I watched. And watched. And watched. I watched angels fall. I watched people scream, or video in awe. I watched some get up, dust themselves off, and walk away. I watched some limp. I watched one die. He landed alive, and not too far from me again, so I rushed to him to help. His face was pained as he tried to crawl out of the hole his crash-landing had created. I moved towards him, offering a hand to help him, and he took it. He took it and tried to get out, tried to get up, but even I could see that he wouldn't. He was too damaged, too hurt.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, still trying to help him up when he had given up. His eyes, a dark gold, looked so tired and scared.

"Sit with me." He whispered. "Please." I did as he asked, and sat beside the dark-haired angel. He did his best to sit up, but couldn't, so he accepted his fate to lie down. I still held his hand, and he gripped mine as tightly as he could.

Angels didn't die. I don't think they even feared death.

But now this one did, and he was more terrified than I've ever seen a person before. So tired, and at the same time so scared and accepting. That was how I knew he was an angel. He was absolutely terrified of death, the death looming over him, but he was still so calm about it. So…. At peace.

"What is your name?" He asked me. I didn't bother with the fake one, didn't bother with Kai. This angel was about to die. He deserved to at least know my real name.

"Kylie." I answered, squeezing his hand comfortingly. He coughed, looking up at the stars above us.

"That is a nice name." He said. "You are a good human, are you not?"

"I try to be." I looked over at him and smiled. He was still staring at the stars. "What's your name?"

"Ezekiel." He barely got the words out. Then he focused on me, and the terror left his face, as did the calm. Now there was only confusion. "You were brought back," he whispered, raising a hand to my face. "Why were you brought back? Who brought you back?"

"I… I…" I felt it all come to me at once. The gunshot. The stab. The laughter. The brothers. Castiel.

Castiel. He was an angel. Was he dying, too, like this one?

"You have been brought back for a purpose." Ezekiel decided. I focused back on him, trying to fight my own fear. "You know what I am. You know of angels."

"Yes." I told him, gripping the hand at my cheek. It was dirty and grimy and stained with blood, but I didn't care. Ezekiel wasn't just an angel; he was a person, a person dying in excruciating pain, and nobody deserved to die alone like that.

"Then make sure they remember who I am." He requested, returning his gaze back to the stars. "Make sure the others, they know I tried to get out, that I didn't just disappear; Make sure my brethren know I died, instead of running like a coward."

Ezekiel closed his eyes, and his hand fell heavy in to my own.

"I will." I promised, laying it across his chest. I folded the other across as well, so that he was there with some sort of dignity; so that whoever found him didn't find a broken man, though his bones certainly were, but an angel at rest.

Then I stumbled away as it all fully came at me. I had just watched an angel die. Angels were falling and dying.

I had been dead.

Crowley had shot me.

Castiel hadn't been able to heal me.

I'd been dead.

.

.

.

I'd been dead.

I'd told Castiel not to bring me back, just to visit me. I knew I'd told him that.

"I was dead." I whispered, letting my hands hit against a rough brick wall. I had no idea where I was. A quick search of my pockets told me I had no money, no phone, and no wallet. I'd had my wallet with me when I'd died. I had been so certain we'd win; I'd brought it so I could show the asshole the faces of my family.

But we hadn't won.

And I had nothing except the clothes on my back.

I rooted around me for spare change, for a fallen dollar, for anything. I just needed a little bit of money, enough to make a call. I needed to find a phone booth. I needed to know where I was.

Danny.

I could call Danny, and she could tell me where I was, and I could head over to her little place and regroup there. Danny had helped me out before. She had told me I could stay whenever I'd needed. I'd never taken her up on the offer before; I'd always been too afraid of dragging her in to my mess. But now…

Angels were falling.

I had been dead.

I think I was justified in calling her.

After a few hours of searching around, I finally got enough money to make two calls. One to Danny, and one to Dean. Dean would know what was going on. Dean would know what to do.

I called Danny first, though, and waited. "Come on, pick up!" I whispered urgently, looking around. It was so dark at the payphone, and there was nobody around. Run-down houses smashed together side by side, yes. Familiar landscapes or markings, no. Places or people to borrow money from, no.

Eventually, I got a message saying the line was disconnected, and my blood ran cold.

I hung up quickly, and didn't even think about calling Dean. Danny always answered her phone. She ALWAYS did, no matter what. If the number was disconnected, something was wrong.

I called Rodriguez. Danny had helped him out a lot, and given him a phone with burner minutes. Rodriguez would answer, would know why Danny's phone wasn't working.

He answered on the third ring, and I let out a sigh of relief. "Rod! Hey, it's Kai. I called Danny earlier, and it said her number was disconnected. Do you know what happened?"

"My friend," his voice was so heavy, so sad, I knew his next words before he said them.

"Danny está muerto." He said.

Danny is dead.

"What happened to her?" I asked, gripping the payphone so hard I feared the plastic would break.

"It was a bloodbath in her apartment." He explained. "Computers smashed, everything ruined. La policía, they believe it is work of a new serial killer." I could hear how close he was to crying. I was, too. Danny hadn't been homeless, but she'd hated how her parents acted towards the homeless. She was always trying to do good for people.

"Thank you for telling me." I told him. "Did you go by her apartment?"

"Sí."

I had to ask. I had to know. I remembered the smell myself. "Did it smell like rotten eggs or sulfur or anything?"

"Sí, muy mucho." His emotions were getting to him if more Spanish was coming out. I could hear his voice about to break.

"Gracias, Rodriguez." I thanked him. "Stay safe."

"Y tu, pequeña." He said. And you, little one.

I sunk to the ground, still in the payphone booth. Danny was dead; demons had gotten to her.

And it was my fault.