Chapter Text
There was something so horribly amazing about being in love with a television show. It was the perfect world, a world that you couldn’t be a part of. You had been attached to many worlds that weren’t real in your lifetime, an escape from reality. Sohodolls blasts on the radio as you stare down the road ahead of you. You felt cold and you shivered with a deep sadness that rested on your shoulders and inside of your chest. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to die. You hadn’t taken your meds for months, you couldn’t afford them and your insurance had cut you off.
Tragic as it was you couldn’t help but feel so bittersweet. The thought of death in that moment felt so romantic and lovely. A sweet release. A death that you could control. The only thing that you could control. You had known no one who would mourn for you so you felt no guilt as you pulled over on the side of a bridge and stepped out of your run down used car. Not a soul was on the road tonight. It was just you, the moon, and the roaring river that seemed to be miles below you.
You stood on the railing and laughed, the laughter seemed to ease your aching that sat in your bones. You spread your arms and just before you fell you prayed to whoever was listening.
This is it, may my afterlife be grand.
To your shock, someone answered you. It will be, you’ll finally be where you were meant to be. The voice was female. You saw the image of a woman, wearing a black dress, with a haggard look and chains all over her body, she had long red hair that spilled over her shoulders. Just before you hit the water below there was a flash of bright white light and a ringing so loud it pierced your soul. And then it was quiet, dark, cold.
You felt wood pressing against your back and you felt incredibly claustrophobic. The scent of soil was strong. And as you pressed the lid of your wooden prison dust and dirt fell on top of you. You realized that if you stayed here you would suffocate. It took a lot of kicking and scratching but suddenly there was a break in the rotten wooden lid. As soon as you did you were covered in dirt, unable to breathe. It took a lot of digging and force but you managed to break the surface. You breathed in the air of the outside like it was the last time you would ever taste oxygen.
The first thing you saw was the sky, and then you saw an aged book with strange symbols and intricate designs that sat at the foot of your shallow grave. Vaguely, you realized that you had been inside a coffin. The grave you were in was unmarked. All the trees in the vicinity of your grave had been blown over.
You tried to yell for help but your throat felt dry like hand paper. You wheezed helplessly like a ninety year old with asthma. Your mind seemed to be blank. Where were you? What was your name? How old were you? You leaned down to pick up the dusty aged book from off of the foot of the hole you just crawled out of.
You dusted it off and peaked at the symbols covering it, some of them looked familiar enough. The strange pentacle type symbol on the front was recognizable enough. If you gave a nine year old a pentacle they would pretty much be able to tell you what it was so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
Your main concern was finding some water before you died of thirst. You put reading the book on the backburner and tucked in under your arm. Walking towards civilization felt like hell, with the sun beating down on you. Your mouth was dry and your tongue felt cracked. You eventually reached a road of some sort. The sun beamed down on your back and you felt the sweat bead on your neck and forehead like someone had dowsed you with hot sticky water. The body odor you were emitting was toxic, but it wasn't the main concern on your priority list. You had walked for so long that you had opened up sores on your feet that were bleeding.
After what seemed like hours of just walking, you see a figure in the distance who seemed to be headed in the same direction that you were. You tried to call out to them but all that came out was a grated “Hey!”
Thankfully they seemed to hear you, they stopped and turned around to acknowledge you. Their posture seemed guarded. When you got closer you realize it was a man, strong build, green eyes, covered in dirt much like you. When you got at a safe distance, close enough where he could hear you without raising your voice but far enough where you could run if needed.
“So, you wouldn’t have-” you had a small coughing fit, “have happened to have crawled out of a grave, would you?”
He looked you up and down, assessing you. His eyes lingered on the book in your arms before he nodded slowly. His posture was firm and guarded, like he was expecting the worst at any moment. Like he was prepared for the worst.
“Do you, uh, do you know why?” You were sweating so much at this point, probably overheated. If he told you that you were on a different planet you would most likely believe him with the state that you were in.
Instead of answering you, though, he decided to ask you some questions instead. “What’s that book you’re holdin’?”
You looked down at the book, completely unaware that you had still been carrying it.
“I don’t know, it was on top of the hole I crawled out of.”
You handed it to him and watched as he flipped through it with a pinched and baffled expression. You looked over the edge of the book and peered at the pages, it was in a strange language you had never seen before. You didn’t know if you were having a heat stroke or not, but you were sure the letters on those pages were just scribbles.
“Well I’ll hold onto this, I know someone who can probably translate it. He can help us too, why don’t you come with me?”
It was hot, you were thirsty, and you were at least sixty-five percent sure that he wasn’t going to kill you. You had no reason to argue so you agreed.
The man walked side by side with you for what was probably miles, he always made sure to keep at least four feet between the two of you. He seemed tense, he probably didn’t trust you. Which was understandable considering that the both of you had crawled out of a hole in the ground.
After what seemed like an eternity of walking, your feet sore and your throat dry, you both came across an abandoned gas station. Your tall handsome friend decided to break the glass to unlock the door, you were too exhausted to feel guilt. Thank whatever deity was listening to you, because whoever abandoned this place left it well stocked. You and your grave buddy downed at least three bottles of water respectively. You both looked around the store for a few minutes before he held up a newspaper while mumbling,
“September, 2009.”
You had no idea when someone had planted you in that hole, so you had no point of reference for how long you had been in there. You were convinced that it was probably a prank, or someone hit you over the head and tried to hide your remains without checking if you were dead.
You both grabbed a bag and threw in some snacks and drinks, neither of you knowing how much longer you would be walking. Your suspicious new friend even started rifling through their skin mags, which you thought was hilarious but decided to ignore. He walked up to the register and grabbed out what little money was left in there.
That's when the tv behind him turned on spontaneously, the only thing that was on it was static. As soon as he turned it back off the radio on the end of the counter turned on as well, a second afterward the tv turned itself back on. To say you were scared was an understatement, you did not fuck with ghosts. He ran towards the shelves and grabbed some salt ordering you to do the same and spread it around the doors and windows. You were too freaked out to question him.
The windows began rattling and shaking. You heard a faint whispering that became louder by the second, the sound seemed to put your friend out of commission since he crouched to the floor to cover his ears. The windows began breaking and you were screaming at this point, the noise was so loud that you could hear it clear as day.
‘ Dean Winchester, I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord, acknowledge my presence.’
And as soon as it had come, the chaos was gone. There was glass everywhere, you had a cut on your cheek and two on your wrist from the explosion. You turned over to the man who you had been following, who you assumed was Dean.
“Hey, is your name Dean Winchester?”
He looked at you baffled and immediately was on guard, “Who told you that?” His voice was demanding and powerful.
“That voice just a second ago. The one that shattered the windows. It called you Dean Winchester.”
“... What else did that voice say?”