Heartless: Episode 6 (Supernatural Fan fiction)

The final episode in the Taylor Nelson saga

Heartless: Episode 6

“Carry On My Wayward Son”

Dean leaned against the hood of his car that night, staring up at the stars and hoping for an answer… he scoffed as a stray thought entered his head; how many times had he done this? Really? Just stared up at the blanket of black overhead like all the answers to his life’s rough edges were hidden up there. Somewhere, up there, there was a cure- Yeah right, Dean thought to himself, that’s the sort of thing that drove my father insane… chasing down answers to an unsolvable puzzle. “Castiel,” He said, “You know where I am, so how about you play dice and just come talk already,”

“He can’t gap it forever,” Sam said, walking up to his brother. He offered Dean a weak smile. “We could summon him like the first time you did,” He suggested, “Force him to talk-”

Dean groaned like a child being asked to do his homework; “I really don’t feel like painting in blood right now,”

“I guess that’s fair,” Sam said. A short pause followed, and the boys just stared off into the pitch black horizon. Sam glanced back at the house, seeing Bobby and Sheryl inside, preparing a haphazard dinner in the kitchen. He turned back and saw Dean lost in thought again. “Why is he hiding this from us, Dean?” Sam asked. “I mean, given the amount of stuff we deal with everyday- the stuff we’re facing right now… why is Taylor such a big deal?”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean said “Feels like he’s trying to keep her out of the game… maybe for her own safety,” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s sweet on her or something,” He scoffed, and they shared a laugh.

***

Almost 8 months ago in Chicago, snow fell outside the windows of a hospital on another dreary December morning. Inside it was warm and musky, like a mausoleum for the living that smelled of antiseptic. Dean waited for the coffee machine to make him yet another terrible cup of double-shot-black-coffee and wondered why the smell of antiseptic just made him think of dirty things… diseased things… dying things �" how come the smell just never felt as clean as it should? When he realized he was philosophising about a chemical smell, he chuckled to himself and went to check on Sammy who was resting his eyes across a few chairs in the waiting room.

Taylor Nelson woke up in a hospital bed, strapped to a heart rate monitor and hooked up to an IV, a thick layer of bandages over her chest. It took her a terrifying couple of minutes to remember exactly why she was there, and when she did- there was nothing but painful silence and grief to fill the void where confusion had left in a hurry.

She remembered her brother; a slave to a cause called revenge �" who suffered from his own mistakes, and who died when a demon he angered possessed her and made her snap his neck with the heel of her boot. That snapping sound, that quick little click… it echoed inside Taylor’s head long after, and every little sound she heard in the hospital ricocheted her back to that moment. That sound. That sight. Her brother; Francis Nelson; 27 and yet so much older from all the things they had seen and all the pain they had endured together… and all the secrets he had kept away from her. She remembered the way his voice gurgled out her name… and how his eyes stayed a fraction open even as all life drained from his body.

“Absum… Is est a miles militis of Deus,” Taylor muttered to herself in a croaky voice.

“Taylor?” Castiel said as he approached the bed, leaning over her with that same sad look on his face.

“How did I know to say that,” Taylor asked in a quiet voice. She drew a painful breath, and Castiel’s gaze moved to the floor. He took a step away from her bed, a dark solemnity taking over him.

“It’s Latin… you must have heard it somewhere in all the books you’ve read,” Castiel said.

“I could’ve sworn…” Taylor murmured, her eyes fluttering shut as fatigue reclaimed her body, “I heard it many years ago… in a voice I could’ve sworn was your own,”

Castiel looked up at her again as she drifted away into sleep; a symptom and a sickness that had claimed her for the past week. He put a hand to her head and felt the heat from her forehead rise onto the palm of his hand. “I am so sorry, Taylor” He whispered to her, “I wanted to save you…” he said, “I tried so hard…”

Taylor was right about where she had heard that Latin phrase; an ancient and very special weapon against demonic possession and interference. 16 years ago when she was only 7, Castiel had said those words in her aid… and even though very few fragments of that memory remained, those words were emblazoned deep in the recesses of her mind �" deep inside her, in the same place where Amon locked her away when he took over her body. Without knowing, he had locked her in with the key.

Castiel had always been a reluctant soldier; ever since the first day he was created and given consciousness. It was all good and fair in heaven, when all he did was patrol paradise and observe its beautiful joyous intricacies. Everyone up there was happy, content, and he saw that what his Father had created was good. Then the day for his first descent to earth came… and it was like tasting the apple from the tree in Eden. Castiel looked through the blinds of Taylor’s hospital room; a patient’s coughs’ echoing through the walls from the next room was the only thing keeping him grounded, anchored against the tides of a collection of his memories that stretched on for hundreds of years. He remembered the sickness he saw- it was the first thing that really hit him. The first thing to burst the bubble he was living in… “Father,” he had whispered to himself, humbled from the famine, the disease and the death he saw all around him, “Why have you forsaken them?”

Then he saw the torment and the pain that the human creature endured in every other way; emotional, mental… spiritual. They lost faith, and who could blame them? It was like they lived for a few short decades in a hamster wheel, winding down tunnels of their so-called destinies. Free-will was just a sick, twisted illusion, and no matter how much they tried, humanity could not control their sad fate. Castiel’s friend and guardian at the time found the whole scene amusing, and even though it was frowned upon, often ridiculed the human race. In truth, Uriel only half-heartedly carried out his Father’s commands to serve the ones in need, he did so only out of fear for God.

Castiel’s job at the time was to watch over and facilitate in the passion, the work and the miracles of God’s army on earth. He watched over so many of his Father’s mercenaries die in his name, and he watched even more murder in his name... a confusion of love and hate for a creator who watched and wept at the catastrophe below. Castiel’s free-will felt like an illusion too… what was the purpose of all his power when all he could do was watch his Father’s most loved creations plummet to their doom? Uriel told him their jobs were to make sure the balance between good and evil remained, but to Castiel- there was far too much evil, and sadness, and fear… that’s when Castiel experienced his first taste of doubt.

“You are beginning to express emotion,” Uriel told him as they arrived at a house where Castiel was meant to carry out his watchful duties for the night, “These are doorways to doubt, brother,” Uriel warned, “Do not let the humans allow you to feel as they do- their emotions weaken them… it’s what separates us,”

Castiel only nodded in response, and they entered the darkened house. Uriel was filled with grand notions that he probably never fully understood himself; like a bird parroting a phrase.

“You can do this by yourself, can’t you?” Uriel said to him, flexing his grand, white wings. Castiel nodded again.

“Where is she?” He asked, trying to fight the nagging unsettled feeling inside his heart.

“She’s upstairs. Remember, all you do is watch and make sure it is done… it has to be done,” Uriel said sternly, “Do not let our Father down… she has been born to fulfil this destiny- to be his soldier,”

“I will do as is instructed,” Castiel replied, trying to shake Uriel off for the night, “You can feel free to leave now,”

Uriel smirked, “As you wish, young grasshopper,” he laughed, and left in a flapping of his heavy wings. It tore a breeze through the room and Castiel folded his wings over his face briefly.

“Thanks, Uriel,” He muttered, “And I still do not get that reference.” Then again, Castiel reminded himself that Uriel was really the funniest angel in the garrison, and a lot of his jokes flew straight over his head.

He walked up the stairs, and at the end of the hallway at the top, he saw an opened door. It was just as he was instructed; just another day on the job, except Uriel left out a very important detail…

Castiel pushed the door open and his expression dropped. Sitting on the edge of her bed and flipping through her brother’s comic books was 7 year old Taylor Aubrey Nelson. She was just a child; a tiny, innocent creature in pink pyjamas and sitting atop a teddy bear printed bedspread.

“This can’t be…” he muttered to himself. Taylor stopped suddenly and Castiel took a step back.

“Francis?” She called in a hushed voice as she turned towards the door where Castiel was standing. It felt to him like their eyes met, but she saw right through him. Of course, back then, Taylor couldn’t pierce the veil and see the things she saw today. If she had, she would’ve seen Castiel; a glowing gold form with bright white wings that stretched out across the room and piercing blue eyes that shone in the dim light. She was just 7 years old and her biggest fear right now was being busted for stealing her brother’s comics.

She was beautiful, and so precious; enveloped in a bubble of innocence and so unaware of the world’s bad and ugly things that lurked in the darkness. She was content to think that those terrible things just existed in dreams and on the TV Screen… or in the pages of her brother’s Constantine comics. She was so… perfect… and they were going to destroy her. Forever.

Taylor opened up the pages of the graphic novel to a full page drawing of a woman being dissected on an altar by terrifying-looking goat-headed demons. Castiel felt sick, and he put a hand over his face, hanging his head in a sadness that overtook him. His doubt was so alive now, and so thick… it felt heavy and painful as it pulsed through his veins. He felt it in his throat; a strange choking feeling that nagged at him, and he felt it in his eyes. He looked up to Taylor again as he shrunk back against a wall in the hallway, a tear rolling down his face. “My Lord, My God,” He murmured, “Why would you forsake her?” He said, “Why would you allow this to happen to so pure a thing?” His doubt grew so big that deep inside him, a river of dark emotions surged forth. He felt the same way when he saw Taylor crucified against the wall at age 22, and he felt the same way when Taylor asked him to kill her after he had chased her through the woods in Chicago. “Guide me Father,” He said, “I am not strong enough,”

Suddenly, a strange clicking sound filled the air and Castiel looked up towards Taylor’s door that was still ajar. He looked in, and the clicking continued, growing into two choruses of repetitive clicks as a window near her dresser slid upwards to open. Taylor seemed oblivious to the sound and the window; she just sat transfixed by the horrors drawn out in the graphic novel.

“No,” Castiel muttered, “No…”

A dark cloud rose up from outside the house and entered through the open window, the clicking growing into three choruses now- and getting louder by the second. It was a terrible, insect-like noise, and it was spine chilling.

The cloud moved across the floor, snaking towards Taylor’s feet and forming into a little girl in white. To Taylor, she would’ve looked sweet and gentle; with blonde curls and rosy cheeks that lit up her pale complexion. But Castiel saw her for what she really was; a hollow eyed wraith-like girl with ash grey skin and jagged gaping scars all over her face and body.

When Taylor looked up, she almost reeled back in horror, the colour from her face draining a little. “Oh! Mina, you scared me!” Taylor said, taking a moment to regain her composure. She smiled and Castiel’s gut twisted up in knots… just how long had they been doing this? Pretending this demon before her was just some imaginary playmate?

Mina stretched out a hand; “Come, Taylor, let’s play a game,” She said, “It’s a simple game, I’m just going to ask you something and all you have to do is say yes,”

“I’m tired…” Taylor whined, “let’s just play tomorrow.”

“But don’t you want to have fun?” The little girl smiled sweetly. “All you have to do is say yes,”

Taylor’s eyes suddenly became fixated on the little girl, her expression dropping into a placid complacency. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she stood up on the bed to face Mina. “O-okay…”

“Taylor,” Mina, “I need you to let me into your mind for a moment- just for a moment. You see, there’s a door in there… a real door- like at the end of that rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland… it’s tiny, but it’s there- and behind it is something really beautiful, and important. I need to unlock it,” She explained, “And then you can go into this other beautiful world on the other side,” She said. “Don’t you want that?” She grinned, “We can have a really nice tea party,”

Castiel nearly buckled at the knees from the conflict going on inside his head. What was he going to do? What could he do? Something… anything…

“Don’t you want that, Taylor?” She asked.

Taylor nodded.

“I need you to say it, Taylor…”

“Ye-”

Castiel could take no more. He leaped forward and shoved the little girl back against the window she entered from. “Absum! Is est a miles militis of Deus!” He shouted in a voice filled with passion and fury. It shook the room and a bright light emanated from him, engulfing the demon in a blinding blast of white. She screamed in agony as it burned and destroyed her, her true form shattering through to the surface for a moment before she was evaporated in flames. When he turned around, Taylor was flat on the floor and unconscious. He picked her up and laid her on the bed, tucking her in and praying over her to keep her safe for the rest of the night. He chanted the phrase continuously, stroking her head as he cried softly. “I promise to take care of you,” He murmured, “I promise to keep you safe… and away from this path for as long as I can,” He rested his head on the bed beside her, his arms around her frail body, “I promise.”

“Castiel,” He heard Uriel say as he appeared behind him. Castiel turned and saw Uriel staring back at him angrily, “What have you done?”

“She’s so young,” Castiel said, “This could not be right, I prayed for our Father’s guidance and I received the strength to save her…”

“Her path is already written,” Uriel said gruffly, “No matter what you do, Castiel, she will become what she needs to become…”

“Why?” Castiel said, exasperated. “Why her? Look at her, Uriel… she’s just a child!”

“She needs to be ready… there will be a reckoning when the time arrives… we need her to fight,”

“We don’t need her to fight- that was never the plan… that is never the plan!” Castiel replied as fury took over, “She’s just another lamb for the slaughter- that’s all we ever do… prepare lambs for the slaughter!”

“Your doubt is a sad colour on you, brother,” Uriel said plainly, “It has eaten away all your right and righteous thinking… how dare you question the plans our Father has written?” He scoffed, “Do you think you are greater than he?”

Castiel looked back at him, dumbfounded. “No…” he murmured, “Of course not… brother…”

“There are so few moments for this girl to be prepared… and now we must wait for the next time- who knows how many years away that is… by then, it may be too late…” Uriel stared at him, his face twisted in disgust over what Castiel had done. “I am sorry, Castiel, but it looks like you must be reminded of our duties as angels of the Lord,” he said.

“Brother,” Castiel fell to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes, “I did what I thought was right- I am so sorry, please…” He grasped for Uriel’s hands. He knew the kind of punishment that was waiting for him- he knew the heavy penance he would have to pay for his sins; a thousand scourges at the very least. “Please…”

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” Uriel said, “But our Father commands it… what you have done here is against everything we have learned… and everything that we are. We are to do our duty, and provide a balance for good and evil- to prepare a way to when the reckoning comes. You questioned… and showed doubt… you helped this girl stray from her destiny…” He said, “For now…”

It took Castiel many years after that to realize that Uriel was just really… well… full of s**t. There was never really any instructions for any of this that came from God himself, after all, the politics in Heaven were a little like the politics in hell; a confused mess. God the creator was an enigma to them all; it was the higher order of angels who slowly took over the duties in heaven, and who decided on plots and fates and destinies. They believed that what they were doing would allow paradise on earth, an extension of their kingdom �" it was really just a case of blind leading the blind.

Where was God in all of this? Castiel often wondered now, but he had to believe that God was there, watching over him… even now when he was so far away from Heaven… even now when he was marching off the beaten track. Even now, when his wings were stained gray. God must’ve been watching �" after all, Castiel had cheated death and self destruction so many times now, he knew it wasn’t just coincidence and good luck. Someone up there was rooting for him, and it was enough to keep him going.

He sat down next to Taylor, now a woman, but still young and unprepared. A beautiful, precious thing thrown into the crossfire between Heaven and hell… the sort of thing that Dean and Sam fought to prevent every day. He watched her sleep for awhile as he rested a hand over hers, studying the ebb and flow of her breathing, and how it came and went in time with the beeping of her heart monitor. She looked at peace, which was a nice thought. He considered finding her in her dreams then, but decided she probably needed the space. He smiled to himself and clutched her hand tightly. “I’m going to save you Taylor,” He promised, “Better late than never…”

***

Bobby walked into his study late that night, after finally getting Dean and Sam to shut up already and fall asleep. They were still the young boys he’d cared for while John Winchester was away chasing a memory of his late wife… nothing about their relationship dynamic ever changed… it was still strained and blood-close all the time, every time.

He sat at his table and looked down at Taylor’s diary that sat tantalizingly before him… Sheryl was right, it was an easy obsession to fall into. Just who the hell was Taylor Aubrey Nelson? And as he wondered if the missing pieces of her puzzle would ever come to him, a flutter of wings filled the room. He looked up.

“Cas?”

A sad and tired looking man in a trench coat looked up at him slowly. “Bobby,” Castiel returned the greeting, “I’m sorry I could not come earlier…” He said, “I felt it was best if Sam and Dean weren’t around when I came to talk to you,”

“What’re you talking about?” Bobby said, “You know whatever you tell me now; I’m going to tell them anyway,”

“I know, and that’s good…” Castiel replied, “I just cannot tell Dean and Sam this myself… Dean’s… complex.” He said, looking around the room as if the wallpapers would offer him the words he was searching for, “And Sam is filled with a lot of anger… both of them are… they wouldn’t let me get through a sentence if they found out how much I was keeping from them,”

“Why are you keeping this from them exactly?” Bobby asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Many reasons… there’s too much on their plate for one and well… there are many complications with Taylor’s story that will take them off the journey they are on now,” Castiel replied. He was met with a blank look from Bobby and had to reiterate more; “Taylor can’t be a part of all of this… I made a promise to her many years ago that I would save her from this pain, and I must deliver… she isn’t ready- and how can she be?” He said, “She is so young,”

“Cas, just spit it out will ya!” Bobby said, “What is it you’re hiding about her?”

“Absum… Is est a miles militis of Deus,” Castiel said, “The incantation she used to exorcise herself of Amon…” Bobby nodded, remembering that it was etched in the room at Sheryl’s motel too. “It means ‘Be gone, this is a soldier of God’,”

“A soldier of God?” Bobby asked, sounding shocked, “What’re you talking about?”

Castiel took a deep breath, hoping the burden on his shoulders would lift after he had shared this information, “Taylor Nelson…” he began, “Is a Martyr of the Lord.”

“What?”

“She was born to one day die for his cause; in a fight against evil… and to one day be canonised a Saint who would continue to work miracles on earth,” Castiel explained.

“Like… Mother Theresa?” Bobby blurted out.

“More like Joan of Arc,” Castiel said, “A demon was supposed to make her an open door years ago, when she was only 7, so that now, she would be a fully fledged warrior… perhaps even have a hand in leading a battalion against Lucifer,” He sighed, “I saw into her future then; her falling further away from her family, Francis included… her being committed to an asylum, because her parents wouldn’t understand her visions… and the things she saw… it was filled with so much pain and agony,” Castiel said, “I just couldn’t allow it… I stepped in, and I saved her… the incident with Amon and Francis when she was 22 was a freak accident,” He said, “It should never have happened… but when it did, her path towards Martyrdom was being paved again… I cannot allow it,” Castiel said with conviction, “Not now when she is so ill prepared, not after the promises I had made to her… if Dean and Sam can fight their fates, then she can too.”

“Won’t… I don’t know, half of Heaven and hell be looking for her?” Bobby asked; flabbergasted by what he had just heard. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined she was a Martyr… a soldier of God, as Castiel put it… as that incantation said… what was it Dean muttered under his breath? That’s right… She’s just some kid… from Newark.

“Yes, this is why she covers her tracks with Enochian sigils and Latin incantations…” The angel replied. “The further away the stays, and the longer- the easier it will be to evade the path,”

“Cas…” Bobby began, taking off his hat and rubbing his eyes. “I know why you did this, I know how much a promise can mean, but… isn’t this fight a little futile?” He said, “And you said yourself- maybe a dozen times, that she’s important… what if she really is ready, I mean… she exorcised herself,” He walked around to the front of his desk to lean against it. “You really don’t hear about that sorta thing every day…”

“There is a way without her, there always has been,” Castiel said, “She needed to destroy Amon as much as Dean and Sam did, at least now she can run without fear of his pursuit,” He added.

“Cas… this is just…”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Castiel said as he took out a card and passed it to Bobby. “Wait a few months, then go and see her,” He said.

“What?” Bobby looked down at the card and saw an address for a gallery in New York. When he looked up again, Castiel was gone.

***

Bobby had a lot of lies to dream up the next day, and even though Sam and Dean bought his story, he wasn’t a 100% sure Sheryl did. She seemed to back away from the conversation with a disappointed look on her face; as if she was waiting for a different, more exciting ending to a story that had nagged at her for months. Bobby just told Dean and Sam that Castiel was afraid of being followed as he was in a tight spot last night- and he found Bobby in his dreams. He told them that Castiel explained he didn’t know where Taylor was, having etched her ribs with Enochian sigils, and that he helped her run away because he knew that without Francis’ help, she would die within days out in the field… and that if she joined them, she would only be an extra burden on a twisted road. Dean agreed with the reasoning, and Sam- after a moment’s doubt, just nodded and decided to turn his attention somewhere else.

The Winchester boys left the next day for another town in another state, hot on the heels of some other apocalypse-related mess. Bobby on the other hand, just waved goodbye to an old friend that he hoped he would see again… preferably, under different circumstances. But he reminded himself not to get so wishful with his thinking… “Next time I see you walking up the driveway with something in a bag,” Bobby began, and Sheryl turned to look at him as she stepped out the front door, “It better be the damned mail,” He smirked. She laughed in response, shaking her head.

“If you don’t mind, I thought I’d take Taylor’s journal,” She said, “Maybe I’ll let up in a couple of months… but right now, I just ain’t ready,”

“I know how you feel,” Bobby said, “But it is better this way,”

“I know,” Sheryl nodded, a faint smile on her lips as she turned to walk towards her truck. “I’ll catch you on the flipside, Bobby,” she waved, “And I’ll try not to wait a decade next time,”

Bobby laughed and watched her drive away. The card Castiel had given him nagged at him… but he put that thought away and went about investigating some other distraction. In a few weeks, he hoped, Taylor Nelson would stop being a lingering thought in his head. Perhaps putting a bullet in a Windego would do the trick.

***

Bobby Singer didn’t play his war games the same way Sam and Dean did, at least, not as often as they did. When Sam and Dean were out investigating some mysterious supernatural occurrence, they liked to play a little dress-up. The boys often disguised themselves as FBI agents, news reporters, and even doctors… but Bobby preferred to play things fast and loose out in the wild. “It ain’t called hunting if you don’t have a shot gun in your hand at all times,” Bobby always said… Just an old man, stuck in his ways…

But one Friday afternoon in the busy rollercoaster life of Manhattan, Bobby found himself in a suit and with his hair slicked back (no trucker cap in sight), pretending to be an FBI agent. It wasn’t long before he figured that the building he was inspecting was being haunted by nothing more than a few pathetic Satanists… it was a case for the real crime fighters of Manhattan. If it’s human, it ain’t worth budgin’.

With a few extra hours to spare before sun down, Bobby Singer decided he had earned a walk around the city, and even considered taking a tour bus. But the city was so busy with Christmas shoppers, it was nearly impossible to find a mall, a shop or a café that wasn’t filled to maximum occupancy. He just smiled to himself and to a pretty lady walking by, tightening the scarf around his neck and feeling pleased as hell that he packed gloves. We ain’t in Kansas anymore…

It was December 21, and Bobby Singer rounded a corner in the middle of Manhattan to come face to face with The Rabbit Heart Gallery. His jaw dropped, and he almost did too… with all that was going on around him, Bobby had allowed the thought to slip his mind for so long. “Taylor…” He murmured to himself, and hurriedly raced to the door. But when his hand fastened around the handle on the glass door, he had to take a moment to breathe… was she even there anymore? It had been so long? And was it even her… there? In here? Or was Castiel talking about something else?

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

It was a stark setup, with white washed walls and dim studio-style lighting; small yellow spot lights on the masterpieces and a few stray lamps around the room. The roof was high, with scaffolding hanging overhead… perhaps to add to its eccentric, stripped-back approach. He saw a large piece hanging in the main foyer, just by the unattended reception and stopped to look; it was Caravaggio’s “Beheaded Saint John The Baptist”. Bobby couldn’t tear his eyes away, it was so haunting, and so life-like… so possible.

“Sir, can I help you?” A young woman asked as she approached. Bobby’s heart seized for a second. There, before him, was Taylor Aubrey Nelson; even if she looked so different, it was definitely her. She had light brown highlights in her dark hair now that curled beautifully, falling on her shoulders. She wore a blue Greek-inspired dress, and silver heels that matched the bracelets around her wrists. She was perfect, and the sad, fearful girl he had read about in her journal was obviously washing away to reveal this happy, content woman. She smiled and he felt his heart breaking. “Sir?”

“Sorry… I um… no, just looking,” He stammered, laughing a little uncomfortable. “This is… beautiful,” He said, gesturing to the painting, though he was still unable to take his eyes off her.

“Ah yes, it’s on rental from the National Art Museum in Italy,” She explained, “Caravaggio’s on a bit of a tour at the moment,” She grinned, “We’ve been so lucky to have this stop by here,”

“Yeah…” Bobby paused.

“Let me know if you see anything here that interests you,” Taylor said, turning to walk away.

“Um, actually…” Bobby called out, stopping her in her tracks, “I’m sorry, what was your name?”

She smiled, “Taylor,”

“Taylor…”

“Taylor Nelson,” She answered.

“Oh,” He said, remembering what she had written in her journal all those years ago; that someday, she’d like to be free from being on the run… and able to use her real name. For once.

“And you are?”

“Oh- um… Bob Plant,” Bobby said, “I was just in the city for work,” He shook his head, “Sorry, where are my manners,” They shook hands and she laughed. “If you don’t mind, Taylor,” He began, “I’d really like it if you could tell me a little more about this painting,”

Taylor grinned, looking so elated that she was positively glowing. He listened to her talk excitedly about the classic painting, describing each brush stroke and detail, and expressing the painting’s deep and powerful meaning. Even as she did so, Bobby could not cease to just stare at her. This was a life, a real, honest life… away from the darkness… she had found a cure- an antidote to the downward spiral. It was too late for him, and even though he wished it would never be too late for Dean and Sam- he knew it was. But for Taylor… he smiled softly when she grinned again… well, she was free. And Bobby couldn’t think of another person who was more deserving.

Taylor took him on a tour through the entire gallery, talking about each painting with equal enthusiasm. “So,” She said at the end, “Can I interest you in any of the paintings?” She smiled and Bobby was shaken back into reality.

“You know Taylor…” Bobby said, “I just don’t think any of these pieces would be happy going away with me… I think they look perfect just here,”

Even though he had turned down a sale, Taylor still smiled. “Well,” She said, “If you change your mind…”

“Well, I guess I’ll take one of those polaroids,” He said, pointing to a collage on the wall, “They’re amazing, who took them?”

Taylor giggled. Bobby knew the answer, “Um, they’re mine,” She said, blushing a little, “They’re not really for sale… they’re just… to look at,”

“Well, could I have one?”

Taylor laughed, “Yeah,” She said, “Sure…”

Bobby left the gallery with a Polaroid of one of Taylor’s classic sunset shots, feeling uplifted- for once in a long while. Her happiness was contagious, and as he stole one quick glance back at the gallery doors, he knew he had to leave her… and that Castiel was right. She was a shining beacon of hope- a hope for a life- a possible happy ending to a sordid story. She was an example of what can happen when something goes right… that was enough. Bobby crossed the street to hail a cab.

Inside the gallery, Taylor hung up another Polaroid to replace the one Bobby had stripped from the wall. Jenna, a red headed woman stood behind her with a smile on her face, “Promise me you’ll go to art school, Taylor,” She said.

Taylor turned towards her work colleague, giggling, “You gotta stop getting my hopes up so much… you really think I could?”

“Why the hell not, have you seen the pretentious s**t that gets sold for a thousand bucks a piece in here? I’d rather buy your stuff…” Jenna replied with a scoff.

“Maybe,” Taylor shrugged. “Someday,”

“Soon,” Jenna put in with a stern sounding voice for effect. She looked back to Taylor’s wall of photos and sighed, “They’re all so… hopeful,” Jenna observed. “How do you get that kind of optimism and bottle it up in a photo… especially in today’s s**t-ridden world,” She smirked.

A faint smile appeared on Taylor’s lips as she lowered her gaze- a memory from a year back sneaking into her head. “It’s easy to believe in so much evil… why not so much good?”

They shared a glance and Jenna brushed away the Hallmark moment with a smirk, “If you crochet that into a banner, I swear to God I’ll put it up,”

“Shut up,” Taylor scoffed. “I need caffeine! Caffeine?”

“Only if it comes with a side of sugar- yes please!” Jenna said dramatically as she threw herself towards the reception counter. “Black and lots of sugar please, please, please!”

“Okay- I’ll go ask Mark if he wants one,” Taylor giggled.

She smiled to herself and spun around to walk to the back room, her heels tapping loudly on the wooden floors. She was alive, and brimming with enthusiasm- to a point where she was even able to forget the hex bags she had planted over the gallery doors. Some days, she would swear that everything she had endured that dark year on the open road was all just a really long, intricate nightmare… if only it wasn’t for that scar across her chest, and the occasional sight of a strange thing lurking in the shadows… then those memories could stay faraway nightmares forever.

For now though, Taylor’s spirits were high- high enough for her to volunteer going on a coffee run for all her colleagues at the gallery. She took another glance at her photo wall before she left, pleased that someone saw her work and wanted a piece of it.

High up above her, standing watchful on a strip of scaffolding was her saviour; Castiel. He smiled, sighing deeply. He visited her every time he could, especially when he was feeling tired and beaten down from his time on the battle field with the Winchesters. Taylor of course, never saw him. Castiel felt different today; a sense of realization had hit him; this was Taylor’s life now. He saw what was possible… he saw her smile, her peace, and her version of paradise… here on earth. He saw what his Father allowed to unfold- in time. And he saw that it was good.

“Goodbye, Taylor,” He whispered to himself, and though he smiled, his own words felt heavy on his heart. With some resistance, he pulled himself away and turned to leave.

THE END