Okay... so here's me delving into a whole new fandom. It's a bit scary. I haven't posted anything in awhile, but I recently discovered Supernatural and plowed through all six seasons (and the ones that have aired from season seven) in like, two weeks. Complete Supernatural Overdose.

On the plus side, it got my muse to dance. She started making me think about angels in season two. I have no idea how long this is going to be, or how often I'll update. I have a vague sort of outline, but no unalterable plans.

I don't have a beta or anything (if you'd like to volunteer, by all means, send me a message) so feel free to point out any glaring grammatical or spelling errors, or in the canon. (I'm altering angel-canon a little bit to suit my needs, though.)

I suppose we'll call this an AU beginning with season 4, since we'll be starting in Hell. Spoilers, of course, but if you haven't watched the show already I don't know what you're doing here. Go watch!

Anyway, this will be mostly centered on Dean, branching off occasionally for heaven/angel stuff, cause I think that's neat. No pairings yet, and if any come along they will be canon, or at least based on the characters canon sexuality. (So no slash, unless maybe Crowley suddenly becomes a major character. Which I'm not planning for.)

Standard disclaimer, etc etc, I own nothing except my OC (who will be introduced in chapter two, I think). I may also have to flesh out the population of Heaven a bit. It's a tad sparse on the show.

"It's okay, baby. It's all okay. Angels are watching over you." -Mary Winchester

Dean twisted the knife a little, feeling the handle slip against his palm, slick with blood. He was more or less deaf to the screaming, now, but he could feel the sickening sense of approval from Alastair watching somewhere behind him.

He knew the knife wasn't real. It was just a construct of Hell. A tool. The poor soul twisting on the rack was real, though. Dean didn't look at them anymore. He couldn't. It had been... good... at first, those first few souls. Satisfying. Sort of a sick payback for his thirty years. But he didn't look anymore. He'd lost track of how many souls he'd ripped apart... but he hadn't lost track of how long he'd been here.

It was his fortieth anniversary tomorrow. Ten years since he'd cracked. Ten years since he'd broken under the personal attention of Hell's High Inquisitor and gotten up off the rack. Ten years since he'd taken the knife offered by the shapeless, grinning monster called Alastair. Ten years of torturing the souls of the damned.

But he didn't like to think about that. Refused to think about what he'd lost. What he'd willingly given up for his bro-

No, he didn't think about that either. His hand moved mechanically to pick up a different tool; a long, twisted blade with jagged edges and little hollow spirals filled with some hellish substance he couldn't name. He jabbed it almost delicately into the soul, forcing back the memories and focusing on not pissing off the demon at his back.

Alastair had been... edgy lately. More volatile. There was a slight disturbance behind him as another demon rushed into the vast, pitted chamber, and Dean hesitated, turning his head slightly as the two demons began an increasingly loud conversation.

Then, chaos.

Demons were shrieking, backing into the large room in a flood, and Alastair was bellowing orders as the smokey flames lining the walls flared up in response to his temper, contaminating the foul room with even more bloody red light.

The damned soul on the rack whimpered in something like relief at the reprieve, but Dean was already turning away, peering over his shoulder with long-unused curiosity as a fight spilled through the only doorway into the chamber.

Two... beings... were fighting the demons with swords made of pure white light. Dean stared in passive, shocked silence, as did the soul he'd been working on.

The male... creature... fought with strong, brutal strikes, his sword considerably larger and wielded with two hands. He looked tired, blood dripping down one side of his pale face from somewhere in his tousled light brown hair. Brilliantly blue eyes flashed with inner light as he cut down the demons one by one, enormous wings like inky shadows flexing and twitching in a constant counterbalance to his movements.

The second... whatever... was female, and moved with quick, darting strikes, ducking gracefully around her companion like they could read each others thoughts, their movements in perfect sync. She too looked tired, but she was beautiful, with angular features and a squared jaw, pale eyes and smooth caramel skin. Long black hair was pulled back in thick ropey braids adorned with shiny beads and feathers, and flew out a bit as she danced through the melee with her slender, slightly curved blade. Her wings were white, like smoke given shape. She was also, Dean thought briefly before brutally shoving aside anything resembling memory, vaguely familiar.

As Dean watched passively, he saw Alastair dive, snarling, into the fight, and as one, the two beings took to the air of the vaulted room, soaring over the suddenly milling demons to land between Dean and the pack. They landed lightly and the woman turned back to the fight, holding her weapon out horizontally with her free hand braced on the blade; brilliantly white light burst forth, and the entire horde of demons drew back with howls and shrieks of rage and pain.

Dean's attention, though, was drawn to the male, who was approaching him with a curiously wide-eyed expression of determination. Dean flinched away, and the being paused, the long glowing sword disappearing and the massive wings curling in slightly.

And then he spoke in a voice that echoed strangely in the chamber, as large and brilliant and piercing as the winged-man himself.

"Dean Winchester, it is time to go from here," he said, coming to stand on Dean's left side and turning slightly to face back towards the woman, who was backing towards them while maintaining that steady stream of white light.

Dean opened his mouth, staring at the man, but he hadn't spoken in ten years, and closed it again without speaking. But then the man reached out with his right hand and clasped him by the shoulder, and it burned burned burned, and for the first time since he'd gotten up from the rack, Dean screamed in agony.

The woman glanced back, startled at the sound, but the light didn't falter, and through the burning pain coursing through him Dean realized that he and the man were rising into the air. The woman took a quick step towards the cowering demons and slashed with her sword once, and a wave of brilliant white flashed out, driving them further back.

She turned on her heel and took to the air after them, pale green eyes meeting Dean's pain-filled gaze and her enormous white wings flaring out to block out sight of the room, and then everything just stopped. Dean lost track of everything but the soft white light suddenly surrounding him, the burning agony fading as if he was submerged in cool, soothing water.

AN: So there's that. As you may have guessed, that there was in fact a glimpse of the OC. I promise to do my utmost not to mary-sue her. What do you think? Shall I go on?