AN: makes use of Blair Witch (2019) lore because I was in a Phase™. Don't own it, nor Supernatural. This will be featured in this chapter only for immersion. (i sound like a try-hard lmao)
enjoy
i.
She woke up in her dreams and found herself at the edge of Black Hills.
A dark fog thickened amongst the tree line, and the sky grumbled loudly. The rain was warm as it splattered her face. Lightning clapped and crackled, and the ground quaked so hard the surface split into asphalt webs. Harsh winds rushed against her ears, and her hair flew around her head in the chaos.
She was stuck, like a statue on a fountain worn down by time, forced to endure the tremulous force of nature that ran havoc around her. Her heart surged but her feet sunk beneath the ground, and fear rooted itself deep into her body.
Finally, when the world came to a crescendo and her bones were rattling and her teeth clattered, her thoughts drowned out by raspy whispering that sung to her from the opaque forest–
–she closed her eyes.
... - .- -. -.. / -... -.- / - .
And the angel came down and said, "Susanna Berkeley, we need your help."
And Susanna said, "Duh."
... - .- -. -.. / -... -.- / - .
When she woke up again, she was in her room. It was quiet and still, and moonlight shone through the crack in her curtain. Cicadas could be faintly heard beyond the shut window.
Normal.
Except for Rosie who was sipping on a glass of chocolate milk and watching her with patient, but sleepy eyes. Creepy, but that was a given. Everything Rosie did was creepy.
When Susanna's heart finally resumed beating, she leaned over and switched the lamp on. The yellow glow burnt her groggy eyes. It seemed to have little effect on her youngest sister.
"Rosie," she said. "why." No more explanation. Just why.
Rosie blinked slowly. "Your boyfriend is back."
It took a few seconds to parse that sentence out. When she did, she shook her head. It didn't make sense. "I don't have a boyfriend?"
"You will," Rosie shrugged. She drank deeply from her milk as if what she was saying was completely within reason. To her, it probably was.
… "Okay?" and then, "What do you mean 'back?'"
Her sister produced a cookie from nowhere and ate it thoughtfully. "He died," she finally said. "And went to hell. And now he's come back. I saw it. He's digging himself up right now."
"Wow," Joanna piped in, and Susanna finally noticed her other sister – the second youngest – lounging on the other side of her bed. She had an elbow propped up and her cheek resting on her fist. Neither of them was there when she went to sleep how many – five hours ago, her wall clock read. It was four in the morning. "That's gotta be some heavy mojo. How'd he do it?"
"Angels," was all Rosie said, before chugging the rest of her milk down like it was hard alcohol and she was but a slave to the bottle.
Joanna's eyes widened. "What – really?" She gazed around the room senselessly, considering something, before refocusing her gaze on Rosie. She leaned in closer and whispered, "Were they hot?"
Rosie, fourteen and more interested in trying to coerce the woodland animals into her bedroom than boys, looked at her like she was a simpleton. "No."
"Pity."
Susanna gave up and dug her head under her pillow. She was old and needed sleep. They could gossip while she was back in dreamland if they wanted.
Sisters.
A finger poked her side. Susanna cried inside. It kept poking her until she was reluctantly sitting up, forced to endure the persistent, prodding stares of her sisters. "What do you want?"
The empty glass was shoved into her chest. She grabbed it and peered into it confused.
"I don't want to go downstairs. It's really dark. Something might be waiting." Rosie crawled over her legs and forced her way into the middle of the bed, kicking the blanket down so she could get under it comfortably. "You should put it away."
And like that, she was out of it. Joanna snapped her fingers. Rosie didn't so much as twitch. "Well," Joanna sent her innocent eyes. "Night!" and she, too, rolled over and smashed her head into her pillow, pretending to sleep because nobody had that innate ability that Rosie had.
Susanna stared at them. She hated her sisters.
... - .- -. -.. / -... -.- / - .
Outside her room, the air felt hot and clammy, and she noticed suddenly how her skin was sticky with sweat. The floorboards were cool against her feet as she padded quietly down stairs to the kitchen, stupid glass in hand.
There was a man by the counter.
Susanna stared at him evenly. He stared back. When she flicked the light off and then back on again – he was still there. Just, standing. Watching. He appeared concussed, or perhaps suspicious.
Why was he the one suspicious? This was her kitchen – he was the strange one here.
"Hello," he said, breaking the terse, unexpected silence. His voice was gravely, and something about it made it seem unused. "You are Susanna Berkeley."
She wondered if this was another one of her mom's stalkers or a boyfriend, but surely, she'd have heard about him already. He would be dead and his skull would be sitting on the fireplace mantle by now. Joanna liked to carry their dads with her around the house as she bitched about the latest drama she was in.
She swallowed. "I am."
"You are a witch."
"Yes."
He seemed to consider this. Susanna didn't understand. She wanted him gone. She just wanted to put this damn glass into the sink. But before she could shatter the window and send him flying, he said, "My name is Castiel."
"Oh. Okay."
She didn't know what to do with this information or why she needed it.
"I'm an angel of the Lord. We're in need of your service."
Susanna didn't like alcohol, but she felt that right now was a too appropriate moment to get some. So instead she poured orange juice into the glass – still with chocolate milky remnants in it – and shotted that instead. It didn't have the same sting, but she was vindicated and that's what mattered.
"That was… orange juice. Why?" Castiel asked, seeming to be vaguely dumbfounded.
She didn't expect him to understand. Did angels drink? Or would that be considered a sin? She didn't remember reading about this in the bible. This was ridiculous. She made an angel say orange juice. Susanna wanted to laugh and cry.
So instead she said, "Because it tastes good." And then, "I don't like alcohol. It's gross."
"I see."
Susanna didn't think he did.
"Susanna Berkeley," Castiel said, again. And then the ground rumbled quietly, and thunder rolled outside in the sky, and rain hit the window panes. Just a few drops at first, which slid down and left tracks, until more fell and the outside world became watery and hazy. Message: delivered and read. "You have seen it. The apocalypse is coming."
Susanna sighed wearily and peered woefully out the window, even though she couldn't see anything. It was the action that counted.
The dreams. She'd been having many dreams. Not like how Rosie saw things, but something like that. She tried hard not to think about it, but…
"I did," she mumbled unhappily and said no more.
"It must be stopped."
"Yeah…"
"You will help."
"Yeah…" She slouched onto the counter, lowering her head until all she could see was the marbled granite pattern.
"Then you know what you must do."
She didn't say anything this time. Just grumbled incoherently and listened to the storm brewing outside her house. It was almost inspiring to have the confidence of an angel, until she remembered that his presence was an omen of things worse to come.
When she lifted her head, Castiel was gone.