A/N: Stayed up way too late so I could publish this today. Sorry for more than the usual amount of errors.
...was an old friend of Bobby. Ha, I say "friend". Nice lady, don't find many decent people left lately…
A human would have collapsed from exhaustion a long time ago. It had been… many days, since Castiel was first brought to what he thought of as his prison. His legs should have given in, standing for so long, and his neck should have been at least horribly cramped, held taut as it was by the collar. And yet, Castiel had never felt more removed from his vessel, despite the fact that he was still technically inhabiting it.
It was an odd feeling, to feel so powerful, so saturated with heavenly power, and yet so helpless at the same time.
Heaven's light was flowing through him, nourishing his grace. His wings were spread out for maximum efficiency, the sigil-etched chains making sure their form remained true. The Enochian, Aramaic and seventh-century Nahuatl scripts on his prison's walls amplified his grace's ability to recharge.
It was unnatural. An abomination of an Angel's natural condition. He was burning out.
To make things worse, the amount of energy coursing through him made it ever so difficult to concentrate. He was in his prison. He was with Claire. He was trying to listen to his visitor, who was currently - and very cheerfully - strengthening the painted sigils on the walls. He was trying to listen to prayers.
Oh, how he tried.
...thought he was gonna cry. They were even growing radishes out there, I mean, end of the world, and you're making friggin' radishes?...
"Does this looks right to you?"
Castiel opened his eyes. The man, his daily visitor, was contemplating the piece of the wall he had just repainted. He placed his brush behind one ear, completely missing the fact that the red paint was dripping on to his shirt. He was an uninspiring figure in Castiel's eyes. Dressed in clothes that, Cas learned, were considered quite unfashionable for the current culture and region.
"I think," Castiel said, concentrating great efforts on activating his vessel's vocal cords, "that you misspelled Qephetzial ." He took an unnecessary deep breath to help himself focus. "You should… try Kaf instead of Kuf ."
The funny little man looked like he was considering the alteration for a moment, but then thought better of it. He put his hands on his hips, leaned to the left and said, in frank amusement, "Oh you."
Pulling a small notepad from his pocket, he flipped through the pages before he found the right one. "Aha!" He said, retrieving his paintbrush from behind his ear. He spared Castiel another amused look. "You almost got me."
Castiel would've sighed if he could spare the attention.
...they don't know anything... got something decent to eat for once. I say she was a nice lady, yeah?...
...out now, Cas, I really am….you're getting this…
...find you, I promise…
...where are you, man?...
Carl had no idea which house was supposed to be his.
He was so focused on chasing after Lori, that he didn't realize he was leaving Judith. His mom said to watch after his little sister. It was literally her dying request. The first thing she asked him again. And he let her down.
Where the hell (where the heaven?) did he wake up?
All the houses looked the same. A few small variations: a potted plant or two, a vine growing along an outer wall, a different type of mailbox. Nothing that called out to him as familiar. Also: was there really mail in heaven? Were they getting, like, bills? Was there a postman?
Carl was not panicking. He was, very possibly, dreaming. Or high. Was he high?
He kept passing by the same houses too, about a dozen of them in all. It was very odd - to his perception, the street was as straight as it could go, but Carl still seemed to be wandering around in circles.
He considered asking for help - there were a few people up and about. Only, he remembered Claire's advice: don't look at people who didn't want to be looked at. Fortunately for him, a young girl came onto his path all by herself.
"Are you lost?" she asked, incredulously. She was about eight years old, with red bushy hair and face full of freckles. And she didn't seem to have a problem meeting Carl's eyes.
"I don't know where I live," he admitted. "Can you help me?" She looked like she was considering it, so he added, "please?"
She sighed like she was doing him a great big favor. "Well, the one you just left is Claire's." She pointed. "The one with the green door is mine - I'm Susan. Not Susie." She glared until he mumbled an "okay".
"All the houses on the left side have been here before, so they can't be yours," she said. "And on this side there are three new ones. Also," she looked at him pityingly, "there are names on all of the doors."
"Oh," Carl said, sheepishly. "Thanks."
He found his own house quickly enough after that. It was the house with the different mailbox after all. Susan-not-Susie tagged along, apparently having decided he was worth following around. The front door was wide open, and he could hear the TV was on in the living room.
"Mom?" he called. "Are you home?" He paused at the living room entrance. "Dad?"
Rick was sitting in an armchair in front of the TV in an angle to the door, his hand on the armrest and his profile in view.
"Dad?" Carl said again, surprised. "You're here too?" Carl was about to walk into the livingroom, to face his dad, but Susan stopped him by grabbing onto his T-shirt. She mouthed don't.
"I'm always here, Carl," Rick said, way more serenely than Carl had ever heard known him to be. "How is your day going?" A pause. "Are you happy?"
Unnerved, Carl took a step back. "It's okay." A kick from Susan. "Yeah, I'm happy. Like, super happy. Is Judith here?" Oh God, was Judith going to be all weird too?
"You should check on her," Rick said. "She misses you." His finger flickered the remote, the TV changing to some nature documentary.
Carl didn't need to be told twice. He found Judith's room: it was a very pink, and just about overflowing with stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes. No Judith, though. No Judith, no Mom. And… no Dad. Or maybe Carl wasn't the only one who was high.
"Hey, is that her?" Susan said, pointing to the window. She squinted. "She's just a baby."
Peering through the window, Carl saw that Susan was right. Judith was in the backyard, sitting on a little blue blanket. And she wasn't alone. There was a strange man sitting next to her, holding out a little plastic toy for her to take.
Carl grabbed the discarded baseball bat from the hallway.
"Who are you?" Carl demanded as he burst into the yard.
The man jumped to his feet. He was a white guy who looked to be in his 40s. He had a very straightforward look: clean shaven, his dark hair beginning to thin, combed and parted to the side. He was dressed in khakis, white sneakers and a green polo shirt. In any other circumstances, Carl would have thought he looked completely harmless.
"I said, who the hell are you?" Carl repeated, trying to look as menacing as he could look in pajama pants.
"Brian! I'm Brian," the man squeaked, taking a step back. "Um, so, bro, how's it hangin'?" He raised his hand, holding it out for a … fist bump?
"...What?"
The man cringed. "Sorry. It's just that you're a bit outside my normal age range." He looked at Judith fondly.
"Back off, asshole!" Carl snarled, and raised his baseball bat.
Judith, startled by the aggression, started to cry. That sort of behavior at least was normal, thank God. The guy, Brian, had at least a good enough sense to back up a few more steps, enough to allow Carl to feel safe enough to let go of his bat and pick up his crying sister. It was an awkward few minutes, with Carl simultaneously rocking and shushing Judith, all the while glaring daggers at the stranger.
"Hi Susan," the guy said, breaking the silence. He was cowering by the edge of the yard. Susan, who was watching everything with great interest, simply rolled her eyes at him.
"Brian, he's not going to eat you." She turned to Carl. "Brian is afraid of big kids, I don't know why. He's the one who brought us all here. Is that your sister? What kind of name is Judith for a baby, anyway?" She stepped up to them, peering curiously. "She's so little. How come the biters haven't eaten her?"
"Susan!" Brian admonished. "You know we don't talk about them here."
"Wait, you brought us here?" Carl questioned. Brian nodded. "…Is this really Heaven?"
"Yeah! Totally." Brian squeaked. He then cleared his throat, embarrassed.
"So you're like, what, an angel?" Carl asked. Judith was still crying, throwing her entire weight backward in a tantrum. She was getting big: Carl was struggling to keep a hold on her.
"...Yes. Absolutely." Brian was nodding his head enthusiastically. "I'm an angel."
"...Huh."
Brian added, "I was just checking to see how you and Judith were settling in. How do you like everything so far? Does your room look okay?"
Tell anyone who asks that you're happy, Claire had said. So Carl nodded. "Yeah... Everything's cool."
"Awesome!" Brian beamed. "I'll be going, then, still need to check in on Mikey, y'know. I'll be around. Don't worry, you won't see me. Susan, Judith, you two have a wonderful day." He gave them a funny little salute, and then winked. "And you too, Carl!" He gave him a thumbs-up and then just - disappeared.
"I'm definitely high," Carl said after a moment, nodding to himself. "Michonne is going to kill me."