Chapter 3
Screaming, Sam stared at the space where his older brother had been a split-second before, but where there was now only thin air. In the light of the fallen flashlight, he saw the angel staring at the same empty space, standing straight and its hand lifted to touch. Wide-eyed and still breathing heavily between squeals of terror, Sam stared back at the creature.
Don't blink!
Incapable of moving as if he was frozen by the gaze they were holding as well, Sam willed his eyes to stay open. Tears of grief lurked in their corners, beginning to burn. Though he did not know for sure what had happened to Dean, he had seen him vanish in the blink of an eye when the weeping angel touched him.
Though it's not weeping anymore, Sam thought miserably. Now, nothing stood between him and the angel.
Carefully, he wiped at his right eye to clear it of tears, forcing himself not to blink with the left one. Then he did the same with the left eye. Taking long breaths in and releasing them slowly, Sam did his best to keep looking at the creepy creature.
Eventually, his eyes blinked on their own accord.
Squealing, Sam realized that the angel lunged again, now only about a yard away. Whining with fear, the boy crawled backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. As he could not take his eyes off the angel, he felt around for the door but could not find it.
Oh, my God. It'll kill me, too.
Hearing footsteps, Sam was tempted to look around but forced himself not to do so. In the faint light, he could make out a tall shape that placed itself between him and the angel. Above women's shoes and slender ankles clad in tights, a beige coat towered in front of him, cutting off Sam's sight of the angel statue. Letting his view drift up, he saw a dark halo of coiffed hair.
"Shut your eyes, Sam," the mystery woman told him in a surprisingly dark voice.
Just before he complied, Sam saw her lift her right arm.
How does she know my name? he wondered just when a blinding white light engulfed him that made him curl in on himself, hiding his head between his arms. Together with the light, he heard a high screech. Then something crumpled to the floor and the unearthly shine was gone as well.
Shivering badly, Sam first could not lift his head. He could not even think. Time seemed to stand still for a couple of shaky breaths. Crying hard, he finally uncurled. Around him was darkness.
On hands and knees, Sam searched for the flashlight and found it under a cluster of broken stone. Switching it on, he discovered a whole pile of fractured rock.
The weeping angel, he thought.
"Dean?" Sam called out. "Dean!"
The house lay silent.
His brother was gone.
The woman was gone.
Sam was all alone.
"Deannnn!"
No response.
Crying heartbrokenly, Sam slumped to the floor. For several minutes, all he could do was cry. When he ran out of tears, he awkwardly got to his feet. Looking around uncertainly, Sam felt torn about leaving the house. Maybe his brother was not gone but trapped somewhere in here.
I should go and get Bobby.
Deciding that that was the best he could do, Sam gripped the flashlight harder and scrambled out of the house before running all the way back to Singer's scrapyard.
xXx
"Where the hell have you been?" Bobby thundered when the door opened and Sam stumbled inside and onto the worn entry rug. It was almost two in the morning and the grizzled hunter was out of his mind with worry about the boys his friend had entrusted in his care.
"Uncle Bobby!" Sam cried out, darting to him and wrapping his arms around his waist.
Only then, Bobby noticed that Sam was alone.
Sam was alone and sobbing into the hunter's checkered flannel shirt.
Bobby's stomach lurched.
"Sam?" he groused, "Where's Dean?"
Clinging even tighter to Bobby, Sam only cried louder.
"Sam!" Bobby gasped, trying to extricate the boy from himself and make him look up at him. "Are you listening? Where's your brother?"
"I don't know," Sam sobbed.
"Did he lose you?" Bobby prodded.
"No," Sam shook his head, wiping at his tears. "I lost him."
"Come, let's take a seat," Bobby declared, steering the boy to the kitchen and into a chair. "Take a deep breath..." he demanded, waiting for Sam to do as he said, "Good. Keep breathing... and then tell me what happened."
Taking a seat diagonally across from him, Bobby looked at him expectantly.
"It was... I don't know. There was that angel. A stone angel. It followed us and..."
When Sam paused, Bobby pushed, "And what? What did it do?"
"It... seemed like a statue when you looked at it," Sam tried to explain between sobs. "It moved when you didn't, though. Fast. It had fangs."
Uncertainly, Sam looked up at the hunter, waiting to hear if Bobby might know what they had encountered. Their father's friend appeared clueless, though.
"Now, where's Dean?"
"It... the angel touched him," Sam cried softly, almost tonelessly. "It touched him and he was gone."
"It killed him?"
Shrugging, Sam sniffled, "He just was... gone. One second he was there and then he wasn't."
Confused, Bobby listened to Sam's tale. His description of the mysterious angel statue did not ring any bells. What Sam told him about the woman who stepped in and saved him, destroying the angel, sounded outrageous. Most intriguing of all was what had happened to Dean.
When Sam was done talking and had calmed a little, Bobby finally dared to ask where all that had transpired. Of course, he was not happy to hear about the boys going to the Barnes house, but right at that moment, he was much more concerned about Dean's whereabouts, not to mention his wellbeing.
After some convincing, Sam agreed to show him where his brother had vanished. Bobby drove them to Barnes' house that lay dark and vacated upon their arrival. Carrying a powerful kerosene lamp, Bobby came around the car to open the door for Sam. The boy clung to his hand the whole time while he showed him to the scattered pile of rocks that had once been the creepy weeping angel. Despite Bobby's extensive attempts at tracking Dean, he could not find a trace of him.
Dean just was gone.
In the end, all Bobby could do was take a distraught Sam back to his house and stay with the boy until he had cried himself to sleep. Only then, the seasoned hunter dared to leave his side. Sitting down at his desk, he picked up his phone. Calling every hunter he knew, he tried to find some trace of information about the stone angels Sam had described. Before hanging up, he asked his fellow hunters to keep their eyes open in case the creature had teleported Dean somewhere or if they heard of similar disappearances.
Conveniently leaving out the bit of information about the missing boy being Dean, Bobby prayed no one would think to involve John Winchester in the matter. He needed to find the boy and as quickly as possible, getting John involved at this point would complicate the matter.
When he ran out of phone numbers to call, Bobby combed through his bookshelves in order to find a volume that might contain the information they needed to uncover the mystery of the stone angel. Only when he could not read anymore due to the pressure behind his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of weakness and shed a few tears as.
xXx
Coming to, Dean still felt nauseous. Through his closed eyelids, he saw bright sunlight. He felt the warmth on his skin while an inexplicable cold still permeated his body. Only slowly, those facts registered in his mind. When they did, his eyes flew open and he jerked up to a sitting position. At once, he felt lightheaded again, and he quickly closed his eyes against the brightness and nausea.
What the hell happened?
Finally cracking his eyes open, he looked around for his brother.
"Sam?"
No response.
Confused, Dean took in his surroundings. When the weeping angel had touched him, he had been inside Barnes' house, but he had awakened laying in a meadow. Grass and corn fields stretched as far as he could see.
"What the hell?"
Taking a couple of deep breaths, Dean tried to collect himself. Terror nagged at his insides which probably was the reason for the persistent coldness. Though he clearly felt the sun's warmth on his face and hands, he still shivered. Rubbing his hands over his face, he attempted to collect himself. Though he neither knew where he was nor whether anyone would be searching for him, Dean knew that he could not stay sitting in the meadow.
He braced himself and scrambled to his feet. For a short moment, he swayed before he gained his balance. From this new perspective, he could see a path and started in its direction. Unsteady from whatever had happened to him, he staggered through the knee-high grass. Apparently, the cold had affected his muscles. Only slowly, he made his way across the meadow. Upon reaching the path, Dean found it to be a dirt road.
"Which direction is Bobby's place?"
As it hardly seemed to matter, Dean turned to the left and began to walk.
"One thing's for sure. That was a real creepy Halloween night."
Somehow, that thought did not fit the rising heat.
"Why is it this warm in November?"
With every step Dean took, he felt a bit of warmth return to his body. The more he recovered, the more aware he became that he seemed to be dislocated. This was not the October chill of South Dakota. This was more like summer in the deep south. Insects were buzzing and birds singing while not a single cloud tainted the blue sky.
Eventually, the rising heat urged Dean to shed his jacket and overshirt, and he wrapped both around his waist, knotting the sleeves in the front. Sweat beaded on his brow as he climbed a slope. That was when he heard a car coming from behind. Intent on hitching a ride, he turned around.
His intention forgotten, Dean could only stare at the car as it approached. If he was not mistaken, he was looking at an old Ford. The varnish of the Model T gleamed in the sunlight as it rolled past him. It was so well kept that it looked new.
Scowling deeply, Dean wracked his mind about what he was missing. The clues were right in front of him, but the solution still eluded him. He had walked another couple of minutes before it hit him: The clothing both the driver and the lady riding shotgun had worn had looked very unfamiliar, as if they originated from another time.
They chose them to fit their classic car, Dean told himself, though a part of him already suspected another explanation.
In the distance, he saw a town and lengthened his strides.
When he finally reached the first houses, Dean looked around curiously. The few cars that parked along the street appeared out of time as well. He knew enough about cars to be able to tell that they had been built sometime between 1920 and 1930.
The houses also looked different: trimmed lawns, white picket fences, front porches, some of the latter complete with a swing. With confusion, Dean noted the total lack of satellite dishes. The town gave him the impression to have fallen into a museum village. Some sort of period reenactment or movie set.
But if that was the case, where are all the people? Shouldn't there be tourists or cameramen?
Walking down the street, Dean looked for landmarks and eventually spotted a gas station. Like everything else, it appeared old-fashioned, including the advertisements and the gas pumps. Pushing his hands into his pants pockets, Dean searched for coins.
He was hungry.
When he entered and looked around the shelves, he started with astonishment upon reading the price tags.
That can't be!
Grabbing a paper wrapped candy bar, he turned for the cashier's counter to pay and discovered a short stack of newspapers. Eyes widening with shock, Dean stared at the date of the Sioux Falls Chronicle:
June 14, 1922
Snatching the top paper off the counter, he exclaimed, "What the Hell!"
"Hey! Mind your language, boy!" the man behind the counter scolded.
Throwing two coins on the countertop, Dean ran out of the shop. Turning right, he continued down the street. Only twice, a car passed him on his desperate search for a safe place to go.
Where to?
A white facade caught his eye and he turned in its direction. Having no better place to hide, Dean entered the church. The benches were too prominent for his liking, so he strode along the wall until he reached a dark corner. Leaning his back against the wall, he slid down to sit on the floor. Hiding in the shadows, the young Winchester fought his tears.
What happened? Is this the creepyangel's doing? Frigging nineteen twenty-two? What the hell?
Through tears blurring his sight, Dean stared at the newspaper headline. He could not wrap his head around seeing another date there, especially a date so far in the past.
If that's really true and I'm in 1922, then... then I'll probably die of old age before I'm even born.
Choking on the realization, he put the paper down. Fresh tears burned in his eyes and he pulled his knees up to wrap his arms around them and hugging them to himself.
"Bobby, I'm sorry," he sobbed, his maturing voice surprisingly squeaky with distress. "We shouldn't have gone there. Please let me wake from this nightmare."
Hiding his head between his arms, he curled up to a tight ball and cried.
It took Dean quite a while to calm down from his initial shock. When he finally looked up again, he heard his stomach growl. Despite the aching concern that knotted up his insides, he reached for the red and white packaged candy bar and peeled back the wrapper. The smell of chocolate hit his nose and he took comfort in the familial aroma. Carefully, as if he did not expect it to be real, Dean took a small bite. The taste chocolate covered peanuts, caramel, and nougat filled his mouth. Slowly relishing the sensation of eating a Baby Ruth bar, it made his situation more bearable. It wasn't any less dire but at least he didn't have to figure things out on an empty stomach.
What the hell am I gonna do? I'm only thirteen. Hardly went to school and when I did, I didn't pay attention. Now I'm trapped in a time that isn't my own.
Once more, tears welled in his eyes.
Maybe I can find other hunters. They might know if there's some kind of ritual that could reverse what the angel did. There could be creatures that are able to jump through time. And if nothing can take me back, other hunters might be willing... there his thought process faltered ...willing to take me in.
Suddenly, Dean felt all choked up, his insides constricting painfully.
If I can't find a way to get back, I'll never see Sammy again!
Or Dad!
Or Bobby!
Anyone!
A sob caught in his chest as it dawned on him that he might be stuck here forever. As he had no actual idea what the angel had done or which species it belonged to, he did not even know where to start searching for a solution to his problem.
Oh, my God!
Shivering violently, Dean wrapped back up to a tight ball. The young Winchester usually was not the type of person who prayed, but right at that moment, he felt so lost and desperate that he did not even think about it.
"God, please... I don't know what to do. I'm so... lost. What am I doing here? I... If you listen..."
A choked laugh escaped him at that.
"I don't really believe in you, but in case you're there, you already know that. Right?"
Shaking his head with incredulity, he laughed again.
"If there ever was a moment... now would be the time when I need your help."
Fiddling with the empty candy wrapper, Dean thought about how, despite the reverse passage of time, the candy still tasted basically the same as it had in his own time.
In the time where Sammy is. Where I'm not anymore.
Hysteric laughter broke out of him.
"God? Are you there? Can you help? I'm scared. Please help."
Cowering in his corner, Dean curled firmly up, seeking a comfort that nobody would give him. Slowly, his tears soaked his jeans. Though he had often been on his own, this was the first time that he truly was alone.
Fear clawed at Dean's heart and spread its icy tendrils throughout his body. Shivers coursed through him, not because he was cold but because he was shaking with fright. Terror engulfed his whole being, slowly but surely overwhelming him.
A fluttering noise made Dean look up. Actually, it sounded like a whole flock of birds. A group of pigeons for example that flew astray into the chapel.
Caught up within his terror, Dean had not heard the door that must have swung open but he did see a figure come into view, slowly walking down the aisle. Ducking deeper into the shadows, he watched the shape becoming recognizable as a woman. A woman wearing a beige, oversized trenchcoat approached the altar. Lowering herself to one knee, she crossed herself and stood back up. Then she stood studying the altar intently.
For a moment, Dean was distracted from his problems as he watched the woman. Somehow, she seemed odd to him the way she stood there, her shoulders hunched and her head tilted to the side as she eyed the wings of the altar.
"Dean."
Shocked, Dean huddled down even more, trying to hide as best as he could. That she knew somebody's hiding in the shadows is one thing, but how the hell does she know my name?
"It is not necessary for you to be experiencing fear," she said, still speaking in the direction of the altar.
Choking down a lump of anxiety, Dean shifted a little to have a better look at the woman. For all it was worth, she looked like a regular lady. Studying her closely, Dean wracked his mind in order to figure out why she appeared to be out of place. Suddenly, it hit him that her clothes did not fit this era's style.
A lady from my own time!
Dean's heart skipped a beat with excitement.
But how can she possibly know my name?
Still watching her intently, Dean saw her turn her head slowly in his direction. Even though he was pretty certain that the shadows hid him, he had the distinct feeling that she was looking straight at him. It unsettled him greatly.
Slowly, she turned her gaze back to the altar.
"Dean. You prayed for help."
Sitting up with confusion, Dean quirked an eye at her. That just was not possible.
What the hell?
"I came."
Her flat statement did little to settle Dean's unease. If anything, it confused him even more. Did she really just say that she came due to his prayer?
Is that you, God?
"I am not the Lord."
Rumbling darkly, her unusually deep voice astonished Dean almost more than the fact that she answered to his thoughts. Before he could process, she spoke again, "I defended your brother before I followed your call."
This made her a little more trustworthy, but only a little.
"You have no need for hiding in the shadows, Dean Winchester."
"Then why are you not speaking to me directly?" he shot back angrily, "Because you're inside my frigging head?" Driven by his anger, Dean got to his feet and left the shadows. Of course, he took precautions, getting his knife out and resting his other hand on the iron bar he carried.
"I was not sure how you would react," she told him calmly, turning her head to face him. "And this altar is a work of art. Fascinating. Art. What your kind is capable of."
Her way of talking intrigued Dean. It indicated that she really was not what she appeared to be. At the same time, her odd behavior irritated him, so he spat, "What are you?"
Tilting her head to the side, her clear blue eyes fixated on him as she replied, "I am an angel of the Lord. I have come to take you home."
"You're what?" Dean gasped. "No."
Cocking her head to the other side, she parroted with disbelief, "No?"
"No way! Monsters, I get," Dean argued, tentatively taking a couple of steps closer, firmly gripping the hilt of his hunting knife. "Frigging angels? Really?"
Her brows drawn together with concentration, she turned on her heels and crossed over to Dean. Sucking in a sharp breath, he stood his ground. Even when she stood mere inches away, he did his best not to flinch. Her scrutiny unsettled him again because it made him feel like an insect under a microscope.
Maybe that's what we are to angels, Dean thought. If it really is an angel, that is.
"Your disbelief is not of import," she stated emotionlessly.
"Do you even know what happened?" Dean snapped. Unnerved by her closeness, he took two steps back.
Still eyeing him with an intensity that shook Dean to the core, she replied, "You were killed by a Lone Assassin."
"A... what?" Dean shot back skeptically, focusing on the tangible fact of what the monster was.
"A being as old as time itself," the lady relayed. "The Assassins' most common form is that of a weeping stone statue."
"So... you really were there?" Dean queried cautiously, realizing that she had yet to give him her name. Her earlier words came to his mind, making him ask, "Is Sam alright?"
"Your younger sibling was filled with fright but physically unharmed."
"Good," Dean muttered. "That's good." Feeling restless all of a sudden, he began to pace. It was hard to puzzle all the pieces together. While he continued to think about it, another detail stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Wait a second!" he panted. "You said it killed me?"
"It did, indeed."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"You must be kidding!" Dean prodded. "I mean, I'm standing right here!"
"Yes."
"Can you give me another answer than yes?" the young Winchester remarked wryly.
"Yes."
Apparently, that course of their conversation confused the angel because she scowled. Thoughtfully tiling her head to the side, she explained, "The Lone Assassins, also known as Weeping Angels, feed by making use of time paradoxes."
Looking at her expectantly, Dean waited, but no further explanation came forward.
"Okay... and?"
"And what?" she came back with equal confusion.
"That doesn't explain how I'm standing here. Alive," Dean prodded with a cock of his brows.
"Oh."
Thoughtfully, her attention turned inwards for a moment before she recited, "With their touch, the Lone Assassins can send a person into the past to a point before his or her own birth, then feeding off the potential energy of the years which that victim would have lived in the present."
"Okay..."
Dean did not really understand what she had just told him but decided that it did not matter. What did matter was that she claimed she could take him home. Back to Sammy, who depended on Dean to keep him safe.
"So... if you came to take me to my own time..." he mused, finally putting his hunting knife back into its sheath, "won't that cause another time paradox?"
"No."
Quirking a brow, Dean was about to ask for elaboration but decided that a 'no' was better than just another yes. He did not need the specifics as long as he managed to get back to his own time.
"So... what are we still doing here?" he asked. "Are we waiting for the lightning to strike, Doc Brown?"
"I do not understand how the weather is of import."
"It's... the movie," Dean replied, "Back to the Future." Seeing her clueless gaze, he shrugged his shoulders. "No? Never mind. Can we go?"
"Yes."
"Do I have to do anything?"
"No," she shook her head, lifting her hand to place two fingers on his forehead.
xXx
The next time Dean woke, he had one hell of a headache. Even before he opened his eyes, he became aware of his skin touching grass. His head rested on something else, though, and there were fingers caressing his forehead and running through his hair soothingly.
Groaning, he tried to sit up.
"No."
Her soft voice stopped Dean as much as the hand resting on his shoulder.
"Did I pass out?" he queried with clear discomfort. Passing out was embarrassing.
"You do not need to experience a sense of shame," the angel told him. "Time travel is taxing on the body as well as the soul."
In case that was angel-speech for feeling like crap, Dean could not disagree. Aside from a general discomfort if not hurt, he sensed something else. It was something he could hardly grasp and could not even begin to describe. Somehow, he felt as if he was engulfed by something, but whatever it might be remained invisible. Lifting a hand, Dean poked the space beside him and felt slight resistance.
"What is it?" he asked, curiously reaching out again. "Is that you?"
"Please stop prodding my wings," the angel complained.
"Your wings?" Dean parroted with wonder and found himself even less capable to stop his fingers from exploring the seemingly empty space. What he found was a rather weird sensation, but he could almost imagine his fingers running through the soft feathers.
"The air is chilly," the angel remarked curtly. "Your body is not made to withstand the cold for long, so I am keeping the temperature at an acceptable level while you recover."
"That's... awesome," Dean smirked. "Wings!"
"Indeed."
For another moment, the angel let him rest before she prodded him to get up. Unwilling to leave the peaceful embrace, Dean got to his feet.
"Time to return home," the angel told him, touching his forehead again.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Dean felt his eyes fall shut. When he could open them again, he was alone, standing in the driveway to Singer's scrapyard.
Confused, Dean looked around. For some reason, he did not remember how he got there. Last thing he knew was that he was with Sam in the derelict house, chasing a ghost. As the sun was just rising above the horizon, he knew that he had spent the night away and that Bobby would be furious about it.
"Oh, crap," he sighed and stalked towards the house. His intention to sneak in, was thwarted by Bobby who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and shaking him.
"Where have ya been?" Bobby demanded to know. "Do ya have any idea what you've done? Sam's been in a panic! Talk to me, son! What happened?"
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but the answer kept eluding him.
"I... don't know," he admitted.
"What's that supposed to mean? You don't know?" Bobby snarled. "Ya think I'm an idgit?"
"N-no," Dean all but stammered. "It's just... I don't remember. One second, I was in that house, with Sam, and the next second, I'm standing in your driveway."
Holding the boy on the shoulders at an arms length, Bobby looked him up and down from head to toe. Satisfied that the boy appeared uninjured, he pulled Dean in for a firm hug.
"You scared the crap out of me, boy!" Bobby scolded, squeezing Dean once more before he let go. "Don't do that again!"
Hurried footsteps tumbled down the stairs and a second later, Sam rounded the corner.
"Dean!" he cried out and barreled into his brother's side. "You were just gone! What happened?"
"I... don't know," Dean had to admit.
"That stone angel," Sam mumbled into his sibling's jacket. "It touched you and... pft! You were gone."
"Um..." Helplessly, Dean looked at Bobby who could just shrug. "Guess it zapped me here."
"But it was hours ago," Sam whined.
"Sammy," Dean said, hugging him in return. "I'm here. That's what counts, right?"
"Y-yeah."
"You know what?" Bobby cut in. "On that note, I'm gonna make ya two a hot cocoa."
Gratefully, Dean smiled at the grizzled hunter. A hot chocolate would soothe their nerves. Gently ruffling his brother's hair, Dean steered Sam to the couch. Sitting on it cross-legged, Dean pulled Sam in and his little brother gladly snuggled up to him. A few minutes later, Bobby joined them with three mugs filled with steaming cocoa topped with marshmallows, his own spiked with a dash of whiskey.
Unseen by the trio, the mystery woman stood watching them, a satisfied smile tugging on her lips. With the distinct sound of flapping wings, she disappeared.
xXx
Thank you for your service.
The words echoed in the back of her mind as Ella found herself standing in light drizzle on the paving stones leading to the front door of their house. She did not remember how she got there, only the otherworldly voice asking her consent. After saying yes, she recalled nothing until she looked up at their house.
Slowly, she went inside and shed her husband's trenchcoat. A look at the clock in the hallway told her that it was time to prepare dinner. So she busied herself in the kitchen until her husband came home. Daniel stopped by to give her a hug and a kiss.
"Did you borrow my coat again?" he teased before he proceeded to the living room in order to read the newspaper. While she worked, she also heard their son coming home. For some reason, Daniel was arguing with him. Due to the sturdy build of the house and the thickness of the walls, she could not make out what was being said.
"Is everything alright?" Ella asked as she entered the room, bringing with her the plates and cutlery to the dining table.
"Yes," Daniel agreed. "We were just having a discussion."
She saw their son glowering at him but did not prod. Only when she was done laying the table and placed the bowls with their meal in the middle, could she not stand the silence anymore.
"Don't you want to tell me what you were arguing about?"
"It's about the car!" their son told her in a huff. "Dad doesn't even want me to save money for one. I'm working for it! Why shouldn't I use the money for a car?"
"That's something we should discuss after dinner," Ella declared. "Now, we're going to eat."
"Yeah, well, I'm not hungry," their boy snorted. "Dad ruined my appetite."
"James Novak," Ella scolded. "You're going to sit down and eat with us." Casting her husband a stern look she added, "After dinner, we'll talk."
With a sigh, both father and son settled at the table. Before anyone could ask, James volunteered to say grace.
Ella cast him a proud look while he spoke. They had raised him in the faith and she knew he had the makings of a devout catholic. Of course, she had no way of knowing which plans God might have for her beloved Jimmy, but she hoped that he would be chosen to serve one day as well. She viewed it as an honor to serve, which was why she had readily agreed when she had been asked earlier today. Though she did not know what the angel had done while inhabiting her human form after she had allowed him to take her as his vessel, she still remembered his name.
Castiel.
The End