Hey everyone. Welcome to first official story on this site! This story concept came to me just a few days ago, so it is still under development. This my first Supernatural fic and my first time writing Destiel, so please be kind, LOL. Rating is in place simply because I'm not sure where this story is headed just yet, so its M as a precaution. Basically this is just the product of my hope and belief that we haven't seen the last of our favorite fallen angel.

Spoiler Alert: This story heavily references events up through Episode 7.7: The Mentalists. Read at your own discretion if you haven't seen the most recent episodes.

Note: Just a quick word on the presentation of cases in this story. You may notice that I don't spend a lot of time discussing them in detail. This is due to the fact that most are really only there to present a sense of background and continuity to story, and are otherwise not important to the overall plot. If you find they seem TOO glossed over, however, please let me know and I will see if I can't change that a bit.

Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. I own nothing but the story concept.

Images came flashing, surging through his mind. Light flooding his vision, bringing him out of the darkness. A burning handprint. A flash of ebony wings. Dark, soulful eyes. A soft, solemn voice. A firm but gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Dean..."

Dean's eyes snapped open, his body tense. His gaze darted around the room as if desperately searching for something... someone. The only sound in the near silence was soft, steady breathing and his eyes fell on his brother, sleeping peacefully in the bed across from his. Sitting up, he rubbed his hand wearily across his face and sighed deeply. The clock beside the bed read 3:30 AM, but he knew trying to fall back asleep was a lost cause.

I need a drink.

Dean walked over to the table in the corner of the shabby motel room and reached for his new favorite companion... a half empty bottle of scotch. It was no secret that the elder Winchester brother enjoyed his liquor, but in the past few months his drinking habits had bordered on alcoholic tendencies. He knew his brother had noticed the change, but they hadn't spoken about it in any depth. Now Dean sat, with a glass in hand, watching the younger man sleep.

Things had been tense between himself and Sam since the truth about Amy was revealed, and though it was improving a bit, Dean wondered if their relationship would ever be the same. He thought back to the conversation they had shared back in Lily Dale. He felt truly guilty for lying to Sammy, but some part of his mind was still trying to justify his actions. He tried to hid behind his apprehension of Sam's hallucinations, but it was more than that. He just couldn't bring himself to trust anything anymore.

As the minutes ticked by, Dean's mind began to wander to the dream that had awoken him. That voice... one that he would never forget... one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He shook his head, trying to clear away the thoughts. He had promised himself he wouldn't think about him. He couldn't... because if he allowed himself to do so, it could destroy him.

When Sam awoke the next morning, he found his brother slumped in a chair, his head resting on an outstretched arm and a glass clutched in his hand. He silently wondered how long he had been sitting there. Getting up from the bed, Sam moved next to Dean and carefully shook him awake. Dean awoke with a start and blinked up at him, seemingly a little disoriented.

"Sammy?"

"Did you even go to bed last night, Dean?"

The older sat up, rubbing his eyes and watching tiredly as his brother sunk down into the chair across from him.

"Yeah, for a while anyway. Couldn't really sleep... dreams, you know?"

"Yeah... been there," Sam stated unnecessarily, his gaze falling to the carpeted floor as he did so.

"'Course you have," Dean gave his brother a sad half smile in reply.

They sat in silence for a few long moments, both no doubt reflecting on their own private nightmares. God knows they each had enough to haunt many lifetimes. When the awkwardness of the moment caught up to them, it was Sam who finally spoke up.

"What do you say we get some coffee and then check out the case Bobby sent us?"

Twenty minutes later the brothers sat in a seedy diner with two cups of coffee and a newspaper spread between them.

"So what's the deal with this place again?"

"Uh... three murders in last three week, all college students, women in their early 20's. Bodies found in local parks, apparently mauled to death. Cops are calling it an animal attack,"

"So... werewolf?"

"Maybe… except the hearts weren't missing,"

"Yeah, that's a little off the M.O. for a wolf. Skinwalker, maybe?"

"Maybe. I have the name of the lead detective assigned to the case. I'm thinking we should see what he can tell us,"

"Sounds like a plan," Dean downed the last of his coffee, standing from the table as he did so.

"Thank you. We'll be in touch," Sam nodded to the officer as they walked out of the station.

"So what do ya think?" Dean asked once they were out of earshot.

"Except for the hearts, all the signs point to a werewolf. Maybe it is a skinwalker,"

"Or a 'new age' wolf without a taste for internal organs," he replied with a smirk. "So, what... canvass the area around each park, find out if any residents have seen a large, blood thirsty dog in the neighborhood?" Dean suggested, though his tone was hesitant, as if he were questioning his own idea.

"Good a plan as any," Sam shrugged, then stopped for a moment. "You okay, Dean?"

"What do you mean?" Dean offered a smile, in the hopes of warding of his little brother's concern.

"You just seem... I dunno... distracted, I guess,"

"Nah, I'm fine," he replied quickly. A moment later, however, he turned back to Sam. "Actually, there is one thing. What's up with all the normal cases lately, huh?"

"I doubt anyone would call what we do normal, Dean" Sam quipped lightly.

"You know what I mean... ghosts, that shifter outside Dallas, now this? When was the last time we heard anything on the Leviathan front, huh? Not since they decided to turn us into Bonnie and Clyde. Seems a little odd, don't ya think?"

"Maybe they know we're on to them, so they're trying to be... discreet?" Sam offered, clearly not to sure of his answer.

"Yeah, well... I don't like it. Makes me think they're laying low, planning somethin'... somethin' big,"

As Dean spoke, he climbed anxiously into the driver's seat of the Impala. As happy as he was to have his baby back, at the moment it just gave his words that much more credibility. Things had been so quiet lately that they, along with Bobby, had collectively deemed it safe to be seen with Dean's beloved Chevy again... though not before changing the plates, of course.

Sam didn't reply, but he had a troubled look on his face and it was obvious that Dean's words had started his mind racing. He seemed to be struggling to find the words to reassure his brother, because the fact was, Dean was right. It all seemed a little too convenient. He was pulled away from his thoughts when his brother broke the silence.

"Look, forget it for right now. Let's just go figure out what exactly is killin' people around here,"

Three days and one silver bullet later, the brothers had their answer. It had, in fact, been a werewolf that was wreaking havoc in the small college town. The young junior professor seemed to enjoy preying on female students, and it seemed to have been all about the hunt rather than about feeding... hence the intact hearts. The hunt had gone relatively smoothly. The brothers' only regret was that the man had claimed a fourth victim before they were able to locate and kill him.

Now as they climbed back into the Impala to head out of town, Dean noted that Sam seemed even quieter than usual.

"You doin' okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah... why wouldn't I be?" Sam offered him a confused half smile at the question.

"I just know how this kinda case gets to you," Dean turned his attention from the steering wheel in order to study his little brother.

Sam sighed at this. Dean was right, of course. Werewolf cases were always hard on him. Even after all these years, it still reminded him of Madison. After Jessica's death, he had been convinced that he would never love another woman like that again... until he met Maddie. He had fallen hard and fast... and then just like that, she was gone. It still hurt to think about her, just as it did with Jess. If one thing could be said about Sam Winchester, it was that he had a huge heart. Once someone got under his skin, they never left... and not even death could change that. That was what made the revelation of Amy's death so hard to take. That, and of course the fact that she had died, defenseless, at his brother's own hand.

When the elder Winchester had returned his attention to the road, Sam took the opportunity to study him in turn. Dean had never understood his strong need for emotional attachments. That was, until recently. Losing Lisa and Ben had crushed Dean. Even if he was forbidden to speak about it, Sam knew this. He also knew that his older brother was haunted, even more so than he was, by the tragic sacrifice made by their favorite young hunter two years prior. He had always known that Dean cared deeply for Jo, but it wasn't until her spirit appeared at his trial that Sam realized just how responsible his brother felt for the girl's fate. And then, of course... there was the loss that neither of them talked about. The one from which he feared Dean might never truly recover.

Dean tossed and turned in his bed the following night. Having no further leads, they had decided to regroup with Bobby at the cabin. Jody, who seemed to be a constant presence in Bobby's new home, had been keeping an ear out for further developments out of Sioux Falls General... but it seemed even the hospital had fallen off the radar of Leviathan activity of late. This fact only served to frustrate Dean further and he had retired to his room early, a newly opened bottle of whiskey close at hand. After what felt like many long hours, sleep finally overtook him... and with sleep, came the dreams.

A flash of lightning illuminated cobalt feathers. A heavy fist smashed angrily into his face as equally enraged words filled his ears. He couldn't make them out, but it didn't matter. He knew what was being said. He had deserved everything he had been given that night... perhaps more. Except more never came. Instead, he felt a gentle touch on his forehead and with it, all his pain melted instantly away. As he looked up into dark eyes, he felt strangely at peace. No matter what had happened, no matter how hopeless things got... those eyes always brought him peace, if only for a moment. But then the scene in his mind flashed to the one moment when those eyes, that voice which he longed so often to hear, only brought him pain. He begged. He pleaded. He prayed to be heard. He prayed to change his mind, divert him from his plan. But for the first time, his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. The next sound that entered his mind was a scream, followed by an unfamiliar sinister laugh... and then a flash of brown fabric floating in a pool in front of him.

"Dean, please... help me,"

Author's Note: So what do you think, worth continuing? Reviews are very much appreciated, and I welcome any and all comments and suggestions.