A/N: So, here's chapter two. Updates will be totally random, based on whenever the hell I feel like it, so don't hold your breath. Thank you for the story alerts and favorites, and reviews are always appreciated!

Dean woke up with a splitting headache and a vivid memory of the night before. Unfortunately, all the alcohol in the world couldn't erase a visit from an angel.

He groaned at the light pouring in through the window and threw his hand over his face. His cell phone started ringing, making his ears hurt as well as his eyes. Ignoring the shrill sound, he stumbled up off the couch and into the kitchen. He fixed himself a cup of instant coffee and noticed that his cell phone's screen showed that he had voicemail messages.

The night before, he'd left his phone at the apartment. He'd wanted to get away from everyone, from all the people that called him a failure. He snorted into his nasty-ass coffee (he'd never been good at making it)- even angels thought he couldn't do anything right.

Dean sighed and sat at the table, staring at the phone and waiting for his head to clear. Finally he recognized that he couldn't put it off forever, and so he flipped his phone open and dialed his voicemail. The impersonal female voice announced that he had five new voice messages, and he pressed the button to play them.

"Hey, Dean, it's Pete. We need to talk about your work performance. Now, I know you've had it rough recently, but you can't just-"

Save it for later. It would end the same way conversations with Pete always ended- a plaintive plea of 'what would your father say?' He went on to the next message.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester, this is to inform you that you are late on your payment for-"

Delete. How could he think about bills when he was still processing that angels were real? Next message.

"It's Carmen. I called to-"

Oh Jesus no. He was so not willing to deal with Carmen right now. Or ever again, but especially not now. He deleted the message and moved on.

"Pick up your phone, Dean, so you know that-"

Carmen again. Delete.

"Dean, it's Sam." Dean supposed he should listen to this one. He and Sam communicated so little as it was, that any contact was for an important reason. "Both Mom and Carmen have been calling me about you. Now, I know we agreed that I don't get involved in your business, but this is getting out of hand, man. We'll talk about it when I get there Friday night."

Dean groaned as the machine voice cheerfully announced that there were no more messages. Saturday was Mom's birthday, and he had totally forgotten. He didn't usually forget, but with the whole regularly-drinking-himself-into-a-stupor, getting-arrested, touched-by-an-angel thing, it had slipped his mind. He supposed that meant he'd have to go out to dinner, and submit to the annual tradition or watching his mom mentally comparing him and Sam.

He looked at the clock. It was 10:30 in the morning. Dean rubbed his face and was about to go get ready to leave, when a headline caught his eye.

FOURTH MISSING GIRL, it declared, and normally Dean would have ignored it, but recent events had changed his view of the world. He remembered what Castiel had said, that not only angels were real, but also demons and monsters.

And maybe this didn't have anything to do with the supernatural, but Dean's gut instinct led him to sit back down and pick up the newspaper. He still had plenty of time to get over to Mom's.

At 12:15, the Impala screeched to a stop outside the Winchester family home. Dean was out of the car and rushing halfway up the walkway before he realized that someone was on the porch talking to his mom. It took an even longer moment for Dean to recognize that someone as Deputy Jake Ellsby, an old friend of his who also happened to be the one that had dropped Dean in the drunk tank last night.

Dean stood awkwardly on the walkway until Jake and his mom finished their conversation and walked towards Dean.

"Hey, Dean," Jake said casually, and his voice only held a hint of an edge to it. "Where'd you go last night?"

Dean shrugged as noncommittally as he could. "It was just a weird night last night. I barely even remember most of it."

It was weak, Dean knew that as well as Jake did. But the deputy just shook his head and said, "As far as the record goes, I made it so you were never there. But Dean, you can't keep doing this to yourself. It know it's none of my business, but you're worrying your family sick."

"You're right," Dean said, "It's none of your business."

Jake conceded and moved on, and Dean walked up to the porch to meet his mother.

She hugged him as soon as he reached her. He could tell that it wasn't just an 'I'm happy to see you' hug, it was an 'I'm really worried about you' hug. Dean accepted it nevertheless, knowing that it was just a precursor to the conversation to come.

Sure enough, as soon as she pulled away, his mom said, "Dean, getting thrown in jail? What happened?"

"It was just a bar fight, Mom," Dean said, trying to reassure her. "Just a little too much drunk and disorderly. Besides, you heard Jake, it's not even on my record."

She didn't look reassured. "And what will you do if it happens again and Jake isn't there?"

"It won't happen again," Dean promised.

She obviously didn't believe him, and that hurt Dean more than any punch could. They moved inside into the living room, Dean migrating to his usual spot on the couch and his mom to her chair.

They sat in tension-filled silence until his mom said, "I remember how close you and Jake were in high school. You two were always in trouble for something or another." She smiled in fond reminiscence. "Sam was so embarrassed that he'd pretend you were someone else's brother."

Dean snorted. "Well, nothing's changed there, then."

His mom's smile faded and her brow creased again. "But Jake grew up," she said, "And now he's got a wife, and kids, and a respectable job."

"I have a job," Dean protested.

"A job that you never show up for, one that you never work hard in," his mother replied, "It's not the same thing, Dean. He's a respected member of the community."

"And I'm not?" Dean asked, but she didn't have to say anything for him to know the answer.

"You're almost thirty," was all his mom said in reply, "Isn't it time you settled down? You almost made it with Carmen."

"Yeah, well, look how that turned out," Dean groused, standing up to go look at the family pictures. Anything to avoid seeing his mother's disappointment. "I'm just not the settling down type," he said more gently, "Normal just isn't my thing."

He heard his mom sigh. "Sometimes I wonder if I raised you right," she said.

He immediately turned and sat on the side of the couch closest to her, saying, "Of course you did. You and Dad did a great job raising us, I mean, look at Sam. If I'm a screw up it's my fault, not yours."

She shook her head, as if they were playing poker and she knew he had a losing hand. "Maybe I should have told you more," she said, "Explained more about the world."

"Mom, I told you," Dean started, then stopped abruptly. His eyes had accidentally roamed over to the window, where he saw a familiar blue-eyed, trench-coated figure standing right outside the window and staring in. Dean's heart startled in his chest, and he lurched to his feet.

"Dean?" his mom said, but he was already at the door by the time she finished speaking. He called out hasty excuses and apologies as he ran out into the yard to look for the angel.