The Angel, Hunters, and I

The Spell

Chapter 10

Amelia was hunched down by a tree, hand furiously drawing images on the page. She had to stop. She heard it coming, and knew it would be upon her any minute. But no matter how hard she tried, it was as if her hand had a mind of its own.

God, did her hand itch. Dozens of images were flashing through her head, and her hand-as fast as it was going-was having a hard time keeping up.

She saw Sam and Dean, dying over and over and over again, each time brought back by some force. How long had they been suffering?

Then she felt it. The black goo had reached her ankles, and was slowly climbing higher. She wanted to scream, but it was caught in her throat.

She suddenly heard the flutter of wings, and looked up. It was Castiel. What was he doing here? He couldn't be here. She'd seen what the black goo had done to him before.

"Amelia, you need to stop." The angel demanded, crouching down in front of her. She shook her head.

"I-I can't." He grabbed her wrists and held them. She tried to continue drawing but he was stronger than her. The images kept passing behind her eyes rapidly, and she squeezed her eyes shut, head reeling. The goo was at her knees, and soon enough, she would be drowning.

"You don't need to draw so much. No one is rushing you. Take your time." He said. Her hand stopped itching, and the images halted. She sighed in relief.

"Thank you Castiel,"  she said quietly. The goo was still crawling its way up. But now she wasn't so scared anymore. Not with Castiel holding onto her like this. So when the black goo completely encased her, she simply closed her eyes.

Amelia awoke with a start, bolting upright in bed. Her forehead smacked into Castiel's, who had been leaning over her, staring with his signature intense expression. She groaned, rubbing her forehead as she sat back up. Amelia held her head, feeling as if she'd been hit by a train-and not because of the angel's forehead that was apparently made of steel.

"What happened?" She asked. Her hand hurt like crazy, the way they got after she had been taking an English exam. The angel motioned to the journal clutched tightly in other hand.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. After you left, I sensed your distress. You couldn't stop drawing." Amelia blinked as it came back to her.

"I remember wishing I'd never met any of you, and...my hand went crazy. I saw so many images and my hand couldn't draw them all in time." The angel nodded, eyeing her journal.

"What did you draw?" He asked. Amelia loosened her grip on the book, and flipped through the pages. Her eyes widened. Had she really drawn on so many pages in such a short time? The book was nearly filled. Death littered every page, someone or something associated with the brothers or Castiel, all dead. How many had died?

The sketches seemed to be angrily dented into the pages, Amelia was surprised they hadn't ripped. She stopped upon seeing words messily scrawled across one of the pages. The page next to it had a "1" written beside what looked to be chalk, symbols in a circle around it.

The pages seemed to be sending her a message. If those three remained here, she would end up like everyone in the previous pages.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, curiously peering over at the journal from where he sat. Amelia flipped through more of the pages, and discovered more numbers. She looked up at the angel.

"I think it's the spell you were looking for."