“A lot of people think
I’m shy, or I’m quiet, and I’m far from shy when they first meet me, or
when I first go into a place because I like to scope it out. And I’m not
a person that feels like I have to make conversation with everybody in
the world and just run my mouth constantly.”
- Dean Ambrose
The feeling of a slimy object crawling across your face got your attention. You found yourself wanting to open your eyes but had no luck. Where the hell were you? Breathing was impossible. Dirt surrounded you. Were you…buried?
Up. It was the one thing that made sense. Dig up. Grab dirt and pull it out of the way. The moment your hand reached above the surface, it felt as though the sun was wrapping itself around your skin.
Grabbing onto nearby grass, all you could do was pull. Pull your body up from under the ground. Then it happened. Fresh air. You inhaled it violently. Gasping for a good time before you were breathing normally. Now all you had to do was finish getting out.
From the stomach down you were still covered in dirt. And weak. God you were so weak. Both of your arms steady themselves on the ground and locked position, trying to pull the rest of your body up and out. But they both gave out. No surprise you were weak. You’d just risen from your grave.
It took forever it seemed. Wiggling and squirming anyway you could. Eventually you got out. For a moment you just laid there. On the ground. Surrounded by fallen trees as an omen. You paid no attention to them.
The sun. It was all that mattered. Every inch, every fiber in your body, was soaking up the light. It was beautiful. The way the rays danced on your newly re-exposed skin. It was almost like two friends meeting each other once again after being apart for so long. Your eyes closed, allowing the light to embrace you after being trapped in the dark for so long.
Some time had passed. Night had now fallen on the once beautiful and vibrant blue sky. Tomorrow would bring another day to dance alongside the sun. For now, you became aquatinted with the old friend of dark. Following the bright street lights which led to a lit up town not far from you. Cars occasionally passed by on the busy road, but they all ignored you. Of course you didn’t blame them. You were beat up, wearing ragged clothing and looked like you’d just crawled out of Hell. Maybe because you had.
How were you even back? Your brothers. Sam and Dean. They must’ve done something stupid to get you back. There wasn’t any other way you could be back. If one of them sold their soul, you’d kill them yourself for being so stupid and reckless. It was bad enough your sold yours to save Sam after the fiasco with Azael and his special children’s fight to the death. You didn’t need to keep going down the same path.
Finally- not too far away you could see something. Something you’d thought you’d never see again. A telephone booth. Lucky for you, there was change in your pocket. Funny how neither of your brothers thought to empty your pockets.
With excitement and success flowing through you, you ran as fast as you could over to the phone. Closing the door and looking around before dialing the number.
First you tried Sam’s. No answer. How could he not answer?
Okay- no need to panic. There was only enough left for one more call. Bobby would decline a number he didn’t know. So Dean it was. Part of you said a little prayer before dialing the numbers.
“Please pick up. Please pick up.” Your hand rested above the box while your head hung low as you whispered to yourself.
Then you heard it. The familiar, tired, gruff voice on the other end of the phone.
You wanted to yell. Wanted to cry. But your voice was so hoarse and dead.
“Hello?” He was getting inpatient. No doubt he would hang up.
There was no way for you to talk. So you did the only thing you could think of: Morse Code.
“D-E-A-N” you hoped and wished he would understand. “H-E-L-P”
When you heard movement on the other line you got hope.
“Sammy, get me a pen and paper.” He understood. He knew you were trying to tell him something. “Do it again.”
You wasted no time. “D-E-A-N. H-E-L-P.” The whole time you tried to get your voice to work but found no luck still.
“Where are you? Who is this?” He knew that not just anybody would have his number and know his name. It had to be somebody he knew.
“Cadlin Lane. P.W” you have your initials. Phoebe Winchester. Before he could respond to you, the line cut out.
Great. Now you were stuck in this town. Alone. At night. No money, no car, no anything. So you did the only thing that made sense: sit in the booth and wait for Baby to hopefully pull up.
Lucky for you, nobody tried using the phone while you remained inside of it. Hiding from the unexpected down pour of rain and hail. The water outside threatened to seep into the small cracks and destroy what little warmth you had.
Two headlights in the distance shined bright in your general direction. A comforting putting sound of an engine sent chills down your spine. It wasn’t just any engine belonging to any regular car. You’d know that roar anywhere. Baby.
Both of your legs were stiff and cold from being in the same position for hours. Nevertheless you pushed the door open, resting on your knees, and tried your best to stand up. Tries instantly squealed roughly against the jagged pavement and rocks.
Two bodies swung open the shiny black doors and hauled towards you. There was no question which was which. Dean was driving as usual and Sam rode shotgun.
“Phoebe?” Dean’s arms wrapped around you while the scent of his leather crisp jacket did the same.
Sam came up behind you, holding a silver knife and holy water in his hand. Without hesitation you held out your arm. First came the holy water. Obviously you passed the test. The knife made a small fit on the tip of your finger. He too wrapped his arms around you as you switched from one brother to the next.
The hug was warm. It made you feel alive. Your head rested perfectly on his chest as his right hand held the back of your head.
“Come on.” Dean was already heading back to the drivers seat.
“Your freezing, climb up front. The heaters work better up there.” Never did Sam give you the front unless special circumstances were upon you all.
You climbed in, sitting on an old jacket of course. Both of your hands were crookedly extended outwards to greet the blasting air vents in front of you.
“Jesus, Phebe’s. Your fingers are purple.” Dean was right, you hadn’t noticed it until now. “Come here.” His right arm moved and made room for your body, and you happily moved over to him.
Somehow he’d managed to get his jacket off and wrap it around the front of your body. Sam did the same and covered your legs.
On the floor board you could see an unopened bottle of water. Within seconds it was in your hands as you downed it faster than you ever bought possible. With the final swallow you set the bottle in a cup holder and resumed your position next to your driving brother.
Both of your freezing hands were balled up in each other as they tucked neatly into Dean’s side. Trying to absorb his heat. Sitting up slightly, you set your head into the crook of his neck, still facing forward to see the road barley. The small chuckle that came from him shook your bones as his right hand wrapped around your shoulders and rubbed lightly. Creating friction and heat.
“How the Hell are you even back?” His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead.
“I could ask you guys the same thing.” It was the first words you’d spoken with your voice.It hurt, but you did it anyways. “One of you had to do something stupid and reckless to get me out.”
From the corner of your eye, Sam was leaning forward onto the back of the front seat.
“No. Neither of us did.” His arms were crossed neatly across the seat. “Not that we didn’t try, because we did. Nobody would make a deal with us no matter how hard we tried.”
Of course they tried. So there was good reason to worry they did sell their soul. Phoebe one, brothers zero.
“Well I’m not back because of nothing.” Your head was turned so you could look into your brothers hazel colored eyes.
Turning onto your back, you were surprised to feel a burning pain coming from your right side. With no questions asked you pushed the jackets off of your now semi warm body and slowly began to lift up for shirt.
There were red swollen and puffed out markings on your side. But there was more hidden by your pants. Slowly you started to roll down the waist of your jeans, only on the right side. Until you could make out what it was.
The mark was wrapped around your hip. You rolled over just slightly to see the last of the puzzle. A thumb print which curled around to your backside just a little.
It was a hand mark. There was no doubt about that.
“I wouldn’t call that nothing.” Both you and Dean exchanged a look of concern as he spoke. Never taking his eyes off the road.
Day one of the rest of your life of rebirth began now.
Summary: Cas Novak hosts a popular radio show, entertaining hunters with his psychic powers. But, in a world where monster-hunting is commonplace, he harbours a powerful secret: he’s not human, but an angel, surviving in a society unsympathetic to his kind.
For six years, Cas has read out news stories describing a particularly impressive man: Dean Winchester, distinguished hunter and accidental prophet of God. Not by chance, Cas meets Dean at a sunny autumn carnival, where Dean’s taken a job at a kissing booth. One kiss - perhaps two - and they’re already old friends, sharing fairground food, a carousel ride, another kiss on the ferris wheel…
Finally, safe in the tent Dean shares with his brother, Castiel feels comfortable enough to reveal those unknown pieces of himself. But come morning, bigger events separate the trio: an ancient beast is waking up, and a fearful world desperately needs to be united. Now Castiel has a reason to confess his true nature, broadcasting live on Hunter Radio. Of course, Dean is listening. And it’s only a matter of time before he replies.
- - -
Castiel shifted in his seat, tailcoat sliding on the plastic bench. He made sure his feet were steady in the metal footwell below; his stomach was already doing flips of excitement.
“Oh, man,” Dean breathed, eyes turning upward, glazing over as he stared at the ferris wheel’s inner framework. “I forgot I’m afraid of heights.”
“Too late now,” Castiel smiled, as their cart lifted off the ground, going backwards. The next cart gradually approached the ground, and once there, the wheel mechanism paused to let those passengers off, and to let the next couple on.
Dean breathed out through pursed lips.
“It won’t be so bad once you’re up there,” Castiel said softly.
Dean sneered. “Yeah, right.”
“What could distract you?”
Dean did look around, but his eyes lighted on Castiel’s mask. “Your face could,” he said with a quick smirk. “You, uh, feel like unmasking yet? Nobody’ll see you but me.”
This time, Castiel removed the mask without hesitation, leaving it on his lap. He was confident Dean could not see his scars, as he’d taken his seat so his scars were furthest from Dean’s sight.
“Hey,” Dean said, batting his hand at Castiel’s thigh. The wheel moved again; they began to rise once more. Their cradle swung gently on its support, rocking them forward and back by a few inches. “Cas, look at me?”
Castiel turned his eyes to Dean’s knees, but didn’t angle his face far enough that Dean saw the purple makeup or all the mica stars adorning his ruined skin.
“Hey,” Dean said again, more gently. His hand smelled of rose bathroom soap; he placed his fingers against Castiel’s chin and eased his face around so their eyes met. Castiel gulped, monumentally insecure under Dean’s scrutiny.
“Why don’t you want anyone to see?” Dean asked. He looked at Castiel’s makeup, then into his eyes. Castiel peered back and saw the rainbow illumination just touching against Dean’s skin, neon pink, then violet, then blue.
“Don’t you hide your scars?” Castiel asked back.
Dean grinned. “Nah. Battle wounds, man.” He showed Castiel the underside of his forearm, fingers running over a jagged scar, healed badly. His fingers slid up to his right hand, over his knuckles: the light from the ferris wheel threw a pale line into focus, slashed between his bones - and Dean moved on, showing Castiel a still-healing streak across his left palm. And then Dean closed his fist, eyes turning back to Castiel’s. “You read fortunes. Guesswork, you said. But I’d bet anything you know as well as I do, Cas: people tell their story without saying a word.”