Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Obviously.

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I've been so excited about sharing this chapter with you guys; things are about to get interesting!

Special thanks to my girl Nova42 for her help and kicking me in the pants when necessary. Shout outs to Jennifer, Candy, and Summer for all their help and encouragement too! Y'all rock!

Caleb tossed his shovel into the bed of his truck and dusted off his hands, sighing deeply. It had been a long day; between case interviews, investigative work, research, and finally, the salt and burn that he'd just finished, the soldier-turned-hunter was ready for a patch up, a shower, and at least eight hours of rack time.

Of course, the job had been relatively straightforward, no crazy plot twists or exotic creatures he couldn't handle alone—Singer tended to assign him those kinds of cases, since he didn't have a partner. Even still, he was sporting a couple of injuries—among them a shockingly-painful gash on the underside of his forearm, from an inch above his wrist all the way to his inner elbow. He winced as he prodded gently at it—didn't look deep enough for stitches, which was a good thing, because stitching his right arm with his left hand would've been a real chore…

Caleb huffed as his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, the ring over-loud in this quiet place. He pulled it out and felt a grin pull at his lips at the notification.

1 NEW TXT MSG

KATIE W.

"Ah, hello beautiful," he murmured to himself, opening the text eagerly. He hadn't heard from Katie in…well, far too long. Several weeks, at least; not since Sam had started hunting with her and Dean again.

Doubtless the boys and monsters were keeping her busy.

OPERATION HOOKY. PLEASE?

He laughed out loud at that. It was their own personal code—a set of super-secret "operations" they'd thought up while spending a night in an isolated cabin on a wendigo hunt with John and Dean a couple years ago. The two other men had been pretty badly wounded by the creature, and were sleeping like little babies under the influence of the industrial-strength painkillers Caleb always carried in his med-pack. It had been a long night, while Kate and Caleb had stood guard.

Operation Hooky was born when Kate had confided to him that sometimes, the protective nature of the men she lived with just became too damn much to handle. That once in a while, it crossed from comforting into suffocating territory, and none of them could understand it when she just needed to get away, thinking she was angry or offended.

He chuckled as he keyed in his reply and hit send before starting up his truck.

OPERATION HOOKY COMMENCES TOMORROW 0800.

Dean rolled over in bed, muttering under his breath at the insistent ringing of his phone. He felt around the rumpled covers for the thing, grumbling in frustration when it wasn't within immediate reach.

God dammit.

"'Lo?" he grunted as soon as he got the blasted thing in hand, flipped open and answered.

"Dean Winchester," a far-too-awake voice greeted him. "How the hell are you, man?"

"Caleb?" Dean said, rubbing his eyes.

"The one and only."

"God, dude, what time is it? Wha'dya need me to shoot?"

His friend laughed. "It's after eight. Are you still in bed?"

"Yeah," Dean was sitting up now, blinking in the harsh light of morning and cursing the eight—nine?—beers he'd downed the night before. "Kate's on an R-and-R kick, made us take a few days off after our last case."

"Then you probably needed it," he could hear Caleb grinning. "She's usually right about that sort of thing. Speaking of which, is she around? I need her help and couldn't get hold of her on her phone."

Checking the room cursorily, Dean located Kate's note, left beside his bed. "She's on a walk," he crumpled the paper with an eye roll. Count on Kate to insist he and Sam sleep without an alarm, and then get herself up with the sun and go for a freaking walk. Just because.

He would never understand her.

"Ah. Well, when she gets back, will you have her call me? I need to borrow her strategy brain for a few days. Sounds like you guys are between jobs anyway, so that'll be convenient."

"Sure, I'll have her call," Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes, deciding he desperately needed coffee. Or more sleep.

More sleep sounded good, actually.

"Great! Later, man."

"Later."

Dean tossed his phone at the bedside table and collapsed on the thin pillow again.

It was a matter of hours later that all three Winchesters were tossing things into duffels, readying to go.

"I don't like it," Dean said, grumpily. He really didn't want to let Kate out of his sight, not so soon after…Lawrence. And then Sam taking off last week—though that had ended up working in their favor, their little brother's timing impeccable as he saved them both from death-by-creepy-live-scarecrow. But the point remained; he'd had enough of scattered family for a little while. And then Bobby had called soon after Kate returned with hot coffees, a new case on the line; and Dean really didn't want to separate, not this time, not yet.

"You two can handle the rawhead, Dean," Kate explained patiently. "I'm going to be up to my eyeballs in musty old books, in no danger whatsoever."

"We'll come with you then." That was Sam. Dean felt the familiar tug—family or job?—and hated himself for even having to ask the question.

"You'll do no such thing," Kate rolled her eyes. "You'll go save those missing kids from that monster before it has a chance to target any more of them. And I'll go help Caleb get a handle on his ech-ushkya problem."

"Fine," he said. "But you call as soon as you get there—"

"—and at least once a day and when I leave." Kate tossed him a patient grin. "I know the drill, Dean."

He stood, placing his hands on her shoulders heavily. He still didn't like this. He held her gaze for a half minute, packed with silent communication, then kissed the top of her head. "Be safe."

She didn't let him go right away, gripping his forearms. It was a familiar routine, whenever they separated, and Dean took comfort in it, as he suspected she intended. She blinked up at him for a moment before completing the ritual.

"Don't die."

It took Kate a solid twenty four hours to reach Caleb in Dover, Delaware; but reach him she did. As was the point of Operation Hooky, Caleb had booked her a room in the same hotel as his—though across the parking lot, to give her some measure of privacy. He let her fuss over the laceration on his arm, they ate breakfast together, and then he left her to her own devices while he settled down in his room to enjoy a bit of rest himself.

Sitting alone in her burnt-orange room—trying not to look at the walls, because ugh, that color—Kate rolled the small satchel of herbs between her fingers thoughtfully. Missouri had sworn it would make her "more perceptive", which was probably some sort of high, really...

But the fiasco at their old house a couple weeks ago had spooked Kate. Whatever was going on with her, what with the freaky powers and the flashes of light and sound at the edge of her consciousness at random times, she was going to find out what it was.

Not that it made the entire thing any less terrifying. Luckily, she'd spent her entire life confronting terrifying things, this was no different.

At least that's what she told herself.

Sighing as the water on the tiny stove began to boil, Kate dropped the herbs into a mug, filling it to nearly the brim with hot water and gasping as the potent herbs filled the room with a pungent, cloying scent. "Gross," she muttered to herself, feeling her head go a little heavy. It wasn't sleepy-heavy though; more like I'm-suddenly-aware-of-gravity heavy. She blinked as her vision sharpened, lifted her head.

Odd.

The traffic outside; had it always been that loud? The honking horns were abnormally noisy. Geez, was this what Missouri had meant by 'perceptive'? It was freaking annoying.

Still, if it helped her find the thing stalking her...Kate raised the mug to her lips.

"Do not drink that." The Voice came from all around her, and Kate dropped the cup of hot liquid in surprise. It hit the floor and shattered as she cursed, jumping back just quickly enough to prevent it splashing all over her clothes. "What the—?"

"If you do, you will be overwhelmed when I show myself," the Voice answered; the sound was loud and borderline uncomfortable, like listening to clanging church bells from inside the belfry, only slightly less dissonant. Kate dived for the bed and pulled her machete out.

"Who are you?" She asked, turning in slow circles with her blade held before her defensively, alert for any hint of movement or danger.

"That cannot hurt me," the Voice said, almost conversationally. The power inherent in the sound was nearly devastating, though, and Kate remained cautious. But she did lower her weapon, just a little.

"Call it moral support."

She sensed the being's slight amusement, though she still couldn't see anything. "My name is Nathanael," the Voice announced, and Kate was almost certain she heard thunder in the distance. "I am an Angel of the Lord."

She blinked slowly, machete dropping a few more inches just out of sheer shock. Disbelief coursed through her, then anger, and Kate dropped into a fighting stance.

"Sure you are, that's very funny. Now come out where I can see you!"

There was a pause, and the Voice answered, "As you wish."

Kate had only a moment to wonder if she regretted her command before it was fulfilled. At first, she wasn't really sure what she was looking at; a being of light, obviously, but it was unlike any light she had ever encountered. Shadowed black light provided an outline for a humanoid figure, while a blue glow made up most of its body. The creature...angel?...had long hair the color of ebony, and where the face of a human would have been was nearly blinding white light. It was a little like looking into the sun, and Kate blinked furiously to adjust. After a minute, she was able to make out features not unlike a human form—eyes, nose, mouth, ears.

But the most stunning thing about the creature before her were the towering wings that filled most of the hotel room. There were two of them, massive arching things that curled around the two of them. They were nothing like Kate had expected out of angel wings. First of all, if she had to assign a color to them—though it was difficult to do so—she would've said they were almost black, like the angel's hair. They shimmered too; not sparkled like glitter, but were shot through with gold and blue light that shifted as the angel moved, much like the feathers of a bird.

Stunned, she barely noticed she was reaching out to touch the wings until one drew back, as if startled. She blinked again and faced the creature, unable to read its expression and hoping she hadn't just offended a real, bona-fide angel.

Because there was really no way to deny that's what she was looking at.

The enormity of it nearly bowled her over, and she muttered faintly, "I think I need to sit down."

The angel moved, and her legs folded before she commanded them to. She shut her eyes against the expected jolt of hitting the ground, but it never came. Instead, she opened them to find herself cradled in a pair of giant wings, lowering toward the carpet slowly.

"Fear not," the angel—Nathanael—boomed, and she winced a little. God, his voice was...penetrating. "I mean you no harm."

"I know," she answered without thinking, surprised to find she did know. She had a feeling if Nathanael wanted her dead, she'd be long gone already. "I'm just...wow. So you do exist."

The angel tilted his bright head in a gesture that would've been endearing if he wasn't so...alarming, what with his huge wings and near-blinding physiology. "Of course I exist. I am standing right here."

She almost laughed. "No, I mean...angels. In general."

Nathanael didn't seem any less confused. "Did you not believe before this moment?"

"More, I wanted to believe," she answered. "I just...wasn't completely convinced, I guess. It makes sense; if there are demons, why not angels?"

At that, Nathanael nodded. "That assessment more truly fits your usual character." At her confused look, he explained. "I have watched over you for many years, in between other assignments. I know you well, Katharine Winchester."

Kate sat in stunned silence for several seconds. "Well that's not at all creepy. Are you telling me you're my...guardian angel?" Because if so, you've done a horrible job, she added to herself, thinking of all the times she or her brothers had been injured and nearly killed.

But Nathanael was shaking his head. "No. It is you who bear the title of Guardian."

"Uh….I'm sorry, but…what?" Kate didn't have a clue what this…half-cocked, terrifying, awe-inspiring angel was trying to tell her. "And don't call me Katharine." Nathanael's brows rose, and she added, "Please."

After a moment, he sighed (it sounded like a gale-force wind, really, but Kate was slowly acclimating to everything being so…exaggerated…with her companion). "It makes sense you would have no idea to what I am referring. Let me help you remember." With that, he stretched his bright hand toward her head, two fingers extended. Kate drew back before she could catch herself, and Nathanael paused only slightly.

"I will not hurt—"

"Right, I know, sorry," Kate leaned forward, her forehead meeting the angel's fingers. She gasped; it was like an electric shock, the muscles in her body spasming and her heart stuttering. Images flashed through her mind rapid-fire, exhausting in their clarity and enormity:

A flash of blue at the corner of her eye the night they pulled Sam from his apartment at Stanford…

A being of light bearing a silver blade standing over her and Dean during that Banshee fiasco three years prior. She'd lost consciousness moments later…

Angel wings between her and the Black Dog that nearly bit her head off as a teenaged, brand-new hunter…

An innocent smile on a seven-year-old face as gentle, bright fingers touched her fevered brow in a skeezy motel room, a rumbling order reaching her ears, "Sleep"….

Intertwined hands looming over a blonde toddler she recognized as herself, blue light pouring from them into her chest as she watched, wide-eyed…

Kate gasped as Nathanael's fingers left her brow, shivering at the cold sweat that had gathered on her skin. "You've…been here all along?" she breathed. "How come I don't remember-?"

"It was not yet time," he (it? Did angels have genders?) answered, his voice beginning to make her head throb. Stupid herbs. "I had to erase myself from your memories multiple times over the years."

"Time for what?" she demanded, rubbing her temples and pointedly ignoring the terror of the idea that he could erase her memories. She'd deal with that later.

"Time for you to fulfil your destiny."

"My…my what now?"

"Your destiny, Katharine," Nathanael answered, ignoring her request to shorten her name, but softening his voice marginally. She blinked, waiting for an explanation; when none was forthcoming, she raised her eyebrows and asked tightly, "My destiny?"

"Yes," he said. "Your brothers share a fate that will direct the course of this world; you have been assigned to protect them until it is their time. Your abilities have awakened; it is the First Sign of the coming Battle."

Kate narrowed her eyes. "Whoa whoa, the 'coming battle'? Signs? Abilities? I'm missing pieces to this puzzle, and you're making no sense. What did you do to me when I was a kid? Blue light over my chest, what was that about? Why have I not remembered seeing you all those times, until now? Tell me everything, or I walk."

Nathanael tilted his head again, appraising. Kate didn't move, didn't soften the glare she knew was on her face, despite the realization that she had just mouthed off to a freaking angel. After a moment, he nodded.

"As you wish."

His fingers touched her skin a second time, and suddenly, they were both inside her head—that white, vague sort of room that seemed to have no walls or horizons. She recognized it from her…skirmish…with Phoebe. Nathanael, who was in a much more human form than he'd been a few minutes prior, looked at her. She stood before him in jeans and a tee, surprisingly unarmed.

It was an indication of wary trust.

"Normally if I entered a person's mind like this, I would find myself in a setting that reflected the vessel's personality. A memory, perhaps, or a setting they find peaceful," the angel said, looking down at himself as though studying the form her mind had given him. "Interesting."

Kate looked around, a bit confused. "What's interesting? And why are we…here? Where exactly is here, anyway?"

For the first time, Nathanael looked something other than deadly-serious. His lips twitched in amusement.

"So many questions. It is interesting that your mortal mind sees me as an older man. If I'm not mistaken," he glanced at down at the floor and ran borrowed hands through short salt-and-pepper hair, "I quite resemble your father."

Kate just stared. Now that he mentioned it, he did look a bit like her dad—tall, graying, scruffy and strong—but she had no idea what it meant.

The angel hadn't paused. "As to your second question, it's a product of your Abilities. You have greater control over your mind than others. At first glance, I see only what you wish me to see. Right now, I could dig for whatever I wished and you'd be hard pressed to resist me; but that will come with time and practice."

"Is that why I could toss a demon out of my head?"

The angel nodded. "Partially."

Kate looked around, nodding her understanding. "And the rest?"

With a sweep of his hand, Nathanael projected his own memories onto the room around them. Kate gasped as she found herself in her old bedroom, in Lawrence; it was looking rather empty, and a tiny child slept alone on a small mattress in the middle of the floor, blonde curls askew around a chubby face.

"I remember this," Kate said, hushed with awe. "This was just before we moved out of our house. Sammy slept best in mom and dad's old bed—I guess there was still something of mom's scent in the pillows and sheets that he found comforting—and Dean wouldn't sleep at all with the baby out of reach. I would go to sleep in my room and usually end up moving into mom and dad's room with them a few hours later."

Nathanael nodded. "Watch."

They watched together as a bright figure—Nathanael as Kate had first seen him in her motel room—appeared next to the little girl's mattress. His form was muted, even to her eyes, and he knelt beside her, chanting something soft in a language she didn't recognize.

"Enochian, the language of Heaven," Now-Nathanael murmured, seeming to read the confusion in her eyes. "It was an ancient spell, one we'd never seen applied before." Little Kate stirred at the sound, eyes blinking open sleepily and going wide as she took in the form above her.

"You could see me even then," the angel smiled. "So few people can; it was only a confirmation, in my mind, that we were doing the right thing."

"Do not be afraid," Memory-Nathanael said. "I will not hurt you."

"You're an angel," the little girl answered. It wasn't a question. "Mommy always said angels were watching over us."

Memory-Nathanael held one hand over her small body, something shimmering and blue flowing from his palm into her chest. "That was inaccurate. You now have an angel watching over you, whereas you did not before."

Little Kate shook her head. "No, she was right. Mommy was always right."

Wisely, the angel did not engage the girl further, instead focusing on the grace that was filling her up, making her already-blue eyes glow temporarily with it. She just watched him, trusting and unconcerned.

"It's warm," she remarked when he took his hand away a moment later, looking down at herself, where the glow still shone through her skin. "What is it?"

"It is not yet time for you to know," was the response, and the angel placed two fingers on her forehead in a now-familiar gesture. The girl's eyes fluttered closed and she slept.

Kate turned to Now-Nathanael. "So you infused my body with…angel juice?"

"Grace," Nathanael answered. "Your soul—not your body—is imbued with angel grace, granting you abilities other humans do not have."

Kate blinked slowly, taking it in. "That all ties into the 'Guardian' title?"

"It does."

"And…Heaven wants me to protect my brothers until…they decide they have need of them?"

A pause.

"In summary, yes."

Kate laughed. She couldn't help it, it was just too much. "Oh this is rich. Dean's going to love this. My big oaf of an overprotective older brother, and I'm supposed to keep him from harm…"

"You can't tell them," Nathanael cut in.

Kate nearly choked.

"They cannot know any of this. It would destroy them both, keep them from fulfilling their destinies."

"Excuse me?"

"It must be this way."

"You can't expect—"

"I can," the angel's tone brooked no argument. "And I do. If you tell them, not only will your brothers suffer, the world will suffer too. They will learn of their destiny when the time comes, but it is not now."

"But—"

"Heaven has decreed it. If you refuse to comply, you will be…" he paused. Kate's eyes narrowed.

"Be what?" she asked, now eyeing him with some suspicion.

"These plans have been in place for thousands of years. We will not tolerate a…loose cannon…running about."

Kate stood aghast, eyes wide. "I thought Heaven was a force for good."

Nathanael furrowed his brow. "It is."

"Extortion, threat of bodily harm or execution? Those sound like hellish tactics to me, Nat."

The head tilt again. Kate glared. "No," he responded. "You, and even I, do not have the whole picture. Your father does the same thing on a regular basis; giving you orders without all the information. You comply then."

Oh, but he had her there. It had been part of their training, never to question a commanding officer, especially in the midst of a fight. They almost always had more knowledge of the situation than you did, and you—the grunt—went and did as you were told.

The comparison made her jaw clench.

"Fine," she finally responded. "But you can tell your boss I don't appreciate being threatened, and that the moment I think Sam or Dean are going to be hurt by my silence, all bets are off."

Nathanael appeared to consider. "I trust you will not allow that to become necessary."

The two stared at one another for a moment; a standoff, of sorts. Kate barely had time to wonder how in the world her day had taken such a turn for the completely bizarre before a jarring ring echoed from somewhere far away. She jumped, startled.

"What—?"

"Your telephone," Nat said serenely. "Your brothers require your assistance. We will leave your mind now so you may go to them."

Kate gasped as she was thrown out of her own head, back into the real world, found herself sitting on the dingy motel bed, no angel in sight. Her phone rang again, prompting a curse and a pinch of her nose in an attempt to settle the headache that now pounded in her temples. She flipped the phone open and held it against her ear.

"Hello?"

"Kate?" Sam's voice was all wrong—too tight, too small, all little brother. "Kate, come quick. Dean's in the hospital. The doctor says….he…..it's bad."