Dear readers, I decided to try something a little different than my usual HP fiction. Enjoy this one, it'll be a long fic. x

01 – Fallen Angels

It was a strange night, when fire fell from the Heavens. A meteor shower, greater than anything Gilbert Turner had seen in an entire lifetime of star-gazing, rained down on earth above his farm and awoke him during the night. His wife, Marie, was already up and their bedroom window was open, letting in the light of what looked like hundreds of explosions across thousands of miles of sky.

Gilbert didn't take credit for being the only man who saw it happen - all across the US and probably further, people gave reports of having witnessed the phenomenon, an unexpected show of bright shooting stars. What made the night interesting for him, however, was that it came hand-in-hand with a second event of equal importance. An event that kept his friends asking him to repeat the tale over and over again on summer nights they spent smoking thick cigarettes and drinking whiskey in celebration of a long day's work. It was the night when a stranger wandered onto his property.

Forgetting the cold and the darkness, Gilbert and Marie had jumped out of bed simultaneously when they saw the meteor show and saw the other was awake. They grabbed their bathrobes and rushed to the window, not saying a word, not believing their eyes. It seemed too amazing to take in, an act of God saved for this particular moment, because Gilbert was filled with a sense of wonderment he thought Marie shared. They stayed together close, in awe.

"Look!"

A meteor crashed to the earth tens of miles away. Definitely crashed. Gilbert stared at it with an open mouth, trying to make sense of what it could mean.

"Are they all falling down?" he asked.

Marie didn't answer. She couldn't know for sure. Her eyes were transfixed to something else she had seen, a thin hand brought up to her lips.

"Gilbert!"

That's when he saw it. A silhouette on their lawn. Moving towards the house.

If the meteorite crashing down on no man's land hadn't knocked Gilbert's sense of wonderment and awe into panic, then spotting this stranger certainly did. It was as if he were only realising now that something was very wrong. Wetting his lips, Gilbert waited for the next explosion of a shooting star to illuminate the garden. The stranger was in their yard. He took this as reason enough to be scared.

"Stay back, Marie. I'll get my rifle..."

He lumbered across the room in haste to their wardrobe.

"What do you think's happening?" Marie asked him in a hushed voice. She switched on the bedroom light.

"I don't know," Gilbert admitted heavily, reaching for his gun, "but we're about to find out."

They headed downstairs. Marie was close at his heels, staring over his shoulder and over his rifle to the front door. They couldn't see anyone. Gilbert supposed the man could have walked around to the back. He was right.

There were footsteps moving across the creaky porch out back. Marie clutched at his shoulder, reaching into her own bathrobe for a hand-gun, but Gilbert motioned for her to be cautious. He switched on the living room light, making the footsteps outside pause. He headed for the back door in a moment of bravery, rifle first.

Outside on the porch, half-concealed in the shadow of their living room wall, was a man. Dressed in a long trench coat, he was unarmed. At the sight of Gilbert's loaded gun, he stopped dead, but didn't seem sure what was happening. He knew enough to stand still, at least. Gilbert tightened the grip on his gun.

"What's your business?" he demanded.

The man didn't respond.

"Your business, stranger. Step from the shadows."

The man still didn't answer, but did what was asked of him. He stepped forward to reveal that he was a stranger with messy hair and frightened eyes. He was breathing heavily, looking from Gilbert to Marie.

"Why are you here?" asked Gilbert less harshly. The man looked innocent enough.

"I... I believe I'm lost."

"Hands!"

The man brought his hands up, palms out. His brow was furrowed as if he were trying to work out what was happening.

"What's your name, stranger?"

The man struggled. He looked more uncomfortable with every passing moment. "I..."

"How did you get here?"

"I don't know."

Gilbert raised his rifle one last time. "I'm warning you, stranger. Men ain't kind in these parts. You're better off answering me."

He expected the intruder to be alarmed, to back away peacefully, to offer a few excuses and polite words, but he didn't. He stood stock still and the longer Gilbert stared, the more apparent it became to him that this man was broken. As meteors shot across the sky at hundreds of miles an hour, throwing fire in their wake, the man trembled where he stood, pained, panicked.

"Please," he urged, catching Gilbert off guard, "I... I don't know who I am."

Gilbert was surprised to find he felt guilty. Looking down the barrel of his rifle, into the grey face of this intruder, he saw shooting stars gleam in his pained, shining eyes. Perhaps it was because of the stars that Gilbert felt a sense of pity he rarely blessed any of the farmland animals with, nevermind the people. This man was a wreck.

Marie and Gilbert liked to consider themselves decent people. Honest folk. On top of that, they liked to say they'd take just about anyone into their home, assuming they didn't pose a threat, because everyone deserved a chance. From the look in this broken man's eyes, Gilbert could see that he was neither a lunatic nor a con-man. He was lost.

Gilbert lowered his rifle, straightening up.

"Come on in," he said, "there's some fresh chicken in the kitchen."

The stranger's eyes lit up. He seemed to breathe properly for the first time. "Thank you."

Gilbert turned his back and headed for the living room, but Marie stopped him. She put a hand on his shoulder, stunned, her eyes glued to him.

"Just one meal," he grunted.

She didn't say a word. As Gilbert passed, she seemed interested only in keeping an eye on the newcomer, gun in hand. She closed the door after him. Gilbert headed for the kitchen.

"You hungry?" he asked the moment he opened the fridge.

It was a casual question, one he had no doubt about, but the stranger stopped and apparently considered the matter in great detail. He glanced at the plates of leftovers Gilbert brought out and rose a hand up to his stomach slowly.

"Yes."

"I'll just get you a plate," said Marie kindly.

They brought him out food and offered him to sit at the breakfast table, where everything was. Normally, Gilbert would have complained for them to move into a room he could sit in, but the night's events, as well as needing his rifle, made him feel wide awake and put his bad knee on the back burner. He noticed the stranger hadn't touched his food yet.

"You eat meat, don't you?" he asked.

"I don't believe that I've -"

Gilbert laughed before he could finish the sentence. "I'd say start now before it gets cold, but considering it's midnight's leftovers - "

Marie hit his shoulder playfully, distracting him from the stranger's face, which remained pained. This man had clearly been through a great deal of loss. When Marie moved away, Gilbert cleared his throat and decided to start again, driven by sympathy.

He reached out for a salad leaf, trying to start the conversation casually with the stranger.

"So, do you have a misses back home?"

"I don't believe so, no," the stranger answered slowly, his blue eyes glazed beneath a furrowed brow.

"Work? Housing?"

"I... I can't remember."

"What about family?"

At this, the man fell silent. Gilbert watched him with interest, expecting him to crack a smile over a fond memory of his wife and kids, but the man was upset. Right in front of Marie, over their roast chicken and salad, the man was teary-eyed. Gilbert chewed the loose salad leave with his front teeth, thinking the matter over, feeling more pity for this lost man. He was childlike.

"Eat up," he said bluntly, but not unkindly. "You'll feel better with some food in you. Hell, you can even stay the night, if you want."

The stranger looked up, relieved and confused. "Thank you."

Marie's face snapped up too. Gilbert ignored her for the moment, reaching around to pour himself a glass of water. He drank it slowly, refraining from asking questions. It would upset the stranger. Not many locals liked to talk about their personal lives and he seemed to feel the same.

"Gilbert," said Marie eventually, "can I speak to you for just a moment?"

He pursed his lips, nodding and putting his glass down. "I don't see why not."

Marie headed from the room briskly, urging him to hurry. In the front room, as soon as they were out of earshot, she pulled him aside.

"I don't know about this, Gilbert," she whispered frantically, peering back over her shoulder as if she expected some unlawful act to go on the moment they turned their backs. "I don't know if I feel safe letting strangers into our house. This man is a stranger, after all. Especially without a story, we can't know for sure that he isn't trouble."

Gilbert, concerned for his wife, thought it over slowly. All the while, he glanced around and watched the man, who was sitting at the breakfast table as before. What Gilbert saw, however, wasn't any criminal action, but was a sight that lowered his spirits. The man's shoulders were tense and his movements were as stilled as a rabbit caught by the ears.

"He won't do nothin', Marie," he assured her.

"He says he doesn't remember a thing."

"Then he needs help."

"How can we help?"

"He's not going to do anything," Gilbert repeated, flustered this time. "He's a good man."

Before Marie could pose an argument, an idea struck him.

"Goodman," he murmured slyly, grunting in laughter to himself. "That's what we'll call him for now."

Marie wasn't convinced nor impressed. Despite his exhaustion and his rash decision-making, however, Gilbert found he wasn't wrong.

After they showed their new guest his bedroom and a fresh pair of pajamas, they went to bed without much talking and awoke, well-rested, to find everything was in order. They found the stranger some fresh clothes on the first day and cleaned up his shoes, until he looked much smarter than he had in that dirt-covered trench coat. He dressed in jeans and an old plaid shirt Gilbert's only son had worn before he moved out. Marie taught him how to comb his hair and learnt that he truly didn't remember anything.

The stranger helped out around the house each day and night, even accompanying Gilbert to handle the yardwork when he needed it. Completing tasks without complaint came easy, but when it came to looking after himself, the stranger didn't seem to have a clue what he was doing. Marie grew fond of him as days passed and he posed no problem or threat. It was after a long day of work and hours ahead of schedule when Gilbert first truly appreciated the help.

Heaving a great sigh of accomplishment and turning his head up, Gilbert faced the stranger, who stood as still as ever, as if unsure how to act.

"Just an average Joe, aren't you?"

The stranger's brow furrowed. "Is that my name?"

"Huh?"

Gilbert was confused, but not a moment of embarrassment crossed the man's face. They stood looking at each other in the late-evening sun, until Gilbert realised the man thought it was possible. Seeing no reason to refuse the man a probable memory, Gilbert didn't fuss over the matter for too long.

"Does it sound like your name?" he asked. "It's your call, after all."

The man hesitated for a long while.

"I afraid I can't remember."

Gilbert wondered if this would ever stop disappointing him at heart. He wanted this man to be free, wanted him to find his purpose. It seemed hopeless when the man stared at the floor, apparently trying very hard to grasp any sort of memory.

"Well, Joe," said Gilbert heavily, reaching out a hand to pat his shoulder with a smile, "you'll remember soon enough."

Joe - who by this point, looked relieved - nodded his head once, slowly. Gilbert knew 'Joe' probably wasn't his real name, but he was willing to bet it was close. 'Joe' suited the guy - at least enough to calm Gilbert's nerves, and hopefully even Marie's by the time he told her the news. Joe was a part of the household now.

Although Marie was fond of Joe, she wasn't pleased to hear he had been given a name and that he would be staying for longer. It was a week before she brought it up with Gilbert. In their bedroom, Gilbert was undoing his shoelaces by the bed, waiting to get changed into his evening lounging clothes, while she paced up and down the room, glancing out of the shadowy windows. The last rays of blue skies were visible above the trees, farmland, and fields that were illuminated in a pink and gold sunset. Gilbert preferred to face the morning sun.

"He's still out there," said Marie stiffly. "What do you suppose he's doing all the way out there?"

Gilbert made an attempt to straighten up and glance over her shoulder, but her arms clung to the curtains and blocked his view. Pursing his lips, he turned away again, heaving in a great sigh.

"I dunno, Marie. How are the blackbirds doing out there?"

"I highly doubt he cares for blackbirds," she snapped. "I don't think he'd even know that's what they're named."

"So, what harm is he?" grunted Gilbert, as if this settled things.

"He's a stranger, nonetheless."

He thought about it for a while, but couldn't see how this was a problem. Marie was paranoid. That was all. His thoughts were confirmed when she turned around, pulling her robe over her sleeping-gown with skinny hands.

"We've got enough skeletons hiding in our closet as it is, Gilbert. You know that."

He didn't argue with her. He knew she was right, but he took pity on the stranger, Joe. for days, he tried to find a level-ground between keeping Marie happy and doing what was right. Over a Sunday dinner, in which Joe remained particularly quiet, Gilbert decided to try and reach out and bond with him. Marie stuck the television on in the living room, but Gilbert spoke over it from where they sat in the dining room.

"It's a strange night you showed up on," he said, "with those shooting stars. In all my years spent looking after my father's farm, I ain't seen nothin' like it. Honest to God."

Joe didn't seem wholly delighted to hear it. He looked out across the living room to the back porch, as if scared.

"Do you think it will happen again?" he asked.

Gilbert had to wonder to himself. "This time of year, we get a lot of meteors. Nothing as extreme normally, though."

Joe nodded politely, his face grey.

"Here, in fact - let me show you."

Gilbert stood up, catching Marie's attention from across the room.

"Gilbert," she called to him seriously, "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"I've got it, Marie," he sighed. "Don't you worry."

Indicating to Joe that he should follow, Gilbert switched on the back light and opened the porch door. They headed outside, Marie close at their heels, until they hit the creaky wooden floorboards and felt the cold breeze. They were under a cloudless night sky. Stars stretched out as far as they could see, spinning slowly around and around. The Milky Way greeted them warmly.

"Beautiful, ain't it?" Gilbert asked gently, cracking a smile to the Heavens. "Yes, I reckon you'd have more than a good chance of seeing a few meteors tonight. We could camp out here for a while, if you want to."

"Gilbert, look!" cried Marie, pointing up at the sky.

He almost missed it in the time it took to turn his head, but he caught the tail of the meteor. It was nothing compared to what they had seen nights ago, but it filled him with a sense of humble comfort.

"My God! What a beautiful land we live in."

It made him feel proud to own this stretch of land. He wondered what his father would have said and thought back to the nights he spent watching the stars with his own parents, then his own children years later.

"Gilbert -"

"Look, another one!" he cried, pointing up at meteors that passed. "Ain't it perfect!"

"Gilbert!"

Marie's tone was harsh, urgent. Gilbert turned around at once.

Nothing was wrong, but Marie had her hand around Joe's shoulder. He hadn't moved, hadn't said a word, but he was crying again. They didn't understand why. Even when Gilbert stared at him, asking what's wrong, he couldn't speak. It was only when they brought him inside, white-faced and concerned, that he finally froze up. He stopped crying and stayed still. Nothing they did convinced him to speak.

Marie and Gilbert tried to pass it off as a one-time event, convincing themselves that Joe was tired and had been through too much work that day, but even the next morning he was barely animated. He ate breakfast with them normally, did his work normally, but something was hurting him from inside - Gilbert could see it. What came as a real shock to him was when Joe started to blame himself for the meteor shower.

"What do you mean?" Gilbert had asked him, considering the possibility that he was mad. "How could anyone cause shooting stars?"

"I don't know," Joe would say, speaking more to himself than anything. "I don't know why it hurt so much, but I feel that I'm responsible."

Gilbert didn't understand how anyone could feel bad about a meteor shower, nevermind be responsible for it, but he kept his mouth shut about it. He chewed the idea over in his mind, trying the best he could to give Joe credit. He quickly decided to try and keep Marie away from hearing Joe ramble, but it was only a matter of time before he turned to her for advice too. She wasn't pleased to hear it. She shared Gilbert's dread.

"Should we take him to a hospital?"

It seemed to happen too fast. Before Gilbert knew it, he took out his old red truck and told Joe alongside Marie where they were going and why. Joe saw no problem with it. It was a cloudy evening, so Marie packed his coat in a bag and they all headed for the truck. It took a long time before they were seen by a doctor. After hours of waiting and hours of nurses asking Joe questions and checking his head for injuries, they concluded that Joe would have to visit a local facility for further tests and questioning. The Doctor thought it was best.

Nervously, Gilbert and Marie had explained their situations to the Doctor. He smiled warmly at them, before proceeding to suggest with no argument from Joe that he might be better off in the hands of a psychiatric hospital. Once there, he said, Joe could be looked after by professions who know what to expect from his record so far and who would do everything in their power to make sure he could find his friends and family again when he was well enough to. As soon as this option was explained, they were decided.

They had Joe over for only a few more days. Gilbert was sad to see him go, but knew there was nothing else he could do. Joe needed help that was out of his control.

"Would you like to take your coat back?" Marie asked him on his leaving day.

Joe nodded, reaching for the trench coat politely. "Thank you."

Once near, he ran his hands along the collar of the coat as if he had been wearing the thing non-stop for years. Gilbert was convinced he might have, except that the stitching was new and Marie had only needed to wash a night's worth of mud off of it to make it look perfect. Gilbert had been in the great outdoors long enough to know. Joe was a city boy.

When they arrived at the hospital, having drove for hours, Gilbert thought it looked welcoming enough, but knew Joe would never find it as comfortable as a country house. As they stood outside the gates of the place, resting by the truck, he felt it was a great loss.

"Don't you go running off with just any gal, now," Gilbert warned Joe warmly, smiling the best he could. "I suspect you have someone waiting for you back home. She'll be worth it, once you find her."

Joe nodded at once, taking in the words seriously, before his eyes moved to Marie's. She hadn't said a word.

"I wanted to thank you," he said, "for your help. I owe you more than I can say."

Marie smiled, the gesture loosening the wrinkles on her face, making her look as young as Gilbert had ever seen her. She was happy. "Well, you best look after yourself from this point on, mister, and listen to your Doctors. Not all of them are as kind as I am."

For a moment, Joe looked worried about this. It reminded Gilbert again of a child and made him wonder just what had happened to crush this man. Frowning, he placed a hammy hand on Joe's shoulder, patting it a few times.

"You be good now, Joe."

After a few more words of goodbye, they left. On the drive home, Gilbert felt guilty for leaving Joe behind like that, but Marie kept on telling him how this was the better option, how the Doctors would look after Joe there and how he'd have a better chance now than ever of being found by his family if he was on records. Gilbert felt like he had been fighting back regret for a long time, so in desperation, he listened to his wife with childish readiness.

He succeeded in forgetting about the problem, accepting that it wasn't his business. Even on the short trip back home, however, under the starry night sky, he couldn't stop himself from remembering a curious fact about Joe Goodman's arrival. He wasn't the first man who had been discovered by local houses, suffering amnesia, unable to say who he was. Joe was probably the second or third case Gilbert had heard about in the whole county. Problem was, what could have happened to wreck so many folks so far away?

-S-

This place was strange. That's the first thing he thought about when they brought him in, an arm linked to the sleeve of his trench coat. This place was very strange. There were high, white walls that held up grey ceilings and windows with grates over them on the upper floors. He wished he didn't have to leave Gilbert and Marie or the farm they kept. He had felt comfortable there. The only bonus here was that they kept him away from the night sky.

They fed him at certain hours here and asked him a lot of questions. They kept telling him that he had suffered a great loss and had forgotten about his past, but he didn't understand much of it. They wouldn't let him outside. That was the worst part. There were bees and fields and trees he hadn't yet seen, sunlight he missed almost every hour of, but they still wouldn't let him out. Even when he was good, they said it was too dangerous, that he would get lost and forget his way back. He didn't think he would.

On his first day, he noticed something was different about the people here. They not only acted differently to the men and women around Gilbert and Marie's farm, but some of them looked strange. From the moment he had walked in here, he had seen their scarred faces, lit up, deformed, terrifying. No one else seemed to notice. No one commented on it, at least. He was too terrified to ask why and thought it would be rude. He didn't want to offend anyone, but found it hard look them in the face. This was a strange place.

In his first week, he had been assigned an early lunch and had entered the hall as he was told to. Past nurses and guards that terrified him, he walked amongst people sitting at tables, eating. It was only a few minutes after entering the dining hall that he saw somebody he recognised. He stopped dead.

The woman opposite him seemed as alarmed as he was. The more he stared at her, however, the more he realised he couldn't remember where she was from. He didn't know what he remembered about her. All he knew was that he recognised her. He felt drawn to her, like he was a brother to her.

He sat down at her table. She flinched, brown hair flying around her. This woman of over fifty was his sister. He knew it. Some painful memory crossed her face.

"Castiel..."

He stared at her blankly, confused.

"Castiel," she repeated, louder this time. Her eyes were huge, her mouth agape. She stood up from her chair, pushing it back loudly, but all Joe did was stare up at her in awe. He knew that name...

"We fell," she whispered. It was in such hushed astonishment, such bold reverence that it made Joe feel like she knew. "Castiel, we fell, we all fell!"

He shook his head, startled. "I - I don't understand what you're saying. I don't know what that means."

People were moving across the room, alarmed by the woman's voice, which rose in panic.

"We fell, Castiel! We all fell!"

"I -"

"Please, tell me why!" she screamed at him, scaring him. "Castiel, tell me why! Why does God do this? What did God want? Castiel - !"

Someone grabbed her arms, holding her back, cutting her words short. She was fighting, screaming, trying to lash out at Joe directly with teary-eyes. Only, Joe rather felt that was his name. Castiel...

The dining hall became calm the moment she left. That's the first thing Castiel noticed, followed by a hollow feeling in his chest. No one asked him what she had meant and none of the nurses speaking on the outskirts of the room asked him questions either - not even the most terrifying ones. He ate lunch in silence.

People still referred to him as 'Joe' from that day on and although he never contradicted them, he rather thought he remembered what his real name was. Castiel. Even if he didn't know who that woman had been, it stuck with him, as did her expression, her tone. People around him told him she was talking nonsense every time he spoke about her and they got annoyed when he mentioned his interest in the name 'Castiel', but he knew there was something important about it.

"My name is Castiel," he would say, "and I'm..."

A lost man. That's what the nurses thought when they heard this and looked at him with pitying eyes. He was neither aggressive nor intrusive, but was simply that: a man who had lost everything.

"Joe, it's time for your medication."

Castiel did as he was asked without hesitation.

"When can I see my family?" he asked her.

The nurse's face lit up for a moment, as if he had taken her by surprise. They both knew, however, that he didn't remember who his family was. She had been informed that upon his arrival, Castiel had repeated a fact he knew to be true: that his first memory, even before the falling stars, was speaking to God himself. God had been frightening, had held Castiel down, and had told him that he should find a wife, find a new life, make babies. There was no doubt in Castiel's mind that this was his fate. He didn't know what else to do.

"God told me to find a family," Castiel told her steadily, trying to remain clam. "He told me to seek a wife, to have children. I think I have a family waiting for me. I think I always had one."

The nurse didn't say anything, but took the little paper cup from his hands. "All finished?"

"Yes."

"Lunch starts in ten minutes."

Castiel nodded, but couldn't say a word more. He enjoyed eating, but it always felt strange, like he wasn't supposed to be here. In the dining hall, he looked around for the woman who had spoken to him days ago, but he hadn't seen her ever since they took her from the hall. He thought they may have taken her someplace else completely.

Someone had caught Castiel staring around. One of the nurses with the horrid faces. Castiel dropped his gaze as quickly as he could, feeling scared, but the nurse didn't stop staring at him. He moved across the room slowly. Castiel saw it out of the corner of his eye, the way the nurse wove between tables of other patients, his face a stark mask of horror.

"Is there a problem?" the nurse asked him.

Castiel shook his head. He didn't dare speak.

"You were looking for somebody," he pointed out. "Who was it? That woman from your first week here?"

Castiel wished the nurse would go away or at least stop staring. His face made Castiel want to back away, but he didn't know if he could. "I'm not looking for anyone..."

"We both know that's a lie, Castiel."

He looked up at the nurse at once, then back down, because he really was quite scary. The warped face of the man in front of him attempted something like a smile. He then spoke, his voice low, sounding pleased.

"She was your sister, you know."

Castiel became very still. He even held his breath, caught between amazement and shock.

"She was your sister," the nurse repeated, "but you're never going to see her again."

He was happy to say it. Castiel could tell. In an instant, however, he turned away, leaving.

Castiel was shaking. He wanted his sister back. He wanted to understand what had happened.

He was sure that whoever his family was, they'd know him by his name. He tried to picture it, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't figure out what it would feel like to be in a world like that. He couldn't even picture what his wife and kids might have looked like. It was a faint dream, one that haunted him every time he thought back to the man, God, who urged him to find a new life. The only thing Castiel dreamed about at night were the stars that fell in his earliest memories.

Castiel hoped that someone would find him and explain everything. He waited in hospitals and did what the nurses asked him to, all the while knowing that every day he stayed in here, every day he refrained from running outside for some place better, he had more hope of being found. Someone, somewhere was surely searching for him and soon, they'd come to rescue him.

The problem was, no one ever did.