Author's Note: This first chapter has no Destiel, I'm sorry! This is just to set up the story. I promise the next one will be much more fun to read. The next one will have much more angst and Destiel goodness, as well. As always, I love reviews and if anyone is interested in beta reading, please drop me a line. I'm a bit rusty and could probably use a beta reader. Anyway, enjoy the fic!

Word Count: 1,581

Rating: K+

Past

"Dean! Take Sam and run! Go!" John, their father, calls out, shouting through the smoke and the flames. Dean clutches his younger brother and sprints out of the small house, now completely overtaken by flames. He glances over his shoulder one last time, trying to block out the echoing screams of his mother and father.

He hardly remembers anything from earlier that night, but he tries. He remembers a man – a wizard, probably – with a tall, ominous black staff and yellow eyes forcing his way into their house, and he remembers his parents demanding answers. He remembers muffled pleading from his parents and then lots of screaming, smoke, and fire.

He runs until he reaches another small cottage, one owned by his father's friend, the Ranger named Bobby Singer. When he reaches the door, he is panting and Sam is crying and he collapses on the front porch, hoping with all of his might that it can finally be over.

Bobby does come to the door, eventually, and his eyes widen in fear at the sight of his friend's children sprawled out, asleep, on his porch. He takes them in and waits for them to wake up.

Dean tells Bobby the whole story the next morning, in between sobs and unanswerable, heart-wrenching questions. Bobby wishes he could say something to Dean's pleas of "bring them back, please Bobby" and "when are Mom and Dad coming back? Soon, right?" (this question was always said with a tinge of resignation, like he knows the answer but he doesn't want it).

After Dean tells the story, Bobby sends him back to the spare room with Sam and contemplates a plan of action. They have no other family he could send them to, and no other appointed guardians. Bobby moves them around a lot – he's worried that the wizard with the black staff and cloak will come back to finish the job, so they never stay in one place for long. They stay in the outskirts of cities, never more than a month in one place.

Dean and Sam grow up in Bobby's care, training to be Rangers, training to be safe, to know who to trust, what to trust, and what to kill, and how to kill it, and what to do when you've killed it, but most of all, training to fight the wizard that killed their family. This final reason remained unspoken between the three, but it was always the reason that Dean and Sam became Rangers.

Present

"What'll it be for you tonight?" A young woman with a lilting voice approaches the table. Dean looks up and smiles charmingly, and is about to start flirting when Sam speaks.

"Just two ales, thanks," Sam says quickly, cutting Dean off. Dean glares, sighs, and throws a furtive glance back at the waitress.

"The orcs have reached Helm's Deep. We don't have time for more investigation. Fight first, ask questions later. At this point, Rohan's safety is more important than getting to the bottom of this," Dean said forcefully.

"Dean…" Sam protested.

"No, Sam, we don't have time for days and days of research. We'll get some information out of them after we make sure everyone at Helm's Deep is safe," says Dean and Sam falls silent in agreement. The waitress brings them their drinks and Sam sits quietly, ignoring Dean flirting with the waitress.

"So tomorrow we'll go to Helm's Deep and try to catch up with them, and then we'll get some answers," Sam says decisively, finishing his drink and standing up. Dean nods in agreement, still throwing glances the way of the waitress and they walk out of the half-full tavern, putting up their hoods as they go. They find an inn on the outskirts of town and Sam spends the rest of the evening poring over old scrolls of lore, trying to parallel this incident with anything similar that had happened in the past. Dean sits on the other side of the room, cleaning weapons and occasionally throwing out a sarcastic remark.

"There was an incident a couple years back…a group of orcs tried to cut off a village a week's journey from Minas Tirith," Sam remarks to Dean. He shakes his head.

"I read that one. But it was nomadic orcs doing the cutting off, wasn't it? And they weren't under orders, either," Dean says, referring to the first skirmish they had with the orc tribe. Dean had attempted to interrogate one of the higher-ranking orcs and it was clear that they were under orders. Dean hadn't been able to get much information – all they had been able to gather was that they were under orders from a more powerful being, definitely not an orc. The two speculated that maybe it was a dark wizard – they had heard of dark covens growing in number.

"It's not a dark coven. The orcs are after something," Sam announced. Dean looked up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, definitely. Something like this has happened before, in Lórien. A couple of orc tribes tried to cut them off…it looks like they surrounded them, and they seem to be using that strategy now, too. The orcs, were after some sword I think…anyway, it looks like that's what's happening," Sam finished.

"But…that one we questioned, he was definitely under orders from someone. That doesn't make sense," says Dean.

"It doesn't," Sam concedes, "we'll have to do more research tomorrow," – this draws an exasperated sigh from Dean – "it's late and half a day's journey to Helm's Deep."

Dean nods and extinguishes the candles after Sam chalks up a variety of repelling sigils.

Present

"Castiel. It's been too long," Zachariah says, with just a twinge of amusement. Castiel fights back a look of reproach.

"It has been, brother," Castiel says shortly. Castiel has never really been close with Zachariah, especially not since he left the garrison.

"Are you still out saving the humans?" Zachariah asks, this time not trying to mask his disdain, and Castiel is sharply reminded why he left his brothers in the first place. Not for any revenge, simply to see if maybe humans had less of a superiority complex. It turned out that some were worse, and some were better. Nevertheless, Castiel had decided that the humans needed more help than the elves, and stayed busy making sure they were safe from threats, often leaving his home for weeks at a time.

"Yes. There is something happening at the Riddermark," Castiel says vaguely, ignoring that fact that Zachariah probably didn't care. He isn't surprised when Zachariah replied without interest.

"I see," Zachariah said, "well, farewell for now, brother. Good luck on your quest to save the humans," he said the last sentence with a derisive snort. Castiel stood in the same spot for a moment or so, an utterly blank, but not unintelligent, look on his face. After collecting his thoughts, Castiel approached another elf – this time a female, with long red hair and clear blue eyes.

"Anna," he said. He liked Anna more than Zachariah – she, too, leaves Lothlórien often to go help the humans.

"Castiel!" Anna cried. "I missed you, brother. How has it gone?"

"Well. I will probably leave for the Riddermark soon. They seem to have an…orc problem," Castiel smiled, despite the bad news, and Anna smiled back. They talked well into the evening, smiling and laughing, and Castiel almost didn't want to leave Lothlórien the next morning.

"Goodbye, Anna, at least for now," he said, waving a short goodbye to Anna as he started his journey to Rohan. It would be a long journey, he knew, but as he went, he enjoyed the sun and the sky and the scenery flitting by quickly.

Stopping at a tavern for a quick meal before he went to an inn, Castiel asks the waitress whether or not she knew anything about the recent orc attacks.

"No…I'm sorry, I was visiting family in Minas Tirith when the attacks happened. I just returned today," she says.

"Well, thank you anyway, miss," Castiel says, and returns his attention to his meal.

"Um, I'm sorry if this is prying, but do you know the Rangers who passed through here earlier?" she asked. Castiel shook his head.

"I may have come across them in the past. What did they look like?"

"They seemed to be brothers. Kept to themselves, for the most part, and wore black cloaks dusty from travelling. One was rather tall, with brown hair, and the other was shorter but more attractive–" she stopped herself suddenly, blushing. Castiel tilted his head slightly.

"I don't think I've come across them before. Thank you," Castiel thanked her again.

Castiel came to an inn just as dusk began to turn to dark, paid for a room for a week, and spent the rest of the evening researching the events in the Riddermark and occasionally finding a parallel. He knew he would have to ask the villagers about the orcs tomorrow, but it seemed that the orcs had already moved to Helm's Deep. He hoped that he could make it to Helm's Deep in time to assist the small militia there.

He did not expect much to come out of this mission – he expected it to be short and easy and he would come and go and be forgotten, as he had been for the past century. Castiel very much hoped that this particular job would go quickly – he did not much care for dealing with orcs.