Ah... Christmas Eve... a time for giving... THE AWESOME SEQUEL TO "ON ANGEL'S WINGS!" That's right, it's done and here, so Happy Holidays, all!

Previously: When we alst saw Sam and Dean... Sammy had been initiated into the evil psychic cult run by the demon and Dean had gotten wings, immortality, superhuman strength, and healing powers before the demon took them away. But why are you reading this? The actual story is MUCH mroe interesting. Go check it out!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. You know that. So does Kripke. He laughs about it.

On Angel's Wings 2

Dean sighed and bowed his head. It was supposed to have been a simple hunt. No one should have been hurt. No one should have been kidnapped. When he'd woken up alone in the park, he'd known something was wrong. His brother was gone, taken by the demon they'd been tracking.

It had taken them a month to find it after hearing about its first murder. They'd found the story in the paper the day after they'd left Nebraska. While tracking it, the brothers had hunted a few other things, small creatures really, not worth the time. Somehow, Sammy had always killed them while his brother's back had been turned.

But Sam hadn't been able to kill the demon that was possessing the teenage girl in the small Colorado town. He'd been taken after Dean had been knocked out.

Why Dean had traveled to the small mountain chapel after waking up in the park, he didn't know. He'd just felt like it was the right place to go. It would provide the peace and solitude he needed to think.

"Excuse me, young man?"

Dean looked up and turned toward the old man who had just walked into the church. "Yeah?"

"I couldn't help but notice," the knobby old guy said softly, "but you look kind of lost. Anything I can help with?"

"Doubt it."

"Well, maybe I could try," the man said, sitting in the pew beside the hunter, "I'm Father Emerson, the pastor here. Now, what's on your mind, son?"

Dean sighed. "It's my brother. I kind of lost him today, and I need to get him back before something bad happens."

"You should start looking for him."

"I wish it was that easy. It's gonna take a miracle for me to find him."

The elderly priest nodded. "Well, God works in mysterious ways. I'm sure that if you just ask for help-"

"I don't think I'm God's favorite person now," Dean said, hanging his head, "I'm not exactly a saint."

"I believe that salvation was intended for sinners," the priest smiled, standing shakily up and walking down the aisle towards the door, "ask, and you shall receive."

Dean watched the old man leave and smiled to himself. Or, he thought, tick off the man upstairs, and you shall sprout wings. Although, what could it hurt to try?

"All right," he muttered, clasping his hands together and bowing his head, "I don't ask for much, but I'm asking now. I've done good things, and You and I both know that I deserve something, so how about you help me find Sammy one more time. No wings required, just give me an address or something. I swear, this is the last thing I'll ever ask for."

The church was eerily quiet. "Come on, You helped me out before, and I was kind of being a jerk then, so…" He paused, waiting for some sort of sign, a rogue gust of wind or a plague of minimal proportions. "I'm asking nicely this time."

Outside the little church, a car drove by, rattling and squealing its way down the street. A lone bird chirped out a happy little song, and a few scattered clouds moved in to block the sun.

"Honestly," Dean growled, "just help a guy out. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time." He waited again, but got no response. "You don't get it, do You? I need to save him. He's my responsibility."

Rain began to patter softly against the church's tiny stained glass windows as a storm moved in. "All right. I get it. Ask and you shall receive. Ask honestly and you shall receive. It's not my fault. I blame You. You gave me that freedom and You took it away. You gave me a way out, and let that thing strip it from me. I want it back. I deserve it. You and I both know that. I never ask for anything, I never question what I do. I've wasted years of my life fighting the good fight, and all I've gotten is death. Give me what I want, and I'll never question anything again. I'll be a perfect angel if it comes right down to it. Just give me my freedom back."

Lightning flashed across the sky as the pounding of the rain increased in intensity. The hunter sat in the pew, head bowed, waiting for something, anything. When nothing happened, he left. God had turned His back on Dean, so Dean was turning his back on God.

He walked out into the storm, turning up the collar of his jacket against the fiercely biting wind. He was headed back to the motel, where he would start his search for Sam by grabbing a map and trying to find the best possible location for a demonic hide-out. He was sidelined, though, as someone ran straight into him, knocking him flat on his butt on the rain-soaked sidewalk.

Dean glared up at the man, a blond who appeared to be in his late teens. "Sorry," the kid mumbled, holding out a hand to help the hunter up, "klutzy." He smiled warmly, blue eyes shining as Dean grabbed his hand.

The man didn't try to pull him up, though, just tightened his grip on the hunter's hand, smile widening as Dean felt an almost familiar itch at his shoulder blades. It didn't take long for the itch to turn to pain, for the sound of ripping cloth to reach the hunter's ears as his shirt tore down the back. It was a good thing he was already on the ground, otherwise he would have fallen flat on his back, probably breaking something.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the intense, burning pain was gone, replaced by a familiar weight on the his back. Something was pressing down on him, something soft being held flat under his jacket. He looked down and saw a few tatters of dark blue t-shirt on the sidewalk around him.

"What did you do to me?" Dean hissed, knowing the answer in his heart but too hopeful to admit it, too scared he might be wrong.

The blond pulled him to his feet. "Your prayers have been answered," he whispered, heading toward the church doors, "now go save your brother." The man slid one of the doors open and disappeared in front of it. He didn't walk into the church, didn't slip away unnoticed, but dissolved in a flash of light, leaving Dean alone on the sidewalk.

The hunter nodded. "Right," he muttered, heading off at a quick pace to the motel. He had to check, had to be sure, and had to figure out a way to wriggle into a shirt before going after his brother, who, if the little voice in his head was telling the truth, could be found at 2121 Sycamore Lane.

o0o0o0o0o

"Moment of truth," Dean muttered as he stood in front of the motel room's tiny mirror, staring at his reflection. He tugged off the tattered remnants of his shirt and tossed them onto the sickly brown carpet.

Slowly, he shrugged off his wet jacket, holding his breath as it fell to the floor behind him. He smiled, working oddly familiar muscles to spread the wings that again sprouted from his back.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," he muttered, grabbing his duffel bag and beginning to rifle through it for scissors and an old shirt.

Well, what do you think? I promise, it gets better.