1: In the Darkness

This story is based on the characters and actors of the television show Supernatural, season 2. I don't know everything about the show, nor do I claim the cannon characters as my own.

Supernatural

Dean felt the impact of the truck hitting the Impala as though the force had thrown him out of his own body. He saw the glass shatter in front of his eyes, the car crumpling under the pressure of the impact as though it were a toy. Dean felt his head snap back, and that was all that he remembered.

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. He realized only moments after he woke up that he was still in the car, but the pain in his body was gone. Whatever damage the demon had done to him earlier didn't seem to matter. He turned to see who the hand belonged to, and he saw an older man, maybe in his mid 30's. He had very short black hair and soft brown eyes, with little lines around his warm smile. He wore a simple white shirt and jeans, and he looked like someone completely out of character for the circumstances. Dean asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm here to help you Dean," he answered.

"Help me what? Check on my brother Sam and my father John!" Dean shouted.

"They're fine, Dean. It's you who needs help," the man said.

Dean opened the car door to get out, then he looked ahead of him and he saw Sam and John slumped over their seats. He knew immediately that they were dead. There was something inside of him that exploded. Dean got out of the car and went to the front seat, then he pulled Sam out through the window and put him on the ground. Dean felt for a pulse, just like his father had taught him. He thought about starting compressions, but Sam's chest was crushed and blood was coming from his mouth. Dean wasn't registering what was happening. He shouted, "Dad? Sam? Come on guys, this isn't funny."

Neither of them answered. Dean looked at John, then back at Sam. He looked over at the truck, but the driver that had hit them, being possessed by the demon, was gone. Dean saw that the colt was gone, and everything he had ever loved had just been lost to him. He cried out into the night sky, completely unaware that he was the only one who was no longer wounded.

Dean stood at the grave sites of his father and brother, in a Kansas cemetery. He was the only one left alive, the only one without scarring or other injuries from the accident, and he didn't understand it. He stared down at their graves, until he heard the faint sound of someone behind him. He turned around to see the same man standing there who was at the accident site. Dean immediately asked him, "Who the hell are you?"

"I am Charlie, and I am your teacher and guardian, at least until you can do it on your own," he said.

"What does that mean?" Dean asked bitterly.

"Why do you think you survived the accident Dean? Your body was dead, but your spirit was still alive, so I converted you," Charlie said.

"Into what?" Dean asked.

"You are a fallen angel, or an angel of death, whatever you want to call it. You take the souls of those who have been killed under supernatural circumstances," Charlie answered.

Dean stared at him. This man obviously had some mental issues. "What the hell is wrong with you? My family is dead and you come here to tell me I'm some kind of angel?"

"I know, it sounds strange, but it's true. You know it, even though your mind doesn't want to accept it," Charlie said.

Dean became angry and replied, "You better leave this place before I beat you into the ground where you stand, old man."

Charlie laughed, making Dean even more angry. He pulled a picture out of his pocket and handed it to Dean, saying, "This is Hilary Ingles. She is going to die by the hand of a demon tonight, and you are going to take her soul."

"Look, pops, I don't take souls, I save them!" Dean said.

"There will be souls that you can save, but in her case, she is meant to die by supernatural circumstances. There are some things you cannot change, Dean," Charlie replied.

"I don't believe that for a second. Not one damn second," Dean said.

"You will understand when the time is right. For now, you should get going. It's only a short way from here," Charlie replied.

Dean continued to get more and more angry. Charlie turned and walked away, so Dean shouted at him, "How the hell am I supposed to know where to go when all you gave me was a picture?"

Charlie disappeared behind some trees, and Dean realized he wasn't going to get an answer. He looked down at the picture of the girl. She had long blond hair and pretty blue eyes, but she was a little younger than Dean liked. He turned over the picture, but all there was on the back was her name. He thought about it some more, then he closed his eyes and concentrated. It just seemed to be what he felt was the right thing to do. He heard whispers around him in seconds, as though others were telling him what to do. They said to him, "520 East 2nd street."

He suddenly knew exactly where that was, and he knew exactly when the demon was going to be there. Dean opened his eyes, and the voices drifted away. He looked down at the picture again, but he didn't know what else to think of it. He crumpled it up and tossed it aside, saying to himself, "This is Sammy's gig, not mine."

Dean spent the better part of the evening and into the night in a bar, drinking to his heart's content. It was strange, it seemed like no matter what he drank, he wasn't getting drunk. He thought about Sam, and how much he missed him. How was Dean supposed to go on and kill supernatural things without his brother by his side? How would he know where to go without his father leading the way? All he had was his dad's journal to look into, the only remnant left of his father and brother.

Dean looked up from his drink when he felt a flutter in his chest. An old man walked by, one that was slumped over with little hair on his head and sorrowful brown eyes. The old man asked Dean, "I'm lost, sir. Can you tell me where I am?"

Dean seemed to know exactly what to say to this man. He told him, "Right out the front door."

The man smiled at him and said, "Thank you, sir."

He walked toward the front door, and Dean watched as the door became a bright blue light with an aura around it. The man stepped through the front door, but Dean knew that he wasn't going outside. Instead, he was going to the other side. The door stopped shining and more people came into the bar, as though nothing had been there at all. Dean thought little of it, going back to his drink and away from the thoughts of the other side. He didn't want to hear anything about death at that moment. Instead, he wanted to find some comfort.

He looked around the bar, and he noticed a woman toward one corner of the bar. She was drinking something that Dean hadn't seen before, and she was very beautiful, not like a woman who usually hung around in a bar. She had long brown hair that fell around her shoulders, and her eyes were an icy blue that were almost transparent. She must've been about 25-years-old, only reaching 5'5, and she wore a white tank top and jeans, with a brown jacket hanging over her chair. Dean thought about getting up to talk to her, but it was as though she noticed him.

Dean got the strange indication that no one else had really noticed him but this woman. He felt that for some reason, only when he talked to people or made notice of them would they really pay attention to him, like he was invisible otherwise. Somehow, this woman had seen him, because she got up just as he was thinking about going to see her. She walked out of the bar quickly, neglecting her jacket over the chair. Dean got up and went to it, picking up the jacket in his arms. He went outside, asking, "Miss? Miss?"

When he got out to the street, the night had already fallen, and there was no one around. He didn't even see so much as a car pulling away. This strange woman had somehow disappeared as well. Dean felt something in the pit of his stomach, and he knew that it was nearing time for the girl to die. He was going to stop it, if it took him all night. He was still a distance from the girl's house by now, so he asked himself, "Great Dean. No car and no way of getting to her house in time. What are you supposed to do now?"

As if on cue, he felt something coming out of his back. Two holes were produced through his shirt, and he took off his leather jacket before it went through that too. A pair of black angel wings came out and spread out wide from his back. Dean looked at them for a moment, taking in the thought of being a real angel, then he scoffed, saying, "This is pathetic."

He started to walk, but he knew that he wouldn't make it in time. He spread the wings out and said, "Fine, I'll jump in the air and fly like Superman."

He spread his wings, then he jumped up into the air and started to flap them. At first, he didn't quite catch the wind, and he fell into four trash cans on the ground. Dean rolled over, feeling where he had hit his head, but strangely, there was no wound there. He got up and spread his wings again, but this time he ran faster and jumped up into the air when the wind was picking up. He caught it, and went into the sky. Dean could see the entire town from up so high, and he enjoyed getting to see it from such a high view. Although he was still afraid of flying, he wasn't too far off the ground, so it wasn't as frightening.

Dean found the house where the death was supposed to happen, then he landed, still holding the jacket that belonged to the girl at the bar. When he landed, he was surprised to see the girl from the bar standing in front of the house that he was supposed to be in. He thought about how she would freak out seeing his wings, so he imagined them gone. Within seconds, they were back in his body and they were gone. He went up to the girl and asked, "Miss, is this your jacket?"

She hadn't turned around yet when a giant demon came out from the shadows and slammed into the girl, throwing her body into a nearby car with the strength of 100 men. The car shattered under her weight, rolling over on its side. Dean dropped the jacket and went after the demon, but it was like a shadow, and he could barely see what he was grabbing. He tried to reach for the demon's neck, but missed, and the demon slammed him into the far wall. Dean felt the wall crumble under his weight, and he did feel some pain, but not as much as he anticipated. The girl from the picture he had received earlier, Hilary, got out of her car nearby and ran over to him, asking, "Are you alright?"

Dean didn't have time to tell her to stop. The shadow demon was so invisible, she hadn't even noticed him until it was too late. He whirled around and punched her in the chest, crushing her ribs like they were clay. He threw her to the ground, and Dean watched as Hilary struggled to breathe. He got up and went over to her, and he seemed to know exactly what he was supposed to do. He touched her face, and he saw a golden light go from her cheek into his hand, as though he had taken her soul from her body. It was an invigorating feeling, like that of reaching the ultimate high. She looked up at him, blood coming from her ears and nose, and she said, "Thank you."

She drifted into death, and Dean held her for several more seconds. He didn't understand what had just happened. He was going to save this girl, not let her die. That wasn't what he had set out to do. He got up and turned around when he heard the sound of the demon behind him. He was ready to fight the demon, but the girl that had been thrown into the car earlier got out of it, unscratched. Dean couldn't believe it. White wings developed on her back, and she ran at the demon, jumping up and grabbing his neck in her hands. She turned his head sharply to the right, and the crack of his neck breaking could be heard. He fell to the ground in a heap, obviously dead, and the girl reached down and touched him, taking a black light from his body to her hand.

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

"None of your business," she answered.

"What did you do to that demon?" Dean asked.

"Forget about me, Dean," she answered.

She flew up into the night sky and out of sight before Dean could argue with her. He stood there, wondering what else to do, when Charlie appeared behind him and said, "You should get going Dean, there are others waiting for you."

"What if I don't do it?" Dean asked.

"Then their souls will rot in their bodies and they will become insane, or horrible serial killers, maybe worse. You can't leave a soul too long in a body, it's cruel and it isn't right," Charlie answered.

"I'm going to find the demon that killed my family. He will be the one next on my list to destroy," Dean said.

"You could try, but he's been notorious for centuries. That will have to be a long term project. Know now that your family is in a better place, and they are reunited," Charlie replied.

"How the hell do you know that?" Dean asked.

"I've been there. I know lots of things that you'll learn with time," Charlie answered.

"Look, you picked the wrong guy in that car accident. You should've taken Sam, he could do this gig, not me," Dean said.

"Sam has other things to do, you are the one chosen for this, and you need to do this, or there will be consequences," Charlie replied.

Dean stared at him for a moment, then he realized what he had to do. There was no way to get out of it now, he was sent to do something else with his life, and that was how it was supposed to be. Charlie pulled out a picture from his pocket and handed it to Dean, saying, "This is Karen Phillips. She is in need of your help. You should get going, she's a while from here."

"What? Do I just fly around to these people?" Dean asked.

"Flying is only when it's needed. The best means is a car," Charlie answered.

Charlie handed Dean some keys, and he turned around to find himself face to face with a 1964 Ford Mustang, black just like he liked it. He turned back to ask something, but Charlie was gone, so Dean concentrated on the picture, heard a location from the strange voices around him, and got into the car to go off into the night.

Dean was driving down the road, searching the radio for some sign of some good music like the kind he used to listen to, but he heard nothing. He flipped through the channels, mostly getting fuzz and not much else. He was set to turn it off when he passed a station and he thought he heard a voice. He went back to it, and he heard the voice again, but the voice said, "Dean."

Dean knew it was Sam's voice from the moment he heard it. He sat there in awe, asking the radio, "Sam?"