Chapter Text
The sun was starting to make its exit from the sky as Sam and Dean reached the state line of Iowa. Garth had called them that morning with a potential case. A woman in Des Moines who had died two months prior had come back to life three days ago. If it hadn’t been strange enough, she had gone missing a day after her “resurrection.” Sam and Dean had experience with sudden unexplainable resurrections, that much was obvious, but her disappearance following was what sparked Garth’s interest in the case.
“She’s the local pastor’s daughter, Ella White.” He had said on the phone to Dean.
“Haven’t we done this a million times, Garth? It’s always the pastor’s daughter.” Dean had said. He wasn’t entirely in the mood to go on a fruitless hunt. His main concern was keeping Sam in the bunker until he was well enough for Ezekiel to take off. Things had been tense lately. Kevin had been getting under Dean’s skin about keeping Crowley in the dungeon. Crowley wasn’t helping. Sam was getting peeved about Dean’s refusal to take any case he suggested, claiming “Sammy, you need your rest.” He had to practically beg Dean to take the case that Garth presented.
Dean didn’t want it. Dean didn’t want much of anything. It had been three weeks since Ezekiel had demanded that Castiel leave the bunker.
“Bartholomew is amassing a force. We cannot stand an incursion. Castiel is in danger. And if he is here, I am in danger…if he stays, I’m afraid I will have no choice but to leave.”
The words still haunted Dean every night. They made him cringe as the scene replayed in his mind. “Listen buddy, uh…you can’t stay.” It made him sick to his stomach. Dean had given Cas a cell phone to contact them, but he hadn’t done so since his departure. Dean had called a few times to check in with him, to make sure he was okay, but to no avail. Cas didn’t want to talk to him, how could he? Dean didn’t explain to him why he had to leave; he couldn’t do so without telling the truth about Ezekiel. It killed him to do it, but it was Sammy’s life. He had no choice.
They drove until the sky was black and they reached the city of Des Moines, where the missing woman’s family lived. It was only about eight o’clock and they were hungry, as they had been driving for almost six hours without stopping. It was a short distance compared to their drives in the past, but the new-found home of the Men of Letters bunker had begun to spoil the boys; they were used to food and rest whenever they wanted it. As they drove through the city, Dean spotted a small, generic-looking diner on the corner of the main street and pulled into the driveway.
“We’ll grab a place to crash after food, alright?” Dean said as Sam gave him a look that said “really?”
“Come on, Sammy, I’m sure we can find you a salad or something in there.” Dean teased as he turned off the Impala’s ignition. As they got out of the car, Sam froze and tensed up, an odd look on his face.
“Sam? What’s up, what’s--”
“That girl,” he said, his eyes had widened and a crystallized blue light began to show through them; Ezekiel.
“Zeke? What--” Dean turned to look at the girl Zeke had pointed out. A raven-haired girl, probably just a little shorter than Dean, was exiting the diner, a coffee in hand. She was talking on the phone as she left, and began to walk slowly toward them. She cradled her phone between her ear and shoulder as she fumbled for her keys in her bag with one hand.
“What about her?” Dean asked. He didn’t notice anything strange about her. She was pretty, but nothing about her seemed exceptionally threatening.
“She is a Nephilim.” Ezekiel answered, his eyes narrowing.
“Like the kid of an angel and human? I thought Cas said there was only one.”
“Apparently not.” Zeke replied and he took on a battle stance, his hand going to the gun in Sam’s back-pocket. Even if Zeke didn’t need it to fight, he knew he would have to let Sam back into his conscious state soon and did not want to leave him unarmed if danger presented itself.
“Whoa, whoa, you think we need that, I mean look at her.” Dean said. He could probably pick her up with one arm if he tried. She was about fifteen feet away from them now, putting her phone back in her bag, growing closer but still unaware of what was going on ahead of her.
“Nephilim are dangerous and unpredictable.” He replied simply, looking at Dean. Suddently, the blue light dimmed and it was clear Sam had returned. He looked to Dean with a confused expression, “Why are we just standing here, let’s go?”
Dean cleared his throat. He considered just letting it go, but then he thought, well if she has a connection to the angels, maybe we could use her for something, “Dude, that girl. She’s a Nephilim.” Sam’s head jerked to her.
“What, how do you know?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She was about five feet away now. It was now or never.
“Hey!” Dean said. The girl stopped and looked at them. Her eyes flashed a brilliant white color and she froze, dropping her coffee cup on the ground. Quick as a whip, Dean grabbed the angel blade and held it at her.
“You.” She said breathlessly, “I know who you are.”
“Yeah, and I know you’re a Nephilim.” Dean replied, his eyes narrow. Now that she was closer, she looked slightly more threatening.
She may have had a slender frame and delicate facial features, but her body appeared to be strong. Her biceps were cut, the muscles in her body appeared etched in as if by God, symmetrical and visible under her light skin. Her emerald eyes looked determined, but not malicious, as she held her hands up in peaceable gesture.
“Please, I mean no harm.” She said. Her voice was uneasy.
“And why should we believe you? You’re one of them.” Dean countered viciously, not lowering the knife.
“I’m not. If any angels even knew I was alive, they’d probably slit my throat on the spot,” she explained, “I’m an abomination. I know what they think of me. I shouldn’t even be alive; I’m as bad as a demon in their eyes. Nephilim aren’t angels.” Her voice was strong, but her eyes were downcast and sad. Sam and Dean continued to stare at her, not sure what action to take next.
“Look,” she continued, “I don’t know why you’re here. I was living quietly until you two showed up just now. Nobody knows about me, no angels at least, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Dean’s eyes shifted furtively to Sam standing next to him. He knew Ezekiel was in there and he knew for sure that he was aware of what was happening. If Ezekiel hadn’t taken kindly to having a newly-human Castiel in their presence, what would he possibly think of her? He had taken to violence as soon as he had sensed her presence. She didn’t look dangerous; then again, most creatures didn’t until they unleashed their true nature when threatened. Who knew what this girl was capable of? Sam cleared his throat and Dean was shaken out of his thoughts.
“How have you been staying hidden? Wouldn’t the angels be on the lookout for someone like you?” Sam asked suspiciously.
“One would think,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m pretty sure they have bigger problems now, but I don’t think they don’t know I exist. Actually, there’s only been one other Nephilim alive on earth at the same time as me, but she’s gone now. We used to talk to each other,” she looked up to the sky, “but we haven’t spoken in months. I assume she’s dead.”
Dean and Sam looked at each other, knowing full well about the other Nephilim she spoke of. Metatron had convinced Castiel to kill her as part of the “trials” to close Heaven. He hadn’t wanted to at first, claiming she was innocent and had been keeping to herself all this time, but Metatron wouldn’t hear it, and so she was slain. Dean was curious to what this Nephilim would think of the matter. He didn't want to provoke her, but he wanted to see how much she knew.
“Yeah, we uh, know a little something about that, actually. Heard about someone that was tricked into killing her.” He said, his eyes fixed on her expression. She looked at him curiously.
“Castiel?” she offered with a flash of recognition in her emerald green eyes. She looked almost hopeful. Dean tightened his grip on the knife, raising it higher. He felt Sam tense up beside him.
“How do you know about Cas?” Dean demanded in a raised voice. This was what he had been hoping for. Information. She immediately looked fearful.
“It’s only what I’ve heard! I hold no animosity against him. I was unaffected by the spell casting the angels out of Heaven.”
“Then how do you know his name?” Sam asked with his voice full of doubt, his eyebrows turned up in distrust.
“Something nobody knows about Nephilim is that we are in tune with the angels. I can hear them speak, but they can’t hear me. It’s like a muted cell phone. I heard everything they said about him. How he made the angels fall, how they were cast out of Heaven as a result of something he did. How it’s supposedly all his fault, how he 'broke' Heaven.” She explained.
“Hey, watch what you say!” Dean snarled, “Cas is our family and he was only trying to do the right thing. Not his fault Metatron is an asshole with a hidden agenda.”
She shrugged, “It’s only what I’ve heard. Don’t kill the messenger, that’s just what they all say. God knows, I’m not such a huge fan of the angels myself. They have looked down upon my kind for centuries, slaughtering Nephilim wherever they find us. In my opinion, Castiel did them a solid, making them fall. Maybe now they’ll understand what it’s like, maybe now they’ll stop hunting us. If I knew Castiel, I’d kiss him; I’m grateful.”
Dean felt heat rise in his chest, “Yeah, well you don’t.”
She and Sam raised their eyebrows. There was a tense silence for about thirty seconds.
“So,” Sam spoke up, breaking the hush, “that’s how you knew who we were, a one-way walkie-talkie with angel radio?”
She nodded, “All I keep hearing is ‘if you find the Winchesters, you’ll find Castiel,” Sam and Dean looked at each other, a dark look upon their faces, “and I can see you guys sometimes. I don’t know how, or why, but that’s how I recognized you. I’ve never had visions or anything before now. Maybe it’s like I’m supposed to help you.”
Dean scoffed, “Yeah, okay, and who would want to help us? We’re on everybody’s most-wanted-dead list.”
“Like I know? Look, that’s why I’m talking to you, okay? I wasn’t going to, I was going to try and ignore it, keep to myself, but when you,” she looked at Sam, “when you looked at me, there was something in your eyes. I saw it and I know you saw me. That’s why we’re here, that’s why we’re talking. You knew what I was.”
Sam nodded, “I don’t know how, but you’re right. I knew you weren’t exactly an angel, but there was something…different, not like anything we’ve seen,” He lowered his gun despite a threatening look from Dean. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Kira.” She said, stretching her hand out in a friendly gesture. Despite the boys holding weapons and threatening to gut her with them, she didn’t fear them. Dean simply looked at her hand, and then gave her a head nod, not lowering the knife.
“Dean.” He said. Sam, however, did return her handshake, to which Dean let out an exasperated sigh, “Sam.”
“It’s nice to finally meet the Winchester boys,” Kira said, her pale lips curling into a smirk, “I might not exactly know everything about what’s been happening with you and the angels for the past few years, but I’ve heard the angels talk about you, complain about you. It’s been entertaining. You guys have been raising hell, no pun intended.”
“That’s an understatement.” Sam said with an uneasy attempt at a laugh.
“Well,” Kira said, shrugging, “if it’s any consolation, I’m trying to raise a little hell too. I’m sick of hiding, I’m sick of being called abomination behind my back and I’m sick of these angel assholes thinking they're superior to everyone else. I'm fed up.” a snarl crossed her pale lips.
At this, Dean, slowly but surely, lowered his knife. He took Kira’s hand and shook it, “Girl after our own heart.”