A/N: This story is mostly a lot of dialogue, and if I had a nickel for every time I used the word 'said,' I'd be able to afford college. It will eventually get darker than what may be expected. Everyone may be a little out of character, if it was deemed necessary to move the plot along.

Dean sat on a table across from Bobby. Bobby whistled slightly, holding his shotgun, while Dean idly twirled his knife's edge across the table. They sat in the appearance of being nonchalant, while in all actuality Dean's insides were twisting inside of him. The garage around him was covered in symbols from every religion known to man. The sky outside was dark, and the only light source came from harsh overhead hanging lights.

Dean grew tired of sitting quickly, and asked Bobby irritably, "Are you sure you did the ritual right?" Dean was, of course, referring to the summoning ritual Bobby had just performed, to find out who-what-had dragged Dean out of hell.

Bobby only glared at him in response, and Dean said, "Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?"

At which point the whole garage started to shake. The panels on the roof flapped viciously. "Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," Dean said as he and Bobby jumped to their feet, looking around, weapons at the ready.

Every hanging light then proceeded to blow out, raining sparks down upon the scene that unfolded before Dean. The doors of the garage opened of their own accord, and in strode a…man. Just a man, in a trench coat, looking around him with a vaguely bemused but mostly stern look upon his face.

Dean and Bobby, both wielding shotguns, began to shoot at the stranger. Astonishingly, each bullet entered the man, but did not faze him in the least. He continued to walk toward Dean with determination.

Dean grabbed his knife as he came face-to-face with the man. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man's dark hair was messy and windswept, and his eyes were a wide and an unassuming blue color. His voice was shockingly gravelly as he answered, "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

"Yeah. Thanks for that," Dean replied, and stabbed his knife into the man's chest. The man looked at the knife, drew it out, and dropped it. The knife clattered on the floor.

Bobby took this chance to attempt to hit the man in the head with a crowbar; but the man sensed the movement, and without even looking gripped the opposite end, stopping the movement. He then twisted nimbly and raised two fingers to Bobby's forehead. Bobby's eyes rolled up into his head, and he dropped to the ground.

Dean watched this happen in a terrified sort of awe. His breath hitched when the man turned back to stare at him. His expression was one of…well, almost of nonchalance.

"We need to talk, Dean," the man said. He cast a quick glance to Bobby, which Dean mimicked, before he continued, "…Alone."

Dean stared back at him for a few moments, before rushing to check Bobby's pulse.

"Your friend's alive," the man said with no intonation.

"Who are you?" Dean asked again.

"Castiel," the man responded.

"Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?"

The man stopped fidgeting with Dean's impressive array of weaponry that he had set aside for this encounter and looked back at Dean. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Dean stood up. "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

Castiel moved closer. "This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith."

Suddenly, thunder sounded, and lighting flashed into the garage. Dean saw a pair of shadowy wings unfurl and rise behind Castiel. Dean couldn't believe his eyes.

Finally, Dean found words. "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes," he said, referring to the unfortunate encounter in which the psychic Pamela had tried to look upon Castiel and ended up blind for it.

"I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be…overwhelming to humans," Castiel said carefully. "And so can my real voice. You already knew that."

Dean thought back to the high-pitched whistle that he had been hearing since he had come back from hell. "You mean the gas station and the motel? That was you talking?"

Castiel nodded.

"Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"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?" Dean sneered condescendingly. "What, holy tax accountant?"

"What, this is…a vessel," Castiel replied.

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" Dean said angrily.

"He's…a devout man, he actually prayed for this," Castiel said, seeming almost confused as to why Dean couldn't grasp the idea.

Dean shook his head slowly. "Pal, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Castiel tilted his head and squinted at Dean. "I told you."

Dean nodded once. "Right. And why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean," Castiel said, stepping closer and practically ignoring all unspoken rules of personal space.

Dean stared him down for several seconds before saying in a gruff voice, "Not in my experience."

Castiel looked at him disbelievingly. "What's the matter?" He looked closer for a moment, and then said, "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Dean was momentarily taken aback by the accuracy of Castiel's statement, but brushed over it by saying, "Why'd you do it?"

Castiel kept a steely gaze on Dean as he said, "Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

Dean's confusion was evident. Castiel couldn't explain more at the moment, as he barely knew what Dean's mission was himself. All he knew is that he had fought tooth and nail through hell to reach Dean. All he knew is that this man standing before him was destined to be the Most Important Man in the Universe.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Clara, what is it?" the Doctor said, a little impatiently, looking up from where he had been doing a little routine maintenance on the TARDIS.

"A message. The TARDIS is receiving something."

The Doctor stood up, pushing his hair back from his face. He moved quickly to the TARDIS monitor, where a message flashed brightly, demanding attention.

Hello Sweetie, followed by a set of coordinates.

"Hello Sweetie," Clara read. "What does that mean, Doctor?"

The Doctor gulped. "It means," he said, straightening his bowtie, "we're going to have to pay a little visit to the Mrs."

"To the what?" Clara squawked, but the Doctor was already inputting the coordinates into the TARDIS. He pulled the lever, sending him and Clara spiraling through time and space, leaving Clara's thoughts spinning.

The TARDIS touched down in London, circa 2008. The Doctor always felt strange around this time. This was around the time that he seemed to find most of his companions. Maybe the TARDIS just had a strange pull to 21st century England, he wasn't quite sure.

The Doctor opened the doors of the TARDIS. It was sitting right below Big Ben. Clara followed him out the door, asking a bunch of hurried questions that the Doctor didn't quite listen to. He was waiting for a familiar shape-a telltale head of bouncing curls in the crowd…

"Hello Sweetie," came the voice from behind him. The Doctor and Clara both jumped and spun around. There she was, River Song in all her glory.

"Who are you?" Clara sputtered out quickly.

"Professor River Song, dear," River said, holding out her hand to politely shake Clara's.

"Why'd the Doctor refer to you as 'The Mrs.'?" Clara said breathlessly.

"She's my wife," the Doctor replied, almost warily.

"Your…wife?" Clara said, astounded. Her eyes were wide as she looked back and forth between the Doctor and River.

"The both of us are time travelers," River explained. "We never seem to meet quite in the right order, though. This, however, is astonishing," she said, smiling at Clara, "as it seems that we are meeting for the first time, both of us not knowing who the other is, which doesn't happen often for me. What's your name, dear?"

"Clara. Clara Oswald," Clara said, with a sort of goofy smile creeping up her face.

"Lovely to meet you, Clara. And as for you, Doctor," River said, pulling out a blue notebook from her jacket, "where are we?" She flipped through a couple of pages before saying slowly, "Demon's Run?"

"Yes," the Doctor said almost impatiently, "but River…Manhattan?"

River flipped through some more pages. Then she smiled. "So we're to meet in Manhattan, are we? More fun to look forward to. Maybe we should ask mum and dad to come along," she said with a wink. "So I think I have a pretty good gauge of where you are, and you know where I am it seems, so let's get down to business, shall we?"

The Doctor looked pained, but resigned. "Why did you call me here, River?"

River's smile slipped from her face. "Well, you see, this is where things get complicated," she said. She turned to Clara. "Sorry, this all must be a bit confusing for you."

Clara shrugged. "I'm used to it. Traveling with the Doctor, I'm never not confused."

"Well, I don't know how much he's told you about himself," River said carefully, slowly. "But not everything is…good in his past."

"River, what are you getting at?" the Doctor said, his voice smooth and questioning, but his insides were twisting with panic.

River sighed and moved her hands through her hair. "Well, long story short, the angels and demons are at it again, just being their nasty selves for starters. Not the weeping angels," River added quickly, after seeing the Doctor's wide-eyed look, "the actual angels. You know, the ones you practically swore never to deal with."

"I still don't plan on dealing with them, if I can help it," the Doctor said moodily.

River gazed at him with pity. "Oh, sweetie, I wish it could be so. But you know how meddlesome they get in the affairs of certain humans."

"Oh, don't I," the Doctor grumbled.

River squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before saying slowly and in a pained voice, "There's no easy way to say this, but they've created a…sort of…prophecy. They are afraid that Lucifer will be making a grand return, and they need people to stop it."

"Me? They want me to stop it? No thanks, that's not really my area," the Doctor said vehemently. "The angels can deal with the angels. They have been for the history of the universe, why do I need to step in now?"

"No, you've got it wrong, Doctor," River said sadly. "You know how they use humans to fulfill their wishes against one another. No, Doctor, they've chosen a human to complete the prophecy. But I've been in contact with a few of them, and they'd really like your help with this, if you'd be willing to lend them some."

"Get on with it," the Doctor hissed, stepping closer to River.

"They've chosen two people. They've got control of the one situation, but you need to help them with the other."

"What, what is it!" the Doctor practically yelled, fire and ice and rage all burning in his eyes. "What could they possibly need!"

River swallowed, and then said thickly, "What they need is…the Most Important Woman in the Universe."

Silence ensued. River looked at the ground sadly, while Clara watched the two of them, noting their distress. After several tense moments, the Doctor turned around and stalked into the TARDIS, slamming the door behind him to keep Clara and River out. He then sank down against the door until he was sitting on the floor.

He put his face in his hands and cried.