I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters, so please don't sue. However, I do own the OC, and I will gladly intermix her with the SPN world!

The first time I ever truly believed God existed was when I met him. It was two years after my mom left, and almost a year since the rest of my family died.

I didn't believe in God before that. I believed that Earth was simply a living Hell or Purgatory, that I'd already died and was being eternally punished in a universe where everybody is punished for being born in to sin.

I didn't know my crimes, but I knew my sentence.

Then I saw God. I hadn't met him yet, but I saw him, almost six months after... The deaths. I was in the back of a church that was protesting two of my best guy friends going on a date. The priest was speaking about how "their lifestyle was a sin," yadda yadda bullshit.

I was in the back, about to stand and protest, when he appeared. God in a tan overcoat, with a tie that wasn't quite straight and hair that was a mix between styled and ruffled, somehow. And not the douchey version, but a natural kind.

I sat there, in the back row, and watched as God told him that "he who lies in my name shall choke on their own venemous tongue."

I sat there, in the back row, and watched as the asshole priest that was APPARENTLY getting some good 'ole fashioned gay love on the side, he choked on his own venemous tongue.

Everybody rushed to the priest, running past the man that claimed to be the Lord. He stopped for a minute, cocking his head to the side, and stared at the painted glass art on the walls. When he disappeared, they had changed to his visage.

The priest was dead when the EMTs arrived, but that wasn't important. I couldn't help but try and figure out how he'd done it, the stranger claiming to be the new ruler of the universe. I didn't believe in God just yet. Remember, I only started believing after I met him, and I hadn't met him yet. I'd only borne witness to what I considered the greatest magic trick of all time.

I was honestly thinking that he caused the priest to have some sort of severe allergic reaction. Some people get the whole tongue swelling thing if they're even in the vicinity of peanuts or shrimp. Maybe the guy's pockets were lined with peanut butter, or maybe he had a few shrimp in his pockets.

But the stained glass... He would've had to have gone some night before, and replaced the entire thing completely. Afterwards, maybe he would've had a projection of the original image until the timing was right? Remote in his pocket, next to the shrimp?

It was a crazy theory, but I didn't know what else to believe. God wasn't real to me yet. Miracles didn't happen.

But then miracles started happening. Almost four months later, I got a call from another homeless friend, Rodriguez.

Rodriguez told me the color of the signs and buildings all around him, not too far from the alley he lived in. He told me the color of the sky, the shape of the clouds, the way a donut looks smaller than it feels.

Rodriguez had been blind for almost forty years, according to him.

He said that God had healed him; that the Lord walked among us once more. Rodriguez had always been faithful in the Lord and Jesus and all the Hallelujah bull, so I didn't buy it at first. Not until he started describing said Lord.

Tan overcoat.

Tousled hair.

Blue eyes.

Bit of scruff, as if for a beard.

And apparently sores on his face, now. As though his skin was tearing apart.

That's when I did research. I had a friend on the force that I asked questions to, and he said he couldn't tell me anything. Ongoing investigation. Crosses multiple departments. Big secrets.

But the guy had the same description, and the same actions. He'd show up, do something big like kill a lot of people, and leave. He'd killed off the KKK, motivational speakers, and apparently been present when mass spontaneous healings occurred.

I found him on the internet. He was everywhere, once you found the right trail and the right people. A few people claiming to have seen him, claiming to have spoken with him. Getting a taco. Healing a kid. Disappearing.

I knew some of the stories were bullshit, but then again they were there. I had my proof that something was going on.

For the first time in a long time, I sat myself down and prayed. Two months of research and talking to people had gotten me nowhere on finding a pattern or him, so I said "fuck it, let's try the prayer shit."

"Dear God," I started, standing in the middle of an alley somewhere in downtown NYC. Then I stopped, realizing I didn't know what to say or do. What do you do when you pray?

"I don't know how to do this well." I decided, sticking with the truth. "I don't know how to pray, or believe properly, or anything that you would expect from someone trying to get a phone call with you. Hell, I don't even know what to say." I shrugged, keeping my eyes open and my head facing skyward.

"I guess I'll start with thank you." I decided. "For the church guy who was preaching against homosexuality when he was getting some dick on the side. That guy and his flock had been harassing some other homeless friends of mine. Thank you for making him stop, for revealing that it doesn't matter whether Harry likes Sally or Joe.

"Thank you for the KKK, for stopping them and causing them to disband.

"And thank you for Rodriguez, for healing him. You may not remember who he is, but there was a homeless man on the sidewalk, more than likely begging for change. You stopped by, talked to him, and gave him his sight back. He called me afterwards and told me all these different colors and sights and was so excited that he started talking in Spanish half the time, but he was so happy... I haven't seen or heard Rod be truly that happy until that phone call.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to ask for anything. I feel like when people pray, a lot of times they're asking for forgiveness or help or the winning lotto numbers. I don't like asking people for help, I never have, and even though you're God I still think you're people, kind of, because I've seen people do good things and bad things, and you've done a lot that can be thrown either way, but I'm gonna call the majority of it pretty good and ok by me." I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts once more.

"So thank you for doing something." I finally said. "Thank you for caring about these people, and for helping my friends. Thank you for showing me that God is here, and that he cares."

I took a deep breath, and waited a few minutes before finally opening my eyes.

As expected, there was nobody around me.

I figured it was probably better that way. After all, what would I do if God magically appeared? Fall to my knees in reverance? Faint? Swear up a storm?

Probably all three.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding, and started to laugh a little bit. The guy was God, dammit! He must be far too busy to show up to speak with one homeless girl! Rodriguez could've just gotten lucky!

I turned and walked a few feet to my sleeping bag, hidden underneath a mound of cardboard boxes I had constructed to be a small temporary home.

I leaned my back against the brick wall next to it, thinking. I had just prayed. To God. To a figure I hadn't believed existed. And I had said thank-you.

Thank-you to the thing that had stood passively when my family was murdered. My brothers, my dad... I still remembered the black eyes of their killers, still remembered the tripwire in the door that I should've passed through, but didn't. I didn't because I'd left my plate in the family room.

I sank to the ground, ignoring the scratches that the brick inflicted. I had tried to ignore those eyes for so long. Rationalize them. Killers wearing contacts. A trick of the light. The adrenaline of me running for my life from them, running from the screams and deaths and howls of laughter and glee.

Everything has a rational reason. Except why mom flipped out and left, why my family was murdered, and why God now walked the earth.

Other than those, everything had a rational reason.

I didn't even feel the tears on my face until a familiar voice spoke up.

"Why are you crying, child?" He asked. I looked up, and followed the edges of the tan overcoat to the shoulders it sat on. From there, I truly believed that God existed.

It's hard to disprove what's right in front of you.

"Because of what I remember." I replied. His face had sores on it, yes, and I worried for his health. "Are you alright?"

God bypassed my question, coming to sit beside me on the dirty ground. "Tell me what you remember." He requested kindly, holding out a hand. In it was... Food. A PB sandwich, no J. My favorite.

I took it slowly, unsure of what to do. "Thank you." I said, taking a small bite.

It tasted like heaven.

"Please, tell me what makes you so sad." He requested again.

So I told him. I told him about my family and their deaths. I told him that I ran away, like a coward. I ran and ran and ran and never looked back. I knew, somehow, that they would be waiting for me.

And as I told him, told God what lead me to be homeless, I felt something in me lessen as tears continued to fall. It was as if a burden that I had carried, it was gone, if only for a moment.

"Did you mean it?" He asked. I stared at him, confused. "You said thank you. You have not believed for the longest time, you have every reason not to, and yet you took the time to seek me out, to research, to pray and ask for nothing, but instead offer thanks. Did you mean it?"

"Yeah." I said, feeling it to be true. I had meant it. He had done good.

"Thank you."

"Thank me?" I asked.

"There are many who think I am a cruel God," he explained. "A vicious and angry and uncaring God, but I am not that person. I do care for you, for all of you, better than my father did before me."

"God has a dad?" I asked. He didn't answer.

"Here," he said finally, my sandwich long gone. He handed me a small business card, with a name and a number. Dean Winchester. "What happened to your family, call and tell him. He will be able to help you."

"What do you mean?" I asked. He started to rise, and I grabbed his wrist. "Wait!"

He stopped, staring down at me... Differently. No longer like I was a person. I shirked away, suddenly afraid. The second I moved in fear, his whole demeanor suddenly changed, like a ripple effect across his skin. "You are malnourished." He stated, reaching in to his coat. He pulled out another sandwich, and a bottle of water. "Take these." He said, the request being more of a command. I complied wordlessly, still scared of the person, man, being, GOD in front of me. Another sore had broken out, a new one, on his neck.

"Tell them Castiel sent you." He said, dropping a cell phone at my feet.

"Is that your name?" I asked, my eyes leaving him for only a moment to grab the phone. When I looked up, he was gone. "Hello?" I asked, standing to look around. "God? Castiel? Hello?"

Nobody answered. The only proof I had of my not being insane was the food, water, and phone.

And a business card I still held in my hand. I turned it over back and forth, contemplating my choices.

I had a name. Dean Winchester.

I could research him, first. That would give me a better idea of who he was. And after I knew, I would call.