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Helen	By : FemmeBono Category: Supernatural > Het - Male/Female Views: 1628 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor its characters, and I make no money from this.

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Cht. 2
Helen came to slowly, amid the warmth of a crackling fire in the ground floor study. She dared not shift, wondering which of the newly awakened celestial beings had placed her here and for what purpose. She cast her gaze across the Savonnerie rug and silently tried to regulate her breathing again. There, in the firelight, with a raging storm lashing against the French doors behind him, sat Gabriel.
He was heedless of the wind and rain pattering against the glass as he swirled one of her father's finest brandies in a snifter and inhaled as if it were the sweetest nectar. One of her dad's hand-rolled Cubans sat on the end table beside him, perched on an ashtray with the fragrant smoke curling into the air. He lounged as though he had no further aim than to spend the rest of his existence in the Louis XV armchair.
"I was wondering how long you'd be out," he said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled and finally looked her way. Helen shifted, trying to figure out how he had realized she was awake. "It's interesting watching you sleep," he continued. "You sort of sigh and rub your feet together before you roll over."
Having no rejoinder for this, she said simply, "how long was I out?"
"About two hours," he glanced over his shoulder, "long enough for the worst to pass."
To be sure, even though the wind whipped strongly around the sides of the house, the rain had slowed and the thunder had dulled to a distant rumble.
"That was quite a storm you whipped up," he said, drawing her attention from the doors. "How long have you done magic?"
"I could do things for as long as I can remember," she replied, tugging off the throw draped over her. "I wasn't initiated though until I was thirteen."
"Wow," he whistled long and low, "initiations. That's pretty old school."
"The oldest," she grinned wryly. "My parents are both descendents of a very long line of ceremonial magicians and necromancers. I had ancestors at Delphi and Glastonbury--before it was Glastonbury."
"Impressive," Gabriel replied, the fire warming his whiskey colored eyes.
"Sorry to be brusque, but�," she trailed off, trying to phrase the question in a way that could not be construed as offensive.
"Why am I still here?" he smirked, quirking a brow.
"Yes," she gasped out a laugh. "You do know why I called you all back, don't you?"
"I believe it would have to do with the Leviathans, yes?" the raised brow remained in place. "I'll get in the game eventually. For now I'll let my brothers, and sister, slay a few of those mouthy mooks. For now I'm a little more interested in you."
"Me?" Helen sat up straighter. "What in the world for?"
"Well�for a start: do you know why you were called to collect on these snazzy little vessels of ours? Thanks for mine, by the way, it looks very much like the one I left."
"Of course," she replied, settling back. "It's all in the bloodlines. As to why I got you, I had a prophetic dream--a series of them actually--of you all and how you were killed off and sent back to your Source. It showed me where you were, across the river, beyond the veil� And I had other dreams as well, I knew in them that these would be the newest vessels in the same lineage--ones that would most reflect the vessels you'd lost. My dreams showed me how to track them down and how to summon your essences back from beyond."
"Yeah I get that you were given the scoop on dragging us back to this marble but don't you want to know why you of all the magicians out there--I mean aside from your impressive resume--why you got picked for the job?"
Helen wrinkled her forehead at that. She had never questioned the motivations of the Source that fed her visions. "I don't know," she said haltingly, a foreboding feeling telling her that he knew already. "Why was I chosen?"
"Because you're a carrier," he smiled slowly as he tipped the snifter up for another sip.
"A what?"
***
Helen glided across the marble floor of the foyer and stepped into the recessed area of her parents' sitting room before crossing to the breakfast nook in the rear of the house. Her parents, punctual as ever, sat sharing the Times over grapefruit and toast. Every morning at six they sat reading each other bits from the paper, until precisely six-thirty, when they rose to finish getting ready for the day. By seven they would be out the door, chauffeured to mid-town and checking their day planners. Helen hated to tell them, but their schedules were about to go directly off kilter.
"There she is," Mrs. Morgan said as she rose to kiss her daughter's cheeks. "How was your weekend, dearest?"
"It was�eventful," Helen hedged as she bussed her father's cheeks as well, before dropping into the chair across from her mother. "We need to talk."
"Oh?" he asked, bushy brows raised and a twinkle sparking his piercing blue eyes. "What is it, my own, have you gone and fallen madly in love at last?"
"Don't Irish up on me, Daddy, it's not that kind of 'eventful'," she admonished. "I did some, uh, conjuring this weekend."
"Well now! Is that what the ruckus was that we felt from this side of Manhattan all the way to Montauk?" he crowed. "Good on ye girl!"
"Donovan, really," lilted her mother. "What, may I ask, was worth raising such a fearsome gale?"
This last she directed at her daughter, fathomless brown eyes lined with worry for her only child.
"Well, Momma," Helen said, suddenly unsure of how to begin. "I--er--I brought back the Watchtowers."
"You--" spluttered her father before Leda shushed him gently.
"Go on," her mother urged calmly, though her supple olive skin blanched a bit at the mention of such powerful beings having been raised from the dead by a mere human.
"I'd been getting those dreams for ages--I'd told you I knew where the vessels were," she said, gathering courage as her mother visibly settled and her father remained silent. "That's why I've been wandering like the lost these past few weeks. I tracked them down one by one, and not very easily convinced them to come along for the ride--"
"That must have taken some doing, I must say," interjected her father.
"You have no idea," she continued, "but I brought them, nonetheless, to the Hamptons house: a doctor, a soldier, a philosophy professor, and� well, a sort of jack of all trades."
"And what precisely did he do?" her father queried.
"If I'm not mistaken, he was something of a con artist," Helen laughed.
"You find that funny?" her mother pursed her mouth. "The man preyed on people for their money�"
"Well, he sort of�took advantage of people who had it coming," she said. "After a fashion. But that's neither here nor there. The point is, he came, so did they, and the ritual worked."
"So the nasty buggers that those boys of John Winchester's unleashed upon us can be vanquished at last, is that the long and short of it?" he father jutted his chin at the thought of the boys. He was firmly of the opinion that they were nary too old to have their butts swatted, or their jaws socked, come to that.
"Daddy," Helen shook her head as if reading his thoughts and he narrowed his eyes, as he didn't put it past her.
"Well," he blustered, "it's a mess they made of the world."
"With the choices they were given," Leda cut in, raising her hand to stifle him. "Now, Helen, this is not why you came so early this morning. What is troubling you about the deed? It is done, is it not? I assume that it worked, how could it not with them willing?"
"Yes, it worked," she said, finally coming to the crux. "I just-- he told me something about myself I want verified. I want to know if it could be true."
"He?" Leda asked.
"Gabriel, the archangel."
"What in the world did he say, precious?" Donovan asked warily.
"He said I received the visions because I am a carrier."
"Carrier?" Leda asked. "I don't--Donovan?"
Donovan's brows furrowed. "Carrier? As in, a vessel yourself?"
"No, Daddy, he said specifically, 'carrier' and not a vessel. He did make that distinction."
"And he didn't tell you himself what one is?" her mother asked contemplatively.
"Oh, and he wouldn't, would he?" groused her father. "Sodding angel speak�I'll be looking into it straightaway." And huffing loudly, he roused himself up and marched up the back stairs to his library. If there was one thing Donovan Morgan knew, it was research.
"Well, rest assured, if there is an answer your father will find it now," her mother reassured her with a tentative smile. "Now tell me what you felt. Did you sense him misleading you, or something dark in his presence?"
"No, my instincts about him are that he is inherently good. Shifty, with maybe a bit of a yellow streak, but good nonetheless. He wasn't lying when he told me what I am. His presence didn't waver or blotch. And he's an angel, so his aura is sharp, vibrant. In fact, when he told me I felt like I'd had a part of me uncovered. Like something unfurled inside me. I can't explain it."
"Like you had just set your feet on your path?"
"Yeees," she nodded slowly. "That's it exactly. Like it just clicked. So when he wouldn't tell me it just made me frustrated, not suspicious."
"Angels are so cagey and they hedge answers like no one's business. Truly I think they just like to draw it out." She smiled thinly and reached across the table to pat her daughter's hand. "Don't worry, precious, we'll sort it out."
Helen nodded her head mutely and let her mother's peaceful presence pacify her for a while. As soon as she left though, Helen would put more feelers out and begin some research of her own.
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Helen