I was in the heaven of a man with Alzheimer's. He was kind and didn't mind intruders in his personal thoughts and desires. He was always on the bench in the middle of his butterfly garden, writing poetry in his leather bound journal. He was a peaceful man which was perfect for my favorite past time. There were never any disturbances, he had no need to say a word, and the garden and accompanying lawn were green and lush supporting many different ecosystems of creatures. It was the one and only place I could think or in this case listen in on the lives of people. I loved their simple acts of kindness, of love, of faith, of compassion, which countered their acts of hatred, war, and untamed ambition and desire. In summation, I loved human beings. Their ability to find the goodness in their world amongst all the bad. Their will to live. And I was the only one I knew of that felt that way, so my activities were always independent and private, even secret.

I sat down amongst the grass, my celestial light emanating across the small water droplets making them shimmer, and opened my mind to the words and actions of the humans.

All humans on the planet, some sleeping, some eating, some fucking, some delighting in another's company, all flooded into my mind. The first time I'd welcomed them into my world, I'd had a massive headache for days and I'd been so overwhelmed I had to pull out only after seconds of immersion. But now, I could sort through every story easily and efficiently until I found one I was particularly interested in. My interest sparked within seconds of a couple celebrating their daughter's very first birthday. The child's hair was a silvery blonde, wisping and wafing gently across her head and she was laughing, clapping her hands in delight. There was not much else she was capable of doing. But she was capable of understanding something exciting was happening when her parents set down a slice of cake in front of her and the father, a very young man who looked more than pleased to support his family, picked up a silver fork and cut off a tiny piece of the chocolate cake and fed his child. His wife was snapping pictures and consuming her own piece of the chocolate cake while the husband was not eating a single bit of it. The cake must've been for her.

I flew out, smiling, to delve into someone else's life. I sifted, cringing, through a murder and a rape, ending up on the other side with a women and her husband staring at an angel on their mantlepiece. I had no idea why I was even remotely interested but the couple were so in love and in love with their beautiful child of four years and the child yet to be born in less than a month. These were the kind of things that amazed him. The range of their emotions, and the depth of them whichever way they were swaying at the time. My brothers and sisters thought it was barbaric and naive that they weren't able to control something that could spin them out of reason. But, really it was kept them centered on what was important to them and it was what kept them human and alive. It was built into who they were and that was how our father had desired it to be, which to me said that those very emotions should be praised.

I flew into the scene, the husband of the fair blond woman disappearing downstairs to start dinner, something he wasn't particularly skilled at, but the woman remained staring at an ugly little cherub-like angel on her mantle. Her son was clinging gently to her leg while she was rubbing her tummy whispering to both her children, "Don't worry, loves, angels are watching over you," she whispered.

I paused just before I was about to leave. She wasn't saying those words out of faith but out of a tingling feeling in her gut. You could tell in the way she said it, which struck me as odd. I delved into her mind and saw her memories in flashes of swishing knives, stolen kisses, cleaning guns with her father, and then the subjects of the very violence in her life. The smoke of demons escaping from the possessed's mouths, the wrenching screams of wendigo's lives slipping away. She was a hunter and I could tell she hadn't over told anybody in her life now. Not her husband, nor her son. I dug deeper into the memories she had suppressed and I found a scene of a twenty-ish aged man who looked strangely like the very son clinging to her leg now. It was the eyes. They were the same shocking color of green, like when sunlight hit the leaves just right in the trees. He was running through the trees almost to the scene she was taking part in. There was a 1967 Impala present, which I happened to know was also in their driveway now. Her husband was lying on the ground dead and her father was kneeling down beside her shaking, heaving body, possessed by a demon with yellow eyes. I couldn't understand what they were saying but she kissed the demon grudgingly and released contact as soon as possible to return her frantic gaze to her then boyfriend, gently caressing his face and whispering his name over and over again. The twenty-ish year old man came screaming in just after and was slammed back at the realization that she had made the deal. The boyfriend proceeded to wake up, looking around his surroundings in confusion, and the only thing I heard was his name, Dean, echoing through my mind over and over again, like it was reverberating from the walls of my brain.

I pulled out and focused my attention on the little boy who was now begging his mother to listen to her stomach. She smiled and bent down, giving his ear and hands access to her swollen belly.

He whispered, "Hey Sammy, Mommy told me that's what you're name was going to be. I hope you like it. I do. I'm gonna look out for you, Sammy. I love you."

His mom smiled, ruffling his hair gently and bent down to his level. "That was very sweet of you, Dean."

Dean. The name continued to echo. I knew it was the same person. The question was how did her son end up in her past looking years older. The only explanation was something was going to happen. That he was going to become a hunter.

"He kicked me, Mommy," Dean giggled. I gently pushed into Dean's developing mind and all I found was an intense burning love for his mother and his unborn brother. Someone he didn't even know yet. Even for a young child, it was admirable.

"He must love you too," she said. "Let's go find Daddy and get you something to eat. Come on."

I left one of the most pleasant human experiences I'd ever peeked in on with fear gripping my gut. What was going to happen to that family that would rip apart the belief system of a woman who was dead set on her sons never growing up they way she did. The very thought made me scared for them. I felt strangely attached to that family in a transcendent way. I left my garden to the feet of Raphael who was relaying God's orders to the more subservient beings of the garrison. I was left out of these discussions increasingly these days. They preferred to just leave me alone in my garden, knowing I would do no harm.

"Castiel. What are you doing here. Done spying on humans?" he chortled. The garrison joined, albeit quietly. Some of them didn't understand why what I did was funny or even strange. There were some who felt similar to how I did, I knew it. But like I mentioned, none of them were willing to display those feelings openly.

"I have a question, Raphael. That is all. Then I will leave."

"What is it then?"

"The Winchesters. What has our Father deigned for them?"

"How would I know something like that, Castiel?"

"Don't pretend. You know practically everything."

"Yes, I do," he smiled, reveling in the power I'd provided him. Small grudging pleasantries was the only way to get Raphael to even talk to you.

"Mary Winchester will die on the night Sam Winchester has been alive for six months by a yellow-eyed demon. Sam Winchester will be fed demon blood, just a drop, and then their house will proceed to burn down, everyone getting away. For years after John Winchester will search for the yellow-eyed demon to avenge his wife, making him and his sons hunters along the way. They are the boys destined to be the heads of the apocalypse, Castiel. And that is all you need to know, and you will not interfere."

"Of course not," I said monotonously. "Thank you. That is all." I went back to my garden, mulling over the words Raphael had uttered.

Mary had said "angels are watching over you," to her sons, and for some reason she had believed it, and not because she was religious. With the life these children were going to have to face, someone was going to have to meet her request. And I knew no one would. No one besides me. From that moment on I became the Winchester's personal guardian. Most of all Dean Winchester. His world would be shattered and he would remember every moment of it. He was going to need the most sheltering.

I went back to their family again for one last peek before everything fell apart. The time I had been gone, Sam Winchester had been born, and John Winchester had left the house in a hurry. It took even longer than I thought to travel through the space of heaven, even though it took me all of the blink of an eye. Mary was obviously upset, her hand against her stomach, and her hand over her mouth. Then Dean came in, saw his mother, who was in the process of hiding all emotion with a smile but the young boy was extremely perceptive.

"It's alright, Mommy. Daddy'll be back. He loves you. I love you, too." And he wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, holding on tight. But he wasn't smiling. Dean was visibly upset that his mom was angry at his father. He was trying to make his mom feel better; trying to make the severeness of the situation dissipate. Not only did Dean need the protection, but he was worth every ounce of it that I would soon be giving. He was the glue to his family, and how strong would that glue hold once his mother was gone? For all their sakes, I was hoping extremely tight.

The words you will not interfere floated through my mind as I considered going down to earth and shattering the prophecy to come. But I could not. It was my Father's word and I would not disobey. It was the Winchester's destiny and there was nothing anybody could do about it, not even me. At least, that is what I would have to tell myself whenever the going got rough. I was the only angel, and this much I knew for sure, that had a conscience. That would care what happened to Dean Winchester.