She wakes with a start, two huge guys standing over her, and her first instinct is to strike out, get an edge on her attackers, get away. But her body isn't listening to what her head is saying, and all she manages to do is sit up and ask where she is, a thick slur to her voice.
"Hey, it okay," one of the guys insists, helping her sit up.
No, no, something's wrong. If she could only figure out what...
"Cas," the shorter one asks, "what happened?"
Cas... Castiel. Ah, crap. She'd kind of hoped that hadn't actually happened.
"I'm not Castiel," she says slowly, standing up. "I'm... God, I'm me again."
"Who's me?" the short one asks suspiciously, looking her over.
"Casey," she says. "I'm Casey Novak."
They take her away from the wrecked building, stuff her with fast food, and then ask for her story. God, it's been months, maybe a year since then. But it still feels like yesterday.
Disbarred. She laughs weakly to herself, and takes another drink. Disbarred, for trying to get some goddamned justice for those girls.
Where's the justice in that?
God, what a tragic pity party she's throwing for herself here. But what can she do? Prosecution was her career, her life. She was good at it, good at getting dirtbags put away for the awful things they did.
And now... what can she do now? God, if there was some way... but she can't move out of state, and no one will hire her now.
Her television flickers, starts blaring static, though she's sure it was off a moment ago.
And then... she hears a voice. The answer to her drunken prayers.
What the hell, it's not like I have anything left here, she thinks, and consents.