I knew his name before he was born.

Dean Winchester, the first child of Mary and John Winchester. I was there when he was born; I watched over his mother as she gave birth, and when he opened his eyes he looked at her and laughed. It felt as if he was looking at me with those big green eyes. I couldn't help but smile.

He grew fast, strong and bursting with energy, always on the move and curious about everything. I watched over him as was my duty, protecting him from mortal danger. We were told not to interfere otherwise.

When he was tempted to stick his wet fingers in a socket, a carefully placed toy was good for a distraction. When he had nightmares, a whisper of comfort or a touch to the forehead to sooth those troublesome thoughts would suffice.

Four years went by so fast. Soon, another little one was added to the Winchester family. Dean was ecstatic for the company and I was curious to see how these brothers would grow and what sort of relationship they'd have. Nothing brought me more pleasure than watching over them.

Then, I tasted failure for the first time.

The fire raged through the house and Dean held his little brother in his arms, terrified as his father tried to save their mom. His father yelled at him to run. I guided him, past the broken wood and burning furniture out the front door. I wish I could have saved her, but it was not my place.

My wings spread protectively over him as they stood on the lawn watching their childhood burn. I saw the soul-wrenching pain on Dean's face and for the first time...I cried. Silent tears of despair.

Still, as he grew the pain of his past and his present never stained his soul, it remained pure, clean and full of hope. Hope that he put in his brother, love that he showed to no one else but Sam. His heart he kept closed off; even as a child he would never show weakness in the face of adversity.

The night I saw his true strength was the night his father came home drunk for the first time.

I had sensed John's emotional degradation but I never thought he'd be capable of this. He was angry, so very angry. Angels are not allowed to harm humans, but at that moment I never wanted to eradicate a human life more.

Dean stood his ground. He had to, for he was the only thing between his father and his little brother and there was nothing on earth or in the entire universe that would get him to move.

Sam fell asleep crying in Dean's arms. Those 12-year-old arms held him close, held him tight with a silent vow to always keep him safe. I too made a silent vow, to never let anyone hurt them again. Rules be damned.

That night I saw the real Dean. He sat on the floor by Sam's bed; the only light was the moonlight coming through the motel window. He cried, he cried so silently, but so hard that every breath he took made my wings bristle, every feather vibrating with his ragged breathing.

For the first time, the rules didn't matter. I let my wings wrap tightly around him and felt his skin, warm against my feathers.
Those eyes that had already matured to a deep crystal green tinted with honey, gazed at me, first with shock and then with something like realization and awe. I felt his fingers on my wings and a chill ran up my spine.

Every voice in my head was telling me to leave now, but I could not, he needed me.
I held him close that night - the way he had held Sam - until he fell asleep and made sure that no nightmares disturbed him.

That was my first mistake.

My first warning came from my older brother, Gabriel. He told me that I should be careful, that these feelings I had were human feelings and I should not embrace them. They weren't meant for angels and they would destroy me. That warning fell on deaf ears.

Instead, I heard the sound of Dean's laughter, the sound of his voice as he sang along to his favorite songs and drummed his hands on the steering wheel of his father's car. The sound of him and Sam arguing over which of two very similar movies was better. The sound of his steady heartbeat as he slept.

The next warning wasn't really a warning since it came as a summons. I was to be 'reformed', a fancy name for what they did to angels who disobeyed orders, to make the perfect soldier who had no questions, no doubts and no will. In other words, mind control mixed in with Naomi's own brand of torture.

That was a blur, however. I remember screaming. Darkness, cold, fading in and out of consciousness, cold hands on my skin, broken words, sometimes my own words saying things that I didn't know I knew, things that I couldn't understand, and sometimes it was just me begging for them to stop.

It all blurred together, time passed strangely here, I didn't know how much actually passed, but it felt endless, so completely endless.

Naomi.

Her face was all I saw, for all that time, whether I was awake or dreaming, her sadistic smile replayed in my mind, her sickly sweet voice repeating, even over my screams, that everything would be alright, that I would be better soon, that I would soon be perfect. She drilled into my mind with cold metal spikes, repeating the same phrases over and over as they cut into me with blades.

I endured it all, and soon I had begun to believe that I deserved it, soon I had lost myself, my thoughts were no longer my own and my voice was silenced. Just the way they wanted. Yet, hatred burned inside me, for her, and a desperate longing grew alongside it. They had been trying to silence those too, but with every attempt, they only grew stronger, stronger than anything I had ever felt.

As the torture grew, I became numb to it, my mind went blank. I didn't bother to open my eyes anymore; I was tired of seeing her face. I was tired of screaming, my throat was hoarse, raw from overuse. But there was a scream as a blade cut through my arm. I knew it was not mine.

It sliced through me again and there was another scream, it echoed in my mind, loud enough to make my ears ring. Pain spread throughout my body suddenly, a dull and relentless pain that would not subside or let itself be replaced by the path of the blade along my skin. I focused all my attention on it, trying to locate its source. My mind began to drone out everything else, my senses became hypersensitive as a surge of energy and adrenaline coursed through me in a bolt of electricity. Then I was on my feet, breaking through my restraints catching my torturers off guard.

I lunged for Naomi, purely off instinct. The only coherent thought in my damaged mind was to get out. Get out of here, save him.

I felt the warm glow of angel grace as it flared, vaguely hearing her scream, barely recognizing the feeling of blood on my fingers or the sound of the blade falling, hitting the floor. I don't know when I had started running, but I was running, the others had called for reinforcements.

As they surrounded me, one thought ran through my mind 'Dean'

I was in a quiet room, small, cozy, stone walls and concrete floor. The only furniture in the room was a wooden side table, a small bed, and Dean Winchester. Dean. Dean was asleep.

I limped towards the bed, towards him. The clock on the nightstand stopped ticking and I felt the familiar presence of my brother behind me.

"Escaping was a stupid move Castiel, even for you"

"Lucifer..."

"Now I have to clean up your mess, I'm not thrilled about that."

He flipped out his gold blade, one of four in existence, and slashed at me, which I managed to dodge somehow. I found there was no fear in me at this moment, even though I was fighting Lucifer, second oldest of the archangels and my superior in every way. I was not afraid, more than anything else, I was angry.

We fought around Dean's room; I managed to stay one step ahead of his blade while keeping him away from Dean. I could see that he was becoming irritated by my evasive tactics.

"Ugh. This is pointless. Hold still so I can stab you already!"

He lunged at me again, less planned and more out of frustration and I found enough energy to push him back hard enough that he crashed into the table.

His blade nicked Dean's hip, leaving a long, angry red scar. Lucifer glanced at it and shook his head "Now see, if you would just let me kill you like a good little angel, that wouldn't have happened"

He rose from the ground, dusting himself off "Not that it matters, I'm probably gonna kill him anyway"

And just as how I broke from my restraints, I had rushed forward and pinned him against the wall before I could realize it, but when I did, taking the moment of surprise as an advantage, I used as much of the energy I could manage and blasted him out of the room in a bright flash of white.

The clocked continued to tick, filling the quiet room. I kneeled by Dean's bed, where he was still asleep. My eyes fell on the wound on his hip, and the fresh scars on his arms. 'I'm sorry...'

With the last of my energy, I cast a protective barrier over the house hoping that it would afford me a bit more time. I tried to heal his wounds but only managed to stop the bleeding before darkness began to creep at the edge of my vision.

I let it take me over, without anxiousness, for the first time, it was warm.