Alter’s source work, author and character:Supernatural, Eric Kripke; Castiel Character Journal name: ~punished Character Name: Isobel Hughes Character Age: 23 Character Played By:Blake Lively Alter Played By:Misha Collins
Character History and Personality:
Have you seen me?
The fliers papered the small English town less than a day after Robert and Natalie Hughes reported the abduction of their nine month old daughter, Isobel. The abduction was smooth enough that no one noticed that anything was amiss until Natalie turned back to the shopping trolley to find her daughter missing. The officers that first arrived on scene reported that Natalie said she simply stepped away to grab something down the aisle as she didn't want to maneuver her cart down the aisle for one thing, and she had done so before with no problem. Thirty seconds, she said. That's all she was gone. But it was long enough for the blonde haired, blue eyed girl to disappear.
The ensuing investigation went no where quickly. Fliers papered the town and its surrounding cities, the child's face showing up on missing children sites throughout the UK, but if anyone had any information on the infant's whereabouts, they weren't coming forward with it. Experts came forward with opinions that this wasn't simply a random abduction, a chance taken with next to no planning. This had been planned, and hope that they would learn of the girl's whereabouts began to fade as days turned to weeks, to months, and eventually years.
In truth, Isobel hadn't been taken that far away. Her name was Elisabeth and she had been a nurse at the hospital that Robert and Natalie had gone to when Isobel was born. Originally from Ireland, the young woman had instantly become infatuated with Baby Hughes. Blonde hair the colour of sun-bleached straw, blue eyes like the most beautiful of oceans, a voice called out to her that this was her child, not theirs. Infatuation turned to obsession, and it wasn't long before the young nurse was making plans to take what she felt belonged to her.
It went off without a hitch, and by the day after she had spirited Isobel out of the grocery store her mother had left her unattended in, the pair were deep into the Irish countryside, settling onto property that her family had owned for many generations. It was secluded, a cottage near the sea, the nearest neighbor several kilometers away. And it had been so long since anyone here had seen her, that her showing up with a child was strange. Many people came back to their homes after having children, after all, and Elisabeth was simply another of those.
In that secluded seaside cottage, Isobel was raised as Elisabeth's daughter, and Elisabeth was careful to keep her daughter secluded from every other person in the area. The seclusion served two very important purposes for Elisabeth: it kept Isobel to herself, because Elisabeth was a selfish woman who did not share easily, and it kept prying neighbors from making any sort of connection between Isobel and the missing girl back in England.
The years went by and Isobel blossomed into a girl brimming with curiosity about the world around her. She was full of questions, some of which that Elisabeth had a hard time attempting to answer. The books told stories of children with parents, of children who went to school and had adventures, and Isobel wanted to know why she wasn't like them. Where was her father? Why did she have to stay home? Initially, Elisabeth refrained from answering with anything other than Your father isn't here because he's a bad man, and I keep you here to keep you safe from him, but after a while, even that wasn't enough. There were promises to be careful, if only she could play with other children, promises that she would be a good girl, couldn't she go outside and play on the beach?
With a little thought and a little planning, the answer later morphed into the simple fact that the reason Isobel could not go out there was because the world was very dangerous. Not just her father, but everyone. Monsters hiding in the water, bad people lurking in the shadows who wanted to do her harm. And only she could keep her safe. Tales of the horrible things in the world were wove together for the young, impressionable girl, and with no other source of knowledge other than what was spoon fed to her, carefully sanitized and filtered, Isobel was left with no choice other than to trust. To believe.
The years went on and Isobel grew to be a beautiful young woman, and untainted by the world beyond the seclusion Elisabeth offered, she was pure in a way that was almost unheard of. Elisabeth continued to foster that purity in the abducted girl, building her up onto a pedestal of perfection. This was her ultimate achievement, the reason the gods had sent this child to her so long ago. Her birth parents couldn't have done this, no. They would have spoilt the girl, ruined her, tainted her. No, only Elisabeth could have achieved perfection with the girl she fostered and kept under her wing.
It was just after Isobel's eighteenth birthday that the tower of perfection and purity Elisabeth had built their lives upon started to crumble. A pain in her abdomen, sharp and shooting, one that was not alleviated by any methods that Elisabeth had at her disposal. Isobel attempted to help, to bring down the fever with cool cloths and loving attention, but when the pain grew sharp and Elisabeth no longer found herself able to keep food down, she knew she had to do something. A cab was called, and with a growing sense of fear and anxiety, Elisabeth kissed Isobel goodbye with a promise to return as soon as she was better. Eat well, she instructed her. And don't let anyone in the house.
Remember. Never let anyone in the house. You must promise me that!
The fervent quality of her mother's words, egged on with fever and weakness, left Isobel with no choice other than to agree. So she bid her farewell and watched the cab take the only mother she had known to places she did not know of. And Isobel was left to wait.
For two weeks she sat and she waited, hours spent at the window, waiting for Elisabeth to return, but no one came. The food that had been left behind started to dwindle until there were only crackers and cheese remaining, and it was then that Isobel knew she had to do something. She had been told to wait, and she had. She had for as long as she could, but she could not sit here and starve. She was sure that Elisabeth would not want that for her. So Isobel gathered a few things in one of the bags her mother used to collect vegetables from the garden. A few items of clothing. The cheese, wrapped in paper, the crackers in a cloth napkin. She wore no shoes, having never been given a pair by Elisabeth, but that was hardly enough to keep her inside where she might starve.
Those few things in hand, Isobel set off down the dirt road that led to their little cottage by the sea, in search of anyone who might be able to help. There was the worry, the anxiety that chewed at her insides, that she would run into one of the bad people that her mother had forever warned her about. Or maybe her father, the cruel man that Elisabeth painted verbal pictures of, the monster in her nightmares that sought to take her away, to hurt her and make her cry. She was barely an hour away from the cottage when the anxiety grew to be too much. She strayed from the road to the trees that lined it, to the grassy hills and rocks that gave her places to hide.
Isobel could remember asking her mother to go outside. To go beyond the borders that Elisabeth had set for her. But now, out in the open, without a border, without anyone else to help her, she found herself more scared than she had ever been in her life. The world was too big, and she knew too little about it, not even the name of the place she had come from. She wanted to go back home, where she knew every knook and cranny of the cottage, where nothing came as a surprise. She wanted to be back in her room with the sun streaming through the windows, not out here where there was too much air, too much grass, too much everything.
A local man found her three days after she had left the cottage, curled up against a large rock with only a thin blanket for warmth. She was hungry and more than a little frightened, but kind words and warm hands coaxed her into a car and to the nearest town for help. For a long while, Isobel said nothing to the people that were gathered around her with questions she didn't know how to answer. There were men and women in white coats, men and women in what she recognized to be police uniforms, and all of them had questions. Bits of what she knew were carefully given. Her name was first, the name of her mother, her age, but that was all she knew for certain. The information given at first puzzled the doctors and officers given that there was no record of the girl in any of their systems. But something nagged at one of the officers, and after a bit of digging was done, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
This girl, frightened and naive about the world, was the infant that had disappeared from that grocery store some eighteen years prior. No one had ever imagined she would be found, the case long since cold and filed away. It was only a matter of hours before her parents were notified, her real parents, not the woman who had been masquerading as her mother for the entirety of the girl's life. There were hugs and kisses, a confusing homecoming for Isobel who had never known there was anything wrong. Elisabeth had not treated her cruelly, after all, and she had never imagined that there was anything else for her other than what had been given to her.
The months that followed were a whirlwind of activity for the young woman. There were doctors to see to make sure that she was healthy, detectives to talk to about the woman she had lived with, and when the day was over, there were the welcoming arms of her parents at home. Isobel hardly knew what to do with the flurry of people that surrounded her, having spent the bulk of her life with only one other person. She nodded and smiled, and answered the questions to the best of her ability, but it became clear to those that spent the most time with her that she was not taking the onslaught of attention well.
More and more time was spent in seclusion, wandering the town that her parents called home, the pull of the parks and wooded areas a siren's call. Out there, it was quiet, peaceful, almost like home - because that's what she still considered the cottage she had grown up in. Of course, she told her parents and everyone that asked that home was with them, the people that had made her, created her, but in her heart, home was someplace quite different. It was hard to settle, to deal with the attention, the eyes that were always on her. But she coped the best she could, turning to pigments and paints to drown out the world, something she had loved to do as a child when Elisabeth would allow her. Watercolours and oils, charcoal and pastels, Isobel loved to create.
An innate instinct for colour combined with her very unique story soon saw word of Isobel's interest in the arts spread throughout the country. The stacks of canvases and rolled papers that had filled the Hughes' household soon started to thin out as people sought a piece of art by the young woman. The attention was unexpected, and unlike the attention over the abduction, Isobel did not mind this as much. This was about her, about what she had done, what she could do, and less about what had happened to her. She didn't want to be defined by her past, but by what she could create in the future. So this? This she could soak up, this she could work with.
It wasn't long before interest in Isobel's art spread past the UK's borders, and before long, collectors and interested parties throughout the world were looking to purchase an Isobel Hughes original. The money rolled in, and her parents were quick to put it away for the daughter they barely knew, the daughter who had no concept of money besides the fact that people were willing to give it to her in exchange for something she adored.
Shortly after Isobel's twentieth birthday, two years since she had be found in the Irish countryside, she told her parents that she needed to go. There was confusion, at first, as to what she meant, but Isobel calmly explained to them that she needed to travel. To explore the world. To see the things that she had missed out on living in the same cottage for eighteen years. Of course, her parents were reluctant to give in to her desires, though they really had no way of stopping her should she insist. But they were protective of her, selfish with her time given all the years they had lost, but they knew that keeping her caged up was no better than the woman who had kept her to herself for so many years.
So even though they were wary of granting her wish, they knew that it was for the best. Give her freedom to fly and the chance that she would return was greater than that if she saw the need to escape.
Isobel knew she was taking a chance in leaving, but the itch under her skin, the need to breathe and get out was greater than it had ever been. But her parents agreed, and she loved them for it. The months that followed were spent planning and preparing, educating their daughter in everything they could think of to prepare her for being on her own. Of course, they would be only a phone call away, easy to reach no matter what, but they didn't want to hold the leash too tight upon her. Luggage and clothing, maps and books, phone, computer, and plenty of money from the sale of her art, and Isobel was ready to leave nearly six months after she had first asked.
Since then, Isobel has spent her time traveling, flitting from city to city, though she rarely stayed more than a handful of weeks in any given location. Eventually, she jumped the pond and ended up stateside, spending the better part of three months pestering her cousin, Simon, in Chicago. She traveled light, a suitcase of clothes, the tech gadgets her parents had given her before she left England, and plenty of paper and pens, pencils, inks, pastels, and paints to create.
Without her parents around to tether her to the ground, Isobel's curiosity about the world has showed no sign of quieting. There is no lack of confidence, no shyness to hold her back from approaching people and situations with an open mind who just wants to experience all the things that she couldn't while living in that Irish cottage. It's lead her to be more than a little reckless, but she's proven that she has enough common sense to keep herself out of life-threatening situations.
Isobel's been in Las Vegas for the last couple of months, the sale of her paintings putting her up at Turnberry Towers. It wasn't until recently that the journal and key arrived, however, and now that she has it, a plethora of questions have risen in her head. Something else to be curious about, something else to discover and experience. It's likely that Isobel will attack it with the same sort of passion about discovery that she attacks everything else around her.
Alter: Castiel is a bonafide angel hailing from heaven. Though he first came to Earth after rescuing Dean Winchester from the grips of hell, he has proceeded to stay around in order to help the Winchester brothers in their fights against various demons and other otherworldly creatures. As an angel from heaven, he comes with a host of supernatural powers, and though Castiel often comes off as a being with very little emotional scope, the longer he stays among those he has met on Earth, the more and more human he has become.
As his relationship with Sam and Dean progresses, particularly with Dean, he becomes more aligned with the brothers than he is with his own brethren, going so far as to kill angels in order to protect the pair. This protectiveness he displays towards the pair is just another side of that human part of him that is becoming more and more apparent as the months go by. Castiel displays a certain fascination and confusion towards this thing called humanity, and at times is almost childlike in his innocence towards such things. But one can never mistake this childlike wonder as someone who is weak, because Castiel is anything but weak, particularly when it comes to the path he has chosen in helping out the Winchester brothers.
Castiel has found himself with several people from Las Vegas, but it's doubtful that any of them will prepare him for the free-spirited Isobel Hughes. She's a far cry from Julian with his stability and focus, but there's likely quite a bit about being human that Castiel can learn from the girl. Isobel, on the other hand, may find herself with some needed guidance and words of wisdom from the angel in her head, but whether the two will find a way to work together or clash indefinitely is difficult to tell right now.
Journal/Key: Castiel's journal is a top of the line iPhone 5. Sleek, silver, and high-end, confusing for the angel, at ease in the hands of the human. The key is heavy and silver, etched with Enochian runes.
Elisabeth: Doesn't necessarily have to be the woman who she was taken by, but an antagonistic force in Isobel's life that works to mold her into something of their vision instead of her own. The Patrons: Isobel has turned into a somewhat prolific artist in some circles. People interested in her art or those who have been to the gallery showings she's had throughout the past couple of years. The Winchesters: Through the door, self-explanatory. In Vegas, friends and cohorts.