A/N: This is my very first attempt at a Supernatural fic, so please remember to review - I'd really appreciate the feedback! Sadly, the only bit of this storyline I own is the OC you'll find within and the story I've concocted for her. No Destiel, no Wincest - sorry, not sorry. Rating is for content (future content included) and language (I'm not letting the boys hold back). Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy!

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I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel...Trelaine? No. Sorry, Castiel and Trelaine, I don't scare easy.

Dean was perched on the edge of the broken down table, swinging his leg loosely as his mind echoed what had happened to Pamela. Someone - or, rather, something - had completely disintegrated her eyes after having warned her to turn back. He pitied the woman, not envying her unimaginable pain in the least. Of course, at the moment, he was still battling his own demons, the ones that had piggybacked after his exit from Hell.

And now they were waiting, Dean and Bobby, for whatever it was that had pulled him out. They were decked out to the maximum, preparing every trap and trinket and weapon they could scrounge up to meet this beast...actually, technically beasts. Plural. Pamela had mentioned two names at the seance, not one. Were they a dynamic duo? Were they partners in crime? Were they pals dabbling in the dark arts? Dean hoped that, soon, all of his questions would be answered and as he twirled the evergreen stake between his fingers and felt the walls of the hangar shake, he knew his answer was pounding at the front door.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," he commented as the wind's speed picked up and the doors to the hangar swung open. The bulbs in the lights above their heads began to shatter as two shadowy figures appeared in the hangar doorway. One mumbled something inaudible and then the two were on the move, entering the hangar with eyes staring straight at Dean. Neither figure was affected by any of the traps they'd drawn and it seemed like their bits of iron and silver weren't doing any good at repelling them either, at least, not at the present moment.

"Who are you?" Dean asked as the two approached, slowing their pace some.

"She's the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," the male figure, whom Dean guessed to be Castiel, answered in a gruff voice he wasn't expecting.

"Yeah, thanks for that." Dean stepped forward and plunged the blessed knife into Castiel's chest. The man gave Dean an unconcerned look as he pulled the knife out, unharmed by the weapon as he dropped it to the floor. Bobby took a swing at the female who took ahold of Bobby's wrist and turned it back around on him. Castiel reached over her grip and touched two fingers to Bobby's forehead, which caused him to keel over to the ground unconscious.

The female looked to Dean. "We need to talk, Dean," she said. "Alone."

Dean crossed over to Bobby, crouching to check his pulse.

Castiel sighed. "Your friend's alive," he reassured, sounding almost bothered that he even had to explain that.

Dean straightened himself, walking over to the two. "Who are you?"

"I'm Castiel." Dean examined him - dark, short hair cropped above a sharp, squared face. He was wearing some kind of suit underneath a khaki trenchcoat and the tie was quite loosened. He was average in height, not much shorter than Dean himself. Castiel turned his head to look at the female. "This is Trelaine." Cucumber hues turned to gaze at the woman. She was, as well, average in height - if he had been forced to guess, he would've wagered her height at five-foot-seven and her weight at around one-fifty-five. She appeared to be able to handle herself. She had dark auburn hair - nothing like Anna's, he thought - that fell in light curls to her shoulders. He could see brown eyes behind lengthy lashes and a German nose to boot. She bore the weight of one who had been through her fair share of grievances, but until Dean learned her true calling, he wouldn't pity her.

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?" His eyes were still on the woman's.

Trelaine gave a light smirk and shook her head. "In time," she answered calmly, and Dean wasn't about to press the issue. Instead, his sights turned to Castiel.

"I'm an angel of the Lord," he answered.

Dean was taken aback - was this guy for real? "Get the fuck out of here," he said simply. "There's no such thing."

"This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." Lighting flashed. Amid the flashes of light, Dean could see wings appear on Castiel's back - great, black wings stretching out towards the walls. On Trelaine's back, similar shadows of wings appeared, but they were far less grand than Castiel's, leaving Dean to wonder why as the flashes stopped and the images of their wings disappeared.

"Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

"I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be...overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."

Dean paused, a look of realization passing over his face. "You mean the gas station and the motel...that was you talking?" Castiel nodded. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

Dean looked at Trelaine. "So what is your true face?"

Trelaine shook her head gently, her hands shoved into the pockets of her peacoat. "I've already told you - in time you'll know what I am and where I stand."

"So you're a goddamn angel, too?"

Trelaine shook her head once more. "No. For now, if it helps put you at ease, consider me a messenger."

"Whose face are you wearing, Trelaine?"

Trelaine smirked gently. "This is my true form, Dean."

Dean's eyes turned back to Castiel, now more confused than ever. "And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"

"This?" Castiel asked, looking down at his person. "This is a vessel."

"You're possessing some poor bastard?"

"He's a devout man. He actually prayed for this."

Dean blinked several times. "Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Castiel frowned. "We told you."

"Right...and why would an angel and a messenger rescue me from Hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean."

"Not in my experience."

An expression of sadness crossed Trelaine's features. "What's the matter?" she asked. "You don't think you deserved to be saved?"

Dean turned to her. "Why'd you do it?"

Clearly they weren't answering the right questions, so Dean continued to press harder. Trelaine looked him dead in the eyes and stepped a bit closer to him, her expression unwavering. "Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."