Descend

Clara Monroe died April 15, 2005. Afterwards she became a guardian and watched over the hunter, Dean Winchester, a man constantly haunted by dark memories and regretful past. When she falls for him, she must decide between staying in heaven, or sharing the same hellish fate as him.

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2. Angels Are Real

Everything was black and then I heard the bang. The deafening bang shattered the silence around me that that was only broken by the rustling of the trees and the chirping of the midnight summer's bugs.

The first response was to run, run away from the problem and hope that it doesn't come back. That's when I felt him. I could feel the hunter following close behind me as I ran away from him: the killer.

The dark figure shot another bullet at me and I ducked, running under a tree, shaking. The man tackled me from the side and got on top of me. Cold medal touched my head as I looked up at him breathing hard. I knew who he was.

Dean Winchester, the hunter that I had been watching for the past few months.

"Who are you?!" he screamed, pressing the gun further again his head.

He had merciless green eyes that could pierce any soul down to the bone. His hair was short and brown and he wore some kind of necklace around his neck.

"Answer me!" he yelled - pressing the gun against my skull and hovering his finger over the trigger.


"C-Clara," I answered timidly. He watched me, his teeth still gritted but his eyes less cold.

He started going through his bag, holding me down by my neck with one hand. The man pulled at a small rum bottle with a cross engraved on it out of his bag. Dean opened the lid of it and spilled holy water on me. It didn't hurt.

I was an angel. Holy water only hurts demons.

I looked up at him and he slowly took his arm off of me.

"Why have you been following me?' he asked, a harsh tone still in his groveling voice.

"I'm your angel, Dean"

His serious face quickly turned into amusement. "You have got to be kidding me." he tilted his head back and laughed.

What was wrong with him?

"There's no such thing as angels." he said, his face once again serious.

"Well believe it," I roll my eyes and stand up. He lets me and I peer at him. Crossing my arms, I walked over to him. "If I wasn't an angel, could I do this?" Lightning struck behind me and illuminated our surroundings. Wings, dark black graceful shadows, appeared behind me, spread far apart.

He backed up and stared at my wings.

He nodded, his eyes remained wide. "Okay... Point taken."

____

"what do you mean you brought home an angel?" Sam asked behind the closed door. "You told me that they were fake." There was a pause of silence and then Dean said something in his deep voice.

"I was wrong. She really is an angel." Footsteps followed and I moved my ear off of the door staring up at the sky and whistling.

"You can stop listening and come in now," Dean said and opened the door for me. I walked into the small motel room and looked around at the space. There were clearly two different people living there because one side of the room was clean with the bed fixed and the other one dirty and held beer cans on the dresser. All over the walls hung pictures of random people that were connected by a piece of green thread.

I walked inside, curious about the things hanging on the wall and ran my hand over a thread that connected the faces of an old man and a young girl with blond hair.

"So what's you name?" Sam, the younger brother asked me, his voice soft.
"Clara," I replied without looking up from the pictures on the wall. One of the articles on the wall had the title "Miracle Town" and another "Angels are Real" Carefully I took the article "Angels are Real" from its place on the wall already clustered with papers.

It read:

This town has just been overflowing with miracles! George Yankello was healed of blindness yesterday night. "I was just sitting on my bed, you know, and then I felt this wind all around me," reported Yankello. " ,......"

"Clara? Clara," Sam asked, looking at my curiously.

"yeah?" I turned around and looked at him. He blinked a few times and raised his eyebrows.

"So are you really what Dean said you were?" he asked. His long brown hair fell into his face and he swiped it to the side.

"Yeah. I am." I nodded and looked back at Dean, who was watching me contently, his arms crossed over his chest. "And I think I can help you."

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