Author's Note: Hi! So, as promised, here is the second chapter. I've decided this fic will be about 9 chapters, and will end at what would be the mid-season finale. It will have a SUPER angsty ending (just warning you!), but if you guys want, I'll write a sequel which will serve as the second half of the season. Also, thank you for the nice reviews! It feels really great to get them, especially since I was anxious uploading this at first. Enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Supernatural.
A sign.
He blinks, makes sure he's not hallucinating.
It's really there.
A sign.
He runs to it, gazing up at it as if it is the most precious thing in his world.
For the moment, it is.
He pulls away and reads it.
GREAT BEND, KANSAS
2 MILES AWAY
Two miles.
Just two more miles and he'll be able to stop.
He sighs, rolling his neck and shifting from foot to foot, attempting to regain some feeling. He's been walking for 7 hours without rest, and it is exhausting. He keeps feeling odd, alien sensations, such as wishing to close his eyes and lose consciousness (he supposes that is what humans call sleeping), and he is experiencing hunger. For all of his time as an angel on Earth, he has enjoyed food and drink, but never needed it. Now, he feels that if he doesn't have it, he will die. It is quite unpleasant.
He also must get used to carrying around so much weight. When this body was his vessel, it would act as a protective shield; it was much lighter than it normally should be, and it wasn't effected by trivial things like fatigue. Now, Castiel is really HERE. He can feel his blood pulsating through his veins, hear his heartbeat in his ears, sense the sweat trickling down his face. He is present; he can feel everything. As he walks, his legs trip and stumble, not familiar with the feeling of dragging along muscles and bones. When he was an angel, he floated through the world, as if in a dream; he has since been thrust into the cold waters of reality, the shattering truth that is being a human.
He shakes his head. He cannot be distracted with such thoughts and contemplations; he must move forward. His legs are awkward, unbalanced without the even distribution of his wings. It makes him feel...
He doesn't know.
"So," Dean announces, stomping into the room. "Crowley."
"Yes, yes, I feel the same as I did hours ago," Crowley interrupts, leaning over one of the books on the table. He looks up when Dean doesn't respond. "Well? What is it you want?"
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I want to know what the Hell I'm supposed to do with you."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, I can't let you out of those handcuffs, 'cause you're a freakin' demon. So, should I just let you crash here until I figure out a better idea?"
Crowley raises his eyebrows. "You know..." he says slowly,"I could, potentially, be of some use to you."
Dean stares at him. "How?"
Crowley rolls his eyes. "I'm the King of Hell!" he shouts, rattling his cuffs. "I have spies everywhere! Spies that possibly know something about Metatron."
"And how would they know that?" Dean scoffs. "Nobody knew anything about Metatron until Sam and I found him."
"I have my ways," Crowley says mysteriously.
Dean sighs. "Whatever. I don't have the energy to care right now. I'll just...set up a room for you, or something."
Crowley shrugs. "Whichever floats your boat, Winchester," he replies.
Dean screws up his face at him and shakes his head before heading to one of the empty rooms.
Bright.
Too bright.
Cannot see.
He shuts his eyes tightly, the flood of intense light painfully striking his dilated pupils. As an angel, this would not have affected him, for the celestial beings are able to adjust their eye hole size. But he is no longer an angel, so he must familiarize himself with this agonizing feeling.
He slowly opens his eyes and looks around the room. It is a motel lobby, he realizes. He had not noticed what building it was upon entering; he had only gone into the first structure he saw. He walks up to the man behind the desk.
"Hello, Sir," he greets, his voice nothing but a whisper from disuse. "I have been traveling along the road for hours, now, and it appears that I am lost. Do you know distance from Great Bend to Lebanon?"
The man stares at him, then pulls a map out of the drawer on the end table behind him. He plops it on the desk. "'Bout a hundred 'n twenty miles. Two-and-a-half hour drive."
Castiel picks up the map. "What is the time now?" he inquires.
The man glances at the clock. "Uh...3:30 in the mornin'. You got a car, man?"
Castiel shakes his head.
"Well, the next bus doesn't leave 'till 9:00, so you got a few hours to kill. Wanna book a room?"
Castiel takes a breath, then promptly lets it out. "I don't have any money," he says sheepishly, fiddling with his coat.
The man squints at him. "Where're you comin' from?" he asks, curious.
"I don't know," Castiel confesses. "I woke up in a forest right before all the ang-" he abruptly stops talking, catching himself. "The stars fell," he amends.
"Oh,"the man says, his eyes widening. "Well...since you're under weird conditions, I'll give it to 'ya for free," he offers. "Just this one night, though."
"It's alright, you don't have to do that-" Castiel begins.
"I insist," the man interrupts. He pushes the guestbook towards the edge of the desk.
Castiel sags his shoulders. "Thank you...very much," he says awkwardly, and writes his first name in the book.
The man raises his eyebrows. "Ain't you got a last name?" he questions.
Castiel blinks. "...No?" he guesses. It hadn't occurred to him that, as a human, he would need a last name.
The man sighs and shakes his head. "Whatever," he says. "Here's your key." He hands Castiel a small card. "Room 103."
Castiel nods and takes the card, thanking the man one more time before rounding the corner and walking down the hallway. He opens the door to his room and slowly sits on the bed, rubbing his hands on his face.
How does one fall asleep? he wonders, removing his coat and shoes. He tries to think back to the times when he watched Dean and Sam sleep. They had just...closed their eyes and laid down, right? So should he do the same?
He tries it, and marvels at how comfortable the mattress is. He closes his eyes and listens.
Listens to the sounds of the night outside his window.
The slow whine of the cars on the road.
The owls...hooting.
The...crickets...chirping...
The...
...
"Dean."
Dean turns at the sound of Kevin's voice in the doorway, pausing from his work on what will soon be Crowley's room. It still feels odd calling it that.
"Kevin," Dean says, stepping closer to the boy. "What is it? Something wrong?"
Kevin shakes his head. "No, I...I just...What am I supposed to do now?" he asks quietly, sitting on the bed.
Dean stares, then sighs and sinks down next to him. "Well, I was going to tell you tomorrow, but...we need you to translate more of the angel tablet."
Kevin lets out a breath, shutting his eyes in frustration. "It's not fair," he whispers tightly.
"I know, man, but life's not fair. In our line of work-"
"Shut up, Dean!" Kevin explodes, springing up from the mattress. "I thought it was over! I was finally gonna get out! Once I finished translating the stupid demon tablet, I could get back to my old life. You promised me! And after Cas yelled at me, after you guys went to the church and to the bar to do the other trials, I...I packed up my stuff to leave."Kevin's voice is small now. Resigned. "And I was almost out the door, when...when the angels fell."
Dean gazes at the wall, absorbing the information he just learned. He presses his palm to his forehead and inhales deeply, then stands and looks Kevin squarely in the face. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry you were the one chosen to be a prophet. I'm sorry you're mom is dead. I only told you you could get back to your old life to keep you going, and I'm really, really sorry, man. But you have to do this. It's your job, now. This is your life."
Kevin rakes a hand through his hair. "Why does it have to be me?" he asks desperately, his voice filled with repressed emotion. "I don't want this. I didn't even get a choice!"
"What, you think I had a choice either?! You think this is my version of a perfect life?! Hell, no! I was forced into this, just like you! We all were! Whether it was revenge, or fate, or the freakin' apocalypse! And I tried, oh man, did I try to get out! But you know what? No matter how many times you try, you will always, and I mean ALWAYS, get sucked back into this mess. And after a while, you just have to face the fact that this is what your life is going to be like. Filled with blood, and pain, and everyone you've ever cared about dying." Dean sucks in a breath and glares at Kevin with determination. "But there's always that one thing that keeps you going: you're saving people. People who are living the life you want. You're making sure that THEY still get to live that life. That at least SOME people in this world will get to be happy, even if it isn't you. That's why you have to do this, Kevin. For those people."
Tears well up in Dean's eyes as he looks at the teenager in front of him. "Please, just translate the tablets. Figure out how to get the angels' grace back. Tell us how to close hell without killing my brother. 'Cause I can't take much more of this."
Kevin takes a shaky breath. He nods, then steps forward and hugs Dean fiercely. And, after a moment, Dean squeezes back.
Author's Note: Hope you liked it! Next update will come in a few days.
