Rage and Circumstance

She’s distracted by Dean. She doesn’t know you’re there. Yet.

You keep hidden. Your need to protect him brought you to this place in the middle of the wilderness. Fine, you’ll admit: you used him. You followed him to the Darkness.

He stands rigid as Amara closes in on his personal space, and every cell in your body screams at you to claw her eyes out. But you clench your jaw and you wait.

Dean probably has a plan; he’s up to something. He has to be. He’s holding back; or maybe that’s her. Maybe she’s doing that to him.

The giant conifers creak and moan as a strong breeze pushes through the forest. Only now do you notice for the first time, at the lack of chirps and rustles and rapid knocks, that all the wildlife is gone.

Wait - what - what is she doing now?

That bitch. It takes all of your reserve to hold yourself back - to not rip her to shreds.

You stay your course. You have to be certain Dean is out of harm’s way, first. Amara breaks away and he looks like he’s going to be sick. She hears it before you do: the clamor of anxious voices beats at you like the relentless banging of pots and pans inside your head. You follow her gaze, wincing at the sky. Angel Radio is back online. Your knees weaken for a fleeting moment and when you look back down at your prey, she’s looking at you.

She says nothing to Dean of your presence. Your heart sprints like a jackrabbit; you know how powerful she is. You’ve seen her wrath, and you alone have no chance. But you knew that coming here.

Now she’s toying with Dean, and you can no longer think clearly. Trying with all of your might to decipher what the Angels are saying, you catch only bits and pieces - but they’re enough. You know exactly what they’re planning.

Trouble is, so does Amara.

All at once, Dean’s gone. “Come out of hiding,” she calls to you with her pointy cheekbones and deadly jawline in her toxic, velvety voice .

Your nails dig into the palms of your hands as you reveal yourself, staring straight at her as you walk her way.

“Well, isn’t this something,” she snickers when she sees that Death has a new face. “The little lost puppy pines after a man who could not care less about her. A mortal, no less. Rejected by a mortal... that’s impressive.”

She could destroy you without so much as a flick of her wrist, even as your blood boils to dangerously potent levels in your veins. She knows it; you know it. The thumping of the jackrabbit inside your chest rivals the maddening noise of the Angels coming from above.

“It’s a lost cause, sister. Dean and I are bound. When he’s with me, he forgets that you even exist.”

“You don’t deserve him,” you say through gritted teeth.

Her expression does not change. “Tell me, Angel: where is my Brother?”

The racket Upstairs pierces your eardrums. “Stay away from Dean.”

The crook of her mouth twitches with a smirk before the energetic presence of the convening Angels steals her attention. She looks toward the sky, one eyebrow arched in an almost awed curiosity. You feel it, too; the power emanating from above fills you with resolve. The wind drops away and everything becomes quiet and still for just one moment; then, on cue, you muster all of your boiling anger and with one powerful heave, throw everything you’ve got as the smiting surges down on her from Heaven.

It’s the last thing you see.