So, this is a definite work in progress. I came up with the idea earlier and it just grew and grew and I ended up writing 3,000+ words for this story all at once - which is a big deal for me since I don't normally do that. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

You can hear it in the beat they march to,

And you can feel the earth shake when they start to dance.

You can tell by the way they move you,

It's not murder; it's an act of faith.

Angels terrified them.

Sam and Dean heard reports all the time, of people dying from angel attacks. It had been nearly three years since the angels had come – all large wings and fiery swords and untamed power –and already they were feared and hated by all humans. Just one mention of one of the winged beasts had everyone cringing in terror.

At first, when the angels had arrived, the humans had been taken by surprise; off-balance and caught unawares. The attacks had been scattered in the beginning, but slowly they became more and more obvious until sightings were made and videos turned up all over the internet, bringing with them undeniable proof. Soon after the military retaliated and, though it had taken a while, they'd found out how to kill the angels with knives and swords that were soaked in the damned race's own blood.

But it was already to the point that angels were slowly growing in power and humans were diminishing in number, and every time Dean let himself think about it he could feel the fear bubbling up from where he'd hidden it deep, deep down inside him.

He'd been nineteen when they first appeared, and looking back on it that first year had been the most horrible, terrifying year of his life. Everything had been so normal before then, but just like that the angels had come and it had all gone to shit. Dean and his family had hidden, as so many others had, while politicians consulted and countries banded together and militaries searched for ways to kill them.

But hiding out in their houses was not enough.

They'd lived in a small town; a country town where everyone knew each other. These were the towns that were the most dangerous. Angels learned to stay away from the bigger cities where the humans could fight back in numbers greater than theirs. Now they stuck to the countryside, picking off the smaller towns one by one as their own ranks grew in size.

Dean's had been one such town.

The angels came one night, swift and terrible, and the townspeople had been totally unprepared. They'd had no chance to fight back as the angels killed and burned and tore lives and families apart. And amidst the chaos and blood and death the Winchester family had huddled in their house, terrified and praying for help.

But no help came.

A terrifying angel with raven-black wings and armor the color of a starless night had kicked down their door and had grabbed their mother, Mary, from her supposedly safe hiding spot in the corner. She'd screamed and cried and begged, but the angel had raised his sword anyway, prepared to kill her without a second thought.

Screaming Mary's name, John, their father, had leapt from his own hiding spot behind the couch, running at the angel with a gun in his hand and fire in his eyes. But it had not been enough. And Sam and Dean had heard it all from their hiding place in the closet.

They'd heard their father charge the angel, they'd heard the angel laugh as if mocking him, and – most horribly of all – they'd heard the sound their father made when the angel ran him through, and the scream their mother gave as she watched their father die.

Mary had died not long after.

And then, thinking the house to be empty, the angel had left, wicked laughter resounding in his wake as the door slammed closed behind him.

Sam had fled from the closet as soon as the cost was clear, falling to his knees beside his parents and sobbing over their corpses as he whispered 'no, no, no'. Dean's reaction had been different. He'd hugged his younger brother, comforted him, and promised they would be okay, but his voice was flat and his eyes were dead.

He never shed a single tear.

The angels left the town soon after, having no more business there now that all the humans (or so they thought) had been killed, and the two brothers took it as a chance to escape. They got in their parents' car – a sleek '67 Chevy Impala – and then they drove and drove and drove, getting as far away from that little town in Kansas as they could.

And since then, neither had spoken of that day.

But things never went back to normal as Sam hoped they would. He thought that maybe with time they'd be able to move on, to keep living as their parents had wanted, but he'd been wrong, for after the happenings of that dreaded night Dean had grown hard and cold. He was no longer the carefree, fun-loving older brother he'd been before. And sometimes he scared Sam – though the younger Winchester would never admit it out loud.

He loved his brother, even if the look in Dean's eyes terrified him.

And so life continued on. But, even as Sam and Dean moved to Chicago – a larger city where they'd be safe – and got themselves jobs and an apartment and lives, things were never the same again. Dean's eyes were still dead, Sam was still too scared to ask him about it, and they never spoke of that day ever again.

X X X

"Hey, Dean!"

Dean straightened from where he'd been bent under the hood of a '07 Toyota Camry and saw his friend Anna trotting toward him. The redhead threw him a mischievous smirk, wiping oil on her dirty jeans, and leaned against the car.

"Hey, Anna," Dean replied, giving her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's up?"

"Nothing much, really. I was just wondering if you were doing anything tonight."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Anna had this nasty habit of forgetting that he preferred guys and instead continued to come onto him. He didn't condemn her for it, though. In fact he actually liked it. Teasing like this allowed him to forget the hole in his chest, and fill it with goofy smiles and lame one-liners.

That only lasted for so long, though.

"I'm busy tonight, Anna."

"Oh, I bet you are." She winked at him, "I saw that guy you were feeling up at the bar last night; he was quite a looker. You guys meeting up again tonight as well?"

"That's none of your business, sweetheart." Dean retorted playfully.

Anna grinned at him knowingly. It just so happened that she lived in the apartment right across the hall from the one Dean shared with Sam, thus giving her an inside look at their private lives that most people didn't get to see. And it was because of this little fact that they were such good friends, because Anna knew a lot about him – and his past – and yet still she stuck by his side.

It was something Dean would be forever grateful to her for.

"Did you see the news?" She asked suddenly, switching the subject randomly as she always did.

Dean shook his head, leaning back under the hood of the Camry. "No, why?"

"There was another attack."

"Where?" Dean gasped, that familiar tightening in his chest taking hold.

"Indiana." Anna replied.

Dean went very still. "That's close." He murmured. Too close.

"Yeah." She flicked a stray piece of fiery-red hair out of her face. "You don't need to worry, though. They won't come here."

"I know," Dean went back to his work, pretending the news didn't bother him. "I know."

That uneasy feeling stayed with him throughout the rest of the day, but no one noticed. No one ever noticed. Dean had gotten good at hiding his feelings behind a mask of fake smiles and dead laughter, good to the point that the only person able to penetrate that façade anymore was Sam. But if anyone had bothered to look close enough they would've been able to see the truth clearly.

Dean was worried.

He clocked out of work on the dot and hurried home, feeling anxious to get there. He fumbled with the keys as he reached his door, nearly dropping them before he finally got them in the lock. And by the time he barged into the apartment he was flushed and breathing hard, exorcising all his willpower available in order not to scream for his little brother.

Instead, assuaging all his earlier fears, Sam was sitting right there in the living room, asleep in front of the TV.

Dean sighed heavily, knowing now that he'd had no reason to worry. They were safe here, in the city. And besides, that attack had been an entire state over. Sure, it was a bit closer than he would've liked, but it didn't matter. The angels would never come here. They knew better. So, it was with a light heart that Dean went to bed, able to get a good night's sleep with the knowledge that they were safe. That Sam was safe.

But the next morning all of that changed.

Dean woke up to find Sam on the couch, staring at the TV with an expression of horror on his face, and when he moved to ask his younger brother what was wrong Sam merely shook his head and pointed at the screen, obviously wanting Dean to pay attention to whatever was on. Sam had it on the local news channel, and it looked as if they were saying something about the weather. Dean frowned, wondering what was so horrible about that, but then the newscaster switched back to the main story.

And suddenly Dean understood.

"And now back to our main story," the newscaster – a petite brunette with pretty blue eyes – said. "Reports of angel attacks in the state of Indiana reached our ears yesterday. But, if that wasn't startling enough, there's been another attack closer to home. The city of Evanston was hit just last night with a wave of angels that left the place in ruins, and witness accounts tell of an innumerable amount of the winged beings instigating the attack. This news is troubling to everyone, and definitely raises some serious questions," she paused to swallow thickly, and Dean suddenly noticed the beads of sweat on her forehead.

She was scared.

"Where have those angels gone?" She continued, "And – more importantly – where are they headed?"

Sam shut the TV off then, obviously unable to listen to anymore, and gave Dean a look of pure fear. Dean saw the memories in his eyes then; terrible memories of large black wings, a flaming sword rending flesh and bone, and their parents' dying screams.

"Shh, Sammy, it's okay." Dean whispered, pulling his little brother into a hug, "We're safe here, alright? Chicago is a lot bigger than Evanston, Sammy. It's okay. I promise. It's okay."

Sam nodded, burying his face into Dean's shoulder as he struggled to hold back his tears. "I – I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." Dean said defiantly. "I'll never leave you. I'll always protect you, I promise."

Sam took a deep breath and pulled away, sniffling softly. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean nodded slowly, his heart breaking as he saw the fear still visible in Sam's eyes. "Look, today's Saturday, so we have nothing to do. Why don't we just have a stay at home day, huh? We can make Chicken Divan, your favorite, and watch movies and play games and stuff. How's that sound?"

Sam nodded, his face brightening. "Yeah, that sounds good."

And so it was. The two brothers stayed in all day, watching movies all morning. They ate a late breakfast, played a few board games, took naps on the sofa while some soap opera droned along on the TV screen, and woke up just in time to get started on dinner. However, as they made preparations for the Chicken Divan dish, Sam realized they were missing some of the most vital ingredients.

"There's a little grocery store just down the block," Dean said, "I'll go get what we need."

Sam looked a bit uneasy. "Dean . . ."

"Look, I'll only be gone a little while. Half an hour, tops. And if you want you can have Anna come over. I bet she'd like to join us for dinner and a movie, right?"

The younger Winchester nodded, looking more relaxed already. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I'll go get her."

"You do that," Dean said, grabbing his wallet on his way out. "I'll be right back."

It was a bit chilly outside. A light wind blew, scattering the trash that was inevitably strewn across the sidewalk – it was Chicago, after all – and Dean wrapped his jacket tighter around himself, hurrying down the street to the little store he'd mentioned before. He wanted to get home quickly and banish the anxiety creeping up on him with dinner and movies and good company.

The lady in the grocery store was all smiles and meaningless chatter. She talked too much as Dean simply returned her smile, his eyes flat, and got what he needed before hurrying back out, glad to be done.

The wind had picked up since he'd been outside, and it felt somehow darker, too. The streets were nearly empty, everyone too scared of the recent angel attacks to leave their homes at night, and the sky was devoid of stars, the cloud-cover making it impossible for them to shine through. Unease slid under Dean's skin, churning his stomach, and he felt his throat go dry. Something was wrong; he could feel it. But what?

Turning down the side street that led to his and Sam's apartment complex, Dean found his step quickening and he ducked his head, fingers gripping the bags he'd carried from the grocery store far too tightly; knuckles going white. His skin felt clammy and his palms were sweating, heartbeat speeding up to an unnatural pace, and he was sure he heard footsteps echoing on the pavement behind him.

But Dean was no coward.

Despite the terror racing through his veins he spun on his heel, dropping the groceries onto the sidewalk and facing the person approaching him with raised fists. He and Sam had both been trained in quite a few martial arts growing up – courtesy of their father – and Dean was very sure of himself when it came to fighting man-to-man.

But the person standing at the other end of the street was no man.

He had wings; impossibly wide, black-feathered, terrifyingly horrible wings. They stretched out behind him, dwarfing Dean in their shadow, and he stumbled backwards. Knees weak, sweat pouring down his back, he nearly fell, but caught himself just in time to find the angel just inches from him. A sword glinted in the light from a nearby streetlamp, shimmering with fire, and the angel's face stretched into a wicked grin.

Dean's breath got caught in his throat.

He had not seen an angel up close, not since the night his parents died, and he didn't know what to do. He just froze up, staring wide-eyed at the harbinger of death that stood before him while praying silently that it would not kill him. But why wouldn't it? Angels killed humans, humans killed angels; it had become the natural order of things.

I'm so sorry, Sammy.

The angel raised his flaming sword over his head and Dean cringed, closing his eyes and turning his head away as if hoping it would somehow diminish the pain. Maybe he'd go quicker if he kept his eyes closed. It was the only thing he had left to hope for.

"No!"

Dean's eyes flew open just in time to see a flurry of white wings, and then the angel attacking him was thrown back as if by some powerful invisible force. Dean's knees buckled beneath him, shock and relief too much for his already stretched-thin nerves to handle, and it was all he could do to keep himself from falling unconscious.

He heard sounds of fighting; the clang of steel-on-steel as swords connected, the hiss of sparks as fire caught flesh, the wail of a wounded angel. His vision had gone blurry and he could hardly keep himself upright, but he struggled to do so, knowing it would mean life or death to stay awake.

Another pained cry – this one higher, sharper – then there was silence, and Dean was left breathing hard and trying not to black out. Despite his fuzzy vision, though, he knew for sure that there was someone walking toward him . . . someone with wings the color of fresh-fallen snow.

Another angel.

"No . . . n-no . . ." Dean gasped, having trouble catching his breath and feeling pathetic as he scrambled away from the approaching figure. "Please, no . . . I can't die, please . . . I-I have to protect Sammy."

"Be still," a deep, gravelly voice replied, "I have not come to harm you, I am here to help. We are here to help."

Dean struggled to raise his head, to look up. He had no idea what was going on. That had definitely been an angel coming toward him, but no angel would ever say anything like that. Angels hated humans with a passion; they wanted them all dead.

It didn't make any sense.

"Rest," the voice continued. "You are overwhelmed; you'll understand when you wake."

Dean vaguely registered two fingers being pressed to his forehead, and though his initial reaction was to pull away and yell don't fucking touch me, he did nothing. It was as if his own mind had turned against him, and his body refused to listen. Instead he fell into darkness, swallowed up by it as one is swallowed by the ocean; vast and unending.

And Dean knew no more.