Author's Note: (Hey guys this is my very first fanfiction, and I'm going to do this in several chapters. Please leave whatever comments you have on it whether its good or bad, I'd love some feedback. The more feedback I get, the faster I'll write! Thanks!)
"Son of a bitch." Cursed a low, aggravated, voice from the bathroom of the cheap, odd smelling hotel room. Dean Winchester's emerald green eyes grew dark as he glared with intent confusion at the hand-shaped blister on his upper right arm, near his shoulder. The bright pink scar tissue was still painful to the touch, yet it had been there for weeks and still not healed a single bit. Thank god Sam, his younger brother, wasn't around at the moment to hear that. Sam was so whiny that every time Dean so much as stubbed his toe, he nearly died of cardiac arrest. Sam has always been a bit jumpy since Dean came back from hell. Sam was never the same since that. Dean couldn't realize that his own death hurt Sammy just as much as his baby brother's death hurt him. So much for the phrase "You only live once."
He rolled down the sleeve of his slightly undersized black t-shirt, which showed just a bit of detail of his thick, broad shoulders and muscular abdomen, to cover up the mysterious hand print. Dean walked out into the brighter lit bedroom type part of the hotel room, turning off the yellowish colored bare bulb that hung from a metal beaded string attached to the bathroom ceiling, causing the small annoying buzz to stop.
Of course, just as one annoying sound faltered, another began immediately thereafter. A dull tapping sound arose at the window, just quiet enough to be probably the most annoying sound in the world to him at the moment. He stomped over, roughly pulling open the window and its outer screen, as he reached out the two story window, trying to break the dried branch that wouldn't leave the damned window alone. He grunted as the hard edge of the windowsill dug into the jutting bone of his hip, as his entire torso leaned out the window just to break that one stupid branch.
Then it happened. The second that that twig snapped off and disconnected from the rest of the branch, his foot disconnected with the reddish-brown carpet, falling face first down on a straight path towards the cracked, dark gray cement of the parking lot. It wasn't like they portrayed it in the movies. His heart wasn't pounding out of his chest, he didn't cry out a few quick last words, his life didn't flash before his eyes. It felt as if two hands had grabbed both his ankles and shoved him forward. From a standing point, the fall may have looked fast and brutal and terrifying. From Dean's point of view, as the concrete grew nearer, he had enough time to realize that he was still holding the broken branch, smirk, and feel somehow safe. As if someone or something would catch him and break his fall. And someone or something did. He suddenly fell asleep, as this someone or something slowed his fall and raised him back to his window, as if having pressed a rewind button.
Those last few moments of consciousness he had, all he could know was confusion. Not why he was falling, not what just happened, but why couldn't he see anything that had happened in his life before this point. Of course, he could still remember, but he just couldn't see it. It was almost as if everything before now didn't matter. Then it was gone before he could keep trying to think about it.
He woke up a few hours later in a dark room, larger than the bathroom, but with the same dim yellowish light coming from one of the upper corners. A shadowy figure sat beside him, his back leaned against the wall, one leg stretched out from him, and one bent into his chest. Dean's groggy eyes and the cheap lighting showed only a silhouette of a man beside him. For a moment, Dean's vision got unfocused and he saw two men and two yellow lights before clumsily shaking his head as it focused again, causing him to see the man more clearly.
He was of average height, just like Dean, and had messy dark brown hair that shot out in certain places. The details of his face were clouded from the dim light, but there were obvious bags under his eyes as he stared intently across the room at the wall, not knowing that Dean had awakened. The only thing that proved that this man wasn't a statue was the fact that he was humming a song, whatever it was Dean couldn't recognize. Dean sat up and grunted in pain, causing the man to look over with a startled expression.
Dean sat up and looked around the room. "So this is hell. I wonder where they keep the mini bar." He said sarcastically and chuckled quietly at his own joke before looking at the man in the room with him, whose head was tilted confusedly in part by not knowing the meaning of the term "mini bar". The man merely shook his head. "If I understand correctly, which I of all people should, you have to die to go to hell. You, Dean Winchester, are very much alive." His voice was calm and collected, and barely had any emotion in it whatsoever. Dean's eyes widened as he practically growled the words. "Who are you? And how the hell do you know my name?" His hand slowly crept to his back jeans pocket to pull Ruby's knife out if need be. But the knife wasn't there. The man studied Dean's face. "Shock. Confusion. Why? I suppose humans truly are ape like with their qualities, as the unknown causes fear and anger among them causing them to do sometimes drastic things." All that Dean could do was stare at him. "You're not human? Then what are you?" The man's expression didn't change, nor did his casual tone. "I am an angel of the lord."
Dean glared at the man still and ran his fingers through his hair with an exasperated sigh. "There's no such thing." He muttered to himself before saying aloud. "I'll ask again. Who are you? As in names." The man blinked a few times and Dean could see that his eyes were dark blue like sapphires were glued to each of his irises, except they were dull and unhappy. The man replied with a stronger hint of his own confusion this time. "Well, to directly quote human terminology, I believe I may have just rescued your donkey. This morning, and also a few months ago from hell. Though I have never understood this term of phrase I do believe it correctly fits this situation. Also, the main point of my conflict with those words is that you do not currently have a donkey, nor did you when I supposedly rescued it. So I'm not entirely su-". Dean sighed wearily and cut him off in a tired voice. "Are you trying to say that you saved my ass?" Dean began. "And, back up, you're the one who dragged out of the pit? That's impossible. Nothing has the power to do that. The man nodded in a matter of fact kind of way. "And my name is Castiel." He said in his quiet voice after a long, silent moment. "So this isn't some crazy, demon roofie freak out is it?" Castiel's eyes widened and a flash of what may have been anger appeared in his soulless looking eyes. "What is the human obsession with these roofies?"
Dean groaned again and tried to stand, before falling again. Castiel stood quickly and caught him, gently lying him down on the ground. Now Dean's eyes had completely adjusted. Castiel wore a suit that somewhat resembled a business man, except for the khaki colored trench coat covering it. His eyes really were a very pretty, deep color of blue that Dean had never seen in anyone's eyes before. And the messy brown was short enough so that it didn't cover his face. Dean suddenly found himself wondering if Castiel's hair was soft, and wanting to run his fingers through it, but quickly dismissed the thought as a sign of a small concussion. He did fall out of a tall two story window earlier this morning after all...