A/N: So this is gonna be a long fic, I already have a good deal of it written so there won't be long periods with no updates. I plan on updating every Monday. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy it, thanks for reading.

I own nothing all rights belong to Kripke and the CW.


Chapter One

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

― Martin Luther King Jr.


Dean Winchester wiped the grease from his hands with a tattered rag and tossed it onto the workbench on his left. He let down the hood of the car he'd been working on, a Pontiac with a bad transmission. It'd been a long and arduous job, but he'd at least finished before his shift ended. Bobby would give him hell if he hadn't. Bobby always gave him a hard time, not out of dislike or annoyance, it was just his way of showing affection. Bobby Singer had owned and operated Singer Auto for twenty years, and Dean had worked for him for five.

Bobby was an old friend of Dean's father, how anyone could maintain a friendship with that man Dean didn't know. Dean didn't know much of anything about his father these days, it'd been years since he'd seen him. This fact troubled Dean less and less as the years wore on, there was really only one family member he was concerned with seeing. His younger brother, Sam was away at college. Dean had never seen him as happy as the day he'd got his acceptance letter to Stanford. Dean couldn't blame him for wanting to get out of the house, Dean only stayed as long as he did because of Sam.

He missed him though, every day, he'd never admit this fact to anyone, let alone Sam, but it was true. Dean walked to the sink on the far side of the garage and washed his hands more thoroughly than the rag would allow. He dried his hands and sighed, it had been a long day. He made his way into the lobby, turning off the lights as he went. He caught sight of Jo as he entered the lobby. Jo was Bobby's stepdaughter and worked as a receptionist at the garage. He smiled to himself as he saw her nodding off at her desk.

"Workin' hard, or hardly workin'?" he said as he approached the desk.

She jumped, clearly startled and scowled at him. "You need some new expressions," she said. "Yours are getting a little worn out."

"Hey, if it aint broke, don't fix it." Dean replied with a grin.

"Case in point." She said.

"Whatever," Dean said, miffed. "Where's the old man anyhow?"

"He left for the night, figured you could handle the tranny on that Pontiac."

"Yeah tell him thanks for the help, it was a pain in the ass." Dean retorted.

"You know how it goes, pain in the ass jobs for the pain in the ass." Jo said with a smirk.

"Is that how it is?" Dean asked affronted.

"That's how it is." Jo said. "Bobby said you'd be complainin' when you finished, and he says if you don't like it you can empty the grease pans from now on."

"Tell him I said the Pontiac was awesome," Dean said with a little too much enthusiasm. "I loved every second I spent under that hood."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said." Replied Jo with a smile. She stood and began gathering her things together.

"Hey, you have a good night Jo." Dean said.

"Yeah, you too." She said with a wave. "See you tomorrow."

"See ya." Dean called behind him as he stepped through the door and into the rainy October evening. The wind whipped at his clothing, sending a chill through the several layers he wore. He walked to his car and got inside, grateful to be out of the wind.

Dean sighed contentedly as he started the engine. There were few things in the world that could truly make Dean feel better when he was having a shitty night. Sam was the first and his car was the second. A 1967 Chevy Impala, in immaculate condition, she was a cherry and Dean's baby. All sleek lines and polished chrome and not a smudge in the deep black paint job. She was a helluva ride, the kind of car that make people nervous when you drive by, just listening to the engine roar was like a religious experience. Dean adjusted the rear view mirror, catching sight of his reflection as he fiddled with it.

Dean was attractive by most everyone's standards, bright green eyes, perfectly sculpted lips, and a face delicately featured for a man of his profession and disposition. He was tall, 6 foot 2 inches, shorter than his kid brother though, a fact that Sam never let him forget. He had acquired a bit of a beer gut in the last few years, a little pudge that Jo enjoyed poking to irritate him. He kept his dirty blonde hair short and usually unstyled. He was strong and a skilled fighter, though he appeared genial and affable to those he knew. His sense of humor may have been a bit crude and childish, but it was genuine as was most things about him.

He pulled out of the parking lot and pointed his car in the direction of the apartment he'd had since Sam went off to college. Dean had left Lawrence, Kansas and his father and moved to Sioux Falls, South Dakota to take a job in Bobby's shop. It had been hard to leave Kansas, he thought about it more than he'd like to. His mind wandered back to his childhood as he drove home. Mostly what he missed was his mother, Mary. He had lost her in a house fire when he was four, his father was different after, no longer patient and kind to them. He began to drink heavily, and though he never put a hand to his boys, he came close more than a few times.

Dean had all but raised Sam and when he'd left for school it had left a void in Dean's life. Dean had filled it with work and the surrogate family he'd found with Bobby, Ellen, and Jo, but he couldn't deny he got lonesome sometimes. He'd try not to dwell on it, try to occupy his thoughts elsewhere, but the loneliness remained. Dean was stopped at a red light and yawned violently before the light turned green. He began driving again, but was stopped a moment later as he came upon a construction site, a water main down by the looks of it. A cop in a reflective vest, looking wearier than Dean felt held a detour sign and pointed the road to the left of him. Dean turned onto the road with a sigh, it was a roundabout trip that would put him back home later than he'd wanted.

He headed down a seedy looking street, hoping that this would be the only night he'd have to come this way. He drove for a few more minutes before he realized that he had never been to this part of town before and that he had no idea where he was. He paused at a stop light, it was ingrained in his male DNA to never ask for directions, but he was tired and wanted to go home. Reluctantly he began driving again, scanning the street for passersby. The street looked deserted and Dean slammed his hand down onto the steering wheel in frustration. He looked helplessly around him at the unfamiliar road signs and out of the corner of his eye he saw something.

On the street corner thirty yards in front of him, a man stood as if waiting for someone. He wore dark clothing and had been difficult to see in the dark, but he was there. Gratefully Dean drove to the end of the street and pulled up to the curb beside the man. The man approached the side of his car as it were Dean he had been waiting for. Dean rolled the window down and began speaking. "Hey buddy, do you know how to get to Pine St. from here? This damn detours got me all messed up."

The man had leaned down, resting his arms through the open window as Dean spoke. He wore a glittery black dress and much too much makeup. "You're the third person who's had to ask for directions tonight," he said. "I guess people aren't used to coming this way."

"I suppose not." Dean said looking around and seeing several other men and women lining the street. The realization hit him a moment later. As he looked around his gaze fell on a man on the opposite corner from him.

Unlike the others who swayed and swaggered confidently, this man held himself with more timidity, clearly uncomfortable. The man must have sensed his eyes on him, for he looked up a second later, meeting Dean's eyes across the street. Dean was stopped short, almost breathless the man had the most intense gaze he had ever seen. Eyes of an arresting and piercing blue met his and Dean's gaze took in the rest of him. He wore clothes too tight and much too revealing for the time of year, he had pale lips that looked chapped and a good deal of stubble covered his jaw. His hair was wildly disheveled, whether done intentionally or not, and his eyes were accentuated by a coat of mascara and eyeliner.

The man he was speaking to caught him looking. "He's new, but he's learning. People like em' shy." She said.

Dean tore his gaze from the man. "What's his name?" he asked without meaning to.

"Well, people call him Angel, but I don't know his real name. Why you lookin' for company, honey? Cause this girl's a helluva good time, less you like boys that is."

"No, thank you Sugar." Dean said politely. "Just the directions, thanks."

Dean listened absently as Sugar rattled off the directions back to the main road. Dean glanced once more at the man on the corner before pulling away from the curb. He purposefully kept his eyes on the road, and didn't look back once. He was distracted the rest of the way home, and there was a tightness in his chest he couldn't explain. His mind kept wandering back to the man on the corner, the blue eyed angel. It had been a long time since he had felt this way seeing someone, not since Lisa Braeden in high school, and that was nothing like this. He pushed the thoughts away viciously.

A moment later he pulled into his driveway, grateful to be home at last. He cut the engine and got out of the car, his back was beginning to ache. He walked slowly up the concrete path to his apartment. It was two stories and he had the ground floor, the upstairs neighbor was an older women who kept to herself and complained when he left the front porch light on. It was a brick building pleasant enough to look at and not much worse inside. Dean unlocked the door and entered the apartment, flipping on lights as he made his way through the sparsely furnished living room to the kitchen.

The kitchen may have looked a little dingy, but it was clean. The white linoleum held stains from previous tenants and the overhead light was dim. There was hardly any counter space and the stove was from the fifties, not that he did much cooking anyway. Dean opened the fridge and looked inside a little mournfully. It was empty save a few bottles of beer, leftover pizza and some condiments. He really needed to go grocery shopping. He grabbed the pizza and a beer and made his way back into the living room. He settled into the battered green armchair in the center of the room and turned the TV on. He watched an old boxing match and ate cold pizza.

A while later as he sipped his second beer and tried to focus solely on the TV, the phone rang. Dean, grateful for the distraction, grabbed the phone. It was almost 11 and he knew there was only one person who'd be calling so late. "Sammy." He called joyfully into the phone.

"How do you always know it's me?" Sam asked and he sounded beat.

"It's late and you should be studying." Dean said smiling to himself. "You're using me as a distraction."

"Yeah well, you try reading law books for ten hours straight and see how you feel." Sam said a little disgruntled.

"Aww somebody's a little grumpy today." Dean said with a chuckle. "Sides, I don't mind being a distraction. How ya been?"

"I've been alright. I don't think I've had a full night's sleep in months, but other than that, pretty good." Sam said.

"You'll live." Dean said with mock bravado. "How's Jess?"

"She's good too," Sam said. "I was thinkin' maybe next time I come to visit, I'll bring her along. I'd like you to meet her and Bobby too you know."

"Hey, this must be gettin' pretty serious then, bringin' her home to meet the family." Dean said with a grin.

"I guess it is." Sam admitted.

"Aww that's cute, Sammy's in love." Dean crooned.

"Shut up." Sam said a little too forcefully.

"I'd love to meet her, Sam." Replied Dean with a laugh. "I gotta make sure this girls treating my baby brother right."

"Thanks Dean," Sam said and Dean could tell that he was smiling. "And by the way I'm not a baby and she treats me just fine."

"I'm sure she does." Dean said a little too suggestively and he could practically hear Sam roll his eyes over the phone.

"Anyway, how've you been?" Sam asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from his love life.

"Ehh can't complain," Dean said. "Bobby still likes to give me a hard time, ya know how he is. Ellen and Jo keep asking when you're gonna visit, they miss ya."

"Well you tell em I miss em too." Sam said.

"Will do."

"You sure you're alright, Dean? You sound kinda funny." Sam asked and Dean should have known it was coming. Nothing ever got past Sam, especially if it had anything to do with Dean.

"I'm fine Sam, just a little tired is all. Had a long day." Replied Dean as casually as he could.

"Alright, well I won't keep you up then." Said Sam.

"Hey, you try and get some sleep too Sammy. Aint no use takin' all them classes if you're gonna end up sleepin' through em."

"You were always the one sleeping through classes, if I recall." Sam said.

"Good point." Dean said. "Night Sammy."

"Goodnight Dean."

Dean hung up the phone, feeling only marginally better than he had before. He looked at the TV and sighed before he turned it off. Sam could always tell when something was eating Dean, always since he was five years old. Dean had always figured that his problems were his problems and it didn't make sense to burden anyone else with them. Sam had always disagreed. It wasn't anything huge, Dean was a little lonely and maybe he drank too much sometimes, but there was no reason to worry Sam with it. So he pretended he was fine, though they both knew different and they didn't talk about it.

Dean rubbed a hand wearily across his face and rose stiffly from his chair. He walked from the living room with its stained carpet and cracked ceiling, the only things in the room an armchair an old TV, and a small table that held the phone and the remains from his dinner. The walls were painted an off white that had grown faded and grayish with time, the cheap shag carpeting was matted in places and no amount of vacuuming could get it clean. Dean looking at the room despondently and switched the light off before retiring to his bedroom, which was in about as good repair as the rest of the place.

He walked across the room without bothering to turn the light on and sat down on the edge of his bed. He kicked his boots off and the metal springs of the cheap mattress groaned in protest. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it across the room in the general direction of the hamper. He lay back on his sheets, still in his jeans and the image of the man on the corner came back to him, unbidden. He rolled over angrily and pushed the thought away, his mind was blank when he finally drifted off a few hours later. It didn't stay blank for long.

It always started with the smoke, every single time and then the heat came. Dean awoke and got out of bed, rushing to Sammy's room. Protect Sam, always his first instinct. He entered the room and saw the burgeoning flames leap out at his father. John Winchester held his youngest in his arms, his expression one of fear and despair. He saw Dean at the door and put Sam in his arms.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can, Dean. I'll get your mother." John said with authority. "Go Dean, go."

And Dean went, rushing from the house, little Sammy clutched to his chest. He knew that John would save his mother, John was strong and brave and he was Dean's father. In Dean's mind there was nothing he couldn't do, but he waited for what seemed like a lifetime. And when John finally burst through the front door, he was alone. John grabbed his sons just before the flames reached the gas line and the house imploded.

Dean watched over his father's shoulder as the flames completely engulfed the house, he realized then that his mother wasn't coming. Dean twitched in his sleep, his breathing ragged, and sweat soaking the sheets beneath him. Then something happened, something different. He didn't wake violently as he usually did then, sweating and shaking. An image swam before his vision, a pair of icy blue eyes, which seemed to sooth the ravaging fire. His mind went dark once more and he slept soundly again.

Dean woke early the following morning, pleasantly surprised. He couldn't remember a night when he hadn't been woken by memories of the fire. Every night like clockwork he woke gasping with the smell of smoke in his nose and throat. Today he felt rested and calm, he felt good. He whistled in the shower and while he made breakfast, an egg sandwich, which he wolfed down standing over the sink. He was due at the garage around noon, but he thought about heading in early. The look on Bobby's face would be worth it, Dean had never voluntarily gone into work early, or stayed late for that matter. Not that he was lazy, just his work ethic needed improvement as Ellen put it, he was just a damn idjit as Bobby put it.

Dean grabbed his keys and shrugged on his dad's old leather jacket he still wore, some habits die a little too hard. He was humming Deep Purple as he headed for the door. His last thought before he stepped out into the early afternoon sunlight, irrational as it seemed, was that he really hoped they hadn't finished repairing that water main yet.


See ya next week.