sillyrounds

[sillyrounds]

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[sillyrounds]

The wood is familiar under her fingers as Samil takes a seat, and before Joshua takes his, she’s rubbing the bristly head of a flower behind her between gentle fingers. “This isn’t how I used to see the Garden,” she says, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see him still watching her. She’s not... terribly sorry about Lilith, or Adam and Eve, or Gadreel. Samil’s not sure she’ll ever be, but. She won’t do something like it again. The name comes to her when she looks at him fully. “This is... the Sensory Garden, Chicago Botanical Garden.”

“It looks different for every visitor,” he replies, coolly. “But, interestingly enough, the Winchesters too saw a botanical garden.”

Samil blinks. “Funny,” she says, and even as it is now, she can smell apples. It must have just rained. “I.. I came here for my tenth birthday. My human father brought me.”

Looking back, it makes sense why she liked this part of the garden the most. Bleed through must have made her senses a little dull, but everything here is meant to tease and stimulate the five senses.

Joshua doesn’t say anything, and her wings relax. “Tell me what I have forgotten, Sibling,” she asks, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“You escaped the Cage, freed by the Winchesters by mistake,” he starts, and looks away to a fluttering butterfly. They both watch it for a moment, feel the worldy changes it makes with each wing beat. “Hell and parts of Heaven wished you free, and they made it so, Paradise on Earth became naught a far off reality.”

“The Apocalypse,” she whispers, and he nods.

“Team Free Will rose up to stop it, humans, angels, and a demon or two, if I’m remembering right. Gabriel and the littlest angel, Castiel, Crowley of the Crossroads. Meg, daughter of Azazel, seems to have jumped ships recently. ”

Gabriel. Gabriel came back? “I remember Crowley vaguely, the brown-nose, and Azazel’s daughter, though she did not go by Meg then,” she says, slowly, still processing. She’s knows Castiel’s fate, but the Winchesters didn’t mention Gabriel. “But... Gabriel? If he’s helping the Winchesters, where is he?”

The look Joshua gives her is pitying as much as it is sorrowful. “You killed him.”

Oh. Oh. Samil gives a startled bark of laughter. “Of course I did,” she gasps, and it feels like all she does is cry. “Are... Are Michael and Raphael dead too? D-Did I kill all of my siblings?”

Joshua himself looks startled. “I forgot,” he starts, hesitant, “that you were always the more emotive of your siblings, even more so than Gabriel.” He pauses as Samil rubs ruthlessly at her eyes, chest aching. Her anger had always been terribly bright, she knows, even in jest. “Raphael was killed by Castiel, but Michael lives yet, trapped still I believe in the Cage.”

It stings. “Raphael wanted Paradise?”

“Michael as well, disillusioned with Father as they both were,” he agrees. “They were behind you escaping the Cage.”

It’s too much, it really is. Maybe it shouldn’t come to a surprise that Samil breaks down and Valerie comes back to the forefront, tired but healed, and ready to shed all the tears Samil wishes to hid. She can't help surging forward to cling to Joshua, arms gripping him tight as she sobs into his shoulder. The angel is only a little slow to respond, arms coming up and around her in return.

This is all her fault. If she’d never been so blinded and stupidly hurt, none of this would have happened, she knows it. Gabriel would have never left to escape her and Michael’s constant fighting, demons would not exist, and Castiel would not have ever felt the need to do as he did. Raphael would not have abandoned Father’s... Father’s greatest creation, Humanity. Raphael, of all of them. 

“I think Castiel understands it the best,” Joshua says after she has run herself down to sniffles and a pounding headache. “Free Will, that is. The freedom to make your own choices, and to live with the consequences.”

Valerie doesn’t know what to say to that. She begins to push away, drained, maybe feeling a bit better, but Joshua doesn’t exactly let go. The embrace turns into a hug, and she melts into it, the warmth of his Grace a balm to her chilly own.

“Heaven is in uproar, leaderless, and you cannot fill that space, not yet, I know,” he continues, and sits back, looks at her. Valerie looks back. “I’ll look after them if you promise me one thing.”

“What?” she croaks.

“Remember that mistakes are a given with free will, and that no one knows this better than Father.”

Hurt makes her grit her teeth. Mistakes, yes, she has made plenty of those too. “I’ll... try,” she promises, and the anger fades. I’ll try. 

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena/surelysilly) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

The pain recedes to an irritable itch, and then nothing at all. She sits up, and the blood adorning her vanishes with the twitch of a finger, but not without a brief case of vertigo.

Samael winces, a hand reaching for her temple. Everything’s a little greyer, duller really. The vanilla of the trees is no longer nearly as strong, and belatedly she notices the two humans curled on the ground. Dean, Sam. Right.

The ghost is gone, retreated to its anchor by the clump of barely malevolent energy she can feel from it inside the cabin.

With a wave of her free hand, she heals their ears, and clears the blood away for good measure.

“I hope no one heard that,” she says, perfectly bland, and eyes the two as they still further. “I know, however, that you two are fine.”

They both slowly sit up at that, Sam’s face a study of resigned fear, and Dean’s dark and furious.

“You shot a fifteen year old child,” she continues, and maybe her voice gets an edge here. “She even introduced us. Do you always shoot first, ask questions later?”

“We’ve got no sympathy for the Devil,” Dean growls, and it startles a laugh from her. He looks vaguely pained as realization dawns on him.

The brief good humor flees quickly, slipping away like mist. Samael frowns, though there’s not much behind it. Distanced, maybe a little separate and divided. Interesting.

Ruffling her feathers, she stands. The two scramble up as well, reaching for their guns, and she finds that she doesn’t like the weakness Valerie presents.

It takes naught a breath for the weapons to droop into swimming tubes, bright yellow and green, and undeniably plastic. “I’d rather not be shot again, if it’s all the same to you,” she says, and narrows her eyes. “Have we met in some previous life, perhaps? What have I done to ignite such hatred?”

Because that’s what it was. Not so alien, and easily a consuming flame. She ought to know. It’s not warm, it’s deadly to the touch. For all of those involved.

“What have you done?” Sam echos, disbelief clear on his face as he and his brother bare common blades. “What haven’t you done.”  

“Plenty,” she answers, a little late in realizing the question required no answer. Samael plows forward anyway. “Angels walk the Earth, yes? That’s why you didn’t question me at first, not really. Do you know what He has commanded then?”

“Last I heard God had taken a hike a long time ago,” Dean snaps, looks briefly confused, and what. “But you should know all about that, Lucifer.” What.

She opens her mouth, ready to argue because no, she really doesn’t. Only, the ghost is back, and strong enough to smear the wall with ectoplasm in determined lines.

Samael lifts a hand. “Wait—”

Everything bleeds white as she’s flung away.

Samael ends up in Vermont, of all places, and a chill settles over her skin the longer she lays there in the grass, tired, too tired. He… He can’t be gone. Can he?

“Father?” she asks the air, not wanting to hope, to wish, for an answer but.

The sun goes down, and it’s not like she gets one.

Her face hurts, the familiar emotion of sadness now like a far off dream, and the tears struggle free despite it. Father, what has she done? She can’t remember, can’t recall anything to do with this reality. She only remembers His voice, and then Michael’s horrifyingly dead Grace as he struck her down, her wings burning down to the barest trace, and then Darkness. Then Light. Valerie. Now.

They should be afraid. Awed, maybe. They should, for they stood before Greatness. Misguided, but a Guiding hand. So, why…?

Her tears dry, eventually, but night turns into day before she moves, and decides with a firm and sweltering desperation, I’m going Home. 

It’s as she is about to take flight that the human dwelling upon the property comes awake in the dewy morning, blue sunlight casting the acres of land in deep shadow. Samael pauses, and looks at it, takes it in. It’s aging, not well, and she can see that the roof is maybe a year from nature felling it with a hole. The small family inside can’t afford it, the Mother’s anxious thoughts like a lighthouse peering out to sea and Samael the ship looking to harbor.

“Fear not,” she whispers, and sets back the clock, leaves it about two years old and twice as strong.

With a nod, Samael takes flight. She’ll deal with the Leviathans, make amends, but for now she has a Home to return to. It takes naught a circle of the Earth to reach Heaven’s gates, but she dithers. 

Home. How long it has been since she last saw these gates? Heard the choir singing? Too long, much too long. I was such a fool, she thinks, and rubs absently at her chest. Such a fool.

She goes to the Garden a coward, and Joshua is there to greet her.

Though… greet may be too strong of a word as shears spear her in the side upon arrival. Samael grimaces, and staggers back a step. The Gardener merely looks at her, face carefully blank, and blades smeared with ichor. Strange, she thinks, takes in his all too human visage, the sprawling familiar-unfamiliar flora around them. So much has changed. 

“Lucifer,” he says, and she recoils even as Grace knits her body to health. “You are no longer welcome here, remember?”

No, she wants to say, but it’s one of many things she does remember. “I want to come Home,” Samael says instead, wings mantling with apology. “I… I’m sorry. I was a fool, a fool to cast away my Name and forsake my siblings and Father in spite. I’m so sorry.”

He continues to look at her in silence, and she waits it out, eyes lowering. She may be older, but he has always managed to make her feel young. “Samil,” he allows, and she briefly closes her eyes. Perhaps she has yet to earn back her true name, yet to have claim to something she so carelessly tossed aside. “Samil… you are changed.”

Samil offers a tentative smile. “I am Human as much as I am the Brightest,” she says, and unveils her soul, just a little. The emotions that well up are sudden and fast, and a tear slips free before she nudges Valerie back down. This can’t be healthy, but she’s a little pressed for time. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything after being cast into the Cage, and yet…”

“You met the Winchesters.”

“They knew to fear me,” she agrees, unsure. “Not like true believers might, but raw and unadulterated. They feared me as much as they loathed me.”

Joshua sighs, and motions to a bench she hadn’t noticed. “Sit. There is much you are forgetting.”

[sillyrounds]

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena/surelysilly) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

The pain recedes to an irritable itch, and then nothing at all. She sits up, and the blood adorning her vanishes with the twitch of a finger, but not without a brief case of vertigo.

Samael winces, a hand reaching for her temple. Everything’s a little greyer, duller really. The vanilla of the trees is no longer nearly as strong, and belatedly she notices the two humans curled on the ground. Dean, Sam. Right.

The ghost is gone, retreated to its anchor by the clump of barely malevolent energy she can feel from it inside the cabin.

With a wave of her free hand, she heals their ears, and clears the blood away for good measure.

“I hope no one heard that,” she says, perfectly bland, and eyes the two as they still further. “I know, however, that you two are fine.”

They both slowly sit up at that, Sam’s face a study of resigned fear, and Dean’s dark and furious.

“You shot a fifteen year old child,” she continues, and maybe her voice gets an edge here. “She even introduced us. Do you always shoot first, ask questions later?”

“We’ve got no sympathy for the Devil,” Dean growls, and it startles a laugh from her. He looks vaguely pained as realization dawns on him.

The brief good humor flees quickly, slipping away like mist. Samael frowns, though there’s not much behind it. Distanced, maybe a little separate and divided. Interesting.

Ruffling her feathers, she stands. The two scramble up as well, reaching for their guns, and she finds that she doesn’t like the weakness Valerie presents.

It takes naught a breath for the weapons to droop into swimming tubes, bright yellow and green, and undeniably plastic. “I’d rather not be shot again, if it’s all the same to you,” she says, and narrows her eyes. “Have we met in some previous life, perhaps? What have I done to ignite such hatred?”

Because that’s what it was. Not so alien, and easily a consuming flame. She ought to know. It’s not warm, it’s deadly to the touch. For all of those involved.

“What have you done?” Sam echos, disbelief clear on his face as he and his brother bare common blades. “What haven’t you done.”  

“Plenty,” she answers, a little late in realizing the question required no answer. Samael plows forward anyway. “Angels walk the Earth, yes? That’s why you didn’t question me at first, not really. Do you know what He has commanded then?”

“Last I heard God had taken a hike a long time ago,” Dean snaps, looks briefly confused, and what. “But you should know all about that, Lucifer.” What.

She opens her mouth, ready to argue because no, she really doesn’t. Only, the ghost is back, and strong enough to smear the wall with ectoplasm in determined lines.

Samael lifts a hand. “Wait—”

Everything bleeds white as she’s flung away.

Samael ends up in Vermont, of all places, and a chill settles over her skin the longer she lays there in the grass, tired, too tired. He... He can’t be gone. Can he?

“Father?” she asks the air, not wanting to hope, to wish, for an answer but.

The sun goes down, and it’s not like she gets one.

Her face hurts, the familiar emotion of sadness now like a far off dream, and the tears struggle free despite it. Father, what has she done? She can’t remember, can’t recall anything to do with this reality. She only remembers His voice, and then Michael’s horrifyingly dead Grace as he struck her down, her wings burning down to the barest trace, and then Darkness. Then Light. Valerie. Now.

They should be afraid. Awed, maybe. They should, for they stood before Greatness. Misguided, but a Guiding hand. So, why...?

Her tears dry, eventually, but night turns into day before she moves, and decides with a firm and sweltering desperation, I’m going Home. 

It’s as she is about to take flight that the human dwelling upon the property comes awake in the dewy morning, blue sunlight casting the acres of land in deep shadow. Samael pauses, and looks at it, takes it in. It’s aging, not well, and she can see that the roof is maybe a year from nature felling it with a hole. The small family inside can’t afford it, the Mother’s anxious thoughts like a lighthouse peering out to sea and Samael the ship looking to harbor.

“Fear not,” she whispers, and sets back the clock, leaves it about two years old and twice as strong.

With a nod, Samael takes flight. She’ll deal with the Leviathans, make amends, but for now she has a Home to return to. It takes naught a circle of the Earth to reach Heaven’s gates, but she dithers. 

Home. How long it has been since she last saw these gates? Heard the choir singing? Too long, much too long. I was such a fool, she thinks, and rubs absently at her chest. Such a fool.

She goes to the Garden a coward, and Joshua is there to greet her.

Though... greet may be too strong of a word as shears spear her in the side upon arrival. Samael grimaces, and staggers back a step. The Gardener merely looks at her, face carefully blank, and blades smeared with ichor. Strange, she thinks, takes in his all too human visage, the sprawling familiar-unfamiliar flora around them. So much has changed. 

“Lucifer,” he says, and she recoils even as Grace knits her body to health. “You are no longer welcome here, remember?”

No, she wants to say, but it’s one of many things she does remember. “I want to come Home,” Samael says instead, wings mantling with apology. “I... I’m sorry. I was a fool, a fool to cast away my Name and forsake my siblings and Father in spite. I’m so sorry.”

He continues to look at her in silence, and she waits it out, eyes lowering. She may be older, but he has always managed to make her feel young. “Samil,” he allows, and she briefly closes her eyes. Perhaps she has yet to earn back her true name, yet to have claim to something she so carelessly tossed aside. “Samil... you are changed.”

Samil offers a tentative smile. “I am Human as much as I am the Brightest,” she says, and unveils her soul, just a little. The emotions that well up are sudden and fast, and a tear slips free before she nudges Valerie back down. This can’t be healthy, but she’s a little pressed for time. “I don’t... I don’t remember anything after being cast into the Cage, and yet...”

“You met the Winchesters.”

“They knew to fear me,” she agrees, unsure. “Not like true believers might, but raw and unadulterated. They feared me as much as they loathed me.”

Joshua sighs, and motions to a bench she hadn’t noticed. “Sit. There is much you are forgetting.”

[sillyrounds]

The pain recedes to an irritable itch, and then nothing at all. She sits up, and the blood adorning her vanishes with the twitch of a finger, but not without a brief case of vertigo.

Samael winces, a hand reaching for her temple. Everything’s a little greyer, duller really. The vanilla of the trees is no longer nearly as strong, and belatedly she notices the two humans curled on the ground. Dean, Sam. Right.

The ghost is gone, retreated to its anchor by the clump of barely malevolent energy she can feel from it inside the cabin. 

With a wave of her free hand, she heals their ears, and clears the blood away for good measure. 

“I hope no one heard that,” she says, perfectly bland, and eyes the two as they still further. “I know, however, that you two are fine.”

They both slowly sit up at that, Sam’s face a study of resigned fear, and Dean’s dark and furious.

“You shot a fifteen year old child,” she continues, and maybe her voice gets an edge here. “She even introduced us. Do you always shoot first, ask questions later?”

“We’ve got no sympathy for the Devil,” Dean growls, and it startles a laugh from her. He looks vaguely pained as realization dawns on him. 

The brief good humor flees quickly, slipping away like mist. Samael frowns, though there’s not much behind it. Distanced, maybe a little separate and divided. Interesting.

Ruffling her feathers, she stands. The two scramble up as well, reaching for their guns, and she finds that she doesn’t like the weakness Valerie presents.

It takes naught a breath for the weapons to droop into swimming tubes, bright yellow and green, and undeniably plastic. “I’d rather not be shot again, if it’s all the same to you,” she says, and narrows her eyes. “Have we met in some previous life, perhaps? What have I done to ignite such hatred?”

Because that’s what it was. Not so alien, and easily a consuming flame. She ought to know. It’s not warm, it’s deadly to the touch. For all of those involved.

“What have you done?” Sam echos, disbelief clear on his face as he and his brother bare common blades. “What haven’t you done.”  

“Plenty,” she answers, a little late in realizing the question required no answer. Samael plows forward anyway. “Angels walk the Earth, yes? That’s why you didn’t question me at first, not really. Do you know what He has commanded then?”

“Last I heard God had taken a hike a long time ago,” Dean snaps, looks briefly confused, and what. “But you should know all about that, Lucifer.” What. 

She opens her mouth, ready to argue because no, she really doesn’t. Only, the ghost is back, and strong enough to smear the wall with ectoplasm in determined lines.

Samael lifts a hand. “Wait—!”

Everything bleed white as she’s flung away.

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena/surelysilly) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

In the end, she decides knocking can’t be too bad. Nice, and straightforward. Friendly even, maybe.

Valerie still feels nauseous, stomach roiling, interestingly enough, and gives her best smile to the barrel of the gun level with her face as the door is slammed open.

“Hello,” she says, slightly more energetic than she really feels, and keeps her hands at her sides. Her retail voice, if she remembers correctly, her dad teasing her good-naturedly about it a time or two.

It’s the shorter of the two, Dean, green eyes furious. “The hell are you?” he demands, and then pauses, something flickering over his face.

She frowns minutely, confused, just the barest irritated, before it dawns on her as his eyes take an angry sweep over her. Ah. She’d nearly forgotten.

The young are the future, she muses forlornly to herself.

“A tourist,” she says, earnest, and truthfully to a certain degree. Valerie’s eyes flicker to Sam behind him, and something painful strikes across her temple, grimace easily hid with a ducking of the head.

“Tourist my ass,” spits the ghost, Bobby, appearing beside her. “Stalking people ain’t no tourist venue.”

“No really though,” she continues, hand coming up in a ‘what-can-you-do’ gesture,” Thought I’d see the sights, take a few pictures, crack some skulls, be on my merry way home.”

The gun, unfortunately, comes closer. “Get out of the girl,” he snarls.

Valerie takes a step back, hands up. “Whoa, hey, look, I am the girl, okay? I’d just wanted to figure some things out, and following you guys seemed to be the best lead,” she says, eyes back on Dean.

“What are you? What do you want?” comes Sam, both brothers coming fully out of the cabin. The gun in Sam’s hands is just like Dean’s, much to Valerie’s inner annoyance. Shotguns make for messy cleanups, no matter how easily done.

“Name’s Valerie, or Samil if you must know, “ she relents, a more obscure name better than none for a bit more time, thinking give a little, get a little. “An angel of the Lord, and I want to know why the actual flying Hell the Leviathans are free.”

They share a look, Sam mouthing her name. Valerie squints at them, and neatly sidesteps a splash of water in the next moment, surprised.

When the guns come back up, realization dawns on her. “Wait! Wait, wait, do it again! I won’t move this time, honest,” she promises, raising one hand in a staying motion. 

The ghost growls something, but Dean throws more water on her. It’s lukewarm, but even under pain of death, she’d never admit it gives her pins and needles.

Valerie twitches a finger, and vanishes the water, suppresses a shiver. “Happy now?” she sniffs, and tosses her hair. “I told you, I just want to know what is going on.”

“You’d have to have been under a huge rock not to know,” snips the ghost, “Where were you hiding while everything has been going to shit?”

Honestly. Mud monkeys just want to know everything. She grimaces, and shoots up a small apology at the thought. Like it or not, she is kinda one now too.

“This is sorta like the answer to life, something you really shouldn’t know,” she says, and side eyes Dean as his hands tighten on his gun. “Know any greek myths? Think about how fire was given to humankind, and the consequences for the informant.”

For a moment she’s not sure they’ll relent, and really, it’s not like she can blame them, but they do. Begrudgingly. Though, not enough to let her inside.

Bobby watches her as they retreat inside, gather a few chairs, and to her slight apprehension a laptop. Valerie tries not to look too innocent as the WiFi cuts out, and there’s a growl of frustration.

It’s all very civil-like, save for the guns, and arm length knifes newly hidden under their jackets. She’s gotta give them points for thinking they could stand a chance to fend her off.

“How much do you know?” Dean says, eyes strangely fierce, Sam slightly distracted from trying to work the laptop.

Valiere props back in the chair, ankle on one knee. “Zilch, nada, except that the Leviathan are free.”

Dean takes a breath. “Are you on Humanity’s side?”

“Hell yeah,” she says, and almost laughs in his gobsmacked face. Sam fairs little better, and the spirit disappears back into the cabin with a disgruntled look to his face. 

“Y — How long have you lived among people?” Sam sputters, and maybe something blue flickers at the edges of his eyes, but Valerie’s not sure she wants to know.

“Long enough,” she admits, and stretches an arm. “Okay, c’mon though. Story time, now please, world to save, right?”

And, isn’t that one thing she’d never have thought she would say. Ever, let alone in the planet’s life time. 

The two share another look, long and quiet. Her good mood slips away like mist between her fingers, and maybe just a little, she pushes herself back, and lets Other forward.

Dean straightens in his seat, and the words spill from his lips like a river of thick, old blood.

Oh, Castiel.

[sillyrounds]

Valerie is totally not crying.

“Are... are you crying?”

“N-No,” she hisses, and wipes at her eyes, “It’s kinda uncomfortable in this chair, alright?”

The two narrow their eyes at her, but she tries to reign it in a little more because earlier is clearly not enough. Father, humans are so sensitive, but, even if she’s never heard the name before, she thinks maybe the angle had been a young one. Where are the other Archangels in all of this? Everything seems to have gone to absolute shit.

It’s probably mostly her fault.

“Okay, so you’re all up to speed,” Dean says, maybe a little bewildered. “So.”

“So,” Valerie echos, fingers digging into the hem of her shirt.

There’s a lull, and the spirit comes back. He’s a little faint around the edges, and she helps him out a bit, easily seeing the struggle he makes to return to a plane of visibility for the other two. 

He still glares at her. “The Leviathans plan to turn humans into cattle,” he says, and the two human tense. “They want to get rid of disease, and fatten everyone up using infected meat to dumb them down.”

Dean turns a spectacular shade of gray that, throat working, and Sam seems weirdly amused. Valerie maybe feels a little ill.

“They do eat anything,” she adds before Bobby can continue. “Not hard to imagine they have a favorite food.”

“Yeah?” Sam says, eyes suddenly intense. “And what’s that gonna mean for all the monsters, angels included, exactly?”

Touche, she thinks, though she’s not just any monster, not just any angel.

She’s The Monster.

“Extinction,” she snaps, suddenly angry, and it’s blistering because there are some quiet agreeable creatures out there that don’t deserve this anymore than the humans, let alone her siblings. “Which, I think might be a better outcome than what you’ve got waiting for you shitty apes if they win.”

That may not haven been the best thing to say, if by their thunderous expressions are to go by. I’m a shitty ape now too, she tells herself, and tries to calm down, curling inward.

Looking away, she finds that darkness hinders her no more than daylight. “Have a care,” she grumbles. “I’m sorry, but I love my family, and even if every one of them were douchbags, I wouldn’t want to see them eaten.” Not even Castiel, the dumb shit.

Bobby huffs. “Maybe if you can blown up their new facility, I might just forgive you.”

Good idea, except where she was never meant to kill them all on her own, not like that. “I’d probably blown a hole in the earth’s crust and start another age of extinction all on my own, so I guess I’ll just have to be unforgivable.”

They give her odd looks.

“Aren’t you just a rank and file?” Dean asks, suspicious.

“I never said that,” Valerie says, and really, she shouldn't have given an example. At all. Whoops.

“Samil, right?” comes Sam, and he’s typing away at the laptop in his lap.

Oh no, Valerie thinks, apprehensive. When did she slip hold of the Wifi?

“Not everything you read on the internet is true, y’know,” she tries, and it’s a weak excuse, not entirely subtle. “I heard the scribe wasn’t the best at listening, too fond of embellishments.”

There’s not much she can do though. It’s already one click too late, and his eyes are wide.

“Dean!” he yelps, and he’s reaching for his gun, careless of the laptop as it falls from his lap with a crash. “Samil is Satan, Lucifer!”

They’re all on their feet then, the porch trembling.

“That’s not my name,” she protests, but the fear in their eyes is too deep, too personal. “It’s—Samil, Samael, everything but that!”

Why has that name not disappeared? She’d only ever meant it as to take distance in her anger. What greater disrespect than to forsake her Father given name? 

Valerie gets buckshot to the chest, and it hurts, takes her right off her feet with a dull thump to the vibrating ground.

“How did you get out of the cage again?” Dean yells, and he’s wild around the eyes, scared.

Al three of them are.

“I didn’t!” she screams because oh Father it hurts. She can’t think for the hole displaying her ribs, warm blood over her hands as she fumbles to press at the too big wound. 

She can heal it, she can, she can. She’s crying again. Back, back, she has to go back, fall deeper. 

Valerie needs to sleep. For just a little while, a day, maybe a few more. She needs to—

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena/surelysilly) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

In the end, she decides knocking can’t be too bad. Nice, and straightforward. Friendly even, maybe.

Valerie still feels nauseous, stomach roiling, interestingly enough, and gives her best smile to the barrel of the gun level with her face as the door is slammed open.

“Hello,” she says, slightly more energetic than she really feels, and keeps her hands at her sides. Her retail voice, if she remembers correctly, her dad teasing her good-naturedly about it a time or two.

It’s the shorter of the two, Dean, green eyes furious. “The hell are you?” he demands, and then pauses, something flickering over his face.

She frowns minutely, confused, just the barest irritated, before it dawns on her as his eyes take an angry sweep over her. Ah. She’d nearly forgotten.

The young are the future, she muses forlornly to herself.

“A tourist,” she says, earnest, and truthfully to a certain degree. Valerie’s eyes flicker to Sam behind him, and something painful strikes across her temple, grimace easily hid with a ducking of the head.

“Tourist my ass,” spits the ghost, Bobby, appearing beside her. “Stalking people ain’t no tourist venue.”

“No really though,” she continues, hand coming up in a ‘what-can-you-do’ gesture,” Thought I’d see the sights, take a few pictures, crack some skulls, be on my merry way home.”

The gun, unfortunately, comes closer. “Get out of the girl,” he snarls.

Valerie takes a step back, hands up. “Whoa, hey, look, I am the girl, okay? I’d just wanted to figure some things out, and following you guys seemed to be the best lead,” she says, eyes back on Dean.

“What are you? What do you want?” comes Sam, both brothers coming fully out of the cabin. The gun in Sam’s hands is just like Dean’s, much to Valerie’s inner annoyance. Shotguns make for messy cleanups, no matter how easily done.

“Name’s Valerie, or Samil if you must know, “ she relents, a more obscure name better than none for a bit more time, thinking give a little, get a little. “An angel of the Lord, and I want to know why the actual flying Hell the Leviathans are free.”

They share a look, Sam mouthing her name. Valerie squints at them, and neatly sidesteps a splash of water in the next moment, surprised.

When the guns come back up, realization dawns on her. “Wait! Wait, wait, do it again! I won’t move this time, honest,” she promises, raising one hand in a staying motion. 

The ghost growls something, but Dean throws more water on her. It’s lukewarm, but even under pain of death, she’d never admit it gives her pins and needles.

Valerie twitches a finger, and vanishes the water, suppresses a shiver. “Happy now?” she sniffs, and tosses her hair. “I told you, I just want to know what is going on.”

“You’d have to have been under a huge rock not to know,” snips the ghost, “Where were you hiding while everything has been going to shit?”

Honestly. Mud monkeys just want to know everything. She grimaces, and shoots up a small apology at the thought. Like it or not, she is kinda one now too.

“This is sorta like the answer to life, something you really shouldn’t know,” she says, and side eyes Dean as his hands tighten on his gun. “Know any greek myths? Think about how fire was given to humankind, and the consequences for the informant.”

For a moment she’s not sure they’ll relent, and really, it’s not like she can blame them, but they do. Begrudgingly. Though, not enough to let her inside.

Bobby watches her as they retreat inside, gather a few chairs, and to her slight apprehension a laptop. Valerie tries not to look too innocent as the WiFi cuts out, and there’s a growl of frustration.

It’s all very civil-like, save for the guns, and arm length knifes newly hidden under their jackets. She’s gotta give them points for thinking they could stand a chance to fend her off.

“How much do you know?” Dean says, eyes strangely fierce, Sam slightly distracted from trying to work the laptop.

Valiere props back in the chair, ankle on one knee. “Zilch, nada, except that the Leviathan are free.”

Dean takes a breath. “Are you on Humanity’s side?”

“Hell yeah,” she says, and almost laughs in his gobsmacked face. Sam fairs little better, and the spirit disappears back into the cabin with a disgruntled look to his face. 

“Y — How long have you lived among people?” Sam sputters, and maybe something blue flickers at the edges of his eyes, but Valerie’s not sure she wants to know.

“Long enough,” she admits, and stretches an arm. “Okay, c’mon though. Story time, now please, world to save, right?”

And, isn’t that one thing she’d never have thought she would say. Ever, let alone in the planet’s life time. 

The two share another look, long and quiet. Her good mood slips away like mist between her fingers, and maybe just a little, she pushes herself back, and lets Other forward.

Dean straightens in his seat, and the words spill from his lips like a river of thick, old blood.

Oh, Castiel.

[sillyrounds]

Nodding, Sam tried for a convincing smile. “Yes,” he said, firm.

Foley seemed to come to some sort of decision, nodding in return. “Right,” he replied, paused, and then shut the door in Sam’s face.

Bewildered, he looked around before back to the door. “... Mr. Foley?”

[continuing from here last poster: surelysilly] [round robin guidelines here]

Sam shrugged, and closed the laptop before turning it back around. He drained the last of his drink, and then stretched.

“So, you want to drop me off then? If I get done first I’ll do some walking around,” he offered.

“Like I’d let you drive Baby,” Dean retorted.

Dean clears the table, and by the time they leave, the rain has turned to a slight drizzle, the sky still solidly covered in cloud.

[sillyrounds]

Sam put his hand forward. “Sam Wincher,” he lied,” And I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me asking you questions about the town? I’m specifically interested in this town’s supposed breed of ghosts, and I’m told your family knows all there is.”

Something he said must have been wrong because Foley’s face tightened with displeasure, and he took half a step back. “What for? The ghosts are all gone.”

“Well, there’s not much written down about them,” he starts, and hesitates a little. “Primary sources are great for a book, you know.”

He still didn’t seem to buy it. Maybe the family wasn’t as cracked up as it was said to be.

“You want to write a book,” he deadpanned, blue-green eyes eerily blank. 

[continuing from here last poster: surelysilly] [round robin guidelines here]

Sam shrugged, and closed the laptop before turning it back around. He drained the last of his drink, and then stretched.

“So, you want to drop me off then? If I get done first I’ll do some walking around,” he offered.

“Like I’d let you drive Baby,” Dean retorted.

Dean clears the table, and by the time they leave, the rain has turned to a slight drizzle, the sky still solidly covered in cloud.

[sillyrounds]

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena/surelysilly) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

In the end, she decides knocking can’t be too bad. Nice, and straightforward. Friendly even, maybe.

Valerie still feels nauseous, stomach roiling, interestingly enough, and gives her best smile to the barrel of the gun level with her face as the door is slammed open.

“Hello,” she says, slightly more energetic than she really feels, and keeps her hands at her sides. Her retail voice, if she remembers correctly, her dad teasing her good-naturedly about it a time or two.

It’s the shorter of the two, Dean, green eyes furious. “The hell are you?” he demands, and then pauses, something flickering over his face.

She frowns minutely, confused, just the barest irritated, before it dawns on her as his eyes take an angry sweep over her. Ah. She’d nearly forgotten.

The young are the future, she muses forlornly to herself.

“A tourist,” she says, earnest, and truthfully to a certain degree. Valerie’s eyes flicker to Sam behind him, and something painful strikes across her temple, grimace easily hid with a ducking of the head.

“Tourist my ass,” spits the ghost, Bobby, appearing beside her. “Stalking people ain’t no tourist venue.”

“No really though,” she continues, hand coming up in a ‘what-can-you-do’ gesture,” Thought I’d see the sights, take a few pictures, crack some skulls, be on my merry way home.”

The gun, unfortunately, comes closer. “Get out of the girl,” he snarls.

Valerie takes a step back, hands up. “Whoa, hey, look, I am the girl, okay? I’d just wanted to figure some things out, and following you guys seemed to be the best lead,” she says, eyes back on Dean.

“What are you? What do you want?” comes Sam, both brothers coming fully out of the cabin. The gun in Sam’s hands is just like Dean’s, much to Valerie’s inner annoyance. Shotguns make for messy cleanups, no matter how easily done.

“Name’s Valerie, or Samil if you must know, “ she relents, a more obscure name better than none for a bit more time, thinking give a little, get a little. “An angel of the Lord, and I want to know why the actual flying Hell the Leviathans are free.”

They share a look, Sam mouthing her name. Valerie squints at them, and neatly sidesteps a splash of water in the next moment, surprised.

When the guns come back up, realization dawns on her. “Wait! Wait, wait, do it again! I won’t move this time, honest,” she promises, raising one hand in a staying motion. 

The ghost growls something, but Dean throws more water on her. It’s lukewarm, but even under pain of death, she’d never admit it gives her pins and needles.

Valerie twitches a finger, and vanishes the water, suppresses a shiver. “Happy now?” she sniffs, and tosses her hair. “I told you, I just want to know what is going on.”

“You’d have to have been under a huge rock not to know,” snips the ghost, “Where were you hiding while everything has been going to shit?”

Honestly. Mud monkeys just want to know everything. She grimaces, and shoots up a small apology at the thought. Like it or not, she is kinda one now too.

“This is sorta like the answer to life, something you really shouldn’t know,” she says, and side eyes Dean as his hands tighten on his gun. “Know any greek myths? Think about how fire was given to humankind, and the consequences for the informant.”

For a moment she’s not sure they’ll relent, and really, it’s not like she can blame them, but they do. Begrudgingly. Though, not enough to let her inside.

Bobby watches her as they retreat inside, gather a few chairs, and to her slight apprehension a laptop. Valerie tries not to look too innocent as the WiFi cuts out, and there’s a growl of frustration.

It’s all very civil-like, save for the guns, and arm length knifes newly hidden under their jackets. She’s gotta give them points for thinking they could stand a chance to fend her off.

“How much do you know?” Dean says, eyes strangely fierce, Sam slightly distracted from trying to work the laptop.

Valiere props back in the chair, ankle on one knee. “Zilch, nada, except that the Leviathan are free.”

Dean takes a breath. “Are you on Humanity’s side?”

“Hell yeah,” she says, and almost laughs in his gobsmacked face. Sam fairs little better, and the spirit disappears back into the cabin with a disgruntled look to his face. 

“Y — How long have you lived among people?” Sam sputters, and maybe something blue flickers at the edges of his eyes, but Valerie’s not sure she wants to know.

“Long enough,” she admits, and stretches an arm. “Okay, c’mon though. Story time, now please, world to save, right?”

And, isn’t that one thing she’d never have thought she would say. Ever, let alone in the planet’s life time. 

The two share another look, long and quiet. Her good mood slips away like mist between her fingers, and maybe just a little, she pushes herself back, and lets Other forward.

Dean straightens in his seat, and the words spill from his lips like a river of thick, old blood.

Oh, Castiel.

[sillyrounds]

That, unfortunately, does not make Sam feel any better about the situation. “I guess we can start with newspapers? Old obituaries?”

Dean’s nodding his head, seemingly sold on the idea before he stops. “You said they know who we are,” he says.

Sam frowns. They’ve got to be watching them, maybe? How would they get anything done?

“Oh man, okay so I don’t think this thing actually does anything, but those crackpots we went to see?” he says, and moves over a rumpled dufflebag. “They gave us a portable ghost shield of all things. If this thing works, our room should be okay at least. Gotta hope the motel won’t mind the huge electricity bill, hah.”

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

“What do we do?” he whispers, a knot twisting up in his stomach.

[sillyrounds]

In the end, she decides knocking can’t be too bad. Nice, and straightforward. Friendly even, maybe.

Valerie still feels nauseous, stomach roiling, interestingly enough, and gives her best smile to the barrel of the gun level with her face as the door is slammed open.

“Hello,” she says, slightly more energetic than she really feels, and keeps her hands at her sides. Her retail voice, if she remembers correctly, her dad teasing her good-naturedly about it a time or two.

It’s the shorter of the two, Dean, green eyes furious. “The hell are you?” he demands, and then pauses, something flickering over his face.

She frowns minutely, confused, just the barest irritated, before it dawns on her as his eyes take an angry sweep over her. Ah. She’d nearly forgotten. 

The young are the future, she muses forlornly to herself.

“A tourist,” she says, earnest, and truthfully to a certain degree. Valerie’s eyes flicker to Sam behind him, and something painful strikes across her temple, grimace easily hid with a ducking of the head. 

“Tourist my ass,” spits the ghost, Bobby, appearing beside her. “Stalking people ain’t no tourist venue.”

“No really though,” she continues, hand coming up in a ‘what-can-you-do’ gesture,” Thought I’d see the sights, take a few pictures, crack some skulls, be on my merry way home.”

The gun, unfortunately, comes closer. “Get out of the girl,” he snarls.

Valerie takes a step back, hands up. “Whoa, hey, look, I am the girl okay? I’d just wanted to figure some things out, and following you guys seemed to be the best lead,” she says, eyes back on Dean.

“What are you? What do you want?” comes Sam, both brothers coming fully out of the cabin. The gun in Sam’s hands is just like Dean’s, much to Valerie’s inner annoyance. Shotguns make for messy cleanups, no matter how easily done.

“Name’s Valerie, or Samil if you must know, “ she relents, a more obscure name better than none for a bit more time, thinking give a little, get a little. “An angel of the Lord, and I want to know why the actual flying Hell the Leviathans are free.”

(Continued from this post (last addition: surelysilly) [round robin guidelines here] 

He doesn’t quite make it before Bobby says,” That’s not all.”

“I need a beer,” Dean responds, and continues into the kitchen.

Sam and the ghost trade looks as Valerie slowly wanders over to the kitchen doorway. She’s barely within the doorframe before Dean is back, doesn’t have time to skitter out of the way.

He walks through her, and.

stops. Shivers, as a lance of pain strikes hard across Valerie’s temple.

Everything runs blurry for a moment, static, and it takes a hard bite to the inside of her cheek to choke back a whine. The Host flickers at the edge of her thoughts, chorus thick with white noise.

For one heart wrenching moment, she’d lost herself.

I’m gonna be sick, she thinks, hands pressing tight to her face, throat working.

It takes all her concentration not to make a mess of the kitchen, but she manages it.

Only to find, as she straightens up, that the old man is staring straight at her.

Well.

So much for stealth.

[sillyrounds]

Danny shrugs. “I've seen ghosts who can shape-shift, who look like vampires, who look like demons straight out of nightmares, but they’re still ghosts,” he says, and frowns at Kevin’s pinched expression. 

(Continued from this post (last addition: sapphireswimming) [round robin guidelines here]

Danny settles himself into a position that doesn’t look very comfortable but at least it saves Kevin the trouble of helping. He pulls back his hands and starts worrying the non-existent pieces of lint on his jeans, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention.

Danny’s eyes are green- vivid and too wide to really be human. The same color as his blood.

But he’s looking at Kevin, waiting for him to speak.

So Kevin tries to think of what to say. How to explain ghosts to a ghost…

[sillyrounds]

“Maybe they do know?” Sam wonders aloud, eyebrows drawing together. “But, no one can do anything about them? So, they just let them do what they want?”

“Why would anyone willingly go to school?” Dean replies, rubbing his chin. “They’re not just tracing leftover memories or emotions; going through the motions, but then what? None of this makes sense.”

“Maybe.. we should go talk to those people Dad came here to see?”

Dean shakes his head. “I doubt they could tell us anything more. The ghosts here can look human, or non-human, and seem more dangerous then the regular kind we know of.”

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

“What do we do?” he whispers, a knot twisting up in his stomach.

[sillyrounds]

Danny took a deep breath, long and slow and stalling for time, before he answered their question, trying to give away as little as possible. “Me and Jazz are just the kids of the local ghost hunters, and Tucker is my friend, that’s all. I honestly don’t know why I can see that guy’s wings. You’re telling me you’ve never met anyone who can tell he’s an angel before?” He asked, trying to divert the attention back away from them.

[continued from this post (last addition: sapphireswimming)] [round robin guidelines here] 

“Excuse me,” Jazz said,“ But my parents have studied paranormal activities since college, which was like, forever ago. And they’re among the most highly respected and sought after scientists in their field.”

“Yeah, because they’re all crackpots,” Dean mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“And I think they know what they’re talking about. And my brother and I do too. We grew up with this stuff. So yes. Ghosts. Oh, and by the way,” she added turning to Sam, “I wasn’t kidnapped.”

[sillyrounds]

A moment of silence stretches between them, Sam frowning at the ghost’s distraction.

“Bobby?” he says, eyes flickering between him and the blank space Valerie knows she still is, Dean frozen where he stands, back to her.

Valerie’s gaze darts between the two men and the ghost. “Hey, look, there is a very good explanation for this,” she offers to the spectre, and only to him, before immediately backpedalling, hairs rising.

The walls begin to shake, and she tightens her hold on her Grace, falling from sight. 

Dean and Sam squawk as the floor beneath their feet sways. “Bobby!” they yell, muffled, and Valerie palms her face from the porch outside.

Good job, she thinks to herself, irritated. She rubs at the pit of her stomach with her other hand, the area light and sickly feeling. No one trusts trespassers or eavesdroppers.

It takes a few minutes but the cabin settles, wood creaking, and Valerie looks at the door, contemplative, but wary.

(Continued from this post (last addition: surelysilly) [round robin guidelines here] 

He doesn’t quite make it before Bobby says,” That’s not all.”

“I need a beer,” Dean responds, and continues into the kitchen.

Sam and the ghost trade looks as Valerie slowly wanders over to the kitchen doorway. She’s barely within the doorframe before Dean is back, doesn’t have time to skitter out of the way.

He walks through her, and.

stops. Shivers, as a lance of pain strikes hard across Valerie’s temple.

Everything runs blurry for a moment, static, and it takes a hard bite to the inside of her cheek to choke back a whine. The Host flickers at the edge of her thoughts, chorus thick with white noise.

For one heart wrenching moment, she’d lost herself.

I’m gonna be sick, she thinks, hands pressing tight to her face, throat working.

[sillyrounds]

“Do you... have a plan?” Sam asks uncertainly, not very reassured despite his brother’s expression.

“We’ll do what we always do on a hunt--your favorite thing, Sammy,” Dean came over, thumping his back as he stopped beside him. "The first thing’s first--we gotta research and find out exactly what we’re up against."

That eased Sam’s anxiousness a bit, and he nodded. "We should--uh, I guess the first thing we should do is check the obits for recently dead teenagers?”

“They gotta be recent, if they’re just wandering the school like they’re still alive...” Dean paused, frowning suddenly. "How exactly has nobody noticed they’re dead?"

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

“What do we do?” he whispers, a knot twisting up in his stomach.

[sillyrounds]

~~~

“Hey Tuck, look who came to visit.” Danny grinned, motioning to the black-haired girl beside him.

“Wow, you’re lookin’ older than I remember.” Danielle giggled lightly, stepping up to the dark-skinned man’s bedside. “Long time no see, Tucker.”

The old man squinted his eyes at her, a look of lost confusion in his eyes for a moment before he asked hoarsely, “Elle?”

“The one and only, Tuck,” Danielle said softly, grabbing the cup of water from the bedside to give it to him, carefully helping him drink, “I’m going to be staying a while, so we can catch up, yeah?”

Tucker chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “I’m sure there’s lots to catch up on. What are you doing here, though? I thought you were in Wisconsin.”

“Well, when I went to visit her...” Danny started, but he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He blinked his blue eyes, startling. “What? Who could that be?”

Danielle grinned. “You go get it, bro. I’ll tell Tucker what happened in Wisconsin.”

Danny nodded, heading downstairs.

~~~

Sam stood on the sidewalk in the light rain, looking up at the glowing neon sign on the building with his eyebrows raised. It didn’t look much like the gigantic, obnoxious eyesore in the picture he saw on the wikipedia page, but it still stuck out in the dreary gray atmosphere, green and blinking on and off.

“Fenton Works” was spelled in blocky letters across the brickwork on the third story, but it looked like no one had maintained the sign for a long time, since some of the lights were out. That made a bit of sense, considering there weren’t that many not-ghosts around for the Fentons to work with these days.

He ascended the steps and stopped on the porch beneath an awning, finally out of the rain, and rang the doorbell. He waited, shoving his hand in his pocket to make sure he still had the sample of the weird green stuff from the mansion.

The door opened several seconds later, revealing a tall young man with tanned skin, black hair, and teal eyes. He looked to be in his early twenties, his face sharp without any baby fat, the beginnings of a goatee on his chin.

His eyebrows shot up and disappeared below his hair when he saw Sam, his eyes slightly wide. He quickly steeled his face though, offering a smile.

“Hello. Can I help you?” He asked, tilting his head quizzically.

Sam blinked at him--the surprised reaction was odd, but Sam couldn’t help but feel like the man looked familiar somehow.

“Are you... Mr. Fenton?” He asked uncertainly, pointing up at the sign high above the door.

The man’s smile twitched irately, but he nodded. “Foley, actually. My name is James Foley. And who are you?”

[continuing from here last poster: surelysilly] [round robin guidelines here]

Sam shrugged, and closed the laptop before turning it back around. He drained the last of his drink, and then stretched.

“So, you want to drop me off then? If I get done first I’ll do some walking around,” he offered.

“Like I’d let you drive Baby,” Dean retorted.

Dean clears the table, and by the time they leave, the rain has turned to a slight drizzle, the sky still solidly covered in cloud.

[sillyrounds]

(Continued from this post (last addition: surelysilly) [round robin guidelines here] 

He doesn’t quite make it before Bobby says,” That’s not all.”

“I need a beer,” Dean responds, and continues into the kitchen.

Sam and the ghost trade looks as Valerie slowly wanders over to the kitchen doorway. She’s barely within the doorframe before Dean is back, doesn’t have time to skitter out of the way.

He walks through her, and.

stops. Shivers, as a lance of pain strikes hard across Valerie’s temple.

Everything runs blurry for a moment, static, and it takes a hard bite to the inside of her cheek to choke back a whine. The Host flickers at the edge of her thoughts, chorus thick with white noise.

For one heart wrenching moment, she’d lost herself.

I’m gonna be sick, she thinks, hands pressing tight to her face, throat working.

It takes all her concentration not to make a mess of the kitchen, but she manages it.

Only to find, as she straightens up, that the old man is staring straight at her.

Well.

So much for stealth.