Dean doesn't say anything for a moment.

Logically, there's no reason that what this stranger has said should upset me, because how could he know? I'm still here, still alive. If Dean and Sam can get me to a hospital, I'll be fine. What does some guy in a trench coat know? So, yeah. Hearing him say it's my "time" doesn't mean anything, but I still can't breathe past the knot that's blocking my throat.

"You're kidding, right?" Dean finally says - an agonized half-laugh, wrapped in disbelief. "It can't be. She's only here because …" He stops, his eyes flicking up to Sam's face and then mine. "Because of me."

The man's brow furrows, the look on his face somewhere between impatience and anger. He's listening, it seems. Blue eyes glancing up, his head angles the other way.

It's clear he's listening to something now, but no one's talking. I want to laugh, because wasn't this evening crazy enough already? There is nothing else out here. All I can hear is my own too-shallow breathing, my own heart pounding, and distantly - the wind through leaves. An owl somewhere far away. But a few moments later, he nods. "Yes." He speaks softly, with a short shake of his head. "I am sorry, but she's not long for this world."

Neither of the men with me even blink at the stranger's odd choice of words. "Only if you don't help," Dean snaps. "Fix it. You can heal her."

"Dean," Sam says, more a warning than anything else.

The stranger ignores Sam, but mirrors his, "Dean," as if trying to reason with a child. "She's moving on."

Sam's mouth opens, but before he says anything, Dean blows a harsh breath, looking away. "You're wrong," he growls. And then, with more force, "That's not happening." Running an unsteady hand through his hair, he glances over. His eyes catch mine and I blink quickly, trying to get rid of tears I hadn't even realized were there. The arms around me tighten, and I will myself to stop shaking. Not so easy. Sam's gaze is hard on the man they call Cas, but he doesn't try to interrupt again, letting his brother take the lead. I wonder if this is normally how they operate.

That thought is fuzzy around the edges, though. I try to take a deeper breath (why can't I get enough air?) and my head tips back in time to see Sam frowning down at me. He kneels, setting me down enough that my legs are on the ground. I realize why a moment later, when his hand gently moves mine away from my stomach. He presses down and I gasp, nerves lighting up like fireworks behind my eyes. "Sorry," he mutters. "You weren't pressing hard enough." I nod, feeling the air cool my hand, where it's hanging by my side. It's cold and it hits me that it's my blood making it that way.

I decide maybe I shouldn't look at my hand right now.

Some part of me is also wondering why we're still here. If what Sam said was true, shouldn't we be at least trying to get to the hospital?

I mean, he might not be right on the amount of time. Sam couldn't possibly know how long it would take a person to bleed out … right?

Both Dean and Cas pause, two pairs of eyes flicking over and back again. Dean's impatient, shifting his weight and holding himself back, a force of will that I can see in the restless movement of his hands, fisting at his sides. Almost snarling, he says, "You're such a hypocrite." A look passes over Cas' face; one that I can't name, but has my stomach twisting. Dean doesn't seem bothered by it, doesn't seem to even notice it, plowing on. "You expect me … us … to be ready to step up and help you." He gestures, sharply, and it includes all of us. "I told you we're down here, dying! Come on. Throw us a bone, man."

Eyebrows drawn down, the blue-eyed man says, "I fail to see how throwing bones would help anyone," and he pauses, as though he's still trying to sort out what Dean meant. "She's seen shadows she shouldn't. Even if I do what you ask, her life will never be the same."

One side of Dean's mouth curls up in a sneer. "That's reason enough to let her die? Fix that, too, then."

So far, Castiel's been talking in the same calm tone, his voice a little stilted and one pace off normal. I'll admit to being a little out of it - I just want to not hurt anymore - but even I can hear the challenge in Dean's voice. Cas tilts his head back, eyes narrowing. He steps in closer to Dean. "It's not my place to intervene in this."

Dean isn't intimidated. All deference and that careful distance he'd been keeping seems forgotten, green eyes narrowed, too. He leans forward, spitting, "That's bullshit. Angels interfere. Intervene. I've seen it." He sneers. "You do whatever suits you." There's another message there, underneath all that anger, but I don't know what it is.

And did he just say angels?

"That's not true." Cas's voice is lower and there's something in it, just at the edge of my hearing, that says 'not normal.' That stomach churning expression is there again, reflected in glinting blue eyes. Sam's tense, pulled tight. He may be letting Dean lead, but that dangerous look from the bar is back - that sense that he's just waiting to see what happens.

There's danger in the air, pushing up against the fog my thoughts are swimming in. It's vibrating and explosive and I don't realize it, but I must have shifted, uneasy. Sam looks down at me again and that sharpness in his gaze melts a bit. He shakes his head minutely and mouths, "It's okay."

It doesn't seem okay. Dean laughs in response to what Castiel says. It's a short, bitter sound. "It is true." Dean's gaze flicks to something I hadn't noticed in the dim light. A scar, almost a brand, on one bare shoulder. "You're a real laugh, you know that?" he says. "If you hadn't interfered with me, with Hell, I wouldn't have been here to get her hurt."

That scar, it looks. It looks like … and Castiel's eyes drop there, too, while he waits until Dean finishes. His jaw is clenched and he exhales like he's trying to keep his temper, fails. "We've already had a discussion, haven't we? About your lack of respect?" His gaze passes over the three of us, before it falls, heavy, on Dean. "Who are you, Dean Winchester, to question why or what I do. To question how I interfere?" Sam takes a short, sharp breath, because suddenly Cas, Castiel, is leaning into Dean's space. I see the flinch that Dean tries to hide, when one hand hovers, not quite touching, over that mark on his shoulder. The angel lowers his voice, like he's telling Dean something private, but what he's saying is clear in the still night air. "Unless. You're saying you wish I hadn't." He's entirely too close, one edge of his trench coat almost brushing against the claw marks on Dean's chest. "Are you saying you want to go back?"

Dean's jaw clenches. He swallows. "No. I'm not saying that."

"Or that I shouldn't have interfered at all?" The words are curious and not quite shy of taunting. There's a hollowed out look in Dean's eyes, that feels like someone's tearing away pieces of me, one piece at a time. "Should I have left you there, in Hell, to be torturer? Or tortured, still?" One side of his lip curls. "Remade into Alastair's plaything … his … pet." And Dean's breathing fast now. His eyes dropped to the leaves at their feet.

I remember how pale Dean had been, tied to that post … Should I have left you there, in Hell … to be tortured ... Remade … Oh god. What were they saying?

Sam takes a step forward, all the softness in his voice gone. "Stop it, Castiel. Either help us, or don't, but don't be a dick." He waits a beat, and there's fury bubbling under the surface of what he says next. "I didn't think you were cruel." Another pause. "Respectfully."

That seems to take the other man (angel) by surprise. He looks at Sam, thoughtful. Then he steps back, away from Dean. For a moment, something like remorse flashes in the depths of those blue eyes. But it's there and gone again, before I can really be sure. Dean's eyes flick up to Sam and move away. He takes a deep breath, lets it out and I try not to really notice it's a little shaky on the exhale.

Not noticing is easy, probably because the forest is starting to spin. It seems like the little light there is, is fading. Stepping closer to Sam and I, Castiel says, "Lay her down." I shake my head. I don't know if I want this angel'shelp. And God help me, if he's an angel, maybe I'm not dying. Maybe I'm just losing my mind.

Sam does as he's told while I'm shaking (and it's not just my head, now). I'm not sure if it's shock or fear. There's power, coiled like a snake inside this quiet-looking man in a brown trench coat. It's in the way Dean looked away from the threat in his voice, in the way Sam didn't dare approach, even when he stood up to protect his brother. After everything I've heard, he's more frightening than the wolf-men, or the witch we'd faced before.

Though something tells me Sam and Dean wouldn't hesitate, if they thought Cas meant to hurt me, it still does something to me. Seeing these men that I think I might trust - are frightened, when they haven't broken a sweat on anything else. So, when Sam sets me down, it leaves me shaken and frightened. From the corner of my eye, I can see they're right there, but suddenly I feel so alone.

Everything hurts too much to even try to move away. My teeth are chattering (shock and blood loss, Kelsey) and I don't know what to expect from the man advancing on me. But when Castiel steps up to me, that dispassionate, almost cruel, look on his face is gone. His expression softens, his blue eyes capture mine.

"Kelsey."

I hear his voice, low and calm, but that's not what makes my shivering stop and my eyes widen. It's what I see in his eyes – they pull me in and I'm falling, but it's not frightening at all. This man (this angel) has lived.

A thousand, thousand lifetimes, each with its joy, pain and sorrow. And I know ... that no matter what I might be to him, or anyone else, he … he understands. It's a kind of acceptance that I've never experienced, and there's love there, too. Deep and still and clear. I feel tears spill, track down over my cheeks, without really understanding why.

I don't see him move, but his hand reaches up, two fingers placed against my forehead.

"It's going to be … okay. Sleep."

. . .

The bar is quiet tonight. I miss the raucous sound of laughter and the clink of glass. But nights like this are good, too. Nights like this are when you really get to know people. Quiet drinks and the murmur of conversation. Sad stories and celebrations. So, it's all good.

Most of the regulars have decided to stay in, I guess, because the place is about half-empty and I'm already bummed about the slim tips I'll be bringing home tonight.

"Hey darlin'. Can I get a couple beers?" I look up, nodding at the man across from me. He's like a lot the guys that come in here, young and casual, in blue jeans and a couple of layers for fall weather. I take this in about the same time I absently note he's handsome. The chiseled playboy/model type of handsome, in case you're wondering. His eyes are green. The green of a forest after the rain, or grass lit up with morning dew. They make my breath catch and then he smiles. Damn.

He drops a few bills on the bar and I can't help but notice he's included a generous tip. I smile back, reaching down as I answer, "Two beers, coming up. And thank you," nodding at the money and snagging two bottles to pass them over.

Another man steps up to the bar, sits down on an empty stool. "Hey Sammy," says green-eyes.

"You're taking too long, Dean. I'm thirsty." This one's tall, handsome in a boy-next-door kinda way. He smiles at me.

Dimples.

I get flashes, then, sense-memories coming home, poking at the edges of my thoughts. The rumble of a car engine, the smell of cologne. Green eyes, dark with worry. The feel of a hand, warm against my lower back, and this man's voice. These strangers' voices. 'If this were a nightmare, you'd have different company.' 'You can trust us.' I shake my head to clear it.

"You okay?" It's green-eyes. Dean.

"Yes," I smile into that watchful gaze, noting the crease of worry between the man's brows. "I'm fine." He grins, that careful expression melting away.

"Good," he says, exhaling. "Great." Half-turning, he continues, "Sam, I'd like to introduce you to our fine bartender." I blink away the strange sense of déjà vu, and look at the taller man, hair hanging in his face.

Sam nods at me, friendly and half-smiling, a knowing look in his hazel eyes.

"Nice to meet you … miss?"

God, his voice feels so familiar. 'You're going to be okay.' Pushing back the weird thoughts, I focus on the here and now. I must be remembering last night's dreams or something. That's what I get for having Thai food and cranberry juice for dinner last night.

Sam's still waiting for me to answer. "Kelsey," I say, half smiling and picking up a rag, swiping it across the bar to give my hands something to do.

"Kelsey," Dean repeats, grinning slow and a little teasing, like he knew my name all along and it was a secret. Just-Between-Us.

I feel my heart skip and quickly tell myself (sternly), he's the kind momma warned you about. And maybe after last year, there should be something else there, a twinge of something like unease. But now, there's nothing. Just a little thrill that these two good-looking guys are, yes, flirting with me.

Nice.

They crack their beers, each taking a pull. Into the momentary silence, I can't help but ask, "So, what're you in town for? Vacationing?"

Dean and Sam both smile at that, and Dean looks away a moment before glancing back. "Just passing through."

Sam nods. "Yep. Just passing through."

There's a twinge of disappointment, but them's the breaks, being in this profession. This isn't the kind of town people come to vacation in, generally. New faces don't often stick around.

"Well, too bad. It would've been nice to see you around. You sure you don't want to see the town before you go?"

Dean smiles. "Are you offering a tour?" There's no doubt he's flirting now, and I feel my face heat.

I laugh and shake my head. "Sorry, I can't help you there. My car is on the fritz."

Sam's eyes flick over to Dean. "What's wrong with it?" he asks.

I shrug. "I could tell you, if I could afford to take it in."

"Ah, that's tough."

Huffing a small laugh, I say, "No kidding!" lifting one shoulder. And not wanting to bum out good-tipping (and good looking) customers, I finish, "But, no worries. I'll find a way to get it running again."

The men nod, and there's a moment when we're interrupted by a guy wanting a drink and hey, he shouldn't be irritated that I'm asking him to show ID - he just turned twenty-one last night, by what it says. The two are silent for a bit and I take a moment to tidy up behind the bar. When I look up again, Dean offers, "I'm pretty good with cars." He gestures at the front window, and I see a sleek black muscle car parked out front. "I could take a look at yours." He's all kinds of sincere and he may be a stranger, but something tells me I can trust him.

It stuns me a bit, that he'd offer that to a random bartender and he's sitting there with this wry kind of smile on his face. "Really?" I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful, because it'll be months before I have the money to fix my car otherwise. So, hell yeah, I'm hopeful. And well … did I mention how green this guy's eyes are?

I'm pretty sure I fail miserably at trying not to sound both hopeful and a little flitter-pated, because Sam grins, dimples out in full force. And oh boy. Between the two of them, I may just have a heart attack. And great. Now Dean's grinning, too.

"We got anything going, Sam?" Dean asks. "Think we can lend Kelsey a hand, maybe tomorrow morning?" he asks, one eyebrow up and asking both of us at the same time. I lift my hands in an omg-thank-you kind of way and Sam shrugs as Dean continues, "Before we head out?"

Sam hesitates, but only a moment. "I think we have time enough for that."

"Awesome." He grins, and there's that weird sense of déjà vu again, 'that's our cue.' But it disappears quicker than before, swallowed by the sense of relief that I might not have to keep walking home in the dark.

He's tipping back his beer, draining the last of it when I say (before I even think), "That would be so great. I'd be happy to treat you to dinner, maybe show you around, after." At that, they pause, something in their smiles going a little brittle. Sam's still smiling at me but it's more tempered now, and Dean's looked away. My heart kind of stutters, because. As if, right? Except I really hadn't meant anything and there wasn't anything wrong with offering to feed someone who'd do such a favor. Nothing wrong with offering to show someone around town. Right?

And then the moment breaks when Dean stands up to stretch, leaning on the bar. "Hey, I'm not one to pass up free food," and he winks at me. He rolls one shoulder, wincing a bit, but some of the ease comes back into his posture. Then he says, and he sounds truly sorry, "but we'll have to take a rain check on the tour."

Sam's nodding his agreement, hazel eyes regretful. "We've got to be heading on." They're saying the right things, but I can't help but feel there's something they're not telling me. As if he heard the thought, Sam says, "We've done what we came to do."

Hiding my disappointment (and so many shades of embarrassment), I nod. "Ah, okay." And can't help confirming, "But you're sure it's not too much trouble to take a look at my car?"

"Yeah, Kelsey. It'll be fine. We'll get you back in the driver's seat in no time." We exchange cell numbers and agree to text in the a.m.

Finally, I ask, "That thing you're in town for … I hope it went well?"

Sam nods, smiling that knowing smile again. "It did."

"Good. Well, cause for celebration, then." I huff a laugh. "Especially if it means you have time to help a damsel in distress," rolling my eyes skyward. I tilt my head, indicating the near-empty bar. "And … any night that doesn't end in a brawl is a good night for me," I grin. "Can I buy you a round?"

Dean grins back. "Why, that'd be real nice of you, Kelsey, thank you."

Reaching down, I pull out two more frost-covered bottles.

. . .

And with a few minutes of easy conversation in a quiet bar, that's how I met Sam and Dean Winchester. Funny, right?

The next day was supposed to be easy, too. They were just going to see if they could get my car running.

Simple.

Heh. Well. Apparently, nothing's simple when it involves those two.

.

a/n: hey, everyone (three re-writes later), it's done! Thank you to those who have followed this story, I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are always appreciated.