Summary: For most of his life, Dean had wondered if he was of any importance at all. He reminded John of Mary, that was his problem. Maybe if…but that was for another time. Because now, someone needed him. Now that people depended on him…he didn't want to mess it up.

Pairing: What, you were looking for a romance? Not quite my style…

Rating: Uh…M, to be safe. I like blood and stuff…

Words: TOO MANY TO COUNT ;)

Disclaimer: So I don't own them. Any of them. Yeah, I'm using them… So? Shoot me. It's not like I'm getting paid or anything. I do own Maggie and Samantha.

A/N

I realized I forgot an Author's Note on the previous chapter. Well, now that the prologue is out of the way I guess it won't hurt to explain a little.

This is an AU story where (can't say too much, it'll give it away) Sam is an adult, and Dean is 8 and has a 4 year old sister named Samantha. There's also a little Castiel thrown in cuz he's hilarious.

BTW I did not have a beta. If you think I've got a lot of mistakes in here and would like to volunteer for the upcoming chapters, let me know. Otherwise, read on….

Dean rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder. If only unloading dishes wasn't so hard! If he could have reached the cabinet without a step stool, Dean would be lacking a hand-shaped bruise from where Maggie had ham-fisted his shoulder in her anger. What's a little China, anyway? If you don't want it broken, don't give it to a boy. But it was China that John had given to Maggie on their first anniversary, and apparently it didn't look all that attractive scattered about the kitchen floor. Naturally, that meant that Dean was now not only awaiting further punishment from Maggie, but a stern—most likely loud—lecture from John as well. It might not have been so bad, had Samantha not pummeled into Maggie, throwing her little fists against the woman's leg over and over until Maggie let go of Dean.

The door slammed and Dean sighed, knowing John was home from a long day of hunting, and would be tired, sore, and crabby.

But Maggie's at work, Dean reminded himself. She won't tell John about the little accident until she gets home! That meant some peace and quiet, and hopefully, Dean could squeak Samantha and himself into bed before Maggie got home. He would have a hard time explaining Samantha's black eye, though. It wouldn't be the first time he had been forced to come up with a believable story to cover the wounds that Maggie enjoyed inflicting upon John's children while he was out hunting.

But when the light flicked on in the sitting room, and footsteps that were unlike John or Maggie's sounded through the hallway, Dean realized he was worried. NotJohnNotMaggie his head voice kept chanting, followed by the ever-present DANGER that screamed like an alarm in his skull. Grabbing the nearest thing he could reach—a magazine—he rolled it up tightly.

"Hello?" he hated how weak his voice sounded.

"Um…hello?" a man's deep, cautious voice responded. Dean almost jumped. Since when do intruders talk? He wondered, creeping silently through the dark kitchen.

"Where are you?" the voice continued. Whoever this was, they didn't have their "burglar etiquette" quite right.

"The bedroom!" Dean lied.

"Oh…where is that?"

Dean almost smiled. If only John could hear this, he'd be in fits right now. This burglar was so easy. If he could just keep him distracted until he could call 911!

"I'll give you a clue." Dean tried, walking stealthily toward the phone that hung on the kitchen wall. "Marco!"

Suddenly there was a presence behind him. Very close behind him. Like, in his space, behind him.

"I don't understand." The voice said. Dean whirled, magazine ready to strike the man.

"Personal space, dude!" Dean cried, whapping the magazine against the man's waist. "You're in my house!"

The man grabbed Dean's wrist gently. "Of course I am in your house. How else am I supposed to talk to you?"

Dean hit the man with his free fist, which the man easily grabbed as well. "Stop! Please, Dean, I mean you no harm."

Dean ceased his struggling and eyed him warily. The man had knelt down so that he was eye to eye with Dean. Brilliant blue orbs sparkled in the pale light that streamed in through the sitting room. The man had a kind, almost inquisitive face, and wore a terribly unfashionable camel-skin trench coat.

"Who are you?"

"Castiel." The man replied quietly.

"Friend of Bobby's?"

"Not particularly."

"John's? Maggie's?"

The man shook his head. "Neither. I am your friend, Dean. For you and Samantha. I was instructed to tell you something, you see. That is what I do, I protect and inform. I cannot protect you right now—though later, that is a different story. For right now, I need you to listen closely. You are not safe here."

"No duh, Sherlock." This isn't the first punishment trophy I've sported.

Castiel cast him a measured glance. Apparently this stranger didn't know who Detective Sherlock Holmes was.

"Your sister will not be safe either. Maggie plans on convincing John to get rid of the two of you. He will—"

"Wait! How do you know this?" Dean cast a furtive look towards Samantha's bedroom. Hopefully she was still sleeping.

"How would I not?" The man replied, still having shown no particular emotional expression on his handsome, passive face. He rambled on without waiting for Dean's response. "Your sister said a prayer, and though it was rather circulatory and confusing, the general consensus was that she wanted to feel safe, loved, and that she wanted a…a puppy. While that last part does not particularly fit into our overall schedule, something has been arranged. Someone will come for you tomorrow, be ready to do whatever they tell you, all right?"

"How do I know I can trust you? How will I know who this person is?"

Castiel raised his eyes toward the ceiling, a long-suffering sigh passing through his lips. The first emotional response all evening, Dean mused.

"There will be no doubt."

Castiel patted Dean's head, and Dean had to stop himself from leaning into the man's touch. Stranger or not, it was the most affection he'd been shown since Chester had showed up. Castiel stood to leave. Dean heard the man's knee pop in the process, and cringed, thinking of how John always cursed like a sailor whenever that happened. But the man kept silent, and even cast a small smile in Dean's direction.

"The puppy's name is Sam."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Dean to wonder why in the world they would name a puppy after Samantha.