Chapter One: Hello, Dean Winchester? I need your help.

I remember the first time I asked my Mom about my father, I was six. I had crept up behind where she sat in the living room, reading. "Why don't I have a Daddy?" I had asked. Nervously she had run her fingers through her blond hair and closed her eyes. Slowly she had unhooked the gold necklace that had forever hung around her neck, gently pressing the pendant into my palm. Her dark eyes swam with something I hadn't understood. Her nimble fingers tucked a lock of my brown hair behind my left ear and she kissed my temple.

I uncurled my fist, "Daddy's an Angel?" Held in my tiny hand was a golden locket with white crystal wings, the body engraved with roses.

Mom smiled down at me, a tight curl of her lips that told me she wasn't really smiling. "Yes Darling. Daddy's an Angel."

Now, at seventeen. I understood my father wasn't really an angel, my mom had spoken figuratively. Sometimes I wonder why she didn't tell me he was dead, then I remember a couple of years later when my twin brother—Nathan—asked the same question. He had been given the same explanation. Nathan, however, has always been as I like to say—secretly an old man. He looked up at our mom with the necklace in his hand and told her, more of a statement of fact than question, that our father was dead. For a week he didn't look at mom, just stared at the spot above her head and on the seventh day he turned to her and said, "It's ok, as long as I have Mom I don't need a Dad."

Slowly I put my pen down and closed my leather-bound journal, sliding the chair back as I left the desk. Quietly I entered the hallway, "What are you doing?" I asked Nathan, who sat cross-legged with a bag of chips in his lap. He turned to me, and my knees became achingly weak as his hazel eyes my mine. Mom's eyes. His lips thinned into a straight line as if he were dealing with a small child and his patience was wearing. It'd been four days. Stubble had began to grown on the edge of his jaw line and he looked as if he'd aged a year in a day.

He sighed and turned back to facing the door of mom's bedroom, "The funeral planner wants a photo, But all the album's are under her bed." He laughed lightly at himself and ran his long fingers through his dark hair. He pulled the bag of chips from his lap and offered it to me. I took the bag and sat beside him, leaning my shoulder against his.

"Hey Tasha?" Whispered Nathan.

"Yeah?"

"Did you know we had a god father?" he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Charlotte came by the other day while you were at work, she said that's who we'll be staying with. It was in mom's will" Charlotte was the social worker assigned to us, she was a big woman with dyed red hair and green glasses, looking at her made me want to puke Christmas.

"No, Mom never told me." I paused. "Maybe she has a photo of him, What's his name?" I stood from my place beside him and stopped, my hand half risen towards the knob of Mom's bedroom door. I took a deep breath and grabbed the handle, pushing the door lightly open.

"I don't really remember, Dean something I think," He said from behind me.

Neither of us had touched Mom's room since the accident. The covers of her bed were still thrown to the side because it was Thursday and she never makes her bed on weekdays, instead she make us breakfast. Made, I mentally corrected, she made us breakfast. Clothes were strewn around the room and a mug sat on her desk by the window, her laptop still open. Quickly I went to the side of her bed and pulled out three large boxes of photos. I needed out, there was no air and I couldn't breathe. Everything smelled of the pomegranate perfume I had bought her for Mother's Day and my insides were curling into a knot. Nathan appeared beside me and took two of the boxes, I hoisted the other into my arms then followed him out the door. We carried them down the stairs and into the living room, placing them on the coffee table.

The boxes were labeled, the first said Nathan, the second Natasha and the third was nameless. Slowly I pulled the lid of the third and emptied it's contents on the table. Most of it was books, some albums and the oddest of all—a long silver stake. Nathan put the other boxes under the table and reached for the stake, I grabbed it before he could. "Uh no, you are not playing with the shiny dangerous shit. Wrong twin." I shoved the stake in the front of my jeans and Nathan made a face but reluctantly reached for an album. I followed his suit and opened a small leather photo album. I flipped through the pictures and was amazed at how many people I didn't know. I pulled one photo of my Mom asleep out of the plastic covering and flipped it over.

C finally figured out how to use a camera.

I silently wondered who "C" was as I slipped the photo back into the album and continued flipping it through. Photo aft photo only one man kept reappearing, a tall man with a strong jaw and stubbled chin. His eyes were dark blue and his hair was dark like Nathan's. Most of the time he didn't smile, like he didn't understand the concept of taking a photo, he just stared at my Mom. There was only one of him smiling. I pulled the photo from it's binding and held it beside Nathan's face.

"Nate," I said. "Smile for a second."

He turned to me, confused and one eyebrow arched. "Why?"

"Just smile." He shrugged and smiled, I nearly fell of where I sat on the couch. There it was, the crease on the outside of his cheeks as he smiled, the thick lips and strong jaw line. They were all the same. I handed Nathan the photo and he looked at me, imitating what I had done moment's ago.

"Eyes." He said. "Your eyes are the same color. You think?"

I nodded. abruptly the rough carpet of the rug bit into my cheek as my face was held to the ground. A scream gurgled up through my throat and I listened as Nathan cried out beside me. Something screeched as someone pushed the couch away and rough hands flipped me over. I gasped as I stared at the girl straddling my hips, she was so small but yet she held me to the ground with such force I feared I was about to be crushed. Not to mention the outfit. She looked awfully like she had just came from church in her little white dress and pink cardigan.

She grinned, pressing something cold to the front of my neck. I ignored her and glanced around for Nathan who had been thrown against the far wall and was struggling with a girl in a matching outfit who waved a silver stake at him. Silver stake. The girl on top of me was over-confident, her shoulders pressed back and her head held high, only one arm being used to press what I assumed was another stake to my throat. Nothing held my arms, I could grab the stake. And do what? Kill her? Sanity questioned. I looked to the coffee table that had been absently flipped over and against the edge sat a photo, back facing me.

When the angels come—778 225 9967 ask for Dean Winchester

Angels? Then I looked up at the girl, still sitting on my hips and I saw her—really saw her. Everything beneath the façade of the body she seemingly wore rose to the surface and I could see her, all of her. That's when I knew that the necklace, the blue-eyed man, Dean Winchester and the angels—they were all connected to Nathan and I. On that thought I reached down, startling the angel and grab the stake hidden in the front of my jeans and under my shirt. I wrapped my hand around the cold silver handle, spinning it in my hand momentarily then bringing it up in a small arch. I listened to her scream as the stake drove into her stomach and I watched her eyes blaze out of her skull, burning blindingly bright.

I spun, "Nathan?" He looked up at me from behind the angel and she turned, grinning at me maliciously. I ran at her and slammed the hilt of the stake against the side of my head sending me reeling.

"You stupid girl, I don't even know what he wants with you two." She growled as she stalked forward. He? She stopped suddenly, cursing, her eyes locked on my necklace and she turned back to Nathan placing a hand on his shoulder. They were gone. Just like that, Nathan and the angel had vanished into thin air. I stared at where he had been seconds ago and made a decision and I grabbed the picture with the phone number and pulled my cell from my pocket. Quickly I dialed the number and waited as it rang. I listened as the phone connected.

"Hello, Dean Winchester? I need your help."