Chapter I, part i
he was a star collector
and he knew about the skies
i’ll keep you my (dirty) little secret
don’t tell anyone
or you’ll be just another regret
i hope that you can keep it
my (dirty) little secret
As a child, Jared always had an overactive imagination.
It was a trait he and his siblings all shared. It probably had something to do with the fact that their mother, Sherri, was a firm believer of the idea that a child had to have a good imagination-or at least an imagination of some kind-or else they were at risk of becoming extremely boring adults. She’d always read her children stories; they had all harboured a love for fairytales, and as a result, Jared’s mind had always been chock-full of dreams of other worlds, of fantastical creatures and of supernatural beings. When he was much, much younger, he used to curl up against the soft pillows of his parents’ bed, tucked warm against his mother’s side as she whispered tales of different worlds-of what was buried in the stars or hidden at the bottom of his garden-and he’d never closed his mind to those different, enchanting worlds.
It didn’t matter whether or not they truly, literally existed, because they still existed in the words his Ma murmured each night.
At the age of nine, that was more than enough for Jared.
He didn’t like everything about fairytales, though. He thought the majority of them were ridiculous and stupid, and he wasn’t a fan of the girly, slushy happily-ever-afters; his mother always amplified them for Megan, anyway, and he tended to tune out at that point. And unlike Jeff, he was never really looking for action or fighting or gore; when the two of the three little pigs were eaten by the big bad wolf, Jeff had described the process as fully as possible, at which point Meg had let out a loud, whining noise of protest, and the story had disintegrated into a pillow-fight trying to get Jeff to shut up.
Stuff like that didn’t really attract Jared.
Well, sure, he did have little things he liked.
Normally, he was often fully on the villain’s side. He harboured a particularly soft spot for Captain Hook, because the injustice of being beaten by Peter Pan-who’d basically been a little shit to the pirate-and then being caught and eaten by that ticking crocodile, which had terrified Jared when he was little. Well, it was all just a bit unfair.
And besides, half the time the protagonists deserved it. He remembered on one occasion, when Sherri had finished reading Red Riding Hood to them, he’d just sat there, slack-jawed and unimpressed. It had left a grim, sour taste in his mouth; what kind of idiot spoke to a wolf? Better yet, what sort of moron gave out important information about where a frail old woman lived to a creature who was pretty much considered the epitome of all evil in most fairytales? He didn’t get it at all. Hell, if a wolf had tried to strike up a conversation with him, he’d have given it a good kick in the balls, before running screaming in the opposite direction, rather than tell it where he was heading, and he’d proudly told that to his mother, who’d laughed and ruffled his hair.
No, while he did tend to sympathize with the villains rather than the (sometimes inanely stupid) heroes and heroines, that still wasn’t why he liked fairytales so much.
It was the magic.
He liked the idea of it. He’d read enough stories about young girls and boys wishing upon a star, crossing their fingers and just hoping all their dreams would come true, that he couldn’t help but need that magic to exist. He didn’t think there was a fairy godmother who’d grant his wish-that was silly, after all, and he wasn’t that girly anyway, even if his hair was getting a little long-but he did hope that maybe there was someone, somewhere, who’d listen to his plea; it didn’t have to be a genie, not like in Aladdin. He didn’t have a magic lamp, after all.
And hey, it didn’t even have to happen straight away. He could be patient.
He could wait.
But he really, really wanted the magic to be true.
That was why, on the night his ninth birthday was drawing to a close, Jared made his first wish.
Jared let his mother lead him up to bed at just past nine o’ clock, feigning weariness despite the fact that he was pretty much crammed chock-full of sweets and sugars-there was definitely no way he was going to be asleep before midnight, that was for sure. Sherri hadn’t even wanted him up past eight, but it was his birthday, so Jerry had let them all stay up for as long as they wanted; Megan had fallen asleep at just past seven, but Jeff was still downstairs, reading comics and eating leftover slices of cake. He stifled a fake yawn, pushing open his bedroom door and stepped inside, over a couple of upturned toys and abandoned comics-both of which belonged to Jeff-before stumbling over to his bed.
Clambering beneath his old, patterned covers, he noticed his Ma crossing over to his bookshelf, easily picking out their worn, old copy of a bunch of fairytales, entitled, The Old Children’s Treasury of Fantastical Fairytales. She crossed back around to him and set a glass of milk down on his nightstand, before opening the book up at a page near the middle. They were reading Sleeping Beauty tonight and he blanched, because he disliked that one-and he shook his head.
“Not tonight, Ma,” he mumbled, trying to sound as sleepy as possible. “Don’t feel like it.”
She quirked an eyebrow, smiling slightly. “Don’t feel like it? Are you feeling sick?”
“No,” Jared replied, before amending, “I’m just a bit tired. It’s been a long day.”
Sherri peered at him for a moment, looking as if she were about to suddenly reach across and take his temperature; her incredulous expression spoke volumes, even to a nine year old. She stood up, shutting the book as she crossed over to his window; he watched as she closed the window, making sure to lock it before placing the book down on the windowsill. She left the curtains open; Jared preferred to sleep looking up at the night sky, eyes tracing a pathway through the stars, just as his Ma had done when she was little.
“Are you sure, Jay?” She asked, tapping the cover of the worn book as if trying to tempt him. “We don’t need to read Sleeping Beauty, y’know-we can skip to one of the ones you do like.”
Jared just yawned in reply.
“Okay, okay, kiddo; I get your point.” She placed the book down on the windowsill and held her hands up in surrender, her lips splitting into a wide grin. Crossing back over to stand beside his bed, she leaned forwards, chuckling softly, “But you sure do look as cute as a button, all dopey like that.”
“’m not dopey, Ma,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You’re confusing me with Jeff.”
His mother cuffed him gently at that, because he knew full well she hated it when he rolled his eyes and loathed it even more when he got cheeky with her, but then she pressed a kiss against his forehead, tucking the blankets up beneath his chin. Her fingertips brushed against the patch of skin, damp from the kiss, flicking a few wisps of hair out of his eyes, and then she smiled at Jared. “Sleep tight, kiddo,” she whispered, this time bending over to press a kiss against his lips, which he squirmed at.
He grimaced, frowning. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Ma.”
“You’re the tiniest kid, Jay,” she teased, flicking his nose good-naturedly. “I don’t know any kids littler than you.”
“That’s not funny, Ma,” he grumbled, but his heart wasn’t in it and he was actually beginning to feel sleepy now-the warmth and coziness of the covers pulled snug around his chin was beginning to get to him-and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling slightly. “I’ve still got plenty of growin’ to do.”
“Sure thing, kiddo.”
“One day, I'm gonna be way bigger than you. You'll see.”
Sherri laughed softly-he liked it when his Ma laughed, it sounded so safe and sweet-before ruffling his hair again, this time more fondly than before. She didn’t try and kiss him again; instead, she pressed a kiss against her fingertips and then touched her fingers to his nose. He wrinkled his nose at that, but didn’t complain, suffering in grim silence. She chuckled again, amused at the expression on his face, and then pulled away, standing up and smoothing down the creases in her skirt. He watched through half-lidded, tired eyes as she crossed the room, lingering at the doorway to look back at him.
He always liked that she did that. In those moments, her eyes were so full of adoration, so fond and happy, that it took all of his self-control at the best of times not to beg her to come back in and read him another story. He used to do it when he was younger. One time, his Ma had had to sit with him ‘til midnight, just reading fairytales, and they’d both ended up falling asleep-her sprawled partway across the bed, fingers still touching the edge of the book, and him with the book in his lap, where he’d pulled it from her weary hands so he could turn the pages himself. He’d been six then.
He’d been young enough to believe in magic.
Maybe he was getting a bit old now.
Maybe he was past it.
Maybe he was ‘getting to that age’, as his Pa often put it-the age that Jeff was at, and the age where you stopped believing. The age where you were past it; where you no longer read stories about princes and princesses and dragons. The age where other kids would mock and laugh if they found out that you still believed in things like the tooth fairy-which Jared didn’t believe in, thank you very much-or Santa. Maybe he shouldn’t believe, not any more.
Jared banished the thought. Instead, he bit his lip, his eyelashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks as he tried to force his breathing to slow down, so that it looked more like he was drifting off to sleep. He was worried he hadn’t managed to trick his Ma, because she stood there for a little longer than usual; but then, as he was sure she would, she disappeared out into the hallway, leaving his bedroom door open just a crack. Amber light from the hallway pooled into his room, casting long shadows across his covers. He waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps; he waited until he could hear the door downstairs creak open, and his Pa’s soft voice as his Ma stepped into the living room. He listened quietly as they spoke in hushed tones; then his mother let out a soft, barely stifled laugh, and he heard Jeff join in, and then he figured it was probably safe to get up.
He swung his legs off the bed, placing his feet carefully down on the floorboards; he winced, expecting them to creak and give him away. While he wasn’t particularly scared of his parents knowing he was out of bed and up when he wasn’t supposed to be, he didn’t want to explain what he was doing. Jeff would tease him non-stop and Megan would pinch his cheek and call him sweet, because that’s what his Ma would do and she tended to just copy Ma a lot.
He realised he was sort of just swaying in the middle of his bedroom.
Jared rolled his eyes and ordered himself to focus.
Walking steadily, so as to be as quiet as possible, he made his way over to his window. He stopped just in front of it, fingers nimbly working swiftly at the catch; he unhooked it, before pushing the window outwards gradually. He winced when the hinge let out a weary groan and practically froze when he heard movement from downstairs; he stayed where he was stood as he heard footsteps up the stairs, but when he heard his Ma call up ordering Jeff not to disturb his brother and sister, because they were sleeping, he breathed a sigh of relief. He heard Jeff reply in a vaguely irritated tone-there was nothing he loved doing more than disturbing his brother and sister-but he obviously listened to their mother because he heard Jeff’s bedroom door close just moments later.
After that, Jared turned his attention back to the window, leaning over the ledge so that he could push it open as far as it would go. When he was finished, he leaned forwards, propping his elbows up on the ledge and resting his head in his hands; quietly, he began to count the stars. He’d read in a book somewhere that the stars were angels watching down on the people below, and that thought made him smile; it was sort of like the magic, he guessed. He’d read that they were beautiful creatures-that they glowed like the stars, painting the night sky white with their power; he’d read that when they spoke, their voices were as soft as a mother’s touch, but as wonderful as the sweetest of songs. He’d read that they were powerful-oh so powerful, with wings that spanned decades and centuries. He’d read that if you wished upon a star, an angel would grant your wish, with a smile upon their face and a song on their lips.
It was comforting idea.
Nice.
The idea that someone was watching over him, keeping an eye out for him, making sure his wishes all came true, wasn’t all that unwelcome.
It was very specific, he thought as his eyes scanned the skies, that all wishes were made upon shooting stars. They were really magic. He supposed that was probably why they got to fly across the sky, instead of just hanging there-and then he figured he was just being silly, and he settled for just looking, trying to pick a shooting star out of all the other stars in the sky. It made his eyes go a bit blurry. He leaned against the windowsill and a breeze picked up slightly, ruffling his too-thin pyjama top and making him shiver. He would have waited for a shooting star, but Jared was getting impatient by that point and his toes were growing numb with cold. There were pins and needles in the ball of his right foot. He drummed his fingers against his chin, frowning slightly, and almost blew his wish right then and there, wishing for a stupid star to hurry up and fall already.
He was about to give up, when his eyes widened and he thought that maybe he’d spotted one. If he squinted-and he did then, eyelashes brushing against the top of his cheeks as he peered out into the night-then maybe just… Yep, it was definitely a shooting star. He wouldn’t place any bets on it, of course, but he was as sure as any kid could be; and he couldn’t be bothered to wait any longer, so he screwed up his eyes, clenched his fists and wished.
“I wish it was all real,” Jared whispered. “I wish the magic was real.”
As soon as he wished it, he tried to figure out what the hell kind of wish was that? It didn’t even make sense to him, and he’d wished the stupid thing, but he couldn’t exactly take it back now. He should have wished for something cool, like superpowers or a racing car. He wondered if he could take it back or make another wish, and so his eyes searched for another shooting star, purely with that intention in mind.
Instead, he found himself gazing at the shooting star from earlier.
At least, he was pretty sure it was the star from earlier.
It looked like it, and it was in around about the right place. He squinted. He could have sworn-silly, really, he thought, and cut himself off before he could even finish his first thought. Instead, he leaned precariously out of the window, peering into the darkness; it was like all the other stars had vanished and there was only one left. He traced it’s pathway through the night sky, blinking, his expression one of pleasant surprise. He’d never actually believed that stars did fall from the sky-he’d always thought it was something his Ma had made up, like one of his fairytales. He didn’t think they actually fell.
As the star tore through the sky, gathering speed and definitely getting closer, the clouds began to darken. Thunder crashed in the distance and, only mere moments afterwards, he spotted jagged lightning slice the night in half. It got windier. He spotted the lightning hit again, somewhere in the fields not too far away from their backyard-no doubt roasting the crops or whatever-, and he watched the star paint a streak of bright light across the sky.
He heard his Pa’s voice through the open door, saying something about ‘goddamn lightning and goddamn thunder and goddamn freak storms.’ His Ma told him to ‘stop blaspheming’, and his Pa apologised weakly. He didn’t really notice it, though-he sort of just registered it, like background noise or static on the radio.
Instead, Jared watched the star.
He gaped.
It was all very… magic, in all honesty.
“Did my wish come true, then?” Jared asked, although he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “Is this what happens when wishes come true?”
He hadn’t expected an answer and he didn’t get one. He fell silent, watching the star tear across the sky, slicing through the darkness and burning so brightly, so fiercely, that Jared had to raise a hand to shadow his eyes; eventually, he knew he’d have to look away altogether. He wondered if this was a meteor, like the kind that killed the dinosaurs, and he wondered if maybe he was going to die. That’d suck. The star sort of spread, then, flames billowing out on either side of it-and it was sort of getting a shape, he guessed, if he tilted his head and squinted a little bit. Those protruding flames looked a little bit like wings. They flapped once, powerful and strong, bringing up gusts of wind-and then it began to rain really heavily, hailstones thudding against his windowsill and bouncing into his room. Jared had to wrestle with the window to slam it shut. He heard his brother croon “awe-some,” from his room, dragging out the last syllable so that it stretched on and on and on.
Jared ignored him, keeping his eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He couldn’t be entirely sure, because while the star was pretty close-it had entered the Earth’s atmosphere not long ago, and was just getting closer and closer to the ground-it was still a good distance away; so no, he couldn’t be entirely sure, but he thought that maybe the rain was extinguishing the flames. He thought that maybe the star had brought the rain and the lightning and the thunderstorm.
He rolled his eyes at the silly thought, but he couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that maybe he was right. After all, it was a huge coincidence that such a fierce storm would suddenly whip up, just after he’d watched a star fall from the sky.
It was all fairly bizarre.
Then, just as he was thinking all those muddled thoughts, the star crashed into the ground, no longer glowing white-hot-lightning lit the sky momentarily, and then there was complete darkness. There was no bouncing, heavy rain, no thunder, no more lightning; there wasn’t even that slight breeze from earlier. Jared pushed open his window tentatively, gingerly, and stared into the darkness, trying to pick out where the star had fallen. Eventually, he decided that maybe a star hadn’t fallen at all-maybe he’d just been seeing things, or he’d seen a particularly close bolt of lightning and had decided to interpret it differently-, because there was nothing there; he could see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary at all.
He shut his window, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d missed something extremely important; he crawled into his bed and gazed out the window, staring into the darkness-and that’s when he realised that that was all he could see.
Darkness.
There were no stars.
They had all disappeared.
It was at that moment that Jared heard the voice.
No, he didn’t hear it, not really. Actually, it felt more like he tasted it, and it tasted like knuckles on broken glass and cigarette smoke curling into an empty sky. Strained, it was cracked and rough, and oh so quiet; you had to strain to hear it properly. It was the voice of a nine year old boy, but you’d never have known; it sounded decades old, worn and aged by time-it spoke of many years of fighting, and it sounded so defeated, so crushed, so beaten, that it hurt to hear.
Despite its weariness, the voice still whispered:
Help me.
And Jared heard it.
Or, rather, he felt it.
Peering into the darkness, he gazed out the window; but he didn’t know why he bothered even looking. It was a strange thing to think but he just knew the voice was coming from out there-from the star that had maybe not been a star after all, but it had fallen down to the Earth anyway. He left the window to go and find his shoes-battered old trainers that he’d had for about a month and a half, but had managed to destroy entirely in about a week-before creeping across his bedroom floor and carefully opening his door. He hovered in the doorway for a second, just listening. Opposite him, Jeff’s bedroom door stayed shut. Down the corridor, he knew Meg was asleep.
Cocking his head, he listened for signs of movement from downstairs, but all he heard was the low rumbling of the television and the soft, hushed voices of his parents. He made his way down to the landing, taking the stairs two at a time but managing to remain relatively light on his feet, he made his way down to the landing. He crept silently past the open door of the living room, pretending he was a shadow and trying his hardest not to disturb his parents. Then he slipped into the kitchen, hooked the key off the counter, and pressed it into the door. The lock clicked open. Quietly, the door swung outwards.
He peered into the darkness, sort of just standing in the doorway for a moment, staring and waiting for something to happen. He didn’t hear the voice again, but he hadn’t really expected to hear it; he was pretty damn certain it had been real, though, so he unhooked his jacket from its perch by the door, slipped it over his shoulders, and then rummaged around (as quietly as possible) for a flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers. He found one and shone it into the darkness of his backyard-he picked out the little gate right at the bottom of the garden and then, letting the door swing silently shut behind him, he made his way out into the night.
He was very rarely ever let out this late, and he definitely had never been allowed into the fields beyond their house at this time-it had to be something-past-ten, now, and he was just a kid, no matter what he told his Ma. He crept across his yard pretty quickly, moving swiftly, before his fingers touched the gate; they fumbled with the latch, which was wet and slippery from the rain, but he managed to open it after a while. It let out a loud creak. He stilled, waiting patiently for his Ma to open the door and spot him and yell at him to get back inside. She’d cuff his ears if she spotted him out here. He winced at the thought.
Nothing happened, though. He heard his Pa say something loudly about ‘those damn cats’, and his Ma reply just as loudly that he ‘shouldn’t goddamn curse so much’, and then the pair of them laughed twice as loudly. Jeff’s light switched on upstairs, but that was probably because he was still reading or something, but, other than that, nothing happened.
Jared let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
Then, silent as could be, he crept out into the fields.
He didn’t know how long he walked for, but it felt like hours-in reality, it was probably only twenty minutes, give or take a few minutes-and his legs began to ache. The flashlight shone strong for a good part of the journey, before beginning to flicker; he smacked it with the palm of his hand, but one of the batteries fell out and he couldn’t find it in the dark. The moon offered a little bit of light, but just not enough. He had to continue the rest of the journey in darkness, with only his ragged breathing for company-and, even if he hadn’t had a powerful imagination, Jared would have still been terrified.
Eventually, though, he was able to make out burns-or something like that, he thought-on the ground below his feet. He bent down to get a closer look, running his fingertips across the grass; they came away covered in ash. He blew it away, before dusting his hands down on his jacket. He figured he was probably pretty close to the star now; it had probably struck the ground like lightning, with those flaming wings, and it was no wonder the ground was burned.
After taking a few more steps, he realised it wasn’t his ragged breathing he could hear anymore.
He stopped.
He took a quick look around.
It was dark, but his eyes were beginning to adjust slightly. Still, all he could make out were blurred shapes and shadows, so he squinted slightly, raising his hands over his eyes. His heart was racing, fingers trembling, goose-bumps prickling upon his arms, as he called, gingerly, “Hello? Is there anyone there?”
Help me, the voice whispered again, in its shatterglass voice.
It made the hairs on Jared’s arms spring to attention and he couldn’t stop the shiver which raced through him. He took a few hesitant steps in the direction of the voice-except he hadn’t heard it, he’d felt it, pounding and echoing in his head-before breaking into a run, as his eyes made out the distinctive shape of a person lying sprawled across the ground. His heart was pounding so loudly, because he just knew that that was the star-that in front of him was a fallen star. Jeff would have said he was imagining things, if he’d been there; but Jared would have just punched his arm and told him to shut up, because he just knew.
He jerked to a halt, blinking rapidly as he gazed down at the ground and the person lying sprawled across it.
It was a boy-the star was a little boy, and that confused Jared a lot-with dark hair and pale skin, breathing rapidly. His eyelashes were long and fluttered against the tops of his cheeks, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled quickly; he looked as if he were having trouble breathing, because he was breathing too much, Jared thought, like he was trying to breathe in all the air and then some. He was curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees, naked and shivering; the ground around him was burnt and ashen, and he thought that maybe the burns looked a little bit like wings-black and smoky, painted across the ground in dust-but he shook his head. He knelt down then, because he wasn’t sure what else to do, and gingerly, tentatively, prodded the stranger’s side.
“Uhm,” he said, because he was nine and no one had told him what to do if he found a naked kid in a crater in his backyard. “Are you-”
The boy’s hand whipped out and gripped his wrist way too tightly; his fingers were long and thin, spider-like against his wrist, and his eyes jerked open. They were bright blue-vivid and electric and… just not quite there. Like he was somewhere else-like he was up in the sky with all the other stars.
He looked past Jared, unfocused and dizzy and confused.
Help me.
Jared probably should have asked a whole bunch of questions, the first and foremost being, “What are you?”, but he didn’t. He just stared down at the hand gripping his wrist and then looked back at those frantic, frightened blue eyes, and then he thought of the voice still echoing inside his ears, and he just thought that maybe it wasn’t so fun to be a star falling from the sky after all. He nodded his head numbly, loosening the other’s hand on his wrist and shaking his jacket off his shoulders. He placed it around the other boy like a blanket, because that’s what he’d seen in all the movies, and then his gaze locked with bright blue again.
Please.
“Okay,” he said, nodding again, and then he helped his star to his feet.
They walked back across the field to his house slowly; the star wasn’t all that certain on his feet, and Jared had to make sure to support the other boy when he staggered slightly. Stars, Jared thought, probably didn’t have much experience with walking, what with being in the sky and all. They moved steadily in silence. He fixed the star a drink of water-because he wasn’t sure whether or not stars drank milk or coffee or tea-and listened to the other gulp it down thirstily as he locked the backdoor. He was extra quiet on the stairs, but there was no sound from the living room anyway-his parents had gone to sleep at some point while he was out. He pushed open his bedroom door and led the star inside.
For a few seconds, the boy just wobbled on his feet; and then Jared carefully began to guide him across to the bed, painfully aware of the fact that the star was still shivering-which was weird, really, because his forearm felt so hot to touch, it almost burnt. He helped the other sit down, before crossing over to his drawers and picking out some pyjamas; the stranger was relatively slight and small, but he looked to be about the same size as Jared, so he picked out a long-sleeved top, a pair of old boxers and some baggy bottoms and then handed them over to the star.
“Put these on,” he said, but the boy just looked at him blankly. Jared frowned. “What’s wrong?”
How?
“You, uh…” Jared trailed off.
The star tilted his head.
“You don’t know how,” Jared stated and when the boy nodded slowly, obviously confused, he rolled his eyes, picking up the shirt. “Put your arms up over your head then, like this,” he said, holding his own hands up over his head-that was how his Ma had always told him to put on his shirts, when he was little; and, well, the star was a little bit like a small child, he figured, so it’d probably work for him too. He waited until the other had hoisted the top up over his head, slipping the sleeves onto his arms and then rolling it down.
He picked up the boxers next, holding them gingerly between his thumb and forefinger; he decided it would be way too weird trying to put them on another boy, and so he tossed them into the star’s lap. The boy blinked at the article of clothing, as if he’d never seen them before-and, when Jared thought about it, he probably hadn’t-so Jared rolled his eyes and said, “I am not putting these on you, man. Just put your legs through the holes and pull them up.”
The star did as he said. He struggled slightly, fumbling and staggering and almost falling right on top of Jared, but he just held a hand out to steady him, frowning slightly. The other took the initiative then, tilting his head as he gazed at the pyjama bottoms; then he picked them up, bunched them up slightly, and began the long and hard process of actually putting the stupid things on. When he’d finally finished, he just sat where he was, slumped on the bed and panting heavily. Jared stared at him, unsure of what else to do-he was just hovering pointlessly by the end of the bed, staring at the other.
He sat down.
“Hey,” he said quietly, patting the other’s arm. “What’s your name anyway?”
Castiel.
“Castiel, huh,” Jared raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “That’s a nice name for a star.”
Castiel tilted his head again, wrapping his arms around his body and shivering slightly. He looked vaguely confused. Scratching at his arm absently, Jared wondered if maybe he wasn’t a star after all. Maybe he was an alien, he thought idly, and he was scouting the Earth, readying it for invasion.
That would be awesome.
Castiel shuddered again.
“Are you cold?”
Yes.
“Figures,” Jared said, and rolled his eyes. “You can take the bed, then, and if you’re still cold, I guess you can always use some of the spare blankets, too. I’ll sleep on the floor. In the morning, though, you’ve got to be extra quiet, okay?”
Castiel nodded. Okay.
“How’re you doing that, by the way? That-I don’t know, that creepy mind stuff, like you’re talking in my head, like you’re Professor X or something,” he asked, and when the other looked puzzled, he elaborated, “I guess it’s sort of like I can hear you, but not with my ears. That sounds stupid. I mean, I can hear you but I can feel your voice, too. It’s all scratchy.”
I… wasn’t aware-
He cut himself off then, frowning and looking extremely confused.
Then, slowly, as if he was just using it for the first time, he opened his mouth.
“I… wasn’t aware that I was speaking like that,” he paused, opening and closing his mouth again and again, as if still trying to work out what exactly he was doing. His voice sounded hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in an extremely long time, but it still sounded like the one Jared had heard in his head. “I… I haven’t had to speak in this way for…”
Castiel closed his eyes and tilted his head.
“I’ve-I’ve never had to speak like this,” he said finally, blinking in surprise. He sort of slurred some of the words, stumbling over others, like a child talking too fast, but he seemed to be grasping the hang of it pretty quickly. He winced whenever he spoke, though. “It hurts.”
Jared was unsure of how to reply to that. For one, he’d never experienced anything even remotely like this; his Ma used to say he and Jeff and Meg were all born yammering on about one thing or another-which he was sure wasn’t possible, but that was beside the point. He’d never really had much trouble learning to speak-after all, he’d just mimicked the sounds he heard when he was a kid, which got Jeff into loads of trouble when he tried to teach him curse words-so he just… He just couldn’t really even begin to comprehend what Castiel was going through.
After all, he wasn’t the one who’d just plummeted from the night sky just a few hours earlier.
“You can go back to the mutant mind speak, if you want,” Jared said after a moment’s thought. “If you find it easier. It doesn’t bother me.”
Castiel just peered at him, silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. You never said your name.
Jared flushed red, embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
That’s alright.
“I’m Jared Padalecki,” he told him, and he stuck out his hand. “I, uh-I was making a wish on a shooting star, and then I sort of just saw you fall from the sky, I guess. And I thought you were a star, because, well, you looked like a star, so… Then I heard someone ask for help, and I don’t know, part of me just knew it was you, so I just… I went out there, I guess. There was a storm. You’re not-this is embarrassing. I bet you’re not even real, either; you’re probably just some imaginary thing I created because I was bored and really wanted to believe in magic. Are you an alien? I’ve never really liked aliens-Jeff’s the one who likes all that sci-fi stuff-and I think I talk a lot when I get nervous.”
You do, Castiel agreed. But that is okay.
He chuckled weakly, but didn’t say anything.
Eventually, the star spoke again.
You are correct. I am not a star, although that is how I and my brethren all appear to you on the Earth. I am, in fact, much more than that-I am an entity, a celestial being, a force, if you will. I am an energy you cannot begin to comprehend. I am so much more than a star.
Castiel spread his arms wide then and, as he did so, the shadows seemed to flicker and twitch around him. The air shimmered and changed. It was as if Jared had been looking underwater before the sudden change in the atmosphere, and now suddenly everything was so clear-every detail in the entire room was sharp and bright and vivid, and he noticed things he hadn’t spotted before, like the little cracks in the corner of his room or the threads that were unravelling on his pyjama bottoms. He tore his gaze from the little things in his room then, looking back at Castiel. In comparison, the angel was flawless; there wasn’t a single blemish upon his face, his skin pure and smooth, and his eyes suddenly seemed so bright, inquisitive, and so… cold. He was regarding Jared coolly, carefully, as if searching for some sort of reaction.
Jared was about to ask what had happened, and what was he trying to prove, when he suddenly caught sight of something twitching beside Castiel’s shoulders. He looked away from the other’s face and sucked in a deep breath, the words dying in his throat, unsure of what the hell he’d even say if he could speak.
He had wings.
They were huge, Jared thought-they spanned the length of the room, filling up every corner, every shadow, every single space. He couldn’t look away, no matter how much he tried to; and then he realised he didn’t want to. They looked like water, he thought, not like normal feathers; they seemed fluid and flowing, rippling and twitching in the air. They were black; it was a violent and brilliant colour, he thought, dark as the night sky, deep as the ocean-but he could pick out lighter shades of grey and brown in the feathers too. He wondered if they’d be soft to touch. He wondered if this meant the magic was real.
Eventually, Jared managed to tear his gaze away from those bewitching wings, staring back at bright blue. Castiel was looking at him with an expression of mixed interest and fascination, like he was scrutinizing an insect. His wings twitched slightly, before folding behind his back. They still seemed to take up so much room, though. Jared couldn’t stop himself from glancing at them every now and again, blinking, before finally choosing to simply look at Castiel.
“You, uh-you’ve got wings.”
Yes.
“You’re not a star, then.”
A shadow of a smile twitched at Castiel’s lips, and he shook his head slowly. No, I am not a star-although, I do recall stating that a moment ago.
Jared flushed scarlet. “Sorry. It’s all… What are you, then?”
Castiel stared at him again, then, scrutinizing him for a moment. His wings twitched against his back, fluttering slightly-nervously, Jared thought, but he didn’t say anything. All of the sudden the air felt heavy, pressing down on him, and all that detail that had appeared earlier was quickly turning blurry. They stared at each other, for a moment, blue eyes locking with his-and Castiel’s stare was so intense, it made him look older and bigger than the nine year old he appeared. He just seemed so much more than Jared could really understand, and that made him feel small. Much smaller than he felt when he was next to Jeff, who towered over him-no, now he felt ant-like, tiny, and just so damn small.
He couldn’t hold the stare for too long and he dropped his gaze. He was still painfully aware, however, of blue eyes staring at his hunched shoulders, inspecting him and probably searching for something. Jared wondered if he had that something.
He’d just wanted the magic to be real.
Finally, Castiel spoke.
I am an angel of the Lord.
let me know what i’ve done wrong
when i’ve known this all along
i go around a time or two
just to waste my time with you
Later that night, Jared lay on his back on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, one arm tucked beneath his head as he tried his hardest to sleep.
He couldn’t, though-he was actually cold. He’d given all of his spare blankets to Castiel, because the angel kept complaining of the cold. He wouldn’t go into any detail though, and whenever Jared pressed his palm against the other’s forehead, like his Ma did when he was burning up, he’d snatch his hand back, wincing because the other was definitely hot. He burned like a comet, and yet he shuddered and shivered all the time, huddling beneath a nest of blankets, looking vaguely pathetic.
And besides, even if he had been warmer, he still wouldn’t have been able to sleep, because he was too busy thinking. His mind was spinning in circles, frantically backtracking through the day’s events and replaying them over and over again. And, all the while, all he could hear was the soft breathing of the nine-year old-but, according to Castiel, actually over nine hundred years old, because apparently appearances weren’t everything and angels were immortal anyway-angel lying beneath a pile of blankets on his bed. His wings hadn’t disappeared since he’d first shown them to Jared, and one of them was draped across the edge of the bed, the tips of a few dark feathers brushing against the floor.
Absently, he reached out with one hand.
His fingers were almost a breath away from those glorious feathers when he caught himself, tugging his hand back to his chest and exhaling irritably. He turned onto his other side, his back to the angel. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, trying to banish all thoughts of dark wings and falling stars and angels and magic.
He couldn’t quite manage it.
When he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed only of bright blue eyes and a shatterglass voice asking for help.
When Jared woke up the next morning, he was faced with the predicament of trying to figure out what to do with a fallen angel.
It was a pretty damn difficult thing to even think about and it made his head ache; it was way too early in the morning to even attempt to try and think of a solution to such a massive problem. He glanced across at his alarm clock, which lay on the floor where he’d thrown it earlier in the week; it was a habit he’d started copying from Jeff. In reality, it only took him a shower and a stretch and then Jared would be back to his usual self, right as rain.
That much would have been true, he figured, if it weren’t for the fact that he had a sleeping angel burrowed beneath a heap of blankets on his bed. He groaned softly, stretching as he heaved himself to his feet. He tried to avoid looking at the angel, but he kept seeing those wings; they rose and fell in time with Castiel’s even breathing, his entire body relaxed. He’d been a quivering mass of tension last night. It had simply become even more obvious when he’d revealed those wings-they’d stood stiff and proud, springing to attention, but now… they sort of just flopped. They didn’t look so heavy, either. Jared still wondered if the feathers actually felt like feathers, or if they maybe felt like water or if they cut his fingers like paper.
He tore his gaze away.
First things first, he decided he’d probably better get Castiel something to eat. Lingering in the doorway for just a moment, staring at the angel as if to check he was still there, he took off down the stairs and crept into the kitchen. He didn’t really have to worry about disturbing anyone-his Ma and Pa were still asleep, and Meg’s bedroom door had been closed. Jeff was the only one awake, but he was in his bedroom doing whatever it was Jeff did, and he probably wouldn’t surface until mid-morning, when he smelled bacon and eggs sizzling in the kitchen. As a result, Jared was pretty much left to his own devices, checking the fridge for something he could feed an angel.
Jared wondered what it was angels ate anyway. He began picking out and dismissing various different foods, including toast, cornflakes and some old milk and cheese at the back of the fridge. Did they even need to eat? He wondered if Castiel would be annoyed if the most Jared could make was singed toast and maybe strawberry jam.
Jam and toast would have to do.
He set about making breakfast-nothing for him, because he wasn’t hungry, and besides, his Ma would know something was up if he didn’t eat the breakfast she made him-as well as two cups of cocoa for them. Balancing them on a tray precariously, he went back upstairs and into his bedroom, where Castiel was beginning to stir, letting out a soft little groan, his wings twitching before vanishing. Jared was a bit surprised to feel disappointment at that-they were, after all, so beautiful, and pretty damn cool, too-but he banished the feeling, holding out the tray.
“I, uh-I didn’t know what angels eat, but I figured you were probably hungry, so I made toast,” he explained, as Castiel stared at the plate as if he were holding out a dead animal or something, fascination and a vague sort of disgust plastered across his face.
His eyes flickered upwards to meet Jared’s.
Then he looked back at the food.
“There’s jam too,” Jared added hopefully, sort of waving the tray temptingly back and forth in front of Castiel. “It’s strawberry.”
It must have worked, or the angel must have been really hungry, because he held his hands out, accepting the plate of food with a grateful nod. Jared reached over and picked up his mug, blowing away the steam wafting from the drink; he took a sip, keeping his eyes trained on Castiel, watching as the other took a tentative bite into the toast. Then he dipped his finger into the pot of jam. After that, he ended up discarding the toast almost completely, just dunking his fingers into the jam and maybe using a scrap of bread to wipe up whatever mess he created on the plate.
Jared rolled his eyes.
“Dude, you should have told me you didn’t want any toast with your jam,” he said.
Castiel just stared at him blankly, before sucking his fingers clean. I apologise. I have never had any need, before now, to eat… toast or jam. He tilted his head at the pot of jam, regarding it appreciatively. That was surprisingly good, however-I should have tried this earlier.
“How come you haven’t?”
…tried jam before?
“No, that’s not what I’m talking about,” Jared flapped a hand, before grinning. “I mean, how come you haven’t been down here before?”
You are asking why I’ve never visited Earth before, Castiel said, tilting his head and regarding Jared blankly. The occasion has never arisen before. Besides, I do not belong here. I belong with my brethren-I belong, for lack of better words, in the stars. Up there.
“Then why are you here?”
I-
Castiel faltered, pursing his lips.
All of a sudden, he looked small-perhaps it was the absence of his wings, which had made him seem so huge, or perhaps it was the sudden frightened, lonely look on his face, but he just suddenly seemed so small. It made Jared feel uneasy. He hovered where he was stood, his hot chocolate clasped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were beginning to turn white, and he stared at the angel. His shoulders were hunched and the tray was set aside from him; Castiel leaned forwards, then, and Jared’s t-shirt hung off his body, loose and baggy. Despite the fact that he had the appearance of a nine year old boy, Castiel seemed so much older-but still so young. While his posture was that of someone tired of the world, his eyes were lost and scared, like he was a kid who’d been abandoned by his mother in a supermarket.
He opened his mouth again then, obviously still searching for words, for an answer to Jared’s question. Jared realised that maybe that question was a question the angel had been asking himself since falling. He shifted uncomfortably before moving forwards and setting his mug down on the tray before discarding it to the floor.
He sat down next to the angel.
Castiel didn’t even acknowledge Jared, simply staring at the floor. If anything, he looked even smaller. Unsure of what else to do, Jared leaned forwards, hair flopping into his face, and snuck a sideways glance at the angel. “You, ah… You don’t have to say, if you don’t want to.”
If I had an answer, Jared, rest assured I would tell you.
It felt weird to have the angel say his name.
It felt even weirder when he realised the angel was staring at him, looking at him with earnest blue eyes, as if he expected Jared to… to what? Jared didn’t even know what he was going to do-what he could say to something as weird as that. He was a kid. He didn’t have to have the answers. He just had the questions. At least, he told himself, he wasn’t Jeff; if he’d been Jeff, he would have pushed and pushed for answers Castiel didn’t have, until he broke the angel.
Instead, he chuckled weakly and elbowed Castiel. “You talk like an old man, you know.”
I do?
“Like my Grandpa, dude.”
Oh, Castiel paused, considering the idea; then his brow furrowed and he looked at Jared with some concern. Is that a bad thing?
“I guess not,” Jared shrugged. “It’s just… weird.”
A brother of mine once told me that weird, when accompanied with a pause, is usually a very bad thing.
“It isn’t, I promise. It’s just, you look like you’re just some kid-like you’re the same age as me and stuff-but when you speak, you sound like an old man. Or someone from the Victorian era. Or maybe both. It’s just weird, I guess.”
Castiel looked crestfallen.
“It suits you, though,” Jared added hastily. “Like it’s an angel thing. I like it.”
Good.
They sat in silence then, shoulder to shoulder, both of them gazing at the floor. Jared listened to the sounds of his household waking up-he could hear his Ma and his Pa speaking softly as they padded about their bedroom, getting dressed and ready. He heard the sound of a shower being switched on, as Jeff got dressed. Music blared from Meg’s room-some teeny bob that just sounded like squeaky-clean pop-and she was singing along loudly, doing that thing she did when she didn’t know all the words, so she just mumbled parts of it and made other parts up. Next to him, he could tell that Castiel was listening as well. His head was cocked to one side and his brow was furrowed again, as if he was thinking deeply about something extremely important. He noticed Jared looking then, because he caught his gaze.
Jared smiled hesitantly.
His frown only deepened.
“What’s wrong?”
Where will I go?
For a few seconds, Jared had no idea what he was talking about. “What d’you mean, ‘where will you go’? You’re staying here.”
I cannot remain here forever.
“I’m not talking about forever,” Jared shrugged, offering the angel a small smile. “I’m just talking about now.”
He watched as the angel considered that, tilting his head and thinking again. His eyes scanned Jared’s bedroom, looking down at the blankets heaped around his waist and the tray of toast and jam on the floor. He looked at the mug of hot chocolate Jared had made him-it was cold now. His fingers picked at the hem of his t-shirt. Then he looked across at Jared, scanning his face for something-he didn’t really know what, so he just smiled uncertainly back at the angel, trying not to break and look away.
Whatever he was searching for, Castiel must have found it, because he nodded, obviously satisfied.
Okay, Castiel said, and he smiled.
when we live such fragile lives
it’s the best way to survive
i go around a time or two
just to waste my time with you
It was difficult keeping Castiel a secret.
For the first few days, Jared managed it fine.
He pretended to be sick, so he could retreat to his bedroom at various points in the day, usually with hot soup and a drink. He’d give them to the angel, then he’d talk for a while, before heading back downstairs to show his parents that he was still alive; he tried his hardest not to act suspiciously around them. His Pa was as oblivious as usual, and his Ma didn’t question him when he said he didn’t need her to read fairytales to him anymore. When he said bedtime stories were for babies, his Ma looked a little bit hurt, but she disguised it by pinching his cheek and cooing that he was growing up so fast, but he’d always be her little baby Jay bird. Jeff teased him as much as usual, but was forced to leave him alone whenever he said he was going to bed-and Meg kept wanting to play doctors and nurses, so she could look after her sick patient, but Jared told her he wasn’t feeling up to it and that he’d play later.
When he did manage to sneak away from his family, Castiel would always look comically pleased, his entire face lighting up when Jared snuck into the room. He could also see that Castiel was always grateful for the company. Whenever Jared wasn’t in his bedroom, the angel spent most of his time reading, and he’d managed to finish the majority of the books on Jared’s bookshelf by the end of the fourth day. Jared had stolen him a couple of Jeff’s comic books, but he didn’t understand Superman and he wasn’t a fan of Batman, and nothing Marvel managed to capture his attention, so Jared stopped bothering-plus, Jeff had an uncanny ability to spot whenever someone had been messing with his stuff, so Jared couldn’t do that too often anyway.
Jared had also found him a Bible at some point, which he didn’t read-he just held it in his hands, stroking his fingers across the cover, staring down at it blankly. When Jared said he could get rid of it if Castiel wanted him to, he didn’t reply; he just held it tighter and stared at Jared, his lips pursed. His eyes looked lost and lonely, and they were tinged with that fear again. He looked more than a little bit homesick. Jared felt a pang of sympathy, of sorrow, and he didn’t mention the Bible again.
He pretended not to notice when Castiel held it for just a little bit too long, his knuckles white as he gripped it tightly.
He pretended not to notice when he slid the little book beneath his pillow later that evening.
He pretended not to notice the angel’s shoulders shaking and shuddering in the night, when he thought Jared was asleep.
After the first few days, however, it became considerably harder.
He had to abandon the sickness excuse, because his Ma kept coming into his room to check his temperature-that usually ended with Castiel being practically thrown beneath the bed, curling up in a ball and lying as still as possible while Sherri fussed about her son. Jeff announced loudly at the dinner table that Jared had to be going insane, because he kept talking to himself in his room when no one was there, and that’s the first sign of insanity. Meg complained that Jared never had time to play with her anymore.
Jerry just thought his son was growing up.
Nonetheless, Jared found himself spending less time during the day with Castiel, as his family-all bar his Pa-grew suspicious.
That was okay, though, because they still had the nights.
Sometimes, when it was really dark, they’d sneak downstairs and outside together. They’d creep out across the grass, much like Jared did when he first found Castiel, and when they were far enough away from the house, Castiel would let his wings shimmer into existence, unfolding them from behind his back and stretching them out. He’d flap them a few times. He never flew though, not once, but he did gaze out longingly into the sky-and when he did, Jared would look away and pretend he hadn’t seen.
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