Ch. 4

Claire slammed the apartment door behind her. She was still breathing so hard she felt dizzy, and her eyes stung.

She barely remembered the drive over from her mother's house. All she could see in front of her was that strange little girl.

"I know about the angel and Jimmy."

She tore off her jacket and dumped it in the hallway, then charged into the living room. The apartment was a small and dingy one, across the river on the west side of Minneapolis. Neon lights on the storefronts across the street blinked on and off through the windows. It wasn't in the best part of town, but it was close to campus and, more importantly, it was all they could afford right now.

Claire stopped short when she found her roommate, Heather, lounging on the sofa.

"Did you get the money?" Heather asked her. Heather's kohl-rimmed eyes were bleary, and a quick glance told Claire why. The bong was out on the coffee table, next to the Ouija board and Heather's pack of Tarot cards.

"Hey, Claire."

Heather's stoner boyfriend Chris greeted her from where he was sprawled on the dingy carpet. Another of Heather's friends, Toby, waved at her from the beat-up old easy chair.

Claire swallowed hard, and tried to compose herself. She wasn't about to lose her cool in front of her friends.

"No, no money. But I will. Don't worry about it."

Heather shrugged.

"Who's worried? I did my Tarot, and I'm going to come into some money soon. So it's all good." She sat up straighter. "Oooh, should I do yours?"

"No!" Claire spoke more sharply than she intended to. "I mean, I'm good. I can do them myself later if I want.

"Jimmy was called by Heaven."

Tear prickled at the back of her throat. "Listen, I've got to get some stuff from my room before my night class. So I'll see you guys later."

She hurried down the narrow hallway to her room. It was barely half the size of her room at home, but it was her own.

Claire sat down on the edge of her bed, breathing deeply.

Her mom must have said something. It was the only explanation.

But why, after keeping silent about what had happened for so long, would she say something to some strange kid?

Then again, the kid had suggested they were related in some way. Were they? Jimmy Novak's parents had died years ago, and he'd been an only child. But maybe he'd had some cousins or something Claire had never met…

Claire rubbed her temples.

"Claire?" Heather's face appeared around the corner of the door. "Can I come in?"

Claire tried to smile. "Sure."

"Are you OK?" Heather had dyed her hair a deep shape of scarlet, and she favored layers and layers of black clothing. Her lips, like her eyes, were painted black. But Claire could still see the genuine concern in her friend's eyes.

After what had…happened back in Pontiac, Claire had drifted away from most of her childhood friends. Claire knew everyone in town assumed that her father had walked out on them. There had been no way to tell people what had really happened.

The more she drifted, the more the other kids started to dislike her. They began calling her "stuck up" behind her back. They didn't know she went home from school every day and cried, or that she woke up in the middle of the night screaming.

Then her mother had remarried, and her stepfather had relocated them to Minnesota for work. Claire's two half-brothers, Max and David, had arrived in rapid succession. Amelia had thrown herself into being a soccer mom, overjoyed to be once again immersed in the day-to-day demands of modern life.

But Claire wasn't. After what she's seen, what she'd experienced, the confines of their neighborhood in St. Paul had seemed impossibly small. Their neighbors went about their business, convinced they were safe in their little worlds.

Claire knew otherwise.

She started dying her hair, wearing strange clothes. Lost, lonely, and angry most of the time, Claire had been miserable in high school. The other kids at school had called her a freak, and worse.

She had pretended that didn't bother her.

Her freshman year of college hadn't been much better. But during her sophomore year she'd been assigned Heather as a roommate, and the two girls had hit it off. Heather had a fascination with the occult; they were into the same music and the same outrageous fashions.

Unlike Claire, Heather was also pretty and confident, with no trouble attracting other people. Guys, in particular, buzzed around her like flies.

For the first time since she was little Claire had a friend. She had become a part of Heather's circle, Goth kids who smoked clove cigarettes and painted each others' nails.

Claire learned to tamp down on all of her hurt, and to bury what had happened to her father under a carefully maintained façade of indifference.

Now she faked a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. There were just some…relatives from my dad's side—my biological dad-at my mom's house. I guess it brought back some bad memories."

Heather's carefully plucked eyebrows arched with curiosity. Like Claire's other friends, she believed Jimmy had left Claire's family of his own volition.

"Yeah, that would have to suck," Heather commiserated.

Both girls knew perfectly well that Heather couldn't really understand what Claire was going through. Her own parents were still happily married, living in the upscale suburb of Oakdale. But their friendship ran deeply enough that neither girl pointed this out.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the bong." Heather added. "But Chris put in a double shift at the garage, and he just needed to relax."

Claire frowned. Heather's boyfriend, Chris Carter, was the only sore spot in her relationship with Heather.

He wasn't a college student; he'd never even finished high school. He worked as a mechanic and spent his free time smoking grass and listening to heavy metal music.

It had been Chris that had invited some of his buddies to the girls' dorm-room party junior year. The guys had bought a keg with them in violation of university policy, and things had gotten out of control. As a result the two girls had been thrown out of the college dorms.

Claire didn't care. It was cooler to have an apartment anyway. At least, that's what she told herself.

"You know, you could do so much better," Claire now said gently.

Heather sat down next to her. "Yeah, like who? Toby?" She laughed.

Toby Rogen was a friend of theirs from the college dorms.

"Don't be mean, Heather. He's a nice guy, and he's been crazy about you for years. Why else do you think he follows us around like a little puppy dog?"

Heather leaned back on the bed. "Toby's nice and all, and he'd got a real gift for the Ouija. But Chris is smokin' hot. Oooh, and speaking of which, Jason called."

"That loser," Claire huffed. "I'm not talking to him."

"Yeah, that's what I told him. Cheating on you like that—what a creep! But," Heather said sadly, "what a hottie."

"There're way hotter guys out there," Claire said boldly. For a moment she thought of the brown-haired man she'd seen outside her house that morning. She quickly shook her head.

"I've just got lousy taste in men, I guess. Like mother, like daughter."

Heather squeezed her arm. "Want me to do some spellwork? I can probably get rid of your relatives for you."

Claire knew Heather and her friends played at witchcraft. Even Claire herself occasionally did a Tarot card spread for fun. It was just that—fun. If Heather and the others had ever tried to do something serious, like summon something, Claire would have been forced to speak up. But that hadn't happened.

If Heather wanted to burn some herbs or cast the runes to ensure success on a test, or to make sure they had their rent money on time, who was Claire to tell her she shouldn't?

Claire thought again of the little girl, and what she had said about sigils.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks for the thought, though."

Heather winked. "Anytime, babe."

Sam pulled back the covers on the bed so Angela could slide down between them. It was already after eight and the child's eyelids were drooping sleepily.

Dean and Jane were just outside the motel room door, quietly conversing, discussing the options for their next move. Angela had been insistent that they were not to leave the Twin Cities yet.

It was a tough call, Sam admitted to himself as he tucked the child into bed. He'd only gotten a glimpse of Claire Novak as she had rushed past him, but he didn't think she'd be in much of a mood for another visit from the child. On the other hand, he also didn't want to discount Angela's instincts.

The little girl smiled up at him. "Tell me a story."

"Aren't you too big for stories?" He teased.

"No, not yet," she said solemnly. "Please?"

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. He had to smile. How many nights had Dean sat on the edge of Sam's own bed in some fleabag motel, making up stories to keep his younger brother amused? Dean's stories had usually been heavy on the gore, but they had done the job.

"So what will it be? 'Snow White'? 'Cinderella'?"

Sam was joking. Even as a toddler Angela had hated what she called "made-up" stories. Instead she wanted stories about people she knew, or people that Jane, Dean, or Sam had once known.

Her maternal grandfather, Andy DiMarco; John Winchester; Bobby; Ellen and Jo—all had appeared in these nighttime stories from time to time. Even Crowley occasionally made an appearance, but only as comic relief.

"I want to hear about when I was little," she now demanded.

"You're still little."

"No, I mean really little."

"Oh, like when you were a baby, you mean?"

"Sure." Angela smiled. "Tell me about when I was born."

"Hmm. Well, you know most of it all ready. I'm not sure it would be much of a story."

The child rolled her eyes. "Sammy…"

"OK." Sam cleared his throat. "Let's see. You were born in the downstairs bedroom at your Aunt Jody's house in South Dakota."

"Because that was a safe place." Angela nodded.

"Yeah. There was no way we could go to a hospital, and Jody was nice enough to take us in."

The little girl wriggled a bit under her blankets to get more comfortable. "Did I cry when I was first born?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. You'd be better off asking Dean about that. He was actually there when you were born."

"Yes, he was." Angela nodded. She knew this part of the story well. "But he didn't want to be."

"Yeah, your mom wouldn't let go of his hand." Sam chuckled at the memory. "Dean says your mom was holding on to him so tight her knuckles were white. So he was kind of stuck."

"But he covered his eyes with his free hand during most of it," Angela added.

"Yep."

"Why weren't you and Cass there?"

"We were nearby. But we were busy."

"Uh huh," the child said skeptically.

"But as soon as we could we came in to see you," he added quickly, before Angela could ask why he and Cass had been busy.

They'd actually been holding off an attack by other angels who'd been determined that Angela never be born. But that was a part of the story Sam didn't want to have to tell her until she was older.

"Jody had rolled you up in a white blanket," he now continued. "Your mom was holding you, and you were looking around with these great big blue eyes like the world was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen."

Sam still remembered the moment vividly. They'd been on the run for months, trying to keep Jane safe until her child could be born. And then, suddenly, the baby had been there. It had been as if, just for a moment, everything was right in the world.

"Was I cute?"

"You were a baby; of course you were cute. Dean held you for awhile, and then I held you and you grabbed on to my fingers and held on so tight! I couldn't believe how strong you were!"

She yawned again. "I was a tough baby."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. But I think really you were warning me not to drop you. I was a little freaked out at first that I'd hurt you."

"Not as freaked out as Cass was."

"No, Cass and the other angels were absolutely convinced they'd hurt you if they touched you. They'd stand around looking at you, but they weren't any help when it came to taking care of you."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, we had to name you, of course. While she was pregnant your mom was sure you were going to be a boy. She was going to name you 'Andrew Cass' after your grandpa and your dad."

"But Dean knew better. Because he'd met me. I mean, future me." The little girl scrunched up her face in thought. "Sam, if I'm going to be able to time travel some day, why can't I do it now? That would be soooo cool!"

"Yeah, I don't think it works that way, kiddo. Cass says your powers are going to come on gradually, as you get older. And even then they'll be kinda limited."

She sighed. "Bummer."

Sam chuckled. Angela was being raised as a hunter, which meant she already knew about a lot of the big, bad things lurking in the world around them.

But she was also half-angel. So she was privy to a whole lot of information from her father and her celestial uncles that they weren't willing to share with ordinary humans.

Angela had been born with free will. So the angels could not see or predict her future. All they were able to say is that while she would never be as powerful as an angel, she would in time be much, much more powerful than other humans.

So far nothing Dean, Sam, or the angels had thrown at her had fazed the child. She seemed to simply accept the world, and her place in it, for what it was.

"So, as I was saying, Dean was the only one who knew you were going to be a girl," Sam continued. "He came up with your name, so you could still be named after your grandpa and dad like your mom had planned."

"'Andrew Cass' became 'Angela Cassandra.'" The little girl nodded.

"That's right. And of course it also stands for 'Angel Castiel'. Dean still thinks he's a genius for coming up with that, even if no one outside the family will ever get the joke."

"But we get it."

"Yep, we do. Now, Dean and I thought at first maybe you'd be one of those creepy 'Twilight' kind of babies that grows super fast, even though Cass told us you wouldn't be." Sam laughed. "But you were like any other baby. Just cuter, and quieter. As long as you were fed and dry you were pretty easy to take care of."

Sam smiled to himself.

He'd been just past thirty when Angela had been born. He'd lived several lifetimes in that short span of years.

But he could still remember the abject terror he'd felt when he and Dean had put Angela and her mother in the back of the Impala for the drive back to Montana. The idea that he and Dean were now responsible for such a tiny, fragile life had scared him more than any rugaru, demon, or revenant ever had.

As usual Dean had been the one to hold things together. He just accepted his new role as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have a half-angel baby asleep in the backseat.

Of course Dean had already met the child in her future form, so that probably helped. Plus he had spent so much time hauling Sam around as a baby that he had no problems pitching in to care for the infant. From day one Dean could balance Angela on one arm and make a bottle or answer the phone with the other. It had taken Sam many months to master those skills.

Angela rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to keep them open. "Then what happened?"

"We took you home. And you grew into a big, strong, little girl. The end."

"Awww…"

"No more stories. Sleep," Sam told her, turning down the light on the bedside table. "We'll be right outside if you need us."

"Mmm hum," Angela murmured.

Sam could see the steady rise and fall of her chest in the semi-darkness. He left the room as quietly as he could, making sure to leave the motel room open a crack so he could keep an eye on her.

"Is she down for the count?" Jane asked softly.

"Yes."

"Thank you, Sam." The woman turned her attention back to Dean. "I still say we shouldn't force the issue."

"Let Angela have one more shot. See if she can talk to Claire when she's calmer," Dean argued. "She's probably more reasonable when her mother isn't around."

"Maybe, maybe not," Jane said skeptically.

"What about visiting her on campus? Classes are still in session; maybe we can catch her there and see if she'll talk to Angela," Sam suggested.

"Would you believe a five year old who told you she knew about something that happened before she was born? Really?" The woman asked, looking from Sam to Dean and back again.

"If I'd seen what Claire has seen? Absolutely." Dean nodded.

Sam folded his arms. "Did Amelia say anything to you about Claire? Anything that might help?"

Jane sighed. "Just that she knows her daughter has been very unhappy for a very long time. I think Amelia wants Angela to help Claire; she just doesn't know how she could."

"Join the club," Dean chuckled.

Sam paused to study his brother.

Dean was past the big "4-0" now. That was a long life span for a hunter. He didn't bounce back from injuries quite as fast as he used to, and he now had lines around his eyes and mouth that didn't go away when he stopped smiling.

Dean had brought down the Leviathans—well, with help from Jane and Cass and Crowley. He'd pulled Sam back from the brink when Sam's mind had given way under an onslaught of horrible memories. He was the best and most feared hunter in the country.

There was still nobody else Sam would rather have next to him in a fight.

"What are you looking at?" Dean now demanded.

"Nothing."

"Bitch," Dean said affectionately.

"Jerk," Sam said with a smile