carpe noctem ; dean winchester

ii. will i wake up from this dream?

ACHILLES WAS GOING TO LOSE HIS GODDAMN MIND. He wanted to scream at the top of his goddamn lungs at the universe, hoping that it would give a sign as an answer for all of the shit that is happening as of right now. ( yeah, like the universe would give a shit. )

Achilles thought that he had saw anything by this age, ( late thirties give you that feeling ) but that was until he found out the those comets he saw falling from the sky were actually ( you guessed it! ) angels, the really angry kind of.

His lungs felt heavy and useless as he tried to breathe, cursing himself for smoking that last cigarette ( and for smoking generally ). His whole body ached and begged for a bed to lay down, the at least ten-hour long with no break driving all the way to the great state of Kansas for a case of angels ( again ) had tired him a lot and no matter how much he loved driving and cars generally, he really needed a break immediately. He could feel his skin hot on the worn-out leather of his seat, his eyelids heavy, trying to close so bad almost like the bags underneath his eyes drawn them together. He hummed a tune of a song he wasn't so sure where he heard it from ( it reminded him one of the songs his father used to sang when he was working ) and tapped his finger on the plastic of the wheel trying to find a motel that looked okay enough to sleep.

His prayers were heard when he saw 'the Kansas motel' ( really unique name, kudos to the owner ). The building looked - to put it nicely - old, with the chipped off paint on the walls and the red neon light trying a little bit too hard to stay in life. He parked his car and walked into the reception for a room. The old fat lady greeted him with a bored stare and an annoyed 'can I help you?'.

"A room. Single." he answered cold and took the book to sign before that lady can tell anything. She gave him a key and read his name, with a weirded out look. "Is that even a fucking real name?"

"Oh, trust me," he gets his things from his side and starts to leave; "it's pretty fucking real."

—

"IT'S SOME CULT SHIT, RIGHT?" Achilles' head turns to watch the sheriff of this town that he already forgot the name. ( Heartfelt? No, Heathfelt. Or not. Something along this lines. ) The sheriff of this for-now-unnamed town was a tall man close to his age, eager to work on this case. The worst of their kind. Achilles didn't mind them, he really didn't, it's just they made his job slightly more difficult with their constant questions and following around when they really shouldn't, the end being explaining the whole truth about the 'supernatural'.

"I mean burn marks of wings, the stabbing without any blood and they're burned from the inside and not on the outside, there isn't a chance for anything else, right?" oh, but there is! Achilles wanted to exclaim ( in a dramatic, Sherlock Holmes-y way ) but he only nodded his head.

"Right." he answered, the sheriff smiling, "It's this cult that's doing sacrifices all over the states, we kept out of the media so we won't scare people."

"Does this cult have a name?" the sheriff asked again.

Achilles sighed and put his hands inside the pockets of his worn-out beige overcoat. Today it wasn't that cold, but wearing it gave him a formality, power and made his act more convincable. "The cult doesn't have a name since they don't have a certain clue to give it away. My superiors in DC are working on a code name till we find the real one, and knowing them, it's probably gonna be something with burn and angels." Achilles didn't know for sure if all those actually happen but the sheriffs don't have any idea either so it always worked.

"Burned Angels, maybe?" the sheriff suggested and Achilles faked a chuckle.

"Yeah, it could be. Alright, if you have any updates just call my number," he handed him a card, "or drop by the motel I'm staying right now, the Kansas motel, I think?"

"Yeah, yeah. The Kansas, okay." he looked at the card and furrowed his eyebrows, "Achilles Hernandez, FBI agent. Achilles. Hm. That's a weird name."

"I am aware, thank you." Achilles said and started walking towards his car.

—

ACHILLES WAS WAS A TIRED MESS FULL OF CIGARETTE SMOKE AND CHEAP ALCOHOL.  All his investigations this past week left him empty handed and if he had one more conversation with the sheriff of this god-forsaken town about Burned Angels he was going to combust. He was one step and one drink away from dropping this case altogether.

"Need a fill-up?" the bartender asked him and he raised his head up. The bartender was a light-skinned girl, almost half his age with glistening eyes. "Hey," she waved her hand in front of Achilles' eyes and he snapped out of his trance, "everything alright?"

"Couldn't be better." he answered, slurring, his hooded eyes looking at the girl's worried ones. "Also, yes, I really need that fill-up." he pushed his glass to her and she hesistantly filled it up.

He brought the glass to his lips, "I wouldn't drink it if I were you." he put the glass down and looked at the bartender.

"Why not? I'm paying for it." he asked her. She passed her hand through her brown hair and smirked slightly at him.

"Alright. Don't say I didn't warn ya, though." she walked away and he drank the glass in one gulp. He dropped some crumbled bills at the counter and stubbled his way out of the bar. The late night cold air hit him on his face, his head felt heavy and everything around him was spinning. ( Great choices you make there, Achilles. You just had to drink that last glass. ) ( Like one glass will make a difference, you fool. ) As his tired legs dragged his body through the alley that he had parked his car, he checked for his angel blade in his pocket of the inside of his jacket, a feeling in his gut not letting him alone. A sudden loud sound behind his back and lots of cats screeching made him turn around and before his drunken self could realize, a punch came flying right in the middle of his face. He stumbled back and looked up to his attacker.

"You. I should have guess you're an angel. You were too fucking nosey for a sheriff in fucking Kansas." he said. The angel in front of him chuckled and adjusted the blade in his hand.

"Well, you aren't as sharp as you'd like to be, are you, agent?" Achilles grabbed his own blade and avoided the angel's hits as the latter plunged himself to Achilles. The hunter actually got to cut the angel on his ribs, sightly enough to see a faint glow of his halo. The angel mad, attacked Achilles, making him lose his steps and falling on the ground, his blade falling far from his reach. Achilles crawl further away till he hit a wall with his back. His head felt heavy and he could barely keep his eyes open.

The angel chuckled at the sight of Achilles; "I never understood why Lucifer hated you. But I do now. So weak, so helpless." he walked closer, blade ready, "Maybe when you get down to hell you can find him and ask him if it's true."

Achilles closed his eyes, wait for the fatal hit. ( Oh, God. This how I'm gonna go. I'm dying. I'm dying. I'm dying. I'm dy- )

A loud scream that definitely didn't belong to him cut his thoughts and opened his eyes. "Oh, God. Thank you so much. I owe you one."

"Yeah, yeah, get up now." The bartender rolled her eyes and gave him her hand as support to get him up. He took it and tried to get up but before he could he fainted. "Or don't. Great."

( author's note: ) this one is a filler but the next one is very crucial bc 👀👀👀👀 is finally gonna meet with 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀