❝ HEAVEN ON EARTH IS NO LONGER A CLICHÉ. ❞
↳ in which the angel in a trenchcoat falls in love with the girl that can hear the angels-who just so happens to be dean winchester's twin sister.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀
( season 4+ )
( makayla winchester x castiel )
#1 i...
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THE FIRST TIME she encountered the trench-coat-wearing man, it was when she hadn't slept in six days. She had been driving nonstop from Bobby's house in hopes of leaving her pain behind.
But it was unbearable and heavy and it was ripping her apart.
Her chest physically hurt- it felt as though the hellhounds had torn out her heart right alongside Dean's, her very soul had been pulled from her body and dissected into nothingness.
She was hopelessly empty. And she wanted nothing more than for the pain to stop.
She pulled into a hotel parking lot somewhere in Minnesota, walking towards the front desk with red eyes and blood stained knuckles from when she shattered the back window of the beloved Impala.
"One room."
She whispered, her voice hoarse and raw. The woman gave her a once over before typing at her laptop.
"Of course. Room 117."
The woman nodded quietly in response, her smile tight.
Their eyes met as the hostess passed the copper key to Makayla, and the Winchester sister couldn't help but stare at the dusty freckles that were scattered across the woman's nose, forming a galaxy right across her very own face.
Dean's skin once held the universe, too. Makayla's favorite constellations were the stars that dotted her twin brother's complexion, speckling his cheeks with infinity.
A memory fluttered across her mind.
They had been four years old then, when they were a happy, complete family with a pregnant mother and a caring father.
The twins had been left to their own devices, and Makayla had taken a purple marker to play connect-the-dots with the freckles on Dean's face.
It took him three days to wash it off.
Makayla blinked once, then twice, realizing much too late that she had tears spilling out across her cheeks.
"Sweetie, are you alright?"
The hostess asked gently, and Makayla wiped her wet eyes with her sleeve, snatching the key from the counter.
"Peachy. Thank you."
The key clicked as it slid in her door, and when she finally slammed it shut and found herself alone again, she began to sob.
She slid down the backside of the wooden door, her thin frame wracking with tears and pain and strife.
She fell asleep curled into a ball on the floor, the side of her face pressed against the floor.
