The Van Helsing Chronicles

Book Two: Fire and Brimstone

Chapter One

Then:

Dean walked up the familiar front porch of Bobby Singer. House looked exactly the same, still run down with junk cars all over the place. It felt strangely like come home for Dean, despite never having lived there. He licked his lips, excited and nervous at seeing Bobby again. Hopefully Sam would be here, or at least Bobby would know where to find him. True might even be here. He hadn't had the strength to call her, but if they happened to run into each other… Well, that was another story. Dean hesitated outside the door, then he raised his hand and pounded on the wood. It swung open a few seconds later to revealed Bobby.

"Surprise," Dean said, relieved to see him. He already knew he was alive from when he tried to call him, but seeing him there, it was a feeling Dean couldn't explain. He was no longer alone.

"I don't…" Bobby said, to shocked for words as he backed away. Stumbling into end table against the wall, Bobby reached his hands behind him for support.

"Yeah, me neither," Dean told him. Looking around, he stepped across the threshold into the house, "But here I am."

Bobby stared at him for several more seconds then launched a silver knife at Dean's face, but he ducked to the side at the last second. Grabbing hold of Bobby's arm, he twisted him around, "Bobby!"

The momentum of the force spun Bobby so his back was to Dean. He swung his arm up, his fist colliding with Dean's face. Pain shot through Dean's nose and he released his hold on Bobby, stumbling backward into the kitchen.

"Bobby, it's me!" Dean shouted, checking his nose for blood.

"My ass!" Bobby growled viciously, advancing with the knife still clutched tightly in his hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean yelled, grabbing a chair and putting it between him and Bobby, "Wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed. You're about the closet thing I have to a father. Bobby… it's me."

Bobby hesitated. He stumbled forward; his eyes fixed on Dean as he shoved the chair out of his way. Dean watched it go, his eyes flickering back to Bobby. Bobby reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder, holding onto him as if to check that he was really real. Dean relaxed slightly, but was still ready in case Bobby attacked again. Seconds later, that was exactly what Bobby did. His arm shot up and he made to stab Dean again. Dean blocked the attack, spinning Bobby away from him and holding on to him.

"I am not a shapeshifter!" He insisted.

"Then you're a revenant!" Bobby yelled.

Dean slid the knife out of Bobby's hand and shoved him away, "Alright! If I was either, would I do this with a sliver knife?"

Dean rolled up his sleeve and dragged the blade across his arm, just above his elbow. Dean's face screwed up in pain, blood running down his arm. He groaned at the pain, holding his arm out to Bobby to show him the cut.

"Dean?" Bobby asked softly.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Dean panted.

Breathing heavily, Bobby threw his arms around Dean, pulling him into a tight embrace. When they pulled back Bobby said, "It's good to see you, boy."

"Yeah, you too."

"But… How did you bust out?"

"I don't know. I just, uh, just woke up in a pine bo-" Bobby splashed holy water in Dean's face. Dean pursed his lips, taking a long deep breath before turning his eyes back to Bobby, "I'm not a demon either, you know."

"Sorry," Bobby shrugged, holding up his flask, "Can't be too careful."

"Well, here's what I know," Dean said, drabbing a dish towel off the counter and launching into the story of everything that happened to him since he's been back yesterday morning.

"That don't make a lick of sense," Bobby muttered once Dean was finished, walking from the kitchen to the living room.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, whipping his face and neck with the cloth, "Yeah, you're preaching to the choir."

"Dean, your chest was ribbons, your insides where slop, and you'd been buried for four months," Bobby told him, "Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meats-"

"I know," Dean interrupted, "I should look like a 'Thriller' video reject."

"What do you remember?" Bobby asked.

"Not much," Dean lied. He remembered everything, but there was no way he was going to tell anyone. He wanted to forget what had happened. If no one knew, he could pretend it didn't. Or at least try to anyway. "I remember I was a hellhound's chew toy… and then lights-out. Then I come to six feet under. That was it."

Dean took a moment to look around the room, he hadn't noticed before but the house had changed since he'd been gone. It was cleaner, more organized. It wasn't cluttered like it used to be, instead the books had been placed on the book shelves. The floors had been mopped, the furniture dusted, and the carpet vacuumed. The only thing out of order was the desk in front of the fire place, which was littered with papers and alcohol bottles.

"Wow, Bobby, did you get a new wife or something?" Dean asked. It was strange seeing the house so neat, made it feel different.

"More like a daughter," Bobby muttered, looking around.

"What's that mean?"

"Well, True comes around couple times a month," Bobby explained, "She cleans, cooks enough food for left overs, spends the night. Sometimes, she brings Claire."

"Claire?"

Bobby nodded, "I guess they hunt together sometimes."

"Really?" Dean asked, bemused, "I though True didn't want this life for her?"

Bobby shrugged, "Things change, I guess."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, changing the topic, "Sam's number's not working."

Bobby sat in his desk chair, he grabbed a slip of paper and scribbled out a ten-digit number on it. Holding it up to Dean, he said, "Here."

"This Sam's number?" Dean asked, glancing down at it.

"No," Bobby said, giving Dean a pointed look, "It's True's."

"Where's Sam's?" Dean demanded.

"I haven't talked to him for months," Bobby admitted.

"He's not… I mean, he's with True, though, right?" Dean asked, "You've spoken to her?"

"He's alive, as far as I know," Bobby told him, "But I know True hasn't talked to Sam, either. They had some kind of falling out. She won't talk about it."

"You're kidding?" Dean demanded, "A falling out? And you guys just let him go off by himself?"

"He was dead set on it," Bobby said defensively, standing up and walking around his desk.

"Bobby, you should have been looking after him," Dean said, "Hell, True promised she would."

"We tried, Dean," Bobby said, "These last few months haven't been exactly easy, you know, for any of us. We had to bury you."

"Why did you bury me, anyway?" Dean asked.

"I wanted you salted and burned, the usually drill, but Sam wouldn't have it."

"Well, I'm glad he won that one," Dean said, motioning to himself.

"He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow," Bobby said, thinking back, "That's about all he said."

"What do you mean?"

"He was quiet," Bobby leaned against the desk, "Real quiet. Then he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. We tried to find him, but he don't want to be found."

"Oh, dam it, Sammy," Dean rubbed his forehead, he had done the one thing that Dean had told him not to do.

"What?"

"Oh, he got me home okay," Dean said, "But whatever he did, it is bad mojo."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You should have seen the grave site," Dean told him, "It was like a nuke went off. Then there was this force, this presence, I don't know. It blew past me at a fill-up joint. And then this," Dean tossed down the wash cloth and shrugged off his over shirt, before rolling up his right left sleeve revealing the red hand print on his arm.

Bobby walked around the desk to get a closer look, "What in the hell?"

"Yeah, it's like a demon just yanked me out or rode me out," Dean pulled down his sleeve.

"But why?"

"To hold up their end of the bargain," Dean pushed down his sleeve and slid his over shirt back on.

"You think Sam made a deal?"

"That's what I would have done," Dean said, looking at Bobby.

"Sam didn't make a deal."

Dean and Bobby looked over to see True standing in the doorway to the main hall. Dean's heart leapt into his throat, blood pounding in his ears. He knew there was a chance he would see her here, but he still wasn't prepared for the effect she had on him. Mix emotions bubbling into his chest, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and breath her in. He wondered if she still spelt the same, like lavender. Her auburn hair sat atop her head in a messy bun, here dark brown eyes fixed on him but her face was perfectly blank. She was dressed in a grey tank top tucked into black genes, and she had beige ankle boots on. In her hands where plastic grocery bags. Her sun kissed skin warm and inviting, but she didn't have that usually smirk on her lips. She still looked beautiful, exactly like she did four months ago.

"How do you know?" Bobby asked her.

Now:

I had been asked once what a fate worse than death was, but before I wasn't sure. Until four months ago I would have guessed that there wasn't one. There was so much beauty in life, so much to be content with even when you had lost people you loved. Death seemed a horrible fate, it was the not knowing that scared me. No matter what came afterwards, you just didn't know. Now, I think I knew the answer: To live while half your soul is dead.

Truth is, I didn't realize I cared so much. Obviously there had been feelings. Strong ones. I never would have guessed... I couldn't have even image things would turn out this way... Even when I knew what was coming. Death now would have been a welcomed relief. I spent months trying to move on from the devastation of losing Dean, throwing myself into my work. Trying to not get my hopes up that maybe, someday, we would find a way to bring him back. Even if we had to go to the darkest places to do it. Nothing seemed to be working. I had to keep fighting, like he told Sam to do.

Nothing could have prepared me to walking into Bobby's house and find him conversing with him. When I heard his voice as I walked through the front door it was like someone had shoved their hand threw my chest and ripped my heart out. Seeing him standing in the living room almost brought me to my knees. He and Bobby where so wrapped up in their conversation, at the mark on Dean' arm, neither of them had realized I was there.

Torn between running from the house and running to Dean, my body wouldn't move. All I could do is stand there trying to remember how to breathe, but now both their eyes where fixed on me. Dean didn't say anything. His eyes wide, the usually stubble on his face. His clothes where dirty, but other than that he looked exactly as he always did. Images of his death flashed before my eyes, and pain shot across my chest. Again, I wanted to run but my feet where rooted to the spot.

"No demon would make a deal with him," I found myself explain, my mouth moving with no thought of doing so. My voice sounded quiet and foreign, like it belonged to someone else.

"How do you know?" Dean asked.

"He told me."

"When?"

"About a week after you died," we where all quite for a moment, then I remembered why I was there and lifted the grocery bags I had in my hands, "I brought groceries."

Moving further into the living room, I hurried past Dean into the kitchen. I put the bags on the counter, feeling more than seeing Dean walk up behind me. He didn't say anything, just begun helping me put the groceries away. We worked silently for a few minutes; the only sound was the crinkling of the plastic bags.

"Why are you buying groceries for Bobby?" Dean asked, holding up a box of Minute white rice.

"If I didn't, his diet consists only of hard alcohol," I muttered.

Dean scoffed, "You're taking care of Bobby, but not Sam?"

"Screw you, Dean, okay?" I slammed down the bacon I had just pulled out of a bag, not liking the accusation in his tone. I didn't know if it was the pain of seeing him again, or the pain of the past four months, or the anger I had at him for leaving and Sam trying to sacrifice me, but now it was like a dam had ruptured. I fought the urge to cry, hot tears burning my eyes. It all came gushing out of me and I couldn't stop. "I tried. You don't know what it was like, what he was like, after you died. Sam vanished, didn't tell me where he was going. Turned off his phone. He didn't want to be found."

I gasped for breath and Dean took the chance to quickly say, "I know, Bobby told me. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it like that. I just, I want to find him. I want to know what's going on."

I took a deep breath, but didn't say anything. Instead I turned around and continued to put the groceries away. It was a weird feeling, standing there doing something so mundane while Dean stood beside me. I glanced behind me to see that Bobby was sitting at his desk in the living room, glancing up ever few seconds but giving Dean and me time to talk. When our eyes met, he raised an eye brow at me. I wasn't sure if I was thankful or wished he would come in here. It would be so much easier if I didn't have to face this alone.

"Hey, why aren't you freaking out?" Dean asked, once the last of the groceries was put away.

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking up at him. Dean was standing within arm's reach of me, it would be so easy to reach out and pull him against me. My body suddenly felt cold at the thought, aching to feel his warmth against mine.

"Bobby lost it when he saw me, tried to stab me with a knife," Dean explained, "But you haven't even batted an eye. Why?"

"I figured Bobby had already done the usual drill," I said, "He wouldn't have just let an imposter Dean waltz in."

"Right," Dean said slowly, his brows pulling together.

He knew I wasn't telling the truth. I swallowed hard; I hadn't expected to get to this topic so soon. A lot had happened in the last four months, a lot had changed. I wasn't sure I was ready to talk to Dean about it yet, or even if he would understand. I couldn't risk him finding out the truth, not yet. Not till I knew how he was back.

"How are you back?" I asked.

"Well," Dean scoffed, "I woke up in a pine box, was attacked my something that made all the glass at a stop and go explode, and I have no clue why I'm back."

"Huh…" I wasn't sure what I had expected, but that wasn't it.

"Anyway," Dean said, shrugging, "I need to find Sam."

"Right, I've got something to do," I turned on my heels and made my way back to the living room, waving at Bobby as I went, "I'll call you, pops."

"Wait!" Dean called, running after me. I was out the front door and down the porch steps before he caught up to me, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me to a stop, "Where are you going?"

"There's something I have to do," I repeated to him.

"You're acting really strange," Dean said.

I closed my eyes. it shouldn't have surprised me that he knew I was lying, but it did. We had spent so much time together; he probably knew all my tells. I licked my lips, "Dean."

"True."

I had forgotten what it sounded like when he said my name, and hadn't realized how much I had missed it. I was acutely aware that his hand was still on my arm, his touch warm and rough against my skin. I could feel tears bubbling in my eyes, pain spreading across my chest. I had missed him so much, my knees nearly buckled.

I want you to know, that if it could have been anyone, it would have been you.

I opened my eyes and found Dean peering down at me, patiently waiting like he knew what kind of effect he was having on me. I wondered if he was thinking about the same thing I was, about the last moments we sent together. Dean dropped his hand, tucking it into the front pocket of his jeans. I could see the closed off look returning to his eyes, the distance between us suddenly became a chasm.

"Is this 'cause you don't want to see Sam?" Dean asked, "Bobby said you guys had a fight."

I shook my head, "It's not about Sam."

"Then what is it about?"

"I just… It's hard," It was half true. It was hard to be so close to Dean, to having him standing in front of me, "I just need to process this, okay? Can you give me some time?"

Dean's eyes dropped to the gravel beneath our feet, "Yeah, but I gotta find Sam."

"Do that," I backed away from him, heading toward my bug, "Bobby has my number."

I turned, leaving Dean standing there. I pulled open the door and slid into the driver's seat, my hands shaking so hard it took several tries to get the key into the ignition. Once the car was started, I pulled away from Bobby's house. Looking in the review mirror, I watched Dean walking back inside. I drove until the house was out of site before I pulled over to the side of the road. Silent tears ran down my cheeks, and I collapsed against the steering wheel and cried until couldn't breathe.

Dean was back. Really back. I could still feel his hand on my arm. Every part of me screamed to go back to him, to never let him go. But I couldn't, not yet anyway. I had to figure out why he was back. I pulled out my phone and dialed Claire's phone number. She answered on the third ring.

"Hey, girly!" She answered enthusiastically, "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon! How's Bobby?"

"What it you?" I demanded, my voice hasher then I meant it to be.

"Was what me?" She asked, unaffected.

"Dean," I whispered, "Did you bring him back?"

"Dean's back?"

"Yes!" I nearly started crying again, telling her everything that Dean had told me, "Did you bring him back?"

"No!" Claire insisted, "True, I would have told you! Or had you with me. Either way, I can't do that yet! I'm not strong enough!"

I waited several long breaths, "Then how is he back?"

"I don't know, True," Claire said, "But we can find out… if been working on something knew."

I drove to the next town where Claire was held up in a hotel room. Parking my car, I threw open the door and climbed out. My hands where still shaking, my heart still bounding. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other, forcing myself across the parking lot. Though I wasn't sure if it had more to do with Dean or Claire at this point.

It scared me, not knowing that I would find when I walked into hotel room. Claire had changed so much over the summer. It was like she was both herself, and someone else. I couldn't help but feeling like it was my fault. I had done this to her, just by being around her. By introducing her into this dark, twisted world of mine. Now, she could be lost to it forever.

I glanced up, not realizing that I was lingering in front of main door to the lobby. The lady at the front desk was peering at me through the large glass window, one eyebrow raised. I reached up and pulled open the door, saying nothing as I hurried past her to the elevator. I jammed the button with my finger, listening for the ding. The doors slid opened and I practically ran inside, hitting the button to close the door before hitting the one for the fifth floor. There was a ding and the doors slid open again, and I had to force myself to walk out into the hallway. I counted the doors to our room, pulled the key card out of my back pocket and slid it into the lock. Slowly, I swung the door opened. Stepping into the room, I let the door shut behind me with a click.

The room was dark, the curtains over the windows where pulled close. The two beds where pushed far apart, one against the wall under the window and the other blocking the entry way. I walked toward the bed, and the only light in the room. Claire was sitting on the floor, surrounded by black candles. Her legs where crossed, but her eyes were open as she smiled at me. She had laid a black cloth with intricate wiccan symbols on it Infront of her, with a small metal bowl on top. On her right side where glasses filled with different herbs and on her left, a sliver knife.

Four months ago, I had gone to her, crying about Dean. She had held me, telling me everything was going to be okay. That we would get through this, that she would find a way to make it better. I had no idea just how far she would go. A month later she had called me up and said she had found an answer to all of our problems, that she had found a way to bring Dean back. Fear shot through me as I automatically thought she had found out about cross roads demons, but that would have been better. It was nothing compared to what she had actually dived into.

Witchcraft.

Not just normal witchcraft, but necromancy. For weeks she had been practicing without my knowledge, and thought she was nowhere near strong enough to bring back Dean, she had exhibited other unusual abilities. I told her I would hunt down whatever was giving her powers, but I couldn't find the source. It was like they came out of now where. I had tried to get her to stop, often magic came from demons, but she wouldn't. Not until she was strong enough to being Dean back from hell. She started hunting on her own, trying to make her abilities stronger. As much as I hated it, I couldn't let her do that on her own.

"What's this?" I asked her now, climbing over the bed to stand before her.

Well," Claire said, rolling to her feet, "I was trying to come up with a way for you to be able to communicate with Dean in hell. You know, tell him we were going to save him. Since he's back, maybe this could help us ask the other side how he's back."

"Or we could not," I told her, "You only started this cos of Dean, but he's back. You can stop."

"I can't stop now!" Claire insisted, "We don't know who brought Dean back, but this? It can tell us!"

She sat back down, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees. She tilted her head back to look up at me, nodding for me to sit across from her. I didn't move, "We don't need to do this, Claire."

"True, I'm going to do it with or without you," Claire said.

It was moments like this that she no longer seemed like the girl she once was. She wasn't afraid of the things in the dark, she was the thing others were afraid of. I could feel her slipping into the darkness, but I couldn't stop her. She was going to do this rather I liked it or not, at least if I was there with her, I could try to protect her. I sat cross legged in front of her. She flashed me a smile then closed her eyes.

Most witchcraft I had seen required spells, but that didn't seem to be the case with Claire. Other than needing ingredients to heighten her abilities, she simply needed to will what she wanted to happen. I would almost think this was a natural gift, if it wasn't such dark magic. Bring back the dead, communicating with spirits, it wasn't natural. I hated myself for being a part of this world, and for dragging Claire into it.

Claire's brows creased; her head tilted to the side as if she were listening to something. I waited and watched, griding my teeth together. She heaved a sigh, flicking her hair back and trying again. Nothing happened, there was no evidence of a spirt hanging around.

"Damnit!" Claire hissed, opening her eyes. She gave me an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, I tried this once before and I swear I could hear someone whispering to me, but now it's all quite."

"What whispering?" I asked.

Claire shrugged, "I don't know, I couldn't understand. It was like, in a different language or something."

"Oh, well," I said, quickly getting up, "I'm sure we will figure something out. You don't have to keep doing this. Maybe you should go back to Utah, I'll figure this out with the Winchesters and Pops."

"No!" Claire launched to her feet, "True this was what I always wanted! To hunt with you. I couldn't do it before because I was too weak! But now I'm strong, I can help! You now I can, I've helped before."

"This is not how you help!" I told her, trying to keep my voice even.

Claire gritted her teeth. I've seen her angry, but it was hardly ever directed at me. This was different. She had changed after Werzelya had kidnapped her, even worse then when her mother had been possessed. Then Claire was scared of everything, now she just seemed pissed off. She didn't like being weak. I didn't know how to tell her that this didn't make her strong.

"Like I said," Claire said, her voice growing distant, "I'm going to do this with or without you. If you're not gonna stand beside me, get the hell out of my way."

"Why are you acting like this?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," Claire said, her face softening, "I just… I need this, True. I can't fight like you and I don't know the things that you do. But I'm good at this. And I can help. I know you're worried about me, but I promise, I can handle it."

I opened my mouth to tell her that her attitude suggested otherwise, but my phone wrung. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I checked to see the word Pops flashing on the screen. I flipped open the phone, "Hello?"

"Listen, we found Sam," Bobby said, not wasting any time, "He was near where we buried Dean. He was hunting for Lilith, tracking some demons. It's got to be connected. We got a name: Castiel. We are going to try and summon the thing that brought him back. I'd feel a whole hell of a lot better if you were there."

"Where?" I asked, grabbing the hotel notebook of the end table and writing down the directions Bobby gave me, "I'm on my way."

Hanging up on Bobby, I turned to Claire. She held up her hand, speaking before I could, "We can finish this later. I promise I won't do anything you wouldn't do."

"Just, stay here, okay?" I pegged her.

Claire nodded, giving me a hung. I hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone. Other than her quickness to anger, she hadn't actually done anything evil. She started small with trying to bring things back to life, managing to bring back a hand full of flies. She had tried to bring two birds and a rat back to life, only managing to get a massive headache. She used other spells to track down the big bad I was hunting, a defense spell to prevent a ghost from attacking me while I salt and burnt his bones, and even accidently set a vampire on fire. I couldn't deny that it was useful, but I didn't want her practicing it.

Claire begun cleaning up her magic and I left the room. Following Bobby's instructions, I parked my bub outside of a red barn in the middle of nowhere. I took several deep breaths, preparing myself to see Dean again. The thought excited me. I had been so concerned about Claire that I hadn't considered what it meant to have Dean back. Our relationship, what little one we had, had a time limit. While we could die at any time, we could have a real future together. I wasn't sure if that made me happy or scared the hell out of me.

I got out of the car and walked toward the door, pulling it open. They floor and walls were covered with traps and talismans from hundreds of mythologies, tables had been set up with an arsenal, and Bobby and Dean stood by the tables. They spun around at the sound of the door opening, guns pointed at me.

"What are you don't here?" Dean asked.

"I invited her," Bobby said as I walked toward them, "This is a bad idea, I figured we could use some back up. And since you didn't want Sam here."

"Fine, whatever," Dean grumbled.

"So happy you approve," I shot back, it was amazing how easy it was to fall back into old habits.

"Alright, let's ring this dinner bell," Dean said.

Bobby walked over to the other table and picked up a bowl to initiate the summoning ritual, sprinkling some powder into a chalice he said, "Amate spiritus obscure…"

We all stood there, tensed for the thing to show itself. Nothing happened, not so much as a speck of dust floated in the air when Bobby was finished with is incantation. I looked from Bobby to Dean, both just as confused by it. Bobby grabbed a shotgun and sat down on the table, his legs swinging gently as he whistled a tone. Dean slid onto the opposite table, playing with the demon killing knife. I walked over and slid onto the table next to him.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey, yourself," Dean glanced at me, "You seem better."

"Yeah, I-" I hesitated, torn between rather or not I should tell Dean about Claire. He hadn't exactly liked the fact Sam had abilities, and he hated the things that go bump in the night. There was no telling what he would think if he found out Claire was one of them. "I guess I just needed time to wrap my head around you really being back."

"Yeah, I guess," the look on Dean's face said he didn't believe me, but he didn't press the issue.

"So, do you remember anything?" I asked cautiously, "About hell, I mean."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head, "After the hellhound got me, its all back. Probably blocked it out."

"Now we got another monster to hung," I said, motioning to the barn.

"Speaking of which, you sure you did the ritual right?" Dean asked Bobby. The older 'gent gave him a look, he lifted his hand up in defense, "Sorry."

"Touchy, touchy, huh?" Bobby asked.

As if on cue the wind picked up, howling outside the barn. The roof begun to rumble violently, the metal panels lifting up and banging down over and over again. Dean called over the noise, "Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind."

The lightbulbs above us busted in answer. I threw my hands up, shielding my head from the glass shards and sparks that rained down. The door of the barn begun to cave inward, the wooden plank we used to the lock the door splintered as it broken in half. A man walked into the barn, unaffected by the sparks still shooting out of the lights. He was dressed in a tan trench coat over black suit, with a loose blue tie around his neck.

Bobby and Dean lifted their shotguns and fired at the man, but he walked forward unfazed. Strolling leisurely past the traps like they weren't there, an almost kind look on his handsome face. The lights stopped sparking as he stood in front of us. Dean lowered his gun and tossed it on the table, he grabbed the knife and hid it behind him as the man stopped a few feet away.

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," the man told him.

I eyebrows pulled together, that was such a wired way to put it. No one said perdition any more, a more likely word would have been damnation. If he were a demon, he wouldn't have said raised either. Demons weren't ones for fancy words.

"Yeah," Dean muttered, "Thanks for that."

Dean launched forward, plunging the knife deep into the man's chest, where his heart was. But the man was once again unfazed. Releasing the knife, Dean back away. The man wrapped his fingers around the blade and pulled it free, dropping it on the ground. The blade was covered in blood. Bobby grabbed a crowbar and swung it at the man's head, but he lifted his arm and caught it. Turning to Bobby he pressed two fingers against his forehead, the room filling with soft whispers.

I looked at Dean, but he didn't seem to hear the whispers. It sounded as if they were in my head, not from around me. I couldn't make out what they were saying, and I remembered how Claire had said she had heard whispers in another language. I wondered if it was connected. Slowly Bobby fell to his knees, and then collapsed on the floor. The crowbar clattering out of his hands.

"We need to talk, Dean," the man said, turning to Dean. Then he glanced at me, "Alone."

The man moved to step toward me. Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him, "Don't touch her."

The man motioned to Bobby, "Your friend is alive. She'll simply sleep."

"I don't think so," Dean said, pushing me further back.

Dean knelt down, with one hand keeping me back and checked Bobby's neck for a pulse with the other. I kept my eyes focused on the man in the trench coat. He was cute, clean cut, with beautiful blue eyes you could drown it. He was relaxed, causally flipping through one of Bobby's book that sat on the table. I didn't get any dangerous vibes from him, but he was definitely powerful. I could feel it radiating off of him.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded again, straightening back up.

"Castiel," the man said.

"Yeah, I figured that much," Dean snapped, "I mean what are you?"

"I'm an angel of the Lord," Castiel said.

"Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing," Dean turned to me, "Right?"

"I mean, I've never come face to face with one," I said looking from Castiel to Dean, "But if there's a hell then there's a heaven, right?"

"This is your problem, Dean," Castiel moved away from the table, drawing our attention back to him. He focused his attention on Dean, "You have no faith."

Thunder rumbled, flashing Castiel in a brilliant white light. Shadows formed behind him, dark wings spreading out the length of the back wall and onto the ceiling. I gapped at his wing span, mesmerized. I had read lore on angels, even read the Bible once, but I didn't expect to ever meet an angel. They where all way up, why would God waste his time with lowly little humans? Yet, here he was standing. Close enough for me to touch.

"Some angel you are," Dean was saying, "You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel dropped his head, but took a few steps forward as he looked back to Dean, "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be overwhelming to humans. And so can my real voice… but you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel? That was you talking?" Dean asked and Castiel nodded, "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"That was my mistake," Castiel explained, "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now, huh?" Dean demanded, "What, holy tax accountant?"

"This?" Castiel looked down at himself, fixing his trench coat, "This is… a vessel."

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" Dean snapped.

"He's a devout man," Castiel shook his head, "He actually prayed for this."

"He prayed to be possessed by an angel?" I asked, "Did you tell him what that would mean?"

Castiel turned his head, blinking as if he had just remembered I was there. He tilted his head to the side, looking me up and down, "Yes, he knew."

"Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling," Dean told him, "So who are you, really?"

Castiel tilted his head slightly in confusion, I got the feeling this was going to be a common occurrence, "I told you."

"Right," Dean said, unimpressed, "And why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

Castiel walked forward, stopping less than a foot away. He was a little shorter than Dean, so he had to tilted his head slightly to look in his eyes, "Good things do happen, Dean."

"Not in my experience," Dean said. A pain pinged in my chest, I hoped he really didn't think that. Good things happen every day, even if it was something small.

"What's the matter?" Castile asked, his brows pulling together as he stared up at Dean, "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

It was a statement, to which Dean asked, "Why'd you do it?"

"Because God commanded it," Castiel said, "Because we have work for you."