AN: I finally (after siting a month on this prolog) start to post this story as a celebration of the starting of season 9. This belongs to the same verse as my other story In the Beginning, but they can be read completely separately. This is my vision of what happens after Sacrifice.
The first thing he notices is the darkness. Remnants of sleep and beginning of a headache make his brains hazy as his mind tries to wrap around the new experience. Normally such petty things as little dusk wouldn't disturb him, but now he has to strain his vision even to see his own hand. He shifts in the bed and pulls the sheets tighter around him.
Then the realization strikes him and he scrambles anything but gracefully on the floor. Flashing pain in his forehead makes him hiss, but he still tries to wrack his brain for an explanation for how he had ended up in a foreign bed. As far as he could remember he hadn't been anywhere near one, foreign nor familiar.
Eventually his latest memory finally hits him and makes him to bend over, the memory of the pain still so fresh and vivid. He tries to calm down, but his heart keeps stubbornly beating against his ribs and the pain inside his skull keeps getting more and more agonizing.
He freezes. A tendril of horror starts to creep along his spine. Angels doesn't need a pulse. He takes a deep breath and straightens wincing a little. He even closes his eyes although it makes little difference. After a while, he cracks them open. The room is still dark, only dim glow gets past the curtains. This time he adds a snap of fingers. Still nothing. "Let there be light," he commands and snaps again. Still dark. He tries again and again, but nothing chances. "Oh, come on!" Frustration makes him wave his hand too far and he hits it to something, maybe a lamp, causing it to crash on the floor. Fuck, now both his head and hand are hurting.
He forces himself to calm down. He raises his gaze to the dark ceiling and starts over again. Breath, eyes, snap.
The first and only question is 'why'. What on Earth could be the point of this?
He fumbles along the dark hallway trying to find his way out of the damn house. It is clear that nobody has lived in this hellhole for years: thick suffocating clouds of dust rise from the carpet with every step and he has stumbled on countless beer bottles and spray cans. He even found remains of a fire in one of the bedrooms.
He opens a door to his left and swears. It is another damn bedroom. What has he done to deserve this? Hadn't all the previous crap been enough?
He is already turning to try the door across the hall when he suddenly freezes. There is something familiar in this room. He could swear he had been here before. Now that he thinks about it, the nursery and in fact the whole place seems familiar even though he can't be sure because of the damn darkness.
All of a sudden, he realizes it. The supposed point of this whole crap. "You think this is funny?" he yells at the ceiling.
He watches as the final flaming lights dim on the sky. He doesn't mind the pain, he's deserved it. It's a suitable reminder of his own stupidity, of how he hand blindly chasing his redemption doomed not only himself, but all his siblings.
It feels like something bitter has got stuck into his throat. He blinks staring at the dark sky behind the black treetops. "Please," he whispers, "just these ones."
Of course, nothing happens, but he still has to blink harder as he casts his eyes to the ground.
An orange light of street lamps paints everything in the same dull shades. She just lies still and watches the moving the lights of a few passing cars on the ceiling and walls.
The mattress smells like mole and dampness seeps through her clothes. Clearly her previous life hadn't suck enough.
It is so quiet. All he can hear is his own breathing and the wind that's blowing through the broken windows. Chills run down his spine as he tries to pull the jacket tighter around himself.
It is a strange sensation. During his entire life he had never been alone, not in the true sense of the word. Wherever he went, he could sense his siblings' graces around him and at one time even his Father's presence. But now, he can't feel anything.
Well, that isn't entirely true: he feels many things right now, but none of them has anything to do with being an angel. Is this really what being a human feels like? So… lonely?
He pushes himself from the floor brushing his jeans and weaves his way through the broken furniture that is lying around to the front door. He sits down on the decaying porch and watches the slowly rising sun, waiting a sign of what to do.