The rain had let up and the clouds had broken enough that a few slashes of starlight were allowed to pierce the night sky. Those few pinpricks of light did very little to light the long, winding stretch of highway, but that was fine with Dean, that's what headlights were for. He was driving far too fast to appreciate any of the misty Maine woods around his car anyways.
He still had no clue why Sam had moved out here when it was all over, something about a teaching job, and returning to nature or some shit like that that Dean did not buy for a hot second. His brother was hiding from his old life after the whole Devil's Gate close shave, and Maine seemed as good a place as any to do that- not that Dean could blame Sam for wanting a change- but seriously, Maine? Sam had even gone so far as to say he had given up on hunting, Dean had laughed so hard at that he almost spit out his beer. So what if they had closed the Gate and finally killed the son of a bitch that killed their mom? There was still evil in the world and a boy scout like Sam would be one of the last people to turn his back on those in need. But Dean had let him go and quietly kept tabs on his kid brother, always pouring an extra shot for himself when he heard through the grapevine about some hunter up north taking out some dark beasty. Sam was still working his ass off, just with a secret identity as a mild mannered history teacher.
And Dean let him, and silently envied the almost quiet life that Sam had built for himself, in his little house with its little yard and his normal day job.
When stuff had stated getting strange a year back, Dean had taken to checking in on Sam less and less. Bobby said he heard rumors of a war, something big and final and apocalyptical, and even though Dean never saw any of it first hand, he saw the bizarre aftermath of the whole thing. He had spent months speeding from one coast to the next, chasing rumors and feeling like it was all some sort of Winchester trap. There was less and less to hunt every week, he had more dry spells than he knew what to do with, it was as if hell had been closed up and the mommy and daddy monsters had stopped getting it on. Bobby and Sam had both suggested that with whatever invisible war that was raging, maybe all the baddies just had better things to do than eat or torment humans. But Dean kept working, even if the pickings were slim.
Dean was in the midst of a Led Zeppelin drum solo against his steering wheel when three dear rushed out and almost caused Dean to swerve off the road. He was standing on the breaks, swearing at the stupid things that just stood there in the middle of the highway, watching him with their vacant eyes, only feet away from his front bumper.
"Damn it. Go! Get out of here!" Dean's heart was still pounding against his ribs, but the overall panic was quickly ebbing away in light of the lack of danger.
Then the deer did something strange, not nightmare inducing strange, just… well, Dean should have taken more note of their strange movements, or perhaps not been blasting Moby Dick, he might have heard the odd noise from the sky. But Dean did not, instead he watched all three deer suddenly tilt their heads to the treetops, wide black eyes following a movement in an ark, before running into the woods once more. Dean had just enough time to slip his foot from the break to the gas before the thing hit his car, coming out of the misty, damp night, sailing like a stone and slamming into the hood of the Impala with a wet crunch.
"Fuck!" He articulated smoothly as he fumbled for the sawed-off under the seat and rolled out of his wounded car. It was a human-ish projectile, but Dean's eyes could not seem to focus on the shape of it, there were legs and arms, pale skin and night dark blood shining black in a smear down his windshield but it kept blurring in his vision, like he was trying to see it though a vale of smoke. Dean knew what it was, knew it was part of that same strange aftermath that he had been facing down for months.
He half turned away, looking down the stretch of road as it twisted and wound away into the trees and there it was, in the corner of his eyes he could see them. Wings. It was another Angel.
Sometime after the first few rumors of the war reached Dean, the damn things had started falling from the sky. They had looked to be shooting stars at first and no one paid them any mind, but Rufus had found one in a vampire nest, filthy, broken and being used as food. It had died shortly after the hunter had arrived, burned up in a halo of white light and the only proof that it had ever even been was the story the man had passed on to Bobby.
Dean had not believed it for a moment. Not that he doubted that the man had seen something, but an Angel? Yeah right. It didn't matter that Rufus had sworn up and down that the thing had big feathered wings; it was just too strange to believe. That was until Dean had been in Vermont hunting down a little coven of witches and he saw one for himself.
They had the thing tied up in the basement and had been using parts of it for spell work. Dean had killed all eight witches. He was normally against killing humans, it just never sat right with him, but what they had done to the thing was torture and that made them into monsters in Dean's book. The Angel looked just like Rufus had describe to Bobby, basically human. This one had been a bit short, but very male and human looking in Dean's opinion- he thought it was human until he was helping the poor dude up the stairs, being mindful of the bits of missing skin and careful not to step on his feet which were practically bereft of toenails, when out of the corner of his eyes he had seen the damn wings. They sort of hid in the light, blurring in and out of existence like they did not belong here on Earth but had nowhere else to go. It had been a strange night all in all. Dean still remembered it with violent clarity, because it was not every day that you have your beliefs rocked down to their foundations, or share a bottle of cheep vodka in a motel room with an Angel.
Dean lowered his gun, turning back to face his car and the mess on the hood. He had stumbled across four Angels in the past year, tonight made five and only the first one had lived. Tonight was also not looking like it would not be swaying the odds at all in his favor. He rolled the thing over, wanting to get it off his car before it did its neat little burning up trick, but he stopped. With the mess of wings that he could not quite see out of the way he was able to actually get a good look at the person who had landed on his car. It was male, square jaw and dark hair that may or may not have been a true black, it was just too dark out to tell for sure, however, it was most definitely still very much alive. The Angel was watching Dean, his eyes lit up white with pain and adrenaline, gritting teeth that were painted in blood and he hissed out pained breaths that came to fast and shallow.
And then Dean noticed that the things arms were bound, tied tight together at the wrists with yellow zip ties. This one had not fallen from heaven like the last few that Dean had come across; it had not streaked through the sky like a dying star to burn out on impact. This one was like the first, this one had been kept by someone here on Earth but this one had escaped.
Dean fumbled out his cell phone, keeping an eye on the Angel and speed dialing with shaking hands. "Sammy, come on. Pick up." He breathed into his phone as it rang and rang.
"Hello?"
"Sam, I need you."
"How much have you had to drink tonight, Dean?" Sam's voice was chuckling down the line.
"I'm about ten minutes from your house, out on eastbound five- near mile marker… forty-eight? Yeah, forty-eight." He was squinting, peeking through the dim glow of his headlights.
"What's wrong?" Suddenly the humor was gone from his voice, replaced with concern.
"Found an Angel-"
"Another one?"
"I think it's running from someone, and the condition it's in? It can't have come too far, Sam. I need back up."
There was the jingle of keys over the line, Sam didn't have any more questions. "I'll be right there."
"Hurry." Dean hardly had a chance to slide his phone back into his pocket before a godless noise came from the forest behind him. "Shit, shit, shit." He pulled out his knife and slit the zip ties, not having an extra moment to spare to appreciate the fact that the Angel seemed to have passed into unconsciousness and thus spared from having to see someone with a knife come at him or hearing the growing sound that could best be described as pure evil. Dean hoisted the Angel awkwardly into his arms and slid him unceremoniously into the back seat of the Impala, closing the door, hoping that it would be enough to keep the thing safe until Sam arrived.
It burst through the trees, low fog fleeing from the splintering wood and pounding feet. Dean swallowed hard and took up a shooting stance, shotgun leveled on the creature. It might have been a bear, when he would later describe it to Sam, he would call it a bear, but it was only for lack of a more fitting title. It was covered in matted fur, boney spines rising like little bloodied tombstones to march down its hunched and quivering shoulders. It did not seem to have eyes, just empty sockets that oozed. Dean saw a flash of teeth, too many teeth, far too many teeth, grey and rotted, crooked with bits of putrid flesh hanging between them. And Dean fired. He fired at the thing's face until the shotgun clicked empty and the thing did not stop coming. One massive paw like foot came for his face and someone was yelling his name and then there was nothing.
Dean woke from the pain, it was a unique way to come back to himself, agony opening him up like a white-hot collapsing star. He opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light around him. For a moment there was nothing other than the light and pain, but then he was remembering things in bits and pieces, stray flip-book pages that did not match up.
There was a whining sound, high pitched, but fading into a buzz that started to form a word, and surprisingly, the word was his name.
"Dean! Damn it, Dean, wake up." Rough hands found his shoulders and the pain intensified, but the blinding light dimmed enough to let him look up into his brother's face.
"The bear." Dean's voice was weak and threaded with pain. "Look out for the bear."
"What bear?" Hands were smoothing over his forehead, fingers probing and it was too much. Something was very wrong and Dean had just enough strength to turn his head to the side before vomiting up something that resembled his late dinner. "I think you might have a concussion." Sam sounded so sure of himself, Dean almost wished that he had not turned away. He hated when his brother got all high and mighty with the medical proclamations.
"The Angel," he spit out, "is it ok?"
"I think so- come on, let's get you off the road." And Sam was lifting him like a doll and Dean felt his stomach roll again, this time he did not miss and simply dry heaved against his brother's shoulder. "Come on, man. Keep it together." He said almost gently as Dean was settled into the back of Sam's Toyota Highlander.
"Don't let the bear get the Angel." Dean muttered and sank down between the front and back seats where feet were supposed to go. Everything hurt, but he did not seem to have enough adrenaline left to power through the pain and help his brother.
"Yeah…" and Sam shot him a strange look then left into the night that had opened up into a gentle sprinkling of rain that made the most pleasant sort of white noise to accompany the pounding in Dean's head. He felt himself slipping off the steep cliff of consciousness, the dark coming up to meet him, but there was yelling and the sound would not allow him to take that last clumsy step.
"Sam?" Fear was there, just under the surface, just enough to keep him awake for a moment. "Sam?!"
"He doesn't seem to like me." Sam's shaggy head peeked around the open car door.
"I- I don't fucking care. We can't leave it out here." His eyes did not want to stay open.
"Stay awake, Dean." Concern left deep creases on Sam's face, making him look much older than he was, and for some reason that was funny to Dean, so he smiled and agreed.
It was an easy promise to keep, as it turned out. The Angel really did seem to have something against Sam and fought him the whole way to the car and continued to rage against him while the younger Winchester tried to fold the creature into the backseat beside Dean. The Angel suddenly caught sight of Dean, slumped in the back and lunged at him. There was a short and awkward moment where Dean assumed that he was under the most feeble attack of his life, but then the creature was huddled against him, the blur of his wings beating franticly against the seats and ceiling, leaving dark smears of blood on the upholstery. The thing was protecting Dean, using the broken mess of its wings to try and keep Sam at bay.
"Dean? Can you tuck those things in somehow? I won't be able to drive with him doing that." Sam's voice sounded distant, and Dean knew that he was slipping away again, despite the weight clinging to his chest and the surprisingly feral sounds coming from it.
"Sure, Sammy." And he clumsily smoothed his hands over the broken wings, feeling bile rising in his throat at the sticky slickness of them. It was like petting a skinned animal, but the Angel stilled, staccato breath making blood bubble from his narrow nose. He swallowed thickly, his thin body thrumming with tension, never taking his eyes from Sam. Dean could see in the sickly white dome light that those eyes were a deep crystalline blue; distantly he decided that they were lovely, but quite inhuman.
"Keep him down, we don't both need concussions tonight." Sam warily eyed the mess of wings one last time before closing the door and walking around to the driver's side.
"You got it." Dean murmured into the Angel's damp hair, tasting a hint of rain on his lips.
"And don't fall asleep." Sam reminded as the engine growled to life.
"Yep." He breathed, watching as the Angel's profile flickered in his vision. The thing was still perched atop him, clinging to him protectively, never taking his eyes from the back of Sam's head. It was laughable to think that the defeated, beaten thing was trying to protect him against Sam of all people. The thought coaxed a little smile to Dean's chapped lips and he let his head fall back against the door with a soft thump, the darkness taking him once more.
