SUWANEE, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 2010 A.D.

It was the heat of the moment! Telling me what your-

Sam sat bolt upright, slamming the snooze button with enough force to bench press a cow. (1) Desperately, he tried to calm his breathing. It was alright. Dean wasn't here, he wasn't in Broward County, and the Trickster was dead. It wasn't even Tuesday.

No, it was Saturday, Sam thought as he swung out of bed. And a rather nice one too, if the sun streaming through the window was any indication. Of course, the night was bound to be interesting too. After all, it was a full moon, which meant that he could finally wrap up this werewolf hunt.

Kathy Fisher was her name. When he'd first spoken to her, he hadn't even suspected. But as the days of the full moon passed, and the vics piled up (one an ex-boyfriend and the other a tax-collector), all the evidence pointed to her. The clincher was when Sam'd spoken to her yesterday, and she'd revealed that she'd gotten a 'dog bite' a few weeks ago.

She didn't know what she was. She didn't know what she was doing. She had parents and a cousin who'd miss her. But he had to kill her anyway. He sighed. It was in times like these that he hated being a hunter.

Only, he didn't. Not really.

He didn't hate hunting in exactly the same way that he couldn't muster up any real sympathy for Kathy. Or much of any feeling at all, if he were to be honest with himself (2). It didn't bother him, though sometimes it was a bit disconcerting how good of a hunter he'd gotten. His mind was clear and as cold as an ice block, leaving him free of any emotions to cloud his judgement. The hunt got completed, and that was that.

Just as it would get completed tonight.

Sam strolled out of the motel room as if he didn't have a care in the world, ignoring the confused-looking man on the sidewalk. If he left now, he might be able to get to that diner he'd seen on the way in just as it opened. He could really go for some pancakes right about now.

"Ah, excuse me? Sir?"

Sam slowed to a halt halfway to his car and turned around. "Yes?"

The confused-looking man approached him, his eyes wide open in… what was that emotion? It appeared to be awe, but that didn't make sense. What would he be in awe of? "I'm terribly sorry to bother you," he stated, sounding surprisingly sincere. His accent was British. "but I seem to...ah, have gotten lost. Could you tell me where I am?"

Gotten lost? Right, because that wasn't suspicious at all. Sam faked a chuckle. "Had too much to drink last night?"

"Something like that," the stranger replied. He sounded relieved to have been given an excuse. Liar, Sam thought.

"Right, well, this is Suwanee, Georgia. Atlanta's about an hour's drive, but the place itself is kinda out of the way."

"Ooh! I'm in America, then? I suppose I should have guessed, what with your… ah, manner of speech." (3)

The alarm bells in Sam's head began to ring. The guy hadn't known he was in America? There's no way that that would… unless… and now that he thought about it, there was something in his bearing that reminded him of… "You're not human," he guessed, his voice as hard as flint.

"I… oh, dear." The stranger's shoulders sagged, and he looked down at his feet. "No, I'm not," he said. "What gave it away?"

"Furthermore," Sam continued, ignoring him, "you're an angel."

The man gaped at him, clearly shocked. "Oh, my. How did you… Last time I checked, the hunting community didn't think we existed." He paused, peering at Sam over the top of his spectacles. "You are a hunter, aren't you? It would be embarrassing if you weren't, for both parties, I imagine."

"Wait, you're saying you don't know who I am?"

"I'm afraid not, my boy. Should I?"

Sam shook his head, completely befuddled. This conversation was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. "Wow. Where have you been the past two years?"

"Two…? Oh… what year is it?"

"You don't know what year it is," Sam stated, trying to decide whether he should stab the angel and be done with it. After all, the heavenly hosts were never anything but bad news. (4) But then again, he didn't seem overly threatening, and it wasn't like he had an angel blade on him at the moment.

"No, see, I've… ah… not been around for a while."

The Winchester raised his eyebrows at this, the pieces coming together in his mind. "But not 'not been around' as in been in Heaven, because then you'd know who I am. And you wouldn't approach me. No, you've 'not been around' as in 'you've been dead'." And why not? The explanation made sense; according to Bobby, Castiel had been brought back right after he jumped.

If God had resurrected this angel, he was important. Sam knew that much. He banished all thoughts of the angel blade (5) in the trunk of the car.

The angel stared at him. "This is no coincidence," he declared faintly. "It can't be. I was meant to find you."

Sam snorted. "You really have been dead," he decided. "Otherwise you'd know that Winchesters don't give a damn about that meant to be crap."

At this, the angel's eyes widened. "Winchester?" he breathed. "As in, one of Robert Singer's boys?"

What?

Have I met him before?

Oh, wait a second…

The final piece clicked. The angel was wearing tartan. He'd met someone like that once. Someone exactly like that. He smiled wryly. "Sam Winchester," he introduced himself, sticking out a hand. "Hello, Mr. Fell."

xXx

SIOUX FALLS, SOUTH DAKOTA, MID-WINTER 1990 A.D.

Dad was out again.

Sam supposed that he really shouldn't have been surprised. Dad was always out these days. But he didn't see why he and Dean had to stay here. He liked Uncle Bobby and everything, but Dad was just a traveling salesman. They shouldn't have to stay here.

Whenever he asked Dean about it, he just said that he wouldn't understand. Which was stupid. He was seven years old, he could understand a lot of stuff!

He sighed, swinging his legs back and forth. Maybe that was why he came to sit outside so often. Out here, there was nobody to judge him. No annoying older brothers.

The sound of a car's tires on gravel made him look up. Usually, the only cars that came here were the ones that couldn't drive on their own. So the sight of an old, vintage-looking car pulling into the yard of its own accord was kinda surprising. And the two people who got out of it were even more so. They couldn't possibly have looked more different. One was dressed all in black, sunglasses and all, and the other was just… weird. Tartan? Wasn't that what it was called? In any case, he carried a big crate of what seemed to be books, which automatically gave him points in Sam's mind.

"Hi!" he called, as soon as they were in earshot. "Do you need help with those?" Without waiting for an answer, he raced down the porch steps and toward the men (6).

"Why, ah, yes, thank you," said Tartan, as Sam lifted one side of the book crate. "Ah, Robert never mentioned that he had children."

"You mean Uncle Bobby? Nah, my dad's a friend of his. We're staying while he's on a business trip." He smiled. "I'm Sam Winchester, and my brother Dean's inside."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester. I'm Mr. Fell, and this is my associate Cr-"

"Yeah, yeah," the other, darker man interrupted. Sam wasn't quite sure he liked this one. "Can we just get on with it? We do have… business to attend to. Our, uh, deadline nearing and all."

"Yes, alright," Mr. Fell sighed, sending Sam an apologetic look. "We can take it from here, Mr. Winchester." Sam nodded and, a little reluctantly, relinquished the crate, plopping back down on the porch steps as soon as Mr. Fell and his friend went inside.

They came back out though, only five minutes later, and while the man with the sunglasses made a beeline straight for the old car, Mr. Fell stopped to give Sam a large, thick book, the word 'Great' and another one he couldn't figure out printed on the cover. "It's an absolutely brilliant book," the man confided. "Mr. Dickens was a wonderful man." He paused. "This may be a little old for you now, I suppose, but in a few years, give it a go. You'll love it, I promise."

Later, when Sam got the chance to ask Uncle Bobby who these men were, Bobby just said something about them being dealers that he borrowed books from sometimes (7).

Many, many years later, when Sam knew more about hunting than he would like, he remembered the two men who pulled up one winter's afternoon in a 1926 Bentley (as he now knew the car had been). He tried to track them down, realizing that to deal with Bobby, they had to know about the supernatural, right?

He never could find them.

But he never got rid of the first edition Great Expectations.

xXx

PRESENT DAY

This was the last thing Aziraphale had expected to happen when he woke up in the parking lot.

Of course, he hadn't thought he'd wake up at all, really. The last thing he remembered was Hester and Hannah bearing down on him, angel blades flashing and eyes full of righteous fury. His last thought had been something about upsetting Crowley; he couldn't quite remember now.

And so here he was, speaking to a boy he'd only seen once, and twenty years (twenty years!) ago at that.

He could hardly be called a boy any longer.

"Oh, my, Sam Winchester," he said. "It… well, it has been a while, hasn't it?" He smiled. "Do you still have the Dickens?"

Sam smiled back, but there was something off about it, as if it didn't reach his eyes. "Bobby's looking after it for me. Dangerous to take it on hunts, you know?"

"Oh, ah, of course. You… ah, hunt now?"

The man shrugged. The air of nonchalance about him was starting to bother the angel. "Getting out of the life isn't exactly easy."

"I see. And your brother?"

"He got out of the life."

There was something he wasn't saying there, for sure. There were a lot of things he wasn't saying. But maybe now wasn't the time to dwell on that. "Well, I must say, you are actually correct in all your assumptions. I did, ah, die, to be sure. In fact, I only returned a few moments ago, so I'm sure you'll forgive me any confusion."

"Right, well then, Mr. Fell, or… I doubt that's your real name." He let the question hang in the air, unspoken.

"It's Aziraphale, but Mr. Fell is quite alright with me, if you want to-"

"Aziraphale." Sam said it slowly, as if testing it out on his tongue. He gave him a quizzical glance. "I think I've read about you somewhere. Didn't you have some sort of sword thing?"

"Well, actually-"

"No, wait, don't answer that." Aziraphale stopped, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry, it's just, I'm not sure we should be having this conversation in the middle of the street. I was heading down to a diner I saw on the way in the area. You want to come with?"

"It would be my pleasure," he angel replied, falling into step beside the Winchester. Yes, it would be his pleasure indeed. He would stay here and help Sam Winchester with whatever he needed help with, and maybe figure out what exactly was wrong about him.

And then he would take a trip to Soho.

He just hoped there would still be a demon waiting for him there. (8)

xXx

(1)- Though why someone would want to do such a thing, I haven't the slightest idea. Seems rather ridiculous.

(2)- Or the ability to sleep. Admittedly, that one freaked him out a little bit. But mostly, he just got into bed and pretended. That way, he could still imagine that everything was fine.

(3)- Sam took a moment to be insulted at that. His manner of speech? He spoke just fine, thank you very much. It was the British who talked funny!

(4)- He conveniently chose to forget about Castiel at this point. That angel, after all, was very good news, and would not have made his point.

(5)- Don't ask where he got it. It involved five demons, two vampires, some oddly terrified plants, and bench-pressing a cow.

(6)- Everything he ever knew about 'stranger danger' decided to fly out the window. Like the saying goes, if you give the Sam a book…

(7)- Sam also asked if the two were dating each other, because he was seven years old and thought himself very well-informed about the natures of such things. In reply, Bobby just hemmed and hawed and finally told him that he'd never asked.

(8)- Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." ~ E. A. Poe, The Raven

A/N: OMG, I'm sorry this is so late! But I've had finals, and studying, and I'm a bad girl and I started another thing too. It's called Twelve Days of Angstmas, and frankly, I'm just having a lot of fun torturing the characters of Supernatural. But it's a daily update thing leading up to Christmas, which is why I've been spending so much time on it. Go check it out if you're interested- I'd love to see some of you guys over there. I'm planning a GO/SPN crossover chapter, if that helps at all. :)

You know, while I was writing this, I kept thinking, what if Aziraphale had finished introducing Crowley, and then when the boys met him, Sam recognized him? How would that have gone?

Once again, thank you for all the reviews! You guys are the best!

Oh, and you know that dreaded song Sam got up to this morning? It's not just a coincidence….