Desolation Comes Upon the Sky

Taxi Driver

April 13th, 2014

Lebanon, Kansas

"Wake up!" The back of a hand smacked against Alex's thigh, and the angel's wings flapped in shock, propelling her off of the bed. Alex landed on the hard floor with a cry of surprise, and she leapt to her feet to find Dean standing at her bedside. "What the fuck?!" she snapped, shaking out her wings to hide her clear embarrassment. "Ever heard of knocking?" She cast a look over at the open bedroom door, and the angel frowned. "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean frowned back. "Kevin called. Said there was an emergency at the boathouse, and he needs us there ASAP. Sam and I are just about to leave, so come on."

Alex stared at the hunter, mouth hanging open in shock. "I'm an angel," she reminded. "I can fly. You should have let me fucking sleep and I would have caught up later! Dammit, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "Get dressed and go see what wrong with Kevin. He sounded desperate, okay? Something might be seriously wrong. We'll meet you there."

"Fine." Alex watched Dean leave, and she raised her voice after him. "Next time, send Sam to wake me up! He's better at it," she added with a mutter. She listened to the sound of the heavy bunker door slamming shut before she kicked a shoe out of the way and stripped off her t-shirt. "Stupid Winchesters," she muttered as she dug through her dresser for new clothes. Jeans, a black shirt, and a thick red flannel sufficed, and once she had secured her necklace around her neck and shoved her phone into her back pocket, she exited the room and followed the hallway up towards the door.

Once outside, the young angel spread her wings and took off into the sky. She flew across the Kansas border and spiraled down into Garth's boathouse. The room holding the prophet was warded against angels — recently, by the feel of it — so she landed outside and rapped on the metal door. "Kevin?" she called when no one immediately answered.

The door unlocked, and Kevin Tran let her in. "What do you want?" he asked guardedly, and Alex stepped inside, eyes going momentarily wide at the sight of the large, iron-cast skillet in his hand.

"Whoa. What's that for?" Alex sidestepped, confused by the heavy weapon. "Is everything okay, Kevin? You seem a little ... tense."

"It's him." Kevin closed and locked the door behind him. "Where's Sam and Dean? They need to be here."

"They'll be here." Alex looked around the messy room, frowning at the clutter of paper and trash. "Kev ... are you feeling okay? Who's 'him'?"

"Crowley. Crowley's in my head." Kevin paced the room, his brown eyes large with terror. "If he's in my head, then he knows. He knows about the tablet, a-about the trials, about everything!"

"Whoa whoa whoa." Alex reached out to calm him down. "Crowley — he's not in your head, Kevin. I can promise you that. Any news on the tablet?"

"Yeah." Kevin let the frying pan fall onto the table, and Alex frowned sympathetically at his dark circles and hollow, tired eyes. "I translated the second trial. An innocent soul has to be rescued from hell and delivered unto heaven."

"What?"

" 'Unto,' " Kevin repeated. "It's — it's how God speaks."

"What? That — that's not what I meant. I — I know what 'unto' means." Alex shook her head, and her wings flicked curiously at the prophet's words. "So we have — Sam — has to ... actually go to ... to hell? How do you get into hell without dying?" she asked, even though she didn't reasonably expect the prophet to have the answer. "Not to mention actually getting a soul out — sorry." Alex cut off her stuttered ramblings with a firm shake of her head. "Kevin, listen to me. Crowley's not in your head. What you need is some sleep. Let me help."