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██  𝗝𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗡𝗘𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟  ,  STARTER  CALL.  what  she  would  give  to  not  remember.  to  come  back  with  her  soul  fully  restored  +  no  memory  of  what  she  did.  or  who  she  was.  or  how  much   blood  had  been  left  to  mar  her  skin  with  grotesque  shades  of  crimson.  she  ran  +  ran  +  ran   for  over  a  decade   +  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  forget.  did   @leftinperdition  know  how  lucky  she  was  ?  or  did  she  think  it  a  curse  ?  doomed  to  wander  aimlessly,  aching  for  a  sense  of  familiarity.  she  wanted  to   tell  her,  to  ask  her  what  it  was  like,  but  she  knew  better  than  that.  besides,  jo  didn't  come  all  the  way  to  star  city  to  hear  how  lucky  she  was.

sharp  exhale  cut  through  the  noise  of  mcquire's,  giving  her  the  minute  she  needed  to  quickly  digest  the  articles  laid  in  front  of  her.  missing  persons  ──  two,  a  man  +  a  woman,  every  year  going  back  sixteen  years.  always  under  thirty,  always  around  the  same  time.   ❛  you're  thinking  ritualistic  sacrifice.  ❜  it  wasn't  a  question.  she  wasn't  looking  for  an  answer  because  she  didn't  need   one.  the  undertaking  attracted  a  lot  of  attention  in  the  hunter  world.  it  was  roadhouse  gossip  for  months   ──   it  wasn't  setting  off  the  apocalypse  huge,  but  it  put  her  hometown  on  the  map.  it  was  sour  ground.  tainted  with  so  much  evil  that  it  just   ...  attracted  it.  fed  it.  gave  it  a  home  +  invited  the  rest  of  the  world  to  learn  from  it's  mistakes.  +  god  did  the  rest  of  the  world  learn.   ❛  +  you're  here  because  star  city  had  similar  disappearances.  you  think  it's  related  ?  ❜

she watches sara read. watches the way her eyes move across the articles — fast, efficient, the pattern recognition of someone who’s done this before. not a hunter the way jovienne knows hunters, not roadhouse-bred and salt-line-trained, but something adjacent. something that learned violence from a different textbook and came to the same conclusions. jovienne picks up her glass. puts it down without drinking. picks it up again. drinks.

“ related isn’t the word i’d use. ” she slides one of the articles closer with two fingers, taps the date on the third disappearance. “ it’s the same ritual. different city, same signatures — lunar cycle lines up, both victims taken within the same three-day window, both under thirty. ” clinical. steady. this is the version of herself she can do — the part that works, the part that operates on evidence and pattern and doesn’t need to feel anything about it. “ the undertaking stirred something up. i heard about it at the roadhouse — everyone did. whatever was underneath star city didn’t just leave when the dust settled. it seeded. ”

she pauses. her thumbnail finds the edge. sara called her lucky in her head — jovienne doesn’t know that, can’t know that, but something in the way sara looked at her a second ago made her chest tighten for a reason she can’t name. “ so yeah. i’m here because i think your city’s sitting on sour ground and something’s been feeding on it for sixteen years and nobody’s noticed because two people a year doesn’t make the news. ” a beat. she meets sara’s eyes. holds. “ you in ? ”

her jaw works. once. twice. she swallows the first three things things she wants to say because all of them are loud and none of them are useful.

“ okay. ” one word. quiet. not defeated — recalibrated. “ okay, you don’t owe me anything. fine. i’m not asking for a debt, castiel, i’m asking for information. ” her voice drops. steadies. her anger is still there but it’s been pushed down into the foundations where she keeps everything else. “ something pulled me out of hell. without — what did you call it — sanction. and you’re telling me you don’t know what it is, but you know it doesn’t act without purpose. ” a beat. she steps closer. not aggressive. worse — deliberate.

' i do understand you feel entitled to the intention behind it, but that is not how it works. ' castiel would know ; he's spent eons following orders, fulfilling commands handed down without explanation. much of heaven's host remains blind to the full design, celestials carrying out their roles in service of something greater and unquestioned.

always a higher purpose. never theirs to challenge.

jovienne was never part of that order, she's not castiel's assignment. ' forty years in hell is enough time to be altered, if something chose you, it did so with full awareness of what you would become under those conditions. ' it isn't speculation, it isn't providing her a reason ─ it is facts. no mercy. ' i am sorry, jovienne, i don't possess the answers you are seeking. i would advise you to prioritize your own survival. whether you endure what comes next will depend whether you are still capable of choosing something other than what perdition made you. '

“ so i’m — what. a project? something got me out of hell, you don’t know what, you don’t know why, but whatever it is knew exactly what forty years would do to me and it — what — wanted that? ” her voice doesn’t break. her voice has never broken. that’s the problem. “ wanted someone who’d held the blade? ”

quiet. too quiet. she’s not performing anymore. the anger has burned down to the thing underneath it, the thing she doesn’t have a name for, the thing that lives in the space between her shoulder blades where wings would go if she were worth saving properly.

castiel tells her to prioritize her survival. castiel asks if she can still choose. “ yeah. ” rough. scraped. barely a word. “ yeah, i can choose. i’ve been choosing. every single day up here i choose not to — ”

she stops. her thumbnail is bleeding. she looks at it like she’s never seen her own hand before. and then he says it. i wish things were different. and something in her face does a terrible, involuntary thing — it softens. for exactly one second. the mask slips and underneath it is a twenty-six-year-old girl who spent forty years in the dark and came back to a world that didn’t wait for her. she puts it back.

“ …don’t do that. ” almost a whisper. “ don’t be sorry. i can’t — i don’t know what to do with sorry. ” she steps back. one step. then another. then she’s at the door, hand on the frame, not quite leaving. “ if you hear anything, about what pulled me out. anything. ”

grateful. there’s a word. gratitude. “ what the hell am i supposed to be grateful for ? ” not hell, not the violence, not the heat she still feels. not the hunger in her own hands. grateful for topside, sure. for the ache of every second. the running, the taste of sulfur. “ being yanked out of hell, not a scratch on me, no clue where i landed, what for, and if anyone’s coming for payback ? ” another hard, flat, humorless laugh. a swallow to cover the sudden tightness in her throat.

“ forgive me, cas, but i think i’m owed a goddamn explanation. do you know who or what pulled me out of the pit ? ”

sharp look. her jaw tightens, a subtle shift of bone beneath skin. the air between them changes temperature, drops by degrees. her eyes — dark as pooled blood — fix on his without blinking. the look carries weight of forty years in the pit : precision, assessment, threat. she’s measuring him, not with curiosity but with the cold calculus of someone who’s learned to gauge breaking points. her shoulders square slightly, a preparation she doesn’t register consciously. her thumbnail finds its ragged edge again, presses until the sting grounds her in the present moment, away from the iron scent that suddenly floods her senses.

' you are mistaken. i don't owe you anything. '

words leave him without heat, leaves him with no ineffectual apology, either. the angel lets the silence hang there, but she doesn't allow him that distance. the question lingers between the two, still. gaze steady and dangerous as she soundlessly presses him. so he decides to answer, but it's not in the way she wants.

her jaw works. once. twice. she swallows the first three things things she wants to say because all of them are loud and none of them are useful.

“ okay. ” one word. quiet. not defeated — recalibrated. “ okay, you don’t owe me anything. fine. i’m not asking for a debt, castiel, i’m asking for information. ” her voice drops. steadies. her anger is still there but it’s been pushed down into the foundations where she keeps everything else. “ something pulled me out of hell. without — what did you call it — sanction. and you’re telling me you don’t know what it is, but you know it doesn’t act without purpose. ” a beat. she steps closer. not aggressive. worse — deliberate.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ💋ɞ˚‧｡⋆  𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝  𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫  𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭

[  TXT  ]  :  quick.  no  time  to  explain.  pick  one:  frogs  or  lasers.

[  TXT  ]  :  why  are  you  still  awake?

[  TXT  ]  :  what  would  you  do  if  i  texted  “i’m  outside”  and  actually  was?

[  TXT  ]  :  would  you  still  like  me  if  i  was  a  worm?  be  honest.

[  TXT  ]  :  i  dare  you  to  stop  thinking  about  me  for  one  minute.  bet  you  can’t.

[  TXT  ]  :  i  saw  something  shiny  and  dramatic  and  thought  of  you.

[  TXT  ]  :  wanna  make  bad  decisions  together  or  what?

[  TXT  ]  :  how  illegal  would  it  be  if  i  showed  up  with  a  raccoon  in  a  cowboy  hat?

[  TXT  ]  :  you  looked  hot  today  btw.  not  that  you  asked.

[  TXT  ]  :  do  you  want  the  good  news,  the  bad  news,  or  the  chaotic  news  first?

[  TXT  ]  :  okay,  so  hear  me  out. cereal  is  basically  cold  soup,  right?

[  TXT  ]  :  what’s  your  villain  origin  story?

[  TXT  ]  :  thinking  about  you.  thought  you  should  know.

[  TXT  ]  :  if  we  were  in  a  rom-com,  this  is  the  part  where  we’d  kiss  in  the  rain.  just  saying.

[  TXT  ]  :  what’s  your  toxic  trait  in  uno?

[  TXT  ]  :  if  i  say  something  reckless,  will  you  pretend  you  didn’t  hear  it?

[  TXT  ]  :  how  mad  would  you  be  if  i  said  “let’s  get  matching  tattoos”  and  meant  it?

[  TXT  ]  :  i  hope  something  good  happens  to  you  today.  like,  you  find  five  dollars.

[  TXT  ]  :  i  have  a  plan.  it’s  chaotic  and  underdeveloped.  you  in?

[  TXT  ]  :  you  make  my  brain  go  all  soft.  thanks  a  lot.

[  TXT  ]  :  which  one  of  us  would  survive  a  horror  movie?  and  who’d  die  in  the  dumbest  way?

[  TXT  ]  :  i  just  caused  a  scene  at  the  grocery  store.  be  ready  to  alibi  me.

[  TXT  ]  :  what’s  something  that  always  makes  you  smile?

[  TXT  ]  :  do  you  think  we’d  get  banned  from  a  museum  if  we  tried  hard  enough?

[  TXT  ]  :  i’m  bored.  flirt  with  me.

[  TXT  ]  :  tell  me  a  secret  you’ve  never  said  out  loud.

[  TXT  ]  :  if  you  were  here  right  now,  what  would  we  be  doing?

[  TXT  ]  :  be  honest.  did  you  think  about  me  today?

[  TXT  ]  :  if  i  told  you  i  missed  you,  would  you  say  it  back  or  leave  me  on  read?

[  TXT  ]  :  what’s  your  comfort  movie  and  do  you  wanna  watch  it  with  me?

[  TXT  ]  :  you’re  my  favorite  notification.  don’t  make  it  weird.

there's an edge in her voice ; something sharp and acrid with the intent to provoke something. to draw something out of him. guilt, perhaps. it doesn't work. ' i don't want a medal for anything. my assignment was to retrieve the righteous man from perdition, and i completed that task. '

expression unmoving. he continues, ' i did not leave you behind ─ you were never part of the order. ' castiel doesn't know what pulled her out, and that is the troubling part. angel studies the unfamiliar, woman-shaped phenomenon before him. gaze sharpening. he doesn't mean to appear cold, but he's not quite certain how to deal with this. ' despite the circumstances, you should be grateful you made it out at all. '

grateful. there’s a word. gratitude. “ what the hell am i supposed to be grateful for ? ” not hell, not the violence, not the heat she still feels. not the hunger in her own hands. grateful for topside, sure. for the ache of every second. the running, the taste of sulfur. “ being yanked out of hell, not a scratch on me, no clue where i landed, what for, and if anyone’s coming for payback ? ” another hard, flat, humorless laugh. a swallow to cover the sudden tightness in her throat.

“ forgive me, cas, but i think i’m owed a goddamn explanation. do you know who or what pulled me out of the pit ? ”

sharp look. her jaw tightens, a subtle shift of bone beneath skin. the air between them changes temperature, drops by degrees. her eyes — dark as pooled blood — fix on his without blinking. the look carries weight of forty years in the pit : precision, assessment, threat. she’s measuring him, not with curiosity but with the cold calculus of someone who’s learned to gauge breaking points. her shoulders square slightly, a preparation she doesn’t register consciously. her thumbnail finds its ragged edge again, presses until the sting grounds her in the present moment, away from the iron scent that suddenly floods her senses.