The Long Drive (Supernatural - Rewritten)

The Long Drive: Prologue

The thing you should always remember about legends... well, we prefer to stay legends. The second one of our existences became known to the world, we would then be left to a mob of trigger happy idiots thinking that they know better than the universe to dictate one's fate. Hence the reason I was more than furious when Balthazar the angel showed up on my doorstep that night; even from a glance, I could feel deep in my gut that things were about to go very awry for me.

     "Hello, Anca," His smooth British-accented voice greeted. His sudden presence made my heart freeze in terror, shooting a quick shiver down my spine.

     For so long now I had gone unbothered by celestials, gliding through everyday people in a way that only my species could seem to do—shining like a beacon. Being what I am, humans had always been attracted to my nurturing aura, but they were often too stunned or even perplexed to form any significant connections with me. In fact, it had been so long since I'd had a meaningful conversation that even being spoken to almost sounded foreign to me.

      Then again, Balthazar wasn't a human by any means; he was an angel. Angels typically ignored my boring little life on Earth unless they needed a favor, which was rare these days with the quietness of heaven reaching a peak. It had been a long time since I'd been given any sort of order or mission, for which I was thankful. I liked being left alone. I dreaded their company; when they showed up it was almost always a sign of danger or trouble, and whether or not I was in immediate trouble, I knew the nightmares would follow soon in their wake.

     "Balthazar," I said tightly, sparing him a quick glance as I reached the door to my apartment. I was not his biggest fan per se, but with the way he was smiling I didn't feel as if there were any nearby imminent threat, and I was in a rather charitable mood tonight. I'd finally gotten the pretty dark haired barista to smile at a joke I'd told her. "My name is not Anca."

     "You're not actually going to insist I call you Roslyn, are you?" He rolled his eyes, "Your true name is indicative of who you are. Why you would want to change that to something stupid like an overly-clichéd flower is beyond me."

     I twisted the front door's key and unlocked it, instinctively moving to step into my small loft. I was greeted by heat, a sweet haven from Iowa's chilly night air. "The name I was given isn't one that's ever brought me great luck. So I decided to make my own."

     "Oh, please, what does luck have to do with anything? I know a great many number of people who would be absolutely flattered by the collapse of civilizations."

     "I am a defender, Balthazar, not a destroyer," I said sternly. "What are you doing here? Usually they send Castiel to boss me around. I like him better. At least he uses that sexy, confused voice thing he does."

     Balthazar looked ever-annoyed as I slipped off my coat and placed it over one of the cushy red arm chairs. The loft was small, but open space that I enjoyed much more than being closed in. I didn't mind staying alone. I had no family, no friends; although, it wasn't from lack of trying. Occasionally, throughout my time, there was a human or two I managed to become close with. Despite my natural pull to humanity, these rare connections were often short-lived. My companions were all meant to grow old, lead different lives, and many times they didn't know that I wasn't human like them. My heart was drawn in the direction of righteousness, of doctors, educators, poets, and inventors—all who, in my personal experience, were a humbled few. If ever I decided it would be worth the risk, sometimes I even managed to open up about my real identity. As my curse would so have it, the brave and scarce individuals that stayed usually ended up in one of two places: madness or death.