"You may now kiss the bride."

Dean, as the best man, stood in the front of a church, despite his atheism, watching his brother marry his girlfriend of five years, Jessica. He was the only present member of Sam's family; their dad was (predictably) absent. Because that's just what John Winchester was. Absent. He had clearly took a running dive off of the deep end after their mother's death. Every so often Dean would catch his father muttering to himself about 'demons' or whatever, but every time he asked about it John would look at him all pathetically. Dean learned not to ask about it.

In a way, Dean had to thank his dad. Without his awful parenting he never would have been so close to his brother. Sam was practically his son, which was why he had spent all of last night in Sam's hotel room calming him down. That's also why he was currently watching what had to be the sappiest wedding that has ever happened and oh my god Sammy are you really crying I'm going to barf rainbows.

The reception was about as memorable as the wedding itself. They danced, he drank, and then Sam was off on his honeymoon. Dean promised to stay behind and see everyone out, though Jessica's sister was quite obviously jealous, quite obviously drunk, and quite obviously throwing herself at Dean. However, Dean went back to his hotel room alone, deciding that sleeping with his sister-in-law on his brother's wedding day was probably not going to go over well.

Once in his hotel room, Dean collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from the week's events. Ever since he stepped off the bus from Indianapolis, he'd been going nonstop. But before he could so much as close his eyes, an impatient knock came from the door. Dean groaned and went to answer it,

"Damnit Ashley, I told you I- oh."

Standing before Dean was John Winchester, in the flesh, holding a gun.

"Dean."

"Are you aware that you just missed your own son's wedding?"

"Yes"

"Ass."

"I know."

Dean was more than a bit frustrated, "What the hell are you doing talking to me then? And why are you carrying a gun?"

John looked around hesitantly, "We need to talk, but it's not safe here."

Dean rolled his eyes and followed his father, who was glancing around like someone was about to jump them. They got to his Impala, of which he was unhealthily attached to, and drove to the nearest church (coincidently the same one he had been in less than an hour before.) Walking into the apparent 'safe place', which he doubted because damn was this place creepy at night, Dean turned to face his father,

"Okay were here. Now quit with the cryptic crap and tell me what you need to say."

John seemed nervous as he looked around once more for something.

"I need to tell you the story of how your mother died."

Dean listened quietly to his father's tale his face giving no inclination of intrigue. John seemed to have stopped talking, yet Dean still held his stare, locking onto the other man's eyes. A few seconds of silence passed, followed by a few more. John cleared his throat and took a step closer to his son,

"Dean?"

"Are you drunk?" Dean asked evenly, narrowing his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked you if you were drunk. Because that's the only thing I can think up to justify this. We don't hear from you in years, years, and then you show up, having missed your own damn son's wedding, and drag me to this fucking church. And then you tell me some bullshit story about mom?" Dean was beyond furious, shouting as he spewed all of his pent up rage towards his father, "You have no right, no fucking right, to come and screw with my mind like that."

"I know-"

"No you don't know! You don't know how heartbroken Sam was that you weren't there today. You don't know how awful it feels to grow up with a father that doesn't give two shits about you. You may be our father, but you're sure as hell not our dad. So you may as well get the hell out of town."

John looked down with a sort of pathetic, defeated expression, "I was upset when your mother died."

"Well I was too! But I had to get over it and clean up after your own goddamn mess. I still am."

"I'm sorry Dean." And he sounded just that, sorry, which made it harder for Dean to be angry at him, "But now's not the time to have a family meeting. I came here to warn you."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Assuming you're not insane, which is a big if, about what?"

"There are people after you and Sam. I don't have much time to explain. Basically, it's the apocalypse."

"Come again?" Dean asked, now equally as incredulous as pissed off.

"The apocalypse," John repeated, "They want you two. I'm not sure why yet, but it can't be good."

"Well it's the end of the world, how good could it get?"

That brought a small smile onto the oldest Winchester's face. It looked odd, like such an expression didn't belong on a face of such a tired man.

However, John kept asking questions, talking at a rapid pace; he wasn't one to screw around when there was a job that needed done.

"Where's your brother?" John inquired, staring intensely at Dean.

"He's on his honeymoon somewhere in Europe. Jessica wanted to keep the exact place a surprise for Sam. My turn, who is this 'they' you keep talking about?"

John made an irritated sigh, "The demons."

"You lost me."

"Listen," John closed the awkwardly large gap between him and his son, "Everything that has ever gone bump in the night or hidden in a closet is real. And then some. And right now, some of the biggest and the baddest have it out for you and Sam."

Dean nodded, "Right, so you are insane."

A sudden female voice echoed off the white walls of the church, making Dean jump about a foot in the air.

"You really should listen to him, you know.

John's eyes got so wide that they rivaled that of some Japanese anime characters.

"Run." He whispered to Dean, who was more than happy to oblige. However, he was currently occupied being thrust into the marble walls of the chapel by an unseen force.

"What's the rush doll face? We're gonna have some fun."

From this angle, Dean could swear the woman's eyes were black.

John backed away, "This is a church, you can't be in here."

Her face made a mock pout, "Come on now, you didn't think I'd miss all the fun."

"Who are you and who sent you?"

"The names' Meg, pleased to meet your acquaintance . Very pleased actually. Ever since your little bitch killed my old boss, I've been just itching to meet you."

John's eyes narrowed at the mention of Mary, "I'm going to boil you alive in holy water you little-"

"Excuse me," Dean shouted over his father "I hate to break up the love fest you have going on, but will someone be so kind as to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Both John and the Meg chick looked over to Dean, who was still flattened against the wall uncomfortably. Meg stalked towards him, getting far too close for someone who was supposedly a demon. She placed a hand on his lower abdomen and smiled,

"He speaks. As much as I would love to skin you Winchesters alive, I've been sent here to take you to the boss. He probably want's to kill you himself." Smiling even wider, she turned around and caught John in the process of getting out, what was that, salt? Salt, really?

Suddenly his father was flying across the opposite side of the church, his head meeting the wall with a thud.

"You, on the other hand," she pulled out a small knife, "are free game. Say hello to mommy dearest for me."

And with that she slid the shining blade across his throat, leaving a oozing red train in it's wake.

"DAD!" Dean screeched, pulling wildly at the invisible restraints, "Help! Som-" But his tongue was force into complacence, shutting his up.

"Quiet darling. Wouldn't want to wake the neighbors."

If only looks could kill.

"Mmm," she smirked, side stepping the pool of blood that previously coursing through his father's veins to meet Dean, "Too bad I'm not allowed to sample the food. Still, when has that stopped me before?"

Every fiber in Dean's being shouted no as Meg inched closer. Blessedly, she stopped a few millimeters short of Dean's tensed body.

"Let's get this show on the road." The restrains lifted and Dean was a free man once again.

Well, free is relative.

Meg winked, "Try anything and I'll personally kill everyone you ever loved."

But Dean didn't get a chance to try anything, because at that moment a random blond haired man burst in through the frost doors with a panicked expression.

"We need to leave now."

Meg scoffed, "Like I'm taking orders from you. We were just leaving, anyway. Where are the others?"

"Dead. There's something. Just- just something. We need to take the kind and leave pronto. I don't know what this-" But he was cut off. The look of panic turned into one of terror as he collapsed onto the chapel floor, a bright light replacing what once was the coal black of his eyes. Meg looked at the door, wondering if she could make it in time to escape. Dean couldn't see what the hell this 'something' was, but it must be fucking terrifying judging from the look Meg was giving it.

Suddenly, Meg lunged at Dean, pulling out a knife and holding it to his throat.

"One more step and he's dead."

The something was unimpressed, but paused nonetheless,

"Dean shut your eyes."

Now in normal circumstances, there would be no way Dean would listen to a request from a strange homicidal being. But these were, indeed, not normal circumstances. So Dean ignored the fact that there was a knife positioned at his throat, and the fact that the something's voice sounded oddly familiar, and shut his eyes as tight as he possibly could. Meg screamed and let go of Dean. He heard a thud, probably her body hitting the floor.

Dean waited a few moments, his eyes still shut, trying to think of something to do.

This thing was obviously stronger, what with weird light attack powers. Could he possibly out run it? If he could just get to the Impala, he could drive away. To the police, or anywhere that wasn't here.

"You can open your eyes Dean."

"Like hell."

Why was that voice so familiar?

"I just saved you. Why would I want to harm you?"

The something had a valid point. And it obviously wasn't your average murderer.

Cautiously, Dean opened his eyes and, wait, what the hell? Was that the guy from the bus?

It was. And he was wearing the exact same clothes, trench coat and all. He, or whatever the hell this thing was, was staring blatantly at him.

"Hello," it stated, much like how it did on the bus.

A few moments passed as Dean began to fully understand the events that just happened.

"Dean?" The man/thing asked.

Dean sighed,

"So I'm guessing you're not Russian."