Nothing else exciting happened the rest of the summer. I mean, sure there were demons that I killed, I also killed an actual shifter, not a Slitheen, or whatever. I started to do some research on aliens for the first week after I met Erin, but I wasn't all that interested, so I didn't bother to look that hard. Actually, I was sort just uninterested in everything. I killed demons, sure, but I didn't jump with my usual vigor. I didn't get sloppy, exactly, but I got less careful. I didn't make game plans; I just jumped into danger without thinking, which was seriously unlike me. I had stopped using my high-tech gadgets, reverting back to my early days of what I considered self-defense; a gun, a bottle of holy water, a silver knife, and multiple memorized exorcisms.

I also had lost interested in the books Bobby had given me. I think I had depression. That talk I'd had with Pastor Gritsch had given me a burst of new-found energy for about two weeks. I wasn't alone. God was with me. And He still was, I knew, but I was lonely; physically lonely. Just to have someone be near me; someone I could trust with my hopes and fears, someone I could physically hold hands with. Someone to hug when I needed one. But I didn't have that, and I pessimistically figured I never would.

So July passed. Then August. I started my September in Dell Rapids, South Dakota. I had rented a hotel room at a place called the Bilmar Inn & Suites. It was cozy and homey. There was lots of wood, which reminded me a bit of Bobby's, which I found strangely comforting.

September 12th of that year, 2008, was my 19th birthday. And I spent it in a hotel room, lying on the bed, looking at the ceiling. I had woken up at noon that day, which should have worried me, but it didn't. I was waking up later and later every day, and I was going to bed earlier and earlier. I was eating less, sleeping more, and allowing myself to get hurt in a fight. The sight of my own blood fascinated me. Two days later, I decided;

Maybe it was time to spill my own.

I sort of had contemplated suicide before, but not seriously. Honestly, before then, I wasn't sure how people could kill themselves. Life was so fragile. I knew that first hand; my mom, my dad, my son… and I was only nineteen. Life was funny, and I don't mean in the amusing kind of way. I frowned and sat on the bed. Weren't you supposed to leave a note for your loved ones? Yeah, well, it's not like it matters, I thought sadly, All of my loved ones are dead. Something struck me, just then. My truck. Who would take that? I couldn't just leave it there, with all my supplies and books and…

Books. Bobby. I flipped open my cell and punched in Bobby's number. I took a few deep breaths while his phone was ringing. He didn't pick up. Instead I heard, "This is Bobby Singer's direct hotline. You should not have this number."

I sighed and closed my eyes. Just leave a message.

"Hello, Bobby," I said. I was hesitant, but soon the words started to flow easily. This was the last conversation I was ever going to have, and no one was even there to hear me. Nothing to be nervous about. I sounded surprisingly loose when I continued, "It's Eden Parker. You said to call if I ever need a place to crash or needed a favor? Well, my truck broke down. Would you be able to come look at it? I'm in Dell Rapids, just about half an hour north of your place? Camped out at a place called Bilmar Inn & Suites. I'm fine here for a few days; there's nothing in town that's dangerous, but I may be able to find something…" I paused, not sure what else to say. I thought a moment, then said in the most heartfelt voice I could muster, "Thanks so much."

I hung up, only to find that I was breathily unevenly. I really, actually, did not want to die. But I had to. How could I live with myself when everyone I loved had died because of me? I had so much death, so many lives that weighed me down and there were only so many more I could take before I would break. Although, I think I had been broken, long ago, so my time was long overdue. I sighed and stood up.

My only thought, then, was about Danny. Shine for me, I had told him. I walked over to the window and drew back the curtain, looking up at the night sky. The stars were sparkling amidst the inky black expanse that was the heavens. Danny loved the stars. He once asked me if they were angels. I told him I didn't know, but maybe one day he and I could go find out, together, and he had agreed with me. "I like that, DenDen," he had agreed excitedly, "let's go see the stars together." DenDen? Oh, that was what he called me… He didn't know I was his mom. He thought I was his sister, and he couldn't quite say my name when he was first learning how to talk, so he just called me 'DenDen'. Which… was fine? Is fine. I guess.

But that really wasn't fine. Looking up at the stars, my breathing became ragged and tears welled up in my eyes. He had never known I was his mom. That, I think was what solidified my decision. I knew that I probably would go to hell for killing myself, and I'd never get to see Danny again, but…

DenDen and Danny Parker. I guess, in a way, I was Eden Parker when I was being Danny's mom and sister. His birth certificate says 'Daniel Elijah Parker' on it, so he was a Parker at least. My little Spiderman. I smiled softly, despite my tears. He was a wonderful boy. He could have done so many things. So much more than I could. I rubbed the tears from my face, and kissed my hand. Gently, I blew my love for Danny to the stars.

"Bye, darling," I whispered. After a moment, I drew the curtains shut. Turning around, I paused. Would God listen to me? Even though I was going to go through with it, no matter what? I cautiously knelt down on the ground, and folded my hands. I bit my lip and laughed at myself quietly.

"Well, Lord, I'm here," I sighed, "I, um, want to say thanks, I guess. That's not meant to be sarcastic… but You know that. I am thankful that you gave me the parents I had, and that I had a few years with my son, but… Why did You have to have them taken away from me? Why did I have to go through all that pain? There were so many times where I was so close to finally being happy, and then everyone was ripped away from me," I paused, struggling. When I continued my voice was much more desperate, "Why would You do that? Why would You build up my hope like that, only to have me come crashing down? How could you let this happen?" I cried, "How could you let all this shit happen to me – how can you leave me here all alone? What have I done that is so wrong in your eyes that I can't even have a single friend? I refuse to believe I am supposed to be alone! No one is supposed to be alone, damn You! I've climbed every fucking mountain that You've given me! And every damn time, there's a fucking cliff that was just out of sight and I've always come crashing faster and harder than the cliff before!" Brimming with anger and fury I yelled, "Well, I don't have to worry about the mountains or the climb or the cliffs and the fall anymore! I don't care – did you hear me, Oh Lord Almighty? I don't give a damn about Your plans for me! Isn't there something that goes, 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger'? Well, You should have realized that if something didn't kill me, I'd kill myself!"

Screaming with fury, I whipped my hunting knife out and in two, fluid motions, I violently slashed both of my arms deeply from wrist to elbow. Blood poured from my arms, and I clumsily dropped the knife, gasping, and I fell to my knees. The sudden loss of blood left me dizzy and hazy-eyed. I tried to stand up, but I was so unstable that I lost my balance and crashed to the floor. I could feel the warmth of my blood pooling around me, soaking into the carpet of the floor, my clothes, my hair. Spots started to invade my vision, and I breathed a sigh of relief and closed my eyes.

It was over.

Buzzing. Weird, weird buzzing. I tried to identify what it was. After a moment, I was able to. My ears were ringing. I slowly opened my eyes. I was still in the hotel room, but I was on the bed. I could feel the comforter beneath me, scratchy in the way that only hotel bedspreads are. Sitting up blearily, I glanced around the room and nearly fell off the bed. There was a man sitting on a chair in the corner, looking at me solemnly. He was dressed somewhat funnily; he had a nice suit on, but his clothes were stained with blood, and his tie was on backwards. And he had a really dirty trench coat on. And he had wings. No joke. They were just like angel wings, too. Big, feathery. There was one thing strange about them, though. His feathers… they were shiny, but sort of a gray-black, like soot. But just as soon as I saw his wings, they disappeared, like a mirage. I had an idea as to who he might be. Before I could ask, however, he uttered, "You cannot die." His voice surprised me. It was very low and gravelly, almost too low.

"It's my life," I scathingly replied, "And I don't want it."

"Life," He said slowly, "Is a gift from God, the Father. It should be treasured."

I spat, "Well, apparently God got my 'gift' off the clearance rack, because it sucks."

"Uhm," he said, tilting his head in confusion.

I rolled my eyes and asked, "Are you Samael?"

"What?" The man asked.

"Samael," I repeated, "Angel of death. Prince of the Air."

The man blinked and shook his head. He paused then said gratingly, "My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."

I blinked and said in surprise, "You're kidding."

Looking uncertain, Castiel replied, "Um, no."

"So where am I going?" I asked, after a pause.

The angel Castiel looked at me funny and responded, "I do not know. That is your decision.

I narrowed my eyes at him and asked, "So is this one of those things where I 'relive my memories'?"

He blinked, "Um –"

I overrode him, "Oh, or I see my life rewind and get to experience all the painful moments in my life again?" He started to say something, but I barreled on, "Or you've come to tell me that since I committed suicide I can't be allowed entry to heaven?" Looking confused, Castiel tried to say something, but I took no notice as a new idea struck me, "Oh, am I a ghost? Is that it? I'm a spirit because of my angry death?" I laughed bitterly, "Well that's interesting. And really ironic, because the reason I killed myself was to get off the earth. I don't want to be stuck here!" I crossed my arms and glared at Castiel. The look on his face made him look a bit like an over-grown child in a dirty trench coat.

At last he said, "You are not dead, Sara Müller."

Castiel using my real name jolted me into action. I sprung up off the bed and shrieked, "What?"

I looked at my arms. "Oh, my God," was all I could managed. My arms were fine; they weren't cut up or bleeding. They were covered in dried blood, sure, but instead of cuts, there were two, very long, very thin scars on my arms that stood out white against my skin. I glanced around. There was blood pretty much everywhere. It was a little unnerving. When I had cut my arms, blood had spurted everywhere; the lam, the curtains, the walls. Not to mention the red carpet which was a pleasant crème color, originally. I could feel my blood-encrusted hair sticking to my clothes and my forehead, I turned my attention back to Castiel. "Okay, explain," I demanded.

"Explain what?" he asked confusedly.

Impatient, I stressed, "Maybe, oh, why I'm not dead?"

A light lit in his eyes and he stated, "Because your purpose on this earth has not been fulfilled."

"Oh," I laughed derisively, "Of course! Why did I ask in the first place?" I threw my hands in the air, "I cannot believe I tried to kill myself. My purpose hasn't been fulfilled." I curled my hands into fists and lowered them to my waist, and I stared at Castiel through slit eyes and spat, "So what's my purpose, angel boy?"

"I... cannot tell you that," Castiel faltered.

"Oh, nice," I fumed, "I don't want to be alive anymore, and so some freaking angel brings me back from the dead and he can't tell me why. Real nice."

"I did tell- " Castiel started, but I cut him off.

"You just said my stupid purpose hasn't been fulfilled. That's not even an answer." Castiel was silent a moment. When he spoke, he said something so unexpected I laughed, except he was being serious.

"Someone needs you to take care of them."

"Oh," I said, crossing my arms and fuming mad, "Is that so? Well, maybe you think so, Castiel, but let me tell you; no one needs me, no one cares about me, I am useless! Why do think I tried to kill myself in the first place? I have no use, angel!" I pleaded, "Please, just let me die!"

To my fury, Castiel shook his head and stated calmly, "No. The one for who you were created or needs your guidance and caring hand."

"What, my soul mate?" I asked sarcastically. Castiel said nothing, just stared at me, and my mouth opened in surprise. I spluttered, "You're not – you're not serious? My freaking soul mate? Do I even deserve one of those?"

"It is not a matter of whether you deserve a soul mate or not," Castiel solemnly explained, "Your soul mate is your counterpart; the one you were created for, just as he was created for you."

"Great," I muttered under my breath, "A guy."

I think Castiel heard me, because he looked puzzled, "Do you prefer women over men?"

I blushed, "Men just scare me." I bit my lip, realizing what I had just said.

Castiel nodded and said seriously, "I understand. You have been through much."

Faltering, I sat down on the bed and asked warily, "How do you know what I've been through?"

"I," Castiel said, "am your appointed guardian angel. When you need me, I will be here."

I frowned at him slightly, "My guardian angel?"

He nodded and I asked in a somewhat restrained voice, "Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Because you were never in true danger. I am here to keep you alive. I have helped you before."

I frowned deeply, thinking. A thought seeped into my mind and I asked slowly, "2007… I tried to take out a town of demons. One of them said I was being watched over… and then… there was a light later, and… that was you?"

Castiel nodded and supplied, "Yes, the white light was me. I sent the demons back to where they came from."

"Why?"

He blinked at me, like the reason should have been obvious. His answer was a simple, "Because you would have otherwise died."

"Oh," I managed. A thought took me and I blurted, "When I was in Sioux Falls, there was a piercing noise that broke the windows. Was that you, too?"

Nodding once, Castiel breathed in deeply and released, "Yes. I was… trying to communicate with you. However… not all humans are tuned into…"

"Angel radio?" I offered.

"Yes," he nodded, "angel radio. I thought you might be because…" Castiel trailed off, looking at the ground.

"Because why?" I asked suspiciously.

Castiel hesitated and answered, "That's not important."

"Sure, it is," I argued, "Why did you think I could hear?"

Somewhat unwillingly, Castiel said, "Because your father could. He was the one who asked me to watch over you."

"God asked you to watch over me?" I asked, misinterpreting him.

"No," Castiel shook his head, "Not your Heavenly Father. Your father, your earthly father."

I blinked and rubbed my face. After a moment, I asked, "So he asked you to watch over me before he killed himself."

"Yes," Castiel said, but only after a moment's' hesitation. There was silence for a moment. Finally, a thought occurred to me;

"How do I know this guy and I are soul mates? And do I get to know his name?"

"No, I cannot tell you his name," Castiel said, "But if you truly want to know how I know he is your soul mate, I can tell you that."

I nodded, "Okay. Shoot."

"Shoot what?" he asked confused.

I closed my eyes briefly; he wasn't very socially… apt. He really was like a child; it was almost… endearing. "I didn't mean that you should shoot an object," I said almost warmly, "I meant that you should tell me how you know my soul mate is actually my soul mate."

"Oh," Castiel said, "I see." He paused, "I know that this man is your soul mate because he has the same color aura as you."

I frowned, confused. "What?"

"Your aura," Castiel explained, "It is an energy. The energy that lights each human soul. Every soul is a different color; a different shade. Except for soul mates. The color of their souls match."

"I see," I said after a moment, "And what colors do my soul mate and I share?"

Castiel stated, "It is a deep red, although souls are more intricately colored than that. No soul is just one color."

I thought about that and mused, "So a majority of our souls are this red color but his may have… blue in it where mine has green?"

"Yes," he said. I waited for him to add something but he didn't.

Curious, I pressed, "Tell me more. Please."

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Castiel reported, "The majority of a soul's color is the color is that you share with your soul mate. The next largest color is the color that is specific to your own soul. And there are other colors that mix and twist into these two main colors."

I nodded then asked, "So, what does my soul look like? Do the colors mean anything?" I really did want to know. I figured it would be black, considering my past.

Castiel nodded, "Yes, the colors are what make up the values and morals of the soul. Your soul, in particular, is green. It's…" he thought for a while and I waited in expectation, "It's the color of the sea. The green shows that you mainly rely on growth and balance; you like to learn from your experiences here on earth, and you take these lessons to heart."

"That's cute," I mumbled. Castiel continued,

"The other main color of your soul is this deep red that you share with your soul mate; a color that belongs to those who are grounded in their self-image, realistic in their outlook on life, have a strong will-power, and are survival oriented." I nodded. That sounded like me. I saw the world as it was; harsh. Castiel wasn't done, apparently, because he kept talking;

"Your soul is… swirled with a deep indigo, a color that implicates intuition, sensitivity, and the ability to empathize easily with others." Now that surprised me. The intuition, I could understand, I could sense demons and stuff, right? But sensitivity and empathy? That didn't sound like me at all. I was about to ask, but Castiel answered before I could finish.

"However, the indigo of your soul is being eaten away by a dark gray; the color of fear. Fear is taking over your kindness and caring, and if you meet your soulmate, then he can help you break away from the fear."

I absorbed that then asked quietly, "You said I needed to help him. What does he need help with?"

"He is…" Castiel started then paused. He frowned a bit and said finally, "He is headed down a dangerous path. And only will you be able to help him."

"That's great," I replied sarcastically, "Considering I can barely be in the same room with a guy without having a panic attack."

I think Castiel was trying to be helpful when he countered, "You are in the same room as me."

"I know," I said patiently, "But you're an angel. You're a gender non-specific, celestial being. You're not male or female."

"That is true," he admitted. I sighed and put my head in my hands. You're back from the dead for twenty minutes and you find out that angels are real, your father prayed to one to protect you, and that you have a soul mate. That was a lot. I looked up at Castiel and asked hesitantly, "Would… would you be able to draw it for me?"

"Draw what?" Castiel asked.

"My… my soul," I replied somewhat nervously, "I was just wondering what it looks like, and…" I trailed off.

"I believe so," Castiel replied.

I smiled, "Thank you." I hopped off the bed and went over to my duffel bag, pulling out a drawing pad and a pack of colored pencils. Drawing was my guilty pleasure.

I hesitantly handed them to Castiel and he accepted them without comment. He looked at the colors that I had, and drew out a number of them; reds, grays, blues, greens, purples. Setting aside the box of pencils, he stared intently at the paper, and picked up a red pencil and began to draw deftly. I watched him for a long time, quite intently, interested. As he drew, I caught my breath. There was something that happened as he drew. The white paper darkened to a pure black, and the colors he sketched across the paper seemed to glow brighter than picture I had ever seen. The loops and lines he drew seemed to take on a life of their own. Finally he finished, pushing the picture towards me. I soaked it in. That was my soul. I looked at it for a long time, feeling like something was wrong. Finally, I figured out what it was. I asked Castiel, "Why is there so much empty space in the middle?"

Castiel sighed and said, "Because your soul is breaking."

"Oh," was all I could say. There was a silence for a time, where I continued to stare at the depiction of my soul, mesmerized. Half-heartedly, I ventured, "Will it ever… be fixed?"

Castiel thought about that. At last, he answered, "Yes. But only –"

"By my soul mate," I finished.

"No," Castiel said.

"Then by who?" I asked, slightly irritated by his lack of explanation.

"I think you know," was all he said.

I closed my eyes frustrated, thinking. Who could fix my soul? I mentally ran through a list of all the people I had ever spoken to. Not Mom, not Dad, not Danny, not my grandparents; they were all gone. Shane? No. John? Not likely. Clara was a vampire; that would be laugh. Andrew used to be one, too, but he was dead; John killed him. I wracked my brain. Sam or Dean? I inwardly shuddered. I did not want my soul fixed by someone who seemed far too interested in me, or a boy who sweet-talked when he hadn't even met me. Bobby? Um, no. The list went on and on and finally the answered occurred to me.

"It's me," I said, opening my eyes, "I have to be the one to fix my soul."

But Castiel was gone.