NOT ABOUT ANGELS
CHAPTER TWO: SUICIDE WATCH
I woke up the next day with a sinking feeling of wrongness, and I didn't know why at first. The first thing I noticed was that my radio clock hadn't gone off. I always got up at the same time every morning before I headed off to the office, and my anxiety spiked, because if it hadn't gone off, that meant I was late, and I was never late. And when I shifted in bed and realized my sheets felt odd and unfamiliar, my eyes shot open to stare in utter bewilderment at the completely foreign ceiling. Bolting upright with the thought, 'Where the hell am I?' I panicked for a few seconds before an understanding laced with despair dawned on me.
Oh, I thought, overwhelmed with dread and feeling sick.
That sick feeling continued to grow until I stumbled out of bed and tripped into the bathroom, barely managing to collapse in front of the toilet to empty the contents of my stomach into it. It couldn't be real, but it was. This was no dream. The horribly nasty and vivid feeling of vomit coating my tongue and clogging up my sinuses proved that quite clearly. More dread washed over me, shivering down my spine like a freezing deluge as I considered my dire straits with despair.
"Oh god…" I found myself muttering to myself helplessly, wiping my mouth and repeating, "Oh god…" But then I paused, a crazy, desperate idea sticking in my thoughts. "...God."
Hurriedly, I laced my fingers together—though it took a little longer due to the shaking—and bowed my head. My eyes were shut tightly in pure focus, as if somehow it would make my intentions clearer as I went over what I wanted to say in my thoughts.
What came out was more indecisive that I would have liked.
"God…? Or...is it Chuck? I…" I swallowed tightly, before gathering up my courage and continuing in a willfully stronger voice. "My name is Hadley Dent, and I need your help." I paused again, shaking off the silly, embarrassing feeling of talking into thin air, before adding hurriedly, "I'm sure you get prayers like that all the time, but...this is different. You might already know this, but a…'gateway' between realities was opened yesterday at the Men of Letters bunker in Kansas. It closed back up, but...before it did, I came out of it, and…" My lower lip trembled with the ominous onset of tears, and my voice came out choked. "I know you don't like to get too closely involved with things anymore, but I could really use your help right now…"
I wasn't expecting anything. I really wasn't. But after a minute had gone by without a sound of anything but the faucet dripping, I closed my eyes again and my shoulders slumped with true despair. I realized I'd actually gotten my hopes up. God had never answered my prayers in my own dimension, why should I expect him to answer them here? What made me any different from the countless other souls who'd fallen into the unforgiving world of the supernatural?
Nothing.
Or so I thought, before I heard someone clear their throat a little awkwardly behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I leapt to my feet precariously, wobbling and flailing my arms to try and keep balance, but I caught my heel on something, and knocked over the towel rack as I attempted to slow my fall with it. I would have tripped over the side of the shower too, had Chuck not reached out and grabbed my arm just in time.
"Oh my god!" I squeaked automatically as he steadied me with both hands on my shoulders, my eyes—large as dinner plates—scanning his ridiculously familiar countenance. Then they flicked down and I faltered out a nervous, "I...I mean, th-thank you."
"You're w-welcome," he mimicked my stutter with a cheery, good natured facade. "You seem to be familiar with my other identity though, so let's roll with 'Chuck,' instead of that big lofty G-word, 'kay?"
"I...um, s-sure. I was...I was just surprised, I…" I felt abhorrently shy all the sudden, and still couldn't meet his eyes. "I didn't really think you would come…"
"I usually don't," he admitted candidly, still almost insultingly cheerful. "Not in person anyway. Sometimes I'm there in spirit, and that's usually enough. But this time…" he trailed off thoughtfully, eyeing me inscrutably. "Doors to the split-worlds don't just open randomly. It's concerning, even to higher beings, like myself. And I don't think it was an accident. Especially right smack dab in the middle of Sam and Dean Winchester's secret clubhouse."
And at that, despite being in the presence of a divine entity, I couldn't help dryly remarking, "It's really not all that surprising when you think about it. When they're not out actively looking for trouble, trouble inevitably finds them—it's like some unspoken cosmic law of the universe, or something..." Curiously, I added, "Did you have something to do with that?"
Chuck/God wavered a bit with a shrug, and admitted sheepishly, "Maybe a little...could be a design flaw. I might look into it later. But," he continued, "I still don't think the anomaly here is a coincidence. There was some sort of intelligent design behind it—I can spot that kind of thing from a light year away." He actually seemed a little excited when he remarked, "Time to put my detective hat on."
"I…" I began carefully, "Thank you...so much, for looking into this for me, and...I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for you coming here, but…" My voice dropped to a hopeful quiver when I asked, "Is there any chance you could open another gate and send me back home?"
Chuck winced, and I felt my stomach drop down to my toes as I sensed that whatever he had to say was not the answer to my prayers.
"Well...that's where this gets complicated," he said apologetically. "I can absolutely open a gate and send you on your merry way, but since there are so many split realities out there—they're infinite, actually—there's no way to tell which reality I'd be sending you back to..." At my blank expression and complete silence, he ventured, "Why don't you tell me a little about home? Help narrow it down a little? Are you from a non-linear future split?" He hummed thoughtfully, remarking, "That would explain how you came to know the things you know. That's a simple fix. We'll just recreate the conditions of the split—assuming you know what said conditions are—and send you on forward in time. Easy enough. Bada-bing bada-boom."
I shook my head slowly.
"Not the future. My reality is one where everything in this reality is portrayed as a TV show," I explained woodenly, "That's how I know what I know. As for linear or non-linear..." I contemplated, feeling more than a little overwhelmed with the physics lesson. I'd failed that class in high school too. "What year is it?"
"2013," Chuck supplied helpfully.
I shook my head again.
"Non-linear. I'm from December 23, 2017."
"Sooo," Chuck verged, "assuming the TV show keeps pace with the year, that would leave you knowing the future for, what? The next half decade? Give or take a year?" Unexpectedly, he laughed, making me frown. At my consternated expression, he laughed again and explained amiably, "It might not be official, but I'd say that just about makes you a Prophet in all but name, doesn't it?" He contemplated me for a second with a scrutinizing and ominous once over before shrugging callously, "Eh, why not? There probably isn't going to be another Prophet born for a century at least, and poor Kevin could use the help. Starting up a fresh new bloodline couldn't hurt either."
"Wait, what—"
But before I could protest, he reached out casually and lightly tapped my forehead. For all the seeming harmlessness of the action, I could have been struck by lightning. I dropped to my knees with a breathy gasp like a fish out of water, all my muscles taut as piano string wires as I held my head—indecipherable symbols flashing at lightspeed through my mind. Not indecipherable for long though. Soon enough, the shapes and nonsensical markings began to make a strange kind of sense, but it was over before I managed to make anything of it. And when I snapped out of my shell shocked state, I was once again met with the infuriatingly cheerful face of Chuck.
I opened my mouth to say...I don't know what, because nothing came out but a dry sounding stutter.
"No need to thank me," he waved off my non-existent exhalations graciously, then deigned to notice my still shocked state and had the decency to look a little sheepish. "Oh, you're confused. Sorry, I suppose I should've explained first. If you want to put what I just did into human terms like science, you can say I gave you the 'Prophet Gene.' That gene will be passed down to your children, and their children, and so on, and so on, and—so! Just in case we don't manage to get you back to your reality within your lifetime, you'll still find purpose here."
"Purpose? For me?" I couldn't help but snort. "Oh, you really shouldn't have…"
"Don't mention it," he waved me off cheerfully, but cautioned, "Just don't shack up with Kevin if that at all occurs to you as an option. No continuing the bloodline that way. One Prophet gene cancels out another. Punnett squares don't really apply here."
I didn't think I should gratify that with a response.
"Listen, Chuck—I know you're, well, God, and you have a tendency of being heavy handed with this stuff, but could you, I don't know, at least try not to be so impulsive all the time?" I scowled at him instead, and he had the nerve to look alarmed. "That's what started all the trouble with Lucifer, you know…"
"I'm sorry," he answered with a frustrated expression, "how exactly did my 'impulsive tendencies' lead Lucifer to want to destroy all humanity?" At my deepening scowl, he assured, "Hey, I'm trying to wrap my head around your logic here, but..." He shook his head with a regretful 'tsk', "You're just not making sense."
Even if he was God, I still couldn't help but roll my eyes.
"Did that kind of destructive behavior from what was previously your best and brightest soldier remind you of anyone? A relative, perhaps?" I hinted impatiently. At Chuck's stony silence, I finally pushed, "Did you really expect a mark to hold her? I'm amazed Cain's been able to hang on to it for as long as he has."
For once, Chuck's countenance was devoid of anything resembling his cheery facade. I thought I would be relieved to see it gone and see something real in its place, but that was until I realized how daunting it felt to truly be in the presence of the divine creator. It was...humbling. And that's saying a lot, because I was not one to be easily humbled.
With a shadow in his voice, God spoke.
"We do not speak of her..."
Feeling the first tingles of fear, I squeaked out, "...Fair enough. Family issues. I totally get it. I had a cousin who was like the antichrist when we were kids. We did horrible things to each other, and I..." I stopped when, with one more look at God's stone face, I realized I was trying to relate to a divine being. This was a redundant effort at best, rambling at worst. Regretfully, I bowed my head, and said, "I'm sorry, Chuck…"
In an instant, the cheery facade was back and he patted my shoulder.
"You're forgiven, Harriet." I cringed at the use of my given name, which seemed to be the point of the invocation in the first place. And then he said, "You know, I'm glad you're here. Being Chuck is fun, but it was starting to get just the slightest bit monotonous. Then you show up, and now I get to be detective!Chuck! It could be like a spinoff to my Supernatural series. I'll even make you one of the main characters—what do you say?"
"Uh...sure. Go for it," I shrugged, a little bemused, not seeing that my opinion would make a difference to a god, either way. The thought occurred to me that Chuck was the biggest fourth-wall-breaking troll in living history. "Just, uh...don't call me the H-word, and please—for the love of all that is holy—don't throw me in the warpath of a hungry ruguru. Please?"
Chuck seemed not to hear my pleas as he enthused, "This is so exciting—I'm going to talk to my editor and update my blog—wish me luck!"
I did so a little uncertainly, unsure what he was more focused on—sleuthing for clues about my ejection into this reality, or a new book deal. But I soon found myself waking up to the sound of pounding on my door, and I had no time to think about the fact that it had all been a dream. Or was it? There in spirit indeed… Sneaky Chuck.
"Hey! Suicide watch! What do you think this place is, a bed and breakfast?" Dean called from the other side of the door. "You didn't hang yourself on the sheets, did you? Don't make me come in there and haul your sorry carcass out to burn."
Affronted, I sat up and stalked over to the door, throwing it wide and giving the oldest Winchester the stink-eye.
"Did you just call me 'suicide watch'?" I asked incredulously, a look of rage playing at morphing my haggard, stress-worn features.
"Yeah, 'cause that's what you are," he answered dismissively then gestured at the young Asian guy beside him who could only be, "Kevin, Hadley. Hadley, Kevin. There, introductions are over. You—" he poked a finger at Kevin "—are to keep an eye on this—" he jabbed the finger back at me "—make sure she doesn't off herself before we can find a way to send her back to her wacked up dimension. Capiche?"
"Actually," I answered dryly, "God sent me a dream last night. He said he's on the case. You guys don't need to worry about it. I'm good. And," I looked to Kevin, rubbing the still sizzley sore—and likely reddening—spot on my forehead where the deity had touched me, "incidentally, he made a Prophet out of me too, so I can help out with the angel tablets if you want."
Dean blinked several times.
"I'm sorry—did you just say God talked to you in your sleep and turned you into a Prophet?"
"Got it in one." I nodded at him matter-of-factly, then turned to Kevin. "Shall we get started?"
"Uh...yeah," he said, looking a little startled, but thrilled, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder, "the tablets are this way. Um...do you want some coffee or something first?"
Kevin was my new favorite person.
"Is it okay if I hug you?" I asked seriously, then changed my mind, "No, wait—coffee first, hug later. Are we good?"
"Yeah," Kevin laughed, clearly relieved that his workload looked to be diminishing by half as we spoke. "We're great."
"Hold on," Dean interjected, still in a state of utter consternation, "can we talk about the part where God—the God—talked? To you? And he just, what—" he snapped his fingers abruptly "—boom, made you a Prophet—just like that? He can do that?"
"Well…yeah," I verged dryly. "It's God… He can pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants, regardless of how anyone else feels about that." After a moment, I added, "He's also a giant troll."
Dean blinked again, looking torn between the desire to punch something and scream, with this oddly concerning smile etched on his face.
"God is a troll," he echoed, getting a feel for the words, his voice overly pleasant as if he was trying very hard not to explode. I wouldn't want to hold a needle anywhere near him at the moment.
"Yeah, like an internet troll," Kevin supplied, seemingly oblivious to Dean's inner turmoil and giving my revelation some thought. "That kind of makes a lot of sense, actually…"
"It makes all the sense, unfortunately," I commiserated with him.
"Hey, guys," Sam walked up with a duffle bag over his shoulder, giving each of us an assessing look, lingering on Dean with some concern. "What's going on?"
Dean turned the strained smile on his brother and repeated, "God is a troll."
Sam frowned.
"What? Like an internet troll?" He made a vaguely appreciative face, and with a shrug, remarked, "...Makes sense."
Which was the final straw for Dean apparently…
"AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THE WORLD MAKES ZERO SENSE RIGHT NOW?!!" he roared, making Sam—the unfortunate newcomer to the conversation—actually jump.
Without waiting for an answer to that, Dean stalked off down the hall towards the exit of the bunker, swinging his arms irately as he went. Sam blinked after his retreat almost looking hurt by the outburst.
Then he turned to Kevin and I, and asked, "Wait—was he serious?"
"As a heart attack," I answered flatly.
His jaw went a little slack for a second and looked about ready to ask a storm of questions, but thought better of it, shook his head, and declared, "Raincheck." He nodded to Kevin and said, "Have fun with the Angel tablets."
"Have fun killing things," Kevin answered in turn and waved.
"Stay away from Crowley," Sam added as a last warning.
"Crowley's here?" I asked, my voice going a little shrill.
"That goes for you too," he told me.
"Oh...okay," I agreed, a little disappointed.
I liked Crowley. But yeah, this was probably for the best. King of Hell—not fluffy bunny. Must remember that. It was dangerous not to remember stuff like that. And I was so concerned about not dying a horrible death… And with Crowley's weird thing about Prophets… Yeah, it was definitely in my best interest to stay away from him.
"For the record," I called to Sam's retreating back, "you're insane for leaving us alone with him. Tied up in a demon trap or not, King of Hell is still the King of Hell."
A muffled and exasperated "Thank you!" escaped down through the open door of the file room. Kevin flinched noticeably and went to slam it shut. I shot him a sympathetic look. I didn't remember all the details, but I knew Kevin's mom had suffered something awful at the hands of Crowley and his demons. That wasn't cool. I suddenly decided I didn't like Crowley as much as his actor anymore.
Sam sent me a long suffering look and explained, "We can't move him again, Hadley. It's too dangerous."
"Then take us with you," I suggested, gesturing to Kevin and myself. "We can translate on the go."
Sam furrowed his brow in confusion, remarking on, "We?"
"She's a Prophet now," Kevin supplied, walking back over. "God-shenanigans."
"God—what?" He looked to me for clarification.
"Raincheck?" I suggested, nodding at his duffel bag.
"Right…" he agreed reluctantly, then shook his head. "Either way, doesn't matter. Those tablets don't leave this bunker. Neither do you. You're on suicide watch. Kevin, don't let her out of your sight."
"I'm not—" I began heatedly.
"Yes, sir…" Kevin gave an ironic little salute, and when I sent him a betrayed look, he merely suggested, "Coffee?"
Miraculously, I no longer felt betrayed.
"God, yes."
So, I noticed no one has reviewed this yet, so I'm kind of starving for feedback.
I need you guys to let me know if this is the kind of stuff you want to see! Should I continue this, or not?
Tell me what you think in a review, if you can!
Thanks for reading! -Tsohg a ma I