a good chocolate shake. You just can't give it up."
Castiel watched me for a moment before turning to Dean. "Dean, I have come to inform you that the demon Ysabelle wants you and Sam for her own."
"Like faithful puppies," I cheered.
I got Looks.
"You must work at that," I told them. "Ya'll 're naturals."
"Why does she want us?" Dean asked, frowning.
"She seems to think that you are 'adorable and studly'," Cas quoted.
Dean and Sam stared at him.
"It's true," I sighed. "What you could do with faces like yours."
Then they stared at me.
"It's not my fault you're the secret chicken pot pies of my heart," I defended. Then I added, "You, too, Cas. You're the Hotpocket of my soul."
They didn't seem reassured. I wondered if they picked up on my subtle flirting techniques.
I patted the seat beside me. "Sit down, Cas. Have a waffle. Have tea. Have something. Anything. You can even have me," I volunteered. "I mean. We'll probably end up in a hardcore round of Go Fish, but you can still have me. If you want. Even if you don't want. I'll be your shield, baby."
Cas looked confused. Dean and Sam looked at me like I was some kind of fascinating creature they'd never seen before. Heck, I probably was.
I smiled at my group of brokenhearted heroes.
The survivor, who needed so much to be needed.
The good man, who needed peace and caused conflict.
The soldier angel, who needed to help but didn't know how.
"What an ironic world this is," I said.
The three fighters of war looked at me.
I held up a small, pale green box. "Mint?"
Once I said that, I had to explain what a mint was to Cas by way of saying, "It freshens your breath."
And then I had to tell him how breath can be freshened.
I smiled, and I laughed, and I wished I could soothe them all, but I settled instead for binding their wounds and hoping that their scars wouldn't be cut open to bleed once more.
And then I pushed my mind to rest in a certain way that I could move through what would come, because nothing would ever be the same again and if I just existed in this mindset, I could still be myself at the end of it.
I pointed at my plate. "Who wants to give my waffle a syrup moustache?"
None of them wanted to give my waffle a syrup moustache.
