So I'm writing a "My Bloody Valentine"/"Twilight" crossover. I'm doing this because it came to me, and I want to get the creative juices flowing.

I don't own Supernatural or My Bloody Valentine. They belong rightfully to their creators.

About the rating; it's for language, and references to murder, if you want to include that, even though normally for that I would've just left it at T. So, basically, it's for the language. I really wanted to leave it at T for that, but a paranoid, OCD writing language-alert part of me would not allow it.

Timelines: Sometime in season 4 for Supernatural, after "On the Head of a Pin", probably. For My Bloody Valentine, it's post-movie, right after it.

Enjoy!

One of His Most Precious Creations

Tom Hanniger drove along a lonely, darkening, country road. He'd somehow managed to get to his jeep, and out of Harmony. He'd been driving for hours, but had no idea really how long. He'd just driven away from there. He couldn't go back there, not ever—and it wasn't like they would ever want to see him again. Hell, they seemed to think he was dead, and were perfectly fine with that.

He'd never see Sarah again.

He knew it was better that way, though. Sarah was a good person. She deserved a family, a home, her job at her parents' grocery store. Not a seriously fucked up boyfriend like him.

It wasn't like he'd meant to do it. It wasn't him. It was Harry. Harry had used him to kill them. It wasn't him. Tom was not a killer. The old sheriff, Irene, Megan, Sarah's housekeeper…he never wanted to kill them. God, he hadn't wanted to. He should've never gone back to Harmony; let the town do what they wanted with the mine. Ben had been right.

Because of him, because of his mistakes, innocent people were dead. Well—maybe not all of them were quite innocent, but they didn't deserve to die.

When Harry had taken over him to go murder them, he'd just blacked out. He didn't even know that he was hurting anyone, didn't even remember that anything out of the ordinary had happened at all. But even if he had, and had turned himself in, he wasn't sure if they would've been able to contain Harry. Either way…

Tom had to keep telling himself that it wasn't his fault. He hadn't known, and he hadn't done it, any of it. But it didn't feel like that at all.

He didn't want to go back to the mental institution. He didn't want to go to jail, either, even if he should. He would just—stay away. Give Harmony the peace they deserved, even if it had been the only place that had ever even resembled a home for him.

As he drove, a bright neon sign came into view below the name of the little motel in the middle of nowhere announcing that there was vacancy. So he immediately pulled his jeep into the nearly empty parking lot, parking in front of the place. After grabbing the bags he'd kept in his truck, which he'd put there wanting to stay away from the Thunderbird, he went into the "office". It was a little, warm room. He went up to the counter.

"Can I get a room?" he asked, without looking at the clerk.

"Just for you?" the voice was female.

"Yeah."

"All right. How long?"

"Just tonight."

"All right." There was a quick scribble of pen over paper.

Tom held out a twenty. "Will this cover it?"

"Yeah, sure." The clerk's took the bill out of his hand. "Okay, you've got room number three." She slid a key to him. "If you need anything—anything at all—let me know."

"Yeah, sure."

Tom turned around and left the room, walking along the outer wall until he found door number 3, unlocking the door and going inside.

After flicking the light on and locking the door behind him, he tossed his bags aside and ran his hands through his hair, looking around the room.

It was decent, although kind of crappy. He figured he was safe, at least for that night. There wasn't anyone looking for him anyway, they thought he was dead. Unless they found that guy died and thought that it was him.

He walked over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. He stood there for a second, breathing deeply. Then he got that horrible, unstable feeling, like blood gushing in his ears.

He pulled the bottle out of his pocket and shook two of the pills into his hand, dry swallowing them. He wasn't sure why he took them anymore, or what they even did, but they seemed to help.

He stood there for a second, waiting for the pills to take effect and make him calm down. It was then when he felt someone standing behind him, watching him. Someone that wasn't trying to conceal their presence.

He whipped around.

"Hello, Tom."

The man was standing right behind him. He looked pretty normal, as far as normal goes. He was average, basically, not particularly tall or short or muscular, a little older than Tom, with messy dark hair and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a tan trench coat over a dark blue suit that was at least two sizes too big for him. The only thing about him that was odd was the intensity and focus with which he looked at Tom.

"Who are you?" he demanded, trying to back away, to not stand so close to the man, but he really had nowhere to go. "What do you want?"

"My name is Castiel." His gaze never wavered. It was kind of creepy. "I'm here to help you."

Tom stared at him, then shook his head. "You…you know what? That's great. But you can't help me."

"Why do you think that I can't?"

Tom shook his head again. "You don't know me. And you can't help me. And I don't know who the hell you are, but you should go." Don't let Harry out. Don't let Harry out. Don't let him kill this man. Don't.

Castiel shook his head. "I can help you, Tom."

"NO!" Tom exploded, shoving past Castiel to begin pacing back and forth. "You CAN'T! Do you understand me? YOU CAN'T! I—I—you don't know the things that I've done!" He flinched suddenly, his hand going to his side. He'd completely forgotten that Sarah had shot him, not even feeling the pain after he'd gotten out of Harmony.

Tom noticed that Castiel fixed his eyes on his side as he watched him press his hand against his wound. Then, without looking away for a moment, he said, "I know, Tom."

Castiel hadn't been looking for the human, but his Grace had somehow detected him and brought Castiel there. Tom Hanniger was not stable, he had killed, and yet it hadn't been him. He needed help. That much was obvious.

And it wasn't the fact that Tom Hanniger looked so impossibly like Dean that Castiel wanted to help him; it might've been because he resembled Dean in emotional characteristics as well.

Tom Hanniger was broken and unstable and innocent and a killer and needed his help. Even if Castiel didn't know every part of what had happened to the human, he could see it in his eyes.

"Sarah loved you," Castiel told him softly.

Tom looked up at him, his eyes—green, so much like Dean's—pained. "What?" he whispered.

"Sarah Palmer, formerly known as Sarah Mercer, loved you. She still does. She would have married you rather than Axel if you hadn't left."

"I couldn't stay," Tom whispered. "I—I couldn't…if I had, people probably would've started to die sooner…"

"I know that, Tom. But she loves you. I just wanted you to know."

"I don't deserve her."

"You might think so."

"Sarah's married to Axel, she's got a son…she's happy."

Castiel tilted his head. "You're wrong."

"…what? She does, I saw the picture—"

Castiel held up a hand. "You are right that Sarah is married and has a child. But she isn't happy. She loves Axel, but she is not happy as his wife. After you left ten years ago, she loved you and missed you. She felt your absence like a hole in her soul. When you returned, she felt an immense relief knowing that you were around and that you might stay. She was afraid that you would leave. Upon knowing that Harry Warden's spirit is inside you, using your body to kill, she felt incredible sympathy for you and hated Harry Warden for changing you. And now that she thinks that you died, she regrets shooting you, still feeling as though she could have somehow saved you."

As Tom looked at him with tortured, haunted eyes, tears leaked out of those eyes and rolled down his face. "She couldn't have."

"I know. She knew that too, but still she wanted to, still felt that she should have."

Tom shook his head, quickly reaching up a hand and scrubbing it over his face quickly, wiping away the tears. "She should be happy…she shouldn't want me. She has a good life in Harmony. I'm not gonna ruin that for her." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not gonna go back to Harmony, not ever. I'm not gonna let Harry hurt anyone else."

Castiel sighed quietly. "Do you think that's really something that you can prevent, Tom?"

Tom shook his head a little. He didn't. "I have to. I-I can't…" He shook his head again, standing up, gripping his hair in his fists, starting to pace again.

Castiel simply watched him, grimacing as he reminded himself of Tom's past, almost forgetting that this wasn't Dean he was talking to, telling him that he wasn't strong enough to stop the Apocalypse.

Tom stopped suddenly, turning towards Castiel, advancing towards him, hands dropping from his hair. "Who are you, huh? How do you know all this stuff about me, Sarah, Axel, Harry, what happened in Harmony?" His voice demanded an answer.

"I told you," Castiel said solemnly, "my name is Castiel. And I know these things about you, your friends, the killer inside you, and your hometown because I am an angel of the Lord, and my Father knows about you."

Tom looked at him, his forehead smoothing out in surprise. "An angel."

"Yes."

"As in, sent from God."

"Yes."

Tom looked at him for a second, and then started shaking his head. "Okay. All right. So, uh, if you're an angel, and you know all the shit that happened in Harmony, why didn't you stop it, huh?"

"Because it was meant to be, Tom," Castiel told him solemnly.

Tom stared at him, nodding skeptically, before he started shaking his head again. "Yeah, what-the-fuck-ever."

Again, Castiel was reminded of Dean, telling him 'screw destiny'. And again, he had to tell himself that this was Tom Hanniger, not Dean Winchester.

Suddenly Tom felt it again—the blood rushing in his ears, the nearly overwhelming feeling of himself changing…into something that was not him.

"Listen to me," Tom said quietly, so quietly that he wondered if Castiel could hear him, staring straight ahead, at the lamp, but not seeing it. "You need to leave. Now."

"Tom—"

"NO! You listen to me, damn it! I think—I think Harry's—" Tom hesitated, swallowing. "He could kill you. He would kill you. You—need—to go."

Castiel shook his head. "Harry can't hurt me, Tom."

"No, you don't understand! You don't know what…what…" Tom's face went absolutely blank, and he stood still, for much too long.

Castiel moved towards him slowly. "Tom?"

That triggered a reaction. Tom looked at him with narrowed eyes and an expression filled with cruelty and hatred.

There was no question about what had happened. Castiel didn't need to ask now. "Harry."

Harry, currently in control of Tom's body, glared at Castiel with an almost inhuman level of hostility.

Castiel took a few slow, minute steps towards him before stopping. "You can't have Tom, Harry."

Harry/Tom scoffed. "I already have him."

"You won't any longer."

He scoffed again. "Because you're an angel, right?"

Castiel nodded. "Correct."

"Bullshit."

"Not quite."

Harry ignored him. "There's no such thing. There's no fucking higher power. If there was, all those pathetic people wouldn't be dead."

Castiel felt his jaw working, like Dean's did sometimes when he was angry. He forced himself not to look away when he said, "No more will die."

And before Harry could react, Castiel lunged forward and slammed his palm onto Tom's forehead.

He burned Harry's spirit inside Tom, turning it to cinders. While Castiel was not a powerful angel, he could still destroy an evil soul. It was something that came almost naturally to him, as he was the being that he was. It took but moments, and then Tom was gasping in breath. Castiel removed his hand.

Tom stared at him, shaking his head as he panted, expression uncomprehending.

Castiel waited calmly for the human to regain his composure.

"You—you really are an angel," Tom said.

Castiel nodded at him.

But while Harry was gone, Castiel could still see the shadows of the murderer in Tom's eyes. Harry may be but cinders now, but it was enough. His soul—if you could even call it that—had connected with Tom's, and no matter what, the evil imprint he'd left on it would never truly vanish. Just as if Dean had lost his memories of Hell, he would still remember the terror he'd felt there. Things like that, humans could never recover from.

But Tom was very human. And in all likelihood—actually, Castiel was almost sure of it—his humanity would overcome the darkness from Harry.

Tom looked up, green eyes meeting blue. "Harry—he's gone."

Castiel nodded.

"I can feel it, Cas," Tom whispered. Tom—not Dean, Castiel told himself. Tom had even dubbed him the nickname that Dean had taken to calling him.

"Harry's gone," Castiel confirmed. "He won't harm anyone ever again, Tom."

Tom nodded. "Then—what do I do now?" he asked, because he couldn't figure it out himself.

"That's for you to decide, Tom," Castiel told him.

Tom nodded, head bowed, eyes on the ground. He knew one thing—he couldn't go back to Harmony, to his old life. He wasn't old Tom. Besides, he'd done enough damage there.

He looked up, meeting Castiel's eyes. "Thanks, Cas," he whispered. The concept of Harry not being in him anymore was almost unreal. And yet, he could feel it, an emptiness that he was eager to replace.

Castiel nodded at him. "You're welcome, Tom." He meant it. He'd freed this man from Harry Warden's hold over him—he'd saved him, in a way. "I have to leave."

Tom nodded. Right. Castiel had—important angel business, he guessed.

"Live well, Tom," Castiel said softly, locking eyes with the man just before he disappeared right before his eyes.

Tom turned, walked over to his bed, and sat down on the edge of it. What had just happened was—unreal. Hell, he barely believed that it had ever happened when it had just moments ago. But he knew it had. He could feel that Harry was gone—and that he was never going to come back. And he believed that Castiel was an angel, because only an angel could've done what he had.

It was only then that he felt his exhaustion. So he pulled his legs up onto the bed and laid back, his head resting against the pillow. He could figure out what he would do tomorrow—for now, he would sleep.

Because he was free, and maybe just because he could.

As his eyes closed, his mind wondered back to something, and he moved to put his hand carefully against his left side, to the wound that came from when Sarah had shot him.

His hand encountered no blood, and smooth, unmarked and uninjured flesh beneath his shirt—which, he realized, was still that miner's suit. The one that he—that Harry had killed. Harry won't kill anyone else, Tom reminded himself. And the angel had healed his wound, somehow without Tom even noticing. He still felt that it was more than he deserved.

But he knew it would've been a bitch to take care of without going to a hospital. So, he had yet another thing to thank Castiel for. Castiel, who was no longer around.

So he thanked the angel in his head, hoping that Cas could somehow hear it.

And Castiel did. He heard Tom Hanniger thank him for healing him, because it was something of a prayer, and all angels always heard when a human prayed.

Although it was not something that he'd been given orders to do, he knew that it was the right thing, and he did not regret it. He had saved a man from the evil inside him, had given him salvation. A man whose humanity was remarkable and unbreakable, much like Dean Winchester's.

He had saved one of his Father's most precious creations. That was something that Castiel could never be repentant for.

The end. Wow. I think that's one hell of a oneshot, if I do say so myself. I mean, c'mon…I think I really got into their heads, and this really said something about their characters. Please review, and tell me what you think!