Cado
Castiel lifted his eyes and in them were reflected specks of fire. Holy fire falling to the mortal plane.
He felt the plunge of his brethren's fall, but not in his body, as he expected. He felt it deep within, inside something that beat with aching force against the inside of his fragile chest. And in that moment he knew. He felt weighted with something he had felt only fleetingly once before. His own mortality.
His brothers and sisters fell, and he knew they were screaming. But he could not hear them. Their voices were cut off from his ears. He remembered each and every one of their names, and wondered which were before him now.
The news spoke of comets showering from the clouds. Comets that had not been predicted or foreseen, that simply appeared just above the mist of grey blocking the stars. Not just here, but all over, across our shores and those that did not belong to us. We were urged to remain inside, to keep safe from these unpredicted phenomena. Some listened, some did not. But those of us who sought out these unearthly rocks found bodies. Strange, pure bodies. Glowing in a way our souls could detect, but our eyes could not. Some lay still, some had a flutter in their throat. And some were no longer bodies.
Some of these bodies hit rock. Hard and smooth, and painted the colour of grace. Some tumbled through canopies, slowed by the outstretched limbs. Others hit waters, and their bodies did not know how to swim. Valleys, mountains, skyscrapers. Everywhere, bodies were landing as if hurled from God's own hand.
Disoriented, unstable on newly solid legs, the fortunate ones began to rise. Their shoulder blades seared from the severed flesh of once-wings. And up they looked, hoping for help from above. But no help was to come, because the only ones left on high were not looking down.
There was no sense to these bodies. Each morning and night the news replayed that ethereal sight of raining flames, but now we knew we were not looking at fire or stone, but bodies.
They had been collected and taken to hospitals. Photographers had laid siege to the hospitals. Slowly, a steady stream of pixelated videos began to circulate of those who believed a comet was headed for their own backyard. Some of these videos were too gruesome to watch by the time the body hit, but many of us watched anyway. We were like that. Too fascinated to show decency.
Castiel walked through forest for days. He had been banished to a distant scrap of this world, seemingly far from the Winchesters, and he had no choice but to walk the earth he was now bound to. He searched desperately for any sign of society, and with an equal measure of hope and fear, for his brethren, now stranded here too.
When the sun rose that first morning since the great Fall, Castiel only found one of his sisters. She had been washed into a creek, her body lodged in rocks while the water continued to carry her essence downstream. Castiel kept his weeping eyes to the ground as he moved on.
The antennae atop our pitiful television set were rusty beyond repair. Any adjustment was hopeless, but gave the sense of satisfaction. Every half hour we were brought updates on the 'Fallen Angels', thought there was never anything new to tell. In truth, we did not know if they were angels. We did not know anything about them except they somehow looked just like us, and some of them had managed to survive.
There was a growing array of theories, each more uncanny than the last, but it was the only new material we had, so we televised it.
Castiel's strength drained with the days, and his body began to weigh. Strange, to feel this form working against him when it should have been his ally. Each night he fell asleep, only to see a sky blazing, voices screaming his name. Screaming for help, screaming why, and his tongue would remain still as he eyes looked on, helpless. With the rise of each morning, Castiel would look up and for the first time realise how strange it felt to look upwards and see only sky. His home was not up there anymore. It was far beyond his sight, and always would be.
"Dropped from spaceships, I say. Hidden up there, always watchin'."
"And why is it we haven't seen any of these ships, Earl?"
"Blendin' capabilities, they got." Earl explained pointedly. "Make sure we don't know they're there. But we know now, don't we."
"Yes, I'd say they've given themselves away now."
Earl resumed winding fishing line, and I gave the set a good thump on its side to eliminate the grey interference running across the journalist's mouth. I ran a hand through my Movement drew my eyes above the screen out the window. A man in a ragged coat hobbled down the road past the cabin. He had an unsteady step and an unfamiliar face, young, and yet very, very old.
"Hey Earl, he a local?"
Earl's face twisted in an unrecognising fashion. I pushed through the door and called out. "You lookin' for someplace?"
The man's step slowed and he turned to me. His chin was darkened with a thin layer of stubble and his eyes appeared glazed and unfocused. Days of grime had clean lines running from his eyes to jaw line. It appeared as if he didn't see me clearly right away.
"You ok?"
With a moment's delay he gave a slow nod, eyes turning back to the road where he made to carry on.
"You want a drink or somethin'?" It was unlikely I would see coin for it, but he seemed like he needed the water more than I needed the cash. A pause for thought, before the man gave a solemn nod. I waved him in and returned to the counter.
He finished the bottle uninterrupted, then gently placed it down beside the cap.
"Thankyou."
I waved his gratitude off and went back to watching the set. He did not leave, but rather his eyes were also drawn to a shaky cameraman being thrust back out the hospital doors by an angry orderly. He did not give up, and the scene escalated dramatically. The way we carried on, I often felt embarrassed. I did not understand why I did not want to look away.
The man's face seemed to display quite different emotions, however. He was not embarrassed or appalled, but rather upset. His eyes wavered, as if swimming behind a film of sadness, and i was certain it had nothing to do with the cameraman, but the roughly human-shaped shadow obstructed behind the tinted glass door.
"You want another bottle for the road?" I asked, in case there was another reason he had not yet left.
At the sound of my voice he appeared to sober. "Yes, that would be very kind." I handed over a second bottle, and he pocketed it, giving a slight nod before one last glance at the set.
Once he had left, I watched the set only a few second more before I found myself feeling unable to keep it on. Earl did not appear to be watching either, so I switched it off and instead turned my gaze outside where the man had already disappeared down the winding road.