The winter sun was late to rise, only appearing beyond the city a little after seven. The clouds had not cleared away and so the sky was dark but shot with orange and yellow and the slightest outline of pink. It dyed my mostly white bedroom a golden hue without being blinding.

I decided to take a shower at around eight after finally forcing myself to accept that I wasn't going back to sleep any time soon. The warm water washed over me and I gently traced my fingers to my new injury. My last hunt had taken me to a nest of vampires just outside of Phoenix and, although I'd taken the four of them out with little effort, one of them had managed to leave a rather large scratch from my shoulder blade to the small of my back. The cut wasn't deep and it wasn't as though physical injury was much to me. The wound would disappear within two days if I didn't strain it. I suppose that was one of the advantages of these powers, the healing. God knows that I needed it with half of the scraps the powers pulled me into anyway.

I clambered out of the shower at about quarter to nine, having spent half an hour washing my hair and scrubbing off dirt and mud that I had missed when I had taken a very sleepy shower the day before. When I looked in the mirror, a rather weary face greeted me. Hunting generally made me look on the point of collapsing from exhaustion. My daylong sleep had cured some of the shadows around my moss coloured eyes, and my naturally warm beige skin kept me from looking as pale as death, though I looked well on the way. I had long hair that fell to the bottom of my ribs, which didn't bother me too much so long as I tied it back when I was hunting. Now it fell down my back and dripped water onto my wound, leaving that tingling sensation between relief and pain.

I turned away from the mirror quickly, not wanting to draw on my eyes, fearing that one day when I looked in the mirror only cold grey would stare back. I got dressed into a pair of plain blue jeans and threw on a long-sleeved, black shirt. I brushed my teeth vigorously, regretting not having done it before I fell asleep when I returned from my hunt. When I was presentable (or as presentable as hunters got), I headed to the kitchen.

Someone had drawn the blinds so that the morning sunlight didn't illuminate the joint sitting room/kitchen, which allowed for Sam to still sleep soundly on the couch, his long legs hanging off the edge and his arms spread over each side. His shaggy hair had fallen over his face and fluttered daintily every time he breathed out.

Dean was awake and flicking a swiss army knife up and down as he sat on the other couch and stared at the ceiling. The movement was practiced and he did it so fluidly and numbly that it was apparent he had been doing it for sometime and had lost all sense that he had continued. His legs were set on the coffee table with his head thrown back so that when I moved forward from the darker shadow of the hallway into a small sliver of sun his eyes snapped to me and his hand gripped the knife with the blade out. When he recognised me his grip slackened and he gave me a half-smile.

"Morning," he muttered quietly. He rose from the couch stiffly and stretched, his broad chest and sculpted biceps flexing and becoming more pronounced underneath his t-shirt. Most women would have been gaping at the well toned figure standing before me, but I knew it was just one of the charms that nearly all young hunters possessed.

After stifling a yawn, Dean followed me to the kitchen counter. I was careful to keep my movements muffled as I opened the fridge and grabbed the milk, then the cupboard to get the cereal.

"Breakfast?" I asked, turning Dean and holding up the box. I noted the dark circles that enveloped his glazed eyes and the slow movement as he pressed his hands against his face and rubbed his eyes. He shook his head, though I didn't know if it were to answer me or dispel the aura of dazed sleepiness that he emanated.

"Don't really eat much cereal. It's usually diner food or protein bars."

"Well, you're in luck," I said, turning back to the cupboards and pulling out another box. I tipped out the last two protein bars on the counter in front of him and smiled. "Bon appétit. Coffee?" He gave me a full smile now, and, although still sleepy, this was far more sincere than the flirtatious smirks from the night before.

"Please," he requested, picking up one of the bars.

I buzzed around the kitchen preparing my breakfast and making coffee. Dean ate silently and watched, almost fascinated. Maybe he had never seen such a domesticated hunter before. I set down the mug of coffee in front of him as he was chewing his way through the protein bar.

"'Ank oo," he grumbled with his mouth full. He swallowed hard and took a deep swig from the cup, as though the coffee couldn't come quick enough.

"Did you sleep at all?" I asked, sitting on the counter opposite him with my cereal. He looked over the top of the coffee mug at me, the circles no less visible.

"It's not that I don't trust you," his voice slightly implying that he was lying, "But you're a stranger and when we know what we know, there's no way in hell I'm not keeping an eye out."

I considered it and nodded understandingly.

"Fair enough."

"What about you?" Dean asked, leaning forwards, his hands still tightly wrapped around the warm mug. "No offence, but you look like you could have slept better."

"Understatement," I murmured and took a mouthful of my cereal. He raised an eyebrow, clearly beckoning me to continue. I chewed slowly, wondering what to say and where to start. Death, powers, Fates, it was all going to be a mess. Dean waited patiently, using the silence to chug his coffee.

I set down my bowl with a sigh and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. Dean placed down the cup and mimicked me, leaning forward on the counter.

"I have dreams, well, nightmares." I grimaced, thinking of the blood and death I witnessed daily. "They're not exactly pleasant. I have them practically every night but it was different last night… there was more. There was a man, an old, shadowy man, and he said-" my eyes sought out Dean's, wanting him to understand that what I was about to say wasn't from average dreams, that this was something much graver than a child's nightmare, "he said he was Death."

Dean's mouth pressed into a hard line and it was obvious he had had dealings with this entity before. "What did he want with you?"

I told Dean of the armies and then the Fates, which had me delving into my memories to explain the car crash. We sat in the kitchen for quite sometime. He listened patiently, his face growing grimmer and grimmer with every detail. He stayed silent until I told him of the man who had carried me from the car crash.

"Wait," he said, his eyes growing wide and holding what looked like a small glimpse of hope. He looked down, but his eyes were restless as he thought. When he tilted his head up once more, the shimmer of hope was still there and seemed to be growing. "Just-...just wait here for a moment." He rose from the chair and swiftly marched to hover over his brother's sleeping form, and leaned down to shake his shoulder.

Sam sat up immediately, arms held in a defensive position, before realising Dean was no threat. He yawned as he stood, and stretched, showing a leaner body than his older brother, but still well muscled. He gave me a small, sleepy half-smile as he took a seat at the kitchen counter. His unkempt hair had become tangled as he had slept, and realising so, he briskly ran his fingers through it, returning to its normal state. I just kind of stared at his hair, wondering who he had traded his soul to so that it would revert to such a luscious state with literally a flick of his hand.

Dean stood at the end the end of the counter and looked at me with an apologetic look.

"Would you mind telling Sam what you saw?"

"From the beginning?" I asked, knowing the answer and repressing a sigh.

"From the beginning," Dean nodded, still looking apologetic.

It was another few minutes of talking, which of course felt like hours when the conversation was one sided. Had it not taken place so soon after I had awoken, perhaps it would have been less strenuous. My voice became husky as the story went on, but thankfully Dean interrupted as I came back to the man at the crash.

"Okay, now listen up Sammy, this is where it gets interesting," Sam glanced at him as if to question that vivid dreams about Death and Fates and wars wasn't interesting enough. Dean turned to me almost enthusiastically, that hope still there. "Tell him what the man looked like?" I nodded compliantly, eager to discover who Dean thought the man was and knowing it would be revealed sooner if I went through the motions.

"He was short, about my height, maybe a little taller. He had thin lips and green eyes…and straight, golden hair, not as short as yours," I motioned to Dean, "but not as long as yours," I nodded to Sam." I kept running over details in my mind, trying to draw him out. All of his features had been doused with rich, aureate light, but it was also as if he had radiated it. My brow furrowed. "The thing is... he seemed to glow. I would have assumed it was the fire, but it didn't flicker like flame. It was a constant golden luminescence."

"Did he say anything?" Sam was leaning in closely, taking in every detail. "Anything that may have hinted as to who he was?"

"He never spoke, no… but I heard something when he appeared. It sounded like wings." My eyes flickered between the brothers, and they looked as though my words had confirmed their suspicions. "Do you think… do you think he could have been an angel?"

Sam and Dean's eyes met and they both nodded to each other, obviously understanding something that I did not.

"I'm guessing you never met your father, did you?" Dean said, his voice turning not quite understanding but not pitying either.

"Not that I know of, no."

"Any idea what he could have looked like?" Sam added in quickly, obviously catching onto his brothers train of thought.

"Well," I thought for a moment, running over the features I had apparently inherited from my mother and those that were unfamiliar in her family. "I guess there are my eyes. My mothers, and the rest of her family's, were brown. And my hair," I touched a stray lock of glistening gold that had fallen over my shoulder. "Her hair was red. But besides that I-" I stopped very quickly and met the brothers' understanding gazes with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. "Wait the man he- How did I not- He was- I mean do you think that- Do you know who- But he never- Oh my God!" I half shouted, my hands coming up to cover my face. That was why he looked so familiar… those eyes, I saw them every time I saw my reflection.

"I mean there's a chance that it wasn't him, but…" Sam trailed off in deep thought. "I don't think we know any others that it could have been." His eyes flickered to Dean's. "Maybe Cas could-?"

"No, not with this. Not just yet." Dean seemed to be very set on his opinion and Sam didn't look like he was going to press the matter.

"So, uh…" I interrupted, still awestruck and dazed and half covering my face. "Do you guys know who he is?"

"Was," Dean said automatically. I raised my eyebrows, feeling my face fall. I looked down at the ground. I didn't know what to think.

"Oh," I whispered. Had I expected him to be alive? I mean, before I wasn't even looking for him, I never expected to find out who he was- so why should I feel so disheartened if I he wasn't around… I wouldn't have met him anyway. None the less, I felt a tightness in my chest as I wondered what happened to the father I had met only once.

Sam kicked Dean under the table which had his the older Winchester glaring at the younger one before figuring out what his fault was.

"Oh sh-... I'm sorry," Dean amended quickly. "He was a good man. He died trying to stop Lucifer starting the apocalypse. He sacrificed himself to help us."

I bit back my retort of 'doesn't everybody', begging myself not to start now, of all times. I hardened myself, took a deep breath and looked back up at the brothers.

"So who was he? I mean, Bobby said there were ranks of angels right? Like cupids, seraphim, that kind of thing." I tried to change the subject quickly, the tightness in my chest turning from one of sadness to anger. I wanted to put out the fire while it was still being kindled.

"We think he may have been Gabriel," Sam explained. "One of the four archangels."

"An archangel?" I repeated. My heart was thumping in my chest, beating against the skin as though it could eventually break out if it persisted. My eyebrows pushed up and I stared at my body, expecting myself to burst with light or something at this new knowledge. My voice was quiet but full of both wonder and fear as I whispered, 'What does that mean?"

Sam and Dean both looked slightly guilty. I sighed in frustration. Now that I knew there were answers to be found, I wanted them all.

"Neither of you know, do you? Have you even come across Nephilim before?"

"Uh, not exactly," Dean said.

"So, that's a no," I put bluntly.

"Well, either there aren't many of you or you don't seem to be into the same crazy killing sprees as the monsters we hunt." I thought back to the first times I'd used my powers.

"Well, I think it might be both. My powers came to me once- with the werewolf- and then disappeared until about three years ago. I don't know what happened, really. It must have be fright with the werewolf but the next time… there was nothing to set me off."

"Three years ago?" Sam repeated, obviously having some sort of lead. "That's when… I think Gabriel must have been stopping you from using your powers. Maybe he thought it was best for you. And when he died… maybe they came back."

"So now the question is, can you control it?" Dean said, sounding doubtful. I bit back the retort that I was obviously controlling it now, otherwise he'd be a pile of dust on the floor.

"I don't just hunt for everyone else's benefit. Hunting tires me out, it wears down my powers. I was hunting two days ago, so now I might be able to smoke a couple of lesser demons, but nothing absolutely mind blowing. When I start a hunt I usually have enough juice to take down a group of demons, werewolves, vamps, whatever it is."

"And do you ever… I don't know, just lose it? That seems like a lot of mojo for one half-angel."

"Well, until now I've been keeping out of situations that might make me unstable. But now… Jesus, what the hell am I doing…" I closed my eyes, wishing I could go back to yesterday and tell the brothers to get out of my life before they'd entered my home. But it was far too late. Death had said so himself, and I got the feeling he wasn't one for pulling pranks. "Death said that my species is not exactly good at keeping our temper… if I get stronger I don't know how long I'll be able to hold on for, you need to know that. It's too late for me to back out now, and you can't risk me going darkside, so it's up to you to keep me in line now." I looked at them both fiercely, I didn't exactly want to be the cause of the end of the world. "Okay?"

"You're a little ray of sunshine aren't you?" Dean said. My bitch-face intensified, and he quickly wiped the smirk off his face.

"You got it," Sam said, and I looked over to him instead. "We'll help you control your powers if you'll help us stop this stupid war that the angels and demons have going. Deal?" I looked down and then slowly nodded. It wasn't like I had any choice now anyway.