Dean

Even as Dr. Cartwright tried to ask him more about Anna, or rather the promise he had made to her after she'd fallen into Hell, he ignored her. His eyes were drawn to her sullen form, sitting rigidly by the window.

He knew time ran differently downstairs, and he didn't know how long she was there. But it was at least a year, likely longer. That was centuries of torment. Of running and hiding and fighting. To be ripped away from that and returned to the land of the living, even if it was preferable to the torment of Hell, the adjustment was still... uncomfortable. Dean still struggled with his own miracle. He remembered the first time he had met Cas, just a few days after his return from Hell.

The warehouse was empty and quiet. He glanced up at Bobby, and finally voiced the question that had been on his mind for the past several minutes.

"You sure you did the ritual right?" He asked. The older hunter just shot him an unimpressed look. Dean sighed.

"Sorry. Touchy touchy, huh?" He muttered. Suddenly the walls began to rattle, and the lights around them flickered. He and Bobby both reach for their shotguns, turning around to face the doors, even as the roof shook and shuddered.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," Dean said quietly. He didn't see Bobby's reaction because at that moment, the doors burst in. A man in a trench coat, and a business suit walked in. As the stranger stalked through the warehouse, the light bulbs began to shatter, glass spraying everywhere. Dean and Bobby opened fire, but nothing happened. Not even a scratch. The only thing damaged was the odd trench coat the stranger wore.

Dean slowly reached for the demon killing knife, holding it defensively in front of him.

"Who are you?" He demanded. The man had a strange expression on his face, a mix of earnest and curious and maybe even a little bit innocent. He looked at Dean for a moment before responding in a gravelly voice.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." Dean snorted with derision. He ignored the little voice inside that was reminding him that he'd gotten free a week early.

"No. They let me go. That was the deal; one month for every day he was gone. But thanks." The man looked surprised. Dean took the opening and plunged the knife into the man's chest. He looked down, unconcerned, and pulled it out before dropping it onto the floor. Dean's eyes widened with shock. Bobby attacked the man, diving forward. The man didn't even look as he snatched the iron crowbar out of Bobby's hand before touching his forehead with two fingers. Bobby crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The man glanced over to Dean, his face the same passive and bland expression he had been wearing when he walked into the warehouse.

"We need to talk, Dean. Alone." He ignored the man and dropped to the floor, pressing two fingers under Bobby's chin. He felt a steady flutter against his fingertips, Bobby's pulse strong and steady. The man frowned as he watched him.

"Your friend's alive." Dean just scowled harder.

"Who are you?" He demanded. He could practically feel her presence behind him, a feeling only cemented by the fact that he'd seen her while he'd been in Hell. She'd tried to help him, rescue him multiple times, but he'd sold his soul; he belonged to the Pit, no matter what she had done. She didn't, not till after his sentence was up at least; but stayed with him anyways. He only wished that when he'd woken up in his own coffin, he could have brought her back with him too.

"Castiel." Was the monosyllabic response. Dean felt a growl rising in his chest.

"Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?" Castiel, and wasn't that a mouthful, looked at him blankly.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord." Dean felt the disbelief coursing through his system. If such things existed, then why was An- she gone, or why did his mom die at the hands of a demon, or his dad? If angels were real, why didn't they deal with Hell and it's denizens? No they were a myth. They had to be.

"Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing." He growled at Castiel, rising to his feet slowly. Dean hovered slightly in front of Bobby's prone body, protective of the only father figure he had left. Maybe the only one he'd ever properly had.

"This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." He held Dean's gaze just that moment too long, his voice taking on a strange cadence. Lightning flashed again, and thunder rumbled. In the flashing light, Dean could see a pair a huge wings silhouetted against the wall, sprouting out of Castiel's back. They flexed slowly, powerfully. He felt a slight panic fill him. Angels weren't real, they couldn't be. And yet, the proof of it stood before him. Dean snorted.

"Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes." He taunted, voice cool. The angel, because he couldn't deny that's what he was, looked slightly guilty at his words, glancing to the ground in acknowledgment.

"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." Dean felt a sudden realization rush through him, as he remembered shattering glass and the unbearable noise from the gas station and motel.

"You mean at the motel? That was you talking?" Castiel nodded. Dean glared.

"Buddy, next time, lower the volume." He snarled.

"That was my mistake. 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? What, holy tax accountant?" Dean asked derisively. Castiel glanced down at his ruined trench coat.

"This? This is... A vessel." Dean felt his already unstable temper slip even further.

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" He growled out. Possession was Evil. Capital E, and utterly wrong. To steal someone's body, drive it around like a car, it was just wrong. Utterly utterly wrong. If one could shrug with a facial expression, that's what the angel did. It served only to piss Dean off even more.

"He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this." He said matter of factly. Dean scoffed, glaring.

"Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

"I told you." The angel looked confused, bright blue eyes boring into Dean's. The hunter snorted.

"Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?" He asked, disdain dripping from every word. He had no doubt that there were others more deserving of the angel rescue squad, especially since he already had a get out of jail free card. He could think of at least one.

"Good things do happen, Dean." Castiel stepped closer to him, as though the gravity of his presence could force Dean to have faith. He shook his head, suppressing memories of blood, pain, fire and the screams of the tormented. Memories of her in that place, when she deserved it least of all.

"Exactly one good thing has ever just happened to me, and she's rotting in Hell. So no, they don't, not in my experience." Dean retorted. Castiel tilted his head, examining Dean's face.

"What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?" The angel asked softly. Dean tried to ignore the strong feelings that question invoked. Lock away the knowledge that he left someone important behind in the hellfire.

"Why me?" He asked instead. Why not her, he asked silently. The next words made him cold.

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

And work there was. Two years of it. Two years where Dean wrestled with the idea that the douchebags with wings chose him instead of her. That he had been rescued after forty years, and left her behind for untold centuries. The guilt hung heavy around his neck, and some days the only way Dean was able to function was by drowning out his emotions with strong alcohol.

But now she was back. And he had no idea how, or why. And a huge part of him didn't care. She was free, and relatively safe. Anna could heal, and maybe one day return to society as a functional member. It was all he wanted for her. An apple pie life, free of monsters and demons and his family's baggage. A smaller part of him wanted her back, for her to rejoin him and Sam on the road; him in Baby, and her on that bike of hers. Or even better with her riding around in the backseat of the Impala. An even quieter part of him wished to share a white picket fenced yard and the matching house with her, while Sammy lived down the street.

However he couldn't quite repress the part of him that was the cold hunter; how did she escape? And what does that mean for the impending end of the world?

He sighed, and turned his full attention back to the mirror in time to glimpse Dr. Fuller as he headed towards Anna. He did a double take.

A gray, decaying face stared out at him from the mirror's reflection. Dean's eyes widened, and a chill ran down his spine. Dr. Fuller is the wraith.

And Anna is his favorite patient.