A/N: If you don't know the show Supernatural, that's okay! Little knowledge is needed for this chapter. Just wanted to add a little easter egg for my readers who do.

As always, happy reading,

- H.

The outskirts of New York were farther away than I thought. I was exhausted from flying.

Then, out of adrenaline, my body simply gave up. I dropped out of the sky into the parking lot of a motel, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch.

Ouch, was my only thought.

I decided to have a little nap. And by nap, I mean I blacked out.

I didn't know how much time had passed when I woke up. My eyes fluttered in pain. I stared up at a cream colored ceiling. It felt as if I was on a cheap motel bed. I heard voices and immediately shut my eyes again, still pretending to be out cold.

"Why is it in here?" asked a male voice angrily.

"Dean, I wasn't going to leave it in the parking lot to die!" answered another man.

"What if it lures in its victims by pretending to be injured? Huh?" countered the one called Dean.

"C'mon," said the other man. "Why don't you call Cas and ask him to explain what it is? Maybe he can heal it and it'll be on our side."

Dean sighed. "Alright. Okay. But, Sammy, if this thing ain't an angel . . . I don't know what the hell it is."

"Right," said Sammy. "You shouldn't be able to see an angel's wings unless they let you or . . . if they're dead."

"So, I'm going to call Cas," said Dean. "You stay here and keep this pointed at it."

I heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked.

"Got it," said Sam. Dean walked away to make the phone call to whomever this "Cas" was.

A few minutes later, I felt a gust of wind through the room followed by flapping noises.

"Dean, that's not an angel," said a new, gruffer voice.

"Then what the hell is it!?" yelled Dean, cocking a gun of his own. I tried to lay still as I knew two guns were now trained on me.

"I don't know," said who I assumed to be Cas. "She is awake though."

Damn he was good. Or maybe I was just bad at pretending to be unconscious.

I opened my eyes slowly.

"Don't make any sudden moves," said Dean, whom I could now see was a gruff looking man whose wardrobe was mostly plaid. He had his gun trained on me.

I was so tempted to whip out Charles' handgun and train it on them, but I was pretty sure I had run out of bullets and I was most definitely outnumbered.

"Who are you?" asked Sam. His hair was long, his legs were longer. He too wore excessive amounts of plaid. "What are you?"

"Eve. I'm a mutant, not an angel," I said with any confidence I could muster. I tried to extend my arm for a hand shake but found my arm bent at an odd angle and felt very broken.

"Ouch," commented Sam, seeing the unnatural shape to my arm.

The third man, Cas, stepped forward. "May I?" he asked.

I wasn't sure what he was asking. Cas began to extend his hand towards my forehead when Dean stopped him by grabbing his wrist.

"Cas, you can't just heal her," said Dean. "We don't know her intentions."

I had an idea. "Turn on the news," I said, eyeing the small motel TV.

"What?" asked Sam.

"Turn on the news," I repeated.

Sam did so. As I predicted, footage of me and The Avengers was playing on nearly all channels.

"Son of a—" Dean started in disbelief. It seemed Sam and Dean knew nothing of what had happened in New York just moments ago.

Common news captions read things along the lines of,
The New Avenger?
Mysterious Savior
And my favorite: Angel to the Rescue.

There was an interview being conducted with the little girl, Laura Tyler.

Sam finally spoke. "How the hell did you end up here? And in that state?"

I looked down at myself. There were multiple cuts and bruises inflicted by those alien creatures. My sweatshirt was in ribbons, stained with blood. My school's logo for Midtown High was no longer legible. I could feel several of my bones were somewhere the shouldn't have been.

And to top it all off, my arm was definitely broken

How the hell was I going to get back to Charles now?

"I crash landed in the parking lot. Guess I was just exhausted from flying here," I said.

"You flew here?" Cas asked. "This motel is nearly twenty miles from the city of New York."

Was it really? I thought.
I had never flown so far in my life.