The Winchester Sister (COMPLETED)

Chapter Thirty

Castiel's POV

Asaya.

Amriel.

Asa.

The Winchester Sister.

The Winchester Angel.

The Winchester Girl.

Asaya Winchester.

Amriel Winchester.

My angel radio works again. I can hear them talking about her, every day. They talk about the girl who was born, almost died, rose again, died again, and rose again, before cutting out her Grace and removing her wings to become completely, entirely human. The girl no one can track. The rebellious angel-human.

I tried everything. I tried tracking every one of her cars and license plates, all of her badges and credit cards. I tried every trail I could possibly find. I tried tracking her note, but she's warded herself against the angels. Against me. I tried making deals with demons to find out her location, but she's warded against them as well. I tried asking around to see if anyone had seen a girl who fit either of her descriptions, her natural looks or her angel looks, but no one had seen anything. I checked the news for people with back or spinal damage in any country in the United States. I found people in Bozeman, Montana, Anchorage, Alaska, Huston, Texas, Sacramento, California, and Omaha, Nebraska. I checked out each one of them, and none of them were her, but the ones from Bozeman and Anchorage were already gone when I got there. I still don't have wings, despite Asa trying to give me hers, so I couldn't fly, but I did drive. The hospitals couldn't tell me where the one from Bozeman is, but the Alaskan one I found. Nothing. I'm tracking the one from Bozeman now.

The hospital from Bozeman didn't give me an address, but they did give me a credit card, a license plate, and a phone number from the person who checked the patient out. I got them to let me watch the security footage, and I found them. I didn't get a very good glimpse of Asaya, but I could tell she was several inches taller, she had a friend, and she was hurt, badly. She was in a wheelchair. The nurse gave me a description, as the footage was black and white.

About six three, hair dyed a mix of black, grey, white, and purple, eyes a shockingly light purple, skin a cinnamon brown color. I almost want to laugh. She's dyed her hair in asexual colors, her colors.

I find the plate on a library computer, hacking the security to get it to tell me where the car is. I track it to an address, 1507 Driftwood Drive in Bozeman, Montana.

I drive myself there, going about nine miles above the speed limit. According to one of the people I met at a homeless shelter, you can go nine miles above and get nothing but the second you reach ten it's 'red, white, and blue sirens on your tail.'

I knock on the door. The man from the security footage opens it.

I press him against the wall, my hand against his throat. "Where. Is. The. Girl?" I growl.

"What girl?" he chokes out. "I don't know any girls except my sister. I can show you to her, if you want. Her name is Abigail, and she lost control of her legs so she's in a wheelchair. Tease her about it and she will punch you. Don't say I didn't warn you," he says, sweeping open the door to reveal Asaya, just as the nurse described her, sitting in a chair and reading a book.

"Asaya Winchester," I say, making her look up. I watch her eyes, but they give up no signs of recognition, either of me or of the name. Her name.

"I think you have the wrong house," she says, making her voice slightly accented with what I think is a British accent. "My name is Abigail, and this is my brother Jackson. I hope we didn't do anything wrong."

I rush to her, putting my hand on her cheek, making her recoil. "Asaya, what have you done?"

"Excuse me? Take your hand off me mister, I want nothing to do with you," she says, the same fierceness I miss so much in her voice.

"Get away from my sister," the boy, Jackson, she called him, says.

I step back. Clearly they're going to go to the very end with this. "Fine, I will leave. Have fun ignoring your duty, Asaya, your duty and your family. Do you want me to tell your brothers about how you're alive, how you're lying to them?" I spit out the words, trying to make them sting.