Chapter 14: The Death of an Oracle II

I turned to address Walker, who had been silent since the others had arrived. He was slouching, trying to appear nonchalant, but I knew how hard this was for him. I opened my mouth to say something, but there wasn't really anything to say. Nothing was going to make this any easier.

I froze for a second and we both just looked at each other. Then Walker darted forward and grabbed my shoulders, pulling my mouth to his. It was the strangest kiss of my life, between the watching humans and angel, the flickering in and out of existence, and the fact that I was about to die and my best friend had chosen this moment to kiss me. After the initial shock I leaned in, pulling him closer by the shoulders of his uniform.

When you're a spirit you don't really have any concept of heat, but your brain sometimes falls into old ruts and fills in the details. Walker's lips did feel warm to me, and soft, and I decided that it was also the best kiss of my life. It was desperate and rushed and I loved every second of it.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly and we pulled apart.

"Right. Well then." I blinked, immediately feeling the loss of Walker's arms around me. "I guess that's that."

After that kiss, it was a hundred times harder to be nonchalant about my death, which was exactly what I had feared. Despite that, though, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I hadn't realized how much Walker had been preying on my mind, but now it had been resolved. It was a fact, not an uncertainty. And there's nothing a journalist loves more than nice, orderly facts.

I looked back at Walker, at his tired, grey eyes and rigid shoulders, and we both knew that there was nothing more to say. We had bonded in a way that only shared hardships can allow, we were best friends and family and we loved each other. Had I really just thought that? Yes, I decided, I love him.

And from the despair and affection swirling in his eyes, the feeling was mutual.

Then I noticed the three pairs of bewildered and embarrassed eyes resting on me. I clapped my hands, trying to get my train of thought back onto the tracks. Or even into a region with a station. I cleared my throat, which is useless when you're a ghost. I turned to the Winchesters. "You said that, if I'm making an effort to go, just the salt will do the trick?"

"Should do," Dean said, clearly still unsure of how to react to recent events.

This was going to be the tricky bit. I knew more than anyone how hard it was to let go, and exactly what awaited me when I was yanked from my current form. I had to find a mindset where I would be able to just slip away.

Casper nudged my hand with his head and I jumped. "Cas! Oh no, I almost forgot." I knelt down to ruffle the soft hair behind my dog's ears, really struggling to hold back tears now. Casper had been my only roommate for a few years before this whole adventure started, and he had been invaluable on the last few hunts. Besides Walker, he was my best friend. Now that he was a spirit too, though, there was a very real danger to leaving him behind. The last time I had left him alone, he had begun transforming into a hellhound and had killed five people before I found him and brought him back to Missoula.

I looked up at Walker, already knowing that he couldn't refuse me when I had tears in my eyes like this. "Please take care of him, Walker. Please."

He sighed in a show of exasperation that I knew he didn't really feel. "Fine. I'll take him back to the house. But you know what I'll have to do if he starts to turn again," he added warningly.

I didn't want to think about it too much, but I knew.

"No time like the present, I guess." I stood up, unfolding my long legs, and realized that I was still wearing my too-small black pumps. I had been hunting down wendigos and werewolves in them for the past few months. The familiar sight of the battered, old shoes soothed me a little.

I walked over to the pole where my car had folded in on itself and killed my physical body. Thanks to the Winchesters and their efforts to release me from the location, there were no longer any blood stains.

I closed my eyes, trying to take myself back to that moment, breathing in the musty smell of the vents in my car and feeling the slight jumpiness of the gas pedal beneath my foot. If I opened my eyes, I told myself, there would be an enormous thermos of coffee and an untidy stack of papers in the seat to your right. That song you really like, the one by Train, is on the radio. The name of a Train song, whether past or future I didn't know, drifted to the front of my mind and I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "Angel in Blue Jeans."

Then suddenly I was thinking of Walker's old gramophone and record collection. He kept them in his room and put them on when he was lonely or in one of his moods, and the ghostly voices would waft through the house in warning. I never interrupted him. I could picture the crackling fire downstairs, the two chairs with iron filings in the seats, the shadowed figure across from me as we traded stories and waited for a thunder storm to pass overhead.

Memories started flickering through my mind at impossible speeds, and it was like my death was flashing before my eyes. Trying to levitate a stick and having it soar away over the trees. Pinning the wendigo against the wall with my then-unexplained powers. Trying to share a beer with the Winchesters at Bobby's place and having Dean scare it out of me, then even Castiel joining in the laughter. Afternoons just staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the changes and the weirdness. Reading the first few pages of a book in the Supernatural series and then throwing it on the floor in disgust, knowing it would never compare to that day I sat in the backseat of the Impala and heard all of the stories through mouthfulls of hamburger. Using a phone for the first time without losing the connection to static.

Most of all, I remembered that step I took, when the sun was breaking over the horizon and I had just met the Winchesters for the first time, when I was terrified and confused but so incredibly excited, and I realized that I was about to go farther from the place of my death than I had ever been. Then I stepped off the curb.

I thought of all of these things and tried to dig back to memories of my life, of my friends at the newspaper and my boyfriend from the tech store down the street. They were fuzzy, like old photographs. Like stories about your grandparents' young adult years, where you can picture it but it's never quite real.

I looked around one last time at my four- five- friends. The Winchesters, solemn but determined, and somehow regretful too. Castiel, engaged now, looking me in the eye, and I remembered seeing him for the first time in heaven, imprisoned and tortured by his own brothers. He had gone through enough to break anyone, and I hoped for his sake as much as everyone else's that I was right and there was still a thread holding him together. And Walker, poor Walker, who I knew would give anything for a few more days, hours, minutes together with me. I was feeling similarly, but it was too late now. I was committed.

Casper cocked his head at me, confused, and wagged his tail.

I breathed deeply through my nose, which did absolutely nothing. Then I started talking myself back to the right place.

My name is Andrea Fosters. I'm a journalist who lives in a crappy apartment with my dog, Casper. I have a boyfriend who works at a tech store. I have no idea who the Winchesters are and I don't believe in angels. Kindness in humans, of course, but not angels. I've driven through Missoula once. It wasn't memorable. This is my hometown. This is where I'm meant to die.

I opened my eyes and looked at Dean. "Do it."

One chapter left, don't stop reading yet! This one was difficult to write, both because of the kiss and because of the emotion behind it. This goes to BrySt1, who was going to explode if Walker and Andrea didn't kiss!