Again, another Supernatural fic. I'm currently working really hard on my next Ten/Rose, but I got writer's block and this was born. Hope you all enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural.

FORGET ME NOT

Dean Winchester couldn't remember the last time he'd been this relaxed. Sighing happily to himself, the hunter sprawled out on his blanket, beer in hand, stretching in the grass as he over-looked the clearest lake he'd ever seen. He was surrounded by snow-capped mountains, their white turning a golden hue as the sun began to set. It was beautiful.

"Dean."

He turned, immediately coming face to face with a woman. Inches away from her, the hunter jumped, moving away slightly as his heart raced. "Jesus," he breathed.

"Not quite." She grinned at him, the thing lighting up her entire face as the hunter observed her: black, wavy hair that fell chest level; pale, perfect skin; big silver eyes adorned with thick black lashes and a pretty pink mouth to die for. She wore a crown of forget-me-nots and had pulled back the hair at her temples, leaving her visage completely visible to the young man as he noted her oversized, worn leather jacket, white sundress and bare feet.

"Hi," she said softly, smiling.

"Hi." His mood improved considerably and he moved closer to the girl, reaching for the other beer on his blanket. She was extremely attractive… and he had nothing to lose. "Beer?"

She nodded in thanks, taking the bottle from him gladly. He watched as she unscrewed the top and took a swig, sighing. "So," the hunter began, "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"Peace and quiet like this? I'd say you were, yeah."

"Right," he muttered, disappointed. "Which makes you… what? An angel? A prophet? You have to be here for a reason."

"I am," she replied, laying back. "I'm a protector. A messenger."

"For who?"

"God."

"God?" the hunter repeated, dubiously.

She tilted her head to the side, looking at him quizzically. "Yes." A pause. "Look, I don't ask questions… I just saw an opportunity, and I took it."

"An opportunity for what?"

"To meet you. To actually flesh and blood, meet you."

The hunter frowned, moving away cautiously. "Who are you?"

And then she was hurt. He didn't recognize her? "Your girl," she murmured softly.

Dean was stuck between letting her know that he had many girls, and letting her believe that until later. "Okay," he started, "my girl. You got a pretty name to go with that pretty face?"

She shook her head, moving towards him as she answered: "No. But even if I did… I'm not sure it'd be a good idea to tell you. I'm supposed to stay way from dangerous men."

Dean smirked, hands coming to rest on her hips as she straddled him. " Who says I'm dangerous? Sweetheart, I'm the nicest guy you'll ever meet."

She raised a brow, biting her lip as he leaned forward, their noses brushing. "And apparently, the most modest."

"Modesty's overrated." He paused. "…How can you not have a name?"

"My master never gave me one."

"Master?"

"All of my kind have them."

"And do you have to…?"

She raised a brow, fingers running through his hair as she smirked. "Are you asking if I'm a sex slave?" She kissed him immediately after that, not leaving time for his answer. Dean groaned, hands gripping her hips as she pressed herself to him. "I'm not, you know. Just so we're clear."

"Then why are you, um, why are you here, again?" Dean asked, flustered and distracted as she dragged her lips across the flesh of his neck teasingly.

"I told you," she breathed. "I'm a messenger. Think Hermes without the ridiculous footwear." The hunter's response was another groan so the woman merely smirked and continued with her ministrations, her fingers working deftly with the button and zip of his jeans. "Baby," he rasped in a kiss, "I will take so much better care of you than your dick master ever could. And that's a promise."

She shrugged, giving him a light kiss, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip. He inhaled sharply. "He's not a dick," she answered, "not truly."

"If I was him, I'd set you free."

"I can't be set free. I will always be owned. If not, I waste away to nothing. But we're getting off topic." She pressed her mouth to his for the third time, pulling away with a little smirk that drove the hunter crazy. "The message. Are you listening?"

He nodded, though more focused on her anatomy than anything else.

"You're not listening, Dean," she breathed into his skin, pressing her lips to his neck before she nipped at his skin. The hunter bit his lip.

"Well, you ain't exactly making it easy for me, sweetheart."

She pulled away, eyes dark and deep as she looked at him. "I'm sorry… I just can't help myself. We don't have much time."

He smirked, looking at her coyly as he playing with the hem of her shirt. "Much time for what?"

It lasted a second and a blissful forever. Tangled limbs, mouths and bare skin collided in clumsy and perfect chaos to create the single most pleasurable experience Dean Winchester had ever been privy to. She was perfect in every way, and he devoured her roughly and quickly, her smaller, more delicate body rising to meet him in every which way. All previous thoughts that he had been scared to break her evaporated as she gave back as good as she got.

As they lay together on the blanket after, their bodies smelling of sweat and carnal pleasure, Dean's curiosity overwhelmed him. Was she supposed to sleep with him? Had he just agreed to some kind of deal? Was this a trick?

After all, he doubted that God of all things would send his dream woman to bed him.

"Who's your master?" the hunter asked softly, fingers tracing her bare arm. The girl looked up at him, biting her lip as if she wasn't sure she should say. After a moment, however, she spoke: "You."

Dean felt like he'd been doused with a bucket of cold water. He moved back as her eyes and what appeared to be her very essence dulled, his fingers reaching out to him before she stopped herself. "What?" If she had told him the truth from the beginning, it would have been different. He would have accepted her with open arms… But by not telling him, by having sex with him and omitting the single most important detail about herself, she had lied to him. And if there was one thing Dean Winchester did not abide, it was liars.

"You, Dean. You're my master. I was sent to deliver a message, now please-"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I told you," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "I'm your girl. I'm home, Dean."

"I don't have a home."

And then her image flickered, and the flower child was gone. In her place stood a different woman. One with jet black, glassy hair and silver, almond shaped eyes. She wore a black leather jacket, a black tank top and black, skintight jeans, her feet laced up in combat boots. She was pale, and had multiple bracelets adorning her wrist including a charm bracelet with only three charms: a toy dinosaur, and two Legos. "I thought you would be more pleased with the other image."

"Stay back," he said, unsure how else to proceed. This wasn't a dream, this was a nightmare. He didn't own anybody, much less a woman who looked like his freaking car. He wanted to wake up… He just couldn't.

Slowly, the young woman shed her jacket, pointing out the tattoos and scratches on her body. The Devil's Trap on the small of her back, the initials S.W. & D.W. carved on the skin over her left ribs, the serial number tattooed on the inside of her right wrist. "I will always be your home, Dean," she said softly, "and I need you to hear me out."

The hunter stayed absolutely still, going against every instinct to hold her as the dark-haired woman placed a hand on his cheek, tears in her eyes. It may not have been hard for him, but this was the first and last time she'd ever truly see him. She, who had loved and protected him to the best of her ability since his mother had passed. She, who had been home.

"You need to fight," she told him, "no matter how bad it gets, you need to fight. You need to say no. And you need to put aside your needs for the greater good." A tears trailed down her cheek and the young woman could hardly bear it. Because she knew better than anyone what Dean Winchester had to sacrifice, and what sacrifices remained for him in the future. She was a finite entity with a short span of human manifestation… and, as such, had been privy to God's plan, if only to be put at ease that her hunter would make it out alive.

"I already know that."

She shook her head. "But you don't. This entire time, what have you been more concerned about: saving the world? Or saving your brother?"

No answer from the hunter and she smiled bitterly, shaking her head. "You know, I wish I could really exist like this. Be with you. Sammy. Bobby. Met Ellen and Jo. That ridiculously tight-ass angel Castiel. I wish I could have met your father and given him the slap he deserved, and had a conversation with your beautiful mother. But this is it for me, this is all God let me have: you, my wonderful golden boy, in a dream." She shrugged. "I'll take it." Her thumb stroked the skin of his cheek. "I am so proud of you, Dean," she murmured. "You are so much more than you will ever know, and it pains me to watch you suffer and doubt your worth. You are so much better than you lead yourself to believe."

Something rumbled in the distance and Dean looked past his girl, frowning as the skyline turned dark and crumbly. "You're waking up," the girl stated. Carefully, she leaned forward to kiss him, an act that made Dean warm down to the tips of his toes. The hunter looked at her as she pulled away, his own heart constricting in a way he didn't quite understand. A whisper: "Goodbye."

Dean gasped as his eyes opened, his chest tingling and warm as he sat up, ripping the covers from his body. Rubbing his eyes, the hunter groaned before looked at his hands curiously, touching and pinching his skin to be sure this wasn't a dream. It felt real.

Then again, so had she.

Looking down, the hunter pressed his fingers to the area over his heart where the imprint of a pair of lips had tattooed themselves on his skin in a golden glow, the light from the mark fading quickly.

Dean traced the area as is disappeared completely, looking out the window towards his car with a fondness he had previously never possessed.

She was his girl. She was home.