I shouldn't be starting this, not when I have my show running all week and another fic to update, but I want happy love instead of drama and I miss this fandom…

Chapter 1

I'm not afraid of monsters. I've fought ghosts, ghouls, demons, and even angels in my 15 years. The first time I drove a car I was six and trying to escape from a werewolf. If it's evil and wants to eat me I know how to kill it.

Of course there is one think I know to be scared of. There is one thing in this universe to fear and you can never escape them- humans. All of my parents bloodiest cases are human in origin. Humans are random, chaotic, and dangerous. Vampires are easy to predict; if you know what they're going to do you can outsmart them. You can never outsmart a human.

That's why I'm not supposed to approach strangers. I can kill a wendigo five different ways, but I promised my worrisome parents that I'd stay away unless there was a monster involved. Like I said, monsters I can handle.

So that's why I was initially hesitant when I saw the grimy brunette stumbling down the street. He obviously needed help, but I had no idea if he was a rapist or just a drunk. Just the dark look about him assured that he was dangerous. Still, I hunt to help people, and this teen surely needed help.

When I moved to get a better look I noticed that the drunken stager was not due to intoxication, but a clearly broken ankle (the angle could tell you that). Rushing to the man's side I felt an odd sense of familiarity. He looked just like my dad, Dean. (That is if Dean was about 35 years younger than he is now.) Even his stance reminded me of how I'd seen my father look when hurt on a hunt.

"Are you okay?" I asked dumbly. The bloodstains said he wasn't, but I wasn't really sure what else to say. "Where are you hurt? I can help."

"I'm fine," the boy lied with a cringe. "Go aw…" Looking back I understand that the look that dawned on his face was one of utter amazement, but then I only saw confusion. It was as if this boy knew everything about me, despite us having never met. "Sorry it's just you look really familiar," he finally told me upon realizing his staring. "I'm honestly fine. I heal quickly and the blood isn't mine. See, no wounds."

With a lift of his shirt, the injured boy revealed no wounds, but instead an intensely ripped set of abs. Forget a six pack, he had 12. Now it was my time to gape, but when his shirt went back down, I spoke to draw attention away from my blush. "Your ankle's broken. Why don't you let me set it and I'll drive you home."

"I don't have a car," he confessed with a shrug. "And since you're walking in this weather I'm guessing you don't either. I'm fine, see no broken ankle."

That wasn't possible. His ankle was practically facing backwards a minute ago, and now it was perfectly fine. That kind of healing isn't human. I'd know. "Sorry, must just been a trick of the light that made it look off," I told him as I bent down to touch it casually brushing my silver and holy water covered bracelet against his skin. When I noticed no reaction, I realized my words just had to be true. Any monster would react to my bracelet, angels excluded, but if this man was an angel he would have teleported away instead of staggering injured. Nope, this was just a super attractive human boy who must have gotten in a fight. "You should still let me walk you home. It's not safe out here."

The boy laughed, "I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be my line. Isn't it normally the girl who needs protecting on the dark Hastings, Nebraska streets?"

Ugg. Typical sexist assumptions. (And this small town was nowhere near dangerous.) "I don't need protection."

"I'm certain that's true," he told me with an awkward smile before standing up with an extended hand. "Michael."

"Megan," I told him with a smile. "But some people call me Meg. While I don't talk to many people but my dad calls me Meg, while one of them so… sorry I'm rambling. You can call me whatever I guess."

"You don't sound like you talk to many people, Megan," Michael deduced as we set down the moonlight street. "I hope it's not because you have two dads because that would just be sad."

"No. I'm just not much of a people person," I told him glad that, unlike most people, he doesn't seem too interested in the fact that I have two dads. "I guess I get that from them. Dean basically has spent his whole life talking on to his family, and Cas… while the recurring theme of his life is 'I don't get it.' I'd much rather sit at home and read than go to a party so… I just don't make friends."

"That's a shame," Michael decided after an awkward stretch of silence. "You're a good talker. So your dad's name is Cas? Never heard that name before."

"It's short for Castiel," I explained like that name was any more common. "Let's just say his Dad is a bit… old fashioned."

Michael seemed to find this explanation hilarious, because it took him almost a minute to settle down. "Are your dads home now?"

Instantly my danger sensors began buzzing. Why did this strange guy want to know if my parents were home? Generally, that's the kind of question rapists and murderers ask nice, young girls.

Michael must have sensed my distrust because he apologized, "I didn't mean it like that. I just look the bad boy type and didn't want to startle them by walking you home and having them think you were in with the wrong crowd."

"I thought we decided I didn't need protection," I pointed out continuously avoiding his question. "How about I walk you home so your parents think you're in with a better crowd than the blood on your shirt would suggest."

"That will be difficult as I haven't seen my dad in a long time and I never had a mom in the first place," Michael told me quickly, but without malice.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a touchy subject. How old are you that you're living alone?" Michael didn't look much older than I did, despite his ragged demeanor. Maybe 16 or 17 tops.

"16, but I don't have a guardian."

No we had already established that. "So you're emancipated?"

"Technically I'm dead." Wait, what? "I mean according to the government I am. I was declared dead 2 years ago after my car went off a bridge. I survived; they just don't know it."

"Wow that's…" I'd heard a lot of interesting stories in my life but that took the cake. "So how do you work or something. How do you pay your rent?"

"I don't," Michael confessed kicking a rock so not to look me in the eye. "I'm more of a destitute wanderer. No home, no car, no money. Not that I need any of that. Having nothing suits me."

I found it shocking how casual Michael was about being homeless. "Why don't you come home with me," I offered hoping my pity wasn't apparent. "We have an extra bedroom for when Uncle Sam comes around. Not the Army Uncle Sam, my actual Uncle that is. He's not home though so you could use it. It's freezing out here; you'll catch your death."

"I don't think your dads would much appreciate me showing up on their doorstep," Michael responded with a knowing chuckle.

"You don't know my dads," I countered though it was true. Cas might be welcoming, but Dean… he was inertly distrustful of everyone. (Especially men who want to get near me.) Years of hunting told him that people were bad, while years of fighting taught Cas that people were good.

"One look at you and I could predict their reaction," Michael told me with a cool chuckle. "No I'm fine, honest. The cold doesn't bother me. Maybe I'll see you around, Meg."

"Take care," I murmured as the shadowed boy disappeared into the dark night.