Hey look, I'm alive! I had every intention of writing an entirely different story but this one pretty much haunted me until I just gave in and started to write it out. This is likely to be a moderately short story, probably ending in something like ten chapters, but it's been on my mind for a while, so I hope you enjoy it. I'd love to hear what you all think! ^_^

O

Chapter 1

Dean glared out at the heavy rain pouring down outside as he finished wiping down the dark wooden surface of the bar. A storm had come through that night and scared off most of his usual customers. Not that Dean could blame them; the sudden downpour was coming down so hard that it was impossible to see anything a few feet past the windows even with the outside lights on, making for bad driving weather. That, and at two o' clock in the morning the only one still up and about the small Midwestern town was Dean himself.

Dean was the only one ever awake at this hour. These days anyways. The Roadhouse, the bar he ran, stayed open until one in the morning, even though no one ever came in past midnight unless they were having a really bad night. Used to be that he, Ellen, and Jo would close the place up together but ever since—for a couple of years now it had just been Dean cleaning everything and locking the place up at night.

Swearing softly under his breath, Dean's eyes drifted away from the rain outside and over to a small picture tacked underneath the bar. It was of him, Ellen, and Jo, standing out in front of the Roadhouse, all three smiling at the camera. It had been their Christmas card that year. Dean was just happy he had actually smiled for once. When it had been taken he hadn't known that it was going to be the last photograph he would ever have of the three of them together. Only a few months afterwards Ellen and Jo had been murdered, slaughtered, by a random demon who had stumbled into town off of the main highway. The damn thing hadn't even given them a chance, just tore them apart before they even knew what hit 'em along with three other good people who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dean had been at home when it happened but he could still remember every word the sheriff had said to him when he had shown up on Dean's doorstep. He had said that there wasn't anything anyone could've done to save them, the demon was just too fast.

That was the problem with this world, the damned monsters. All of them. There were some areas of the country were monste—"people" like vampires and werewolves actually lived alongside humans. For the most part, you wouldn't even be able to tell they weren't human. Apparently in some of the bigger cities like New York or Los Angeles it wasn't uncommon to have a coworker who would just take a few days off every month, right around the time of the full moon, to go spend a week out in the woods, and everyone knew better than to ask questions. After all, there were Equal Opportunity Employment rules these days, federal laws that insisted "they were human once too" and that they deserved the chance to try and make a living.

Sure, that was all fine and dandy, right up to the point where one of them ripped a person's throat out. Those that lived amongst humans supposedly policed themselves, knowing that if one of them stepped out of line their whole race would suffer for it, but Dean still didn't buy it. He had read things, seen shows on TV, explaining what kind of instincts they were filled with, what kinds of cravings, and hell if he could see how those things could be trusted among humans. Humans who, no matter how strong they were relative to their own race, would be as weak and fragile as porcelain dolls to even the weakest vamp.

The worst of all the monsters out there were definitely the demons though. They were the most powerful, the most instinctually driven to cause harm and suffering, and they looked exactly human. No vamp fangs, not even any weird eye reflection like a shifter. The only difference was that when demons lost control an inky blackness covered their eyes, but by the time that happened the human looking at them was about half a second away from being eviscerated. Sure, there were some demons living in the big cities, claiming that they had control over themselves, but to Dean it was all a bunch of bullshit. As far as he was concerned there was only one exception in the entire world to his rule that demons and anything demon-like needed to be shot on sight: his little brother, Sam.

Sammy was his full brother, like Dean the son of John and Mary Winchester, but thanks to a dirty little family secret had the bad luck of being born with a recessive trait that had skipped over Dean: demonic abilities. Their grandfather, Mary's dad Samuel, had actually been a demon and though Mary had been normal it turned out that she had passed something along to her children. Well, one of them anyway. Because Samuel had married a human, Sammy didn't get a full dose of demon blood but it was just enough to make him different. Just different enough to be shunned in their small, monster-hating town to the point where he left for California as soon as he turned eighteen. Dean had stayed behind.

A sudden crash broke Dean out of his daydreaming and his head snapped up, the rest of his body tensing. It sounded like someone had ran a truck into the side of the building, the loud bang audible even over the sound of the rain. But no one was ever out this late, so maybe…

Dean's jaw tightened and he dropped the rag he was holding only to reach down beneath the bar and grab the shotgun Ellen always had stowed there for emergencies along with a small collection of different types of ammunition: regular, silver, and rock salt. Whatever was outside messing with his building wasn't going to be there for much longer, especially if it was something supernatural. Thanks to his little trip down memory lane Dean was itching to gank a monster; shifter, ghost, vamp, it didn't matter. As long as he could pump a few rounds into it he would be happy. And if it was only a robber looking for an easy score they were going to get one hell of a welcoming.

Hurrying around the bar counter and to the front door Dean had just enough sense to shrug on his leather jacket before stepping outside into the pounding rain. The large droplets felt as big as golf balls as they hammered down onto Dean's face, instantly soaking him and plastering his hair to his forehead, but he ignored it. Instead he raised the shotgun up and began to scan the front parking lot for anything suspicious, sharp eyes going over every parking space but no, nothing out of place. But he hadn't been expecting anything; the noise had come from the side of the Roadhouse, not the front.

Shotgun still at the ready, Dean pressed himself up against the outside of the bar and slowly rounded the corner where the noise had come from with all the skills of a soldier. His Daddy hadn't raised no sissies, the former Marine training his sons how to take care of themselves after their mother had passed away, including how to approach a possible enemy without being spotted. People had thought John was a little crazy for it but occasionally it really came in handy. Like now for instance.

As he reached the edge of the building Dean peeked around the corner, trying to prepare himself for whatever he might see. Burglar, demon, werewolf—But the scene he did see did nothing but confuse him. The wood paneling of the Roadhouse had been punched in, looking exactly like someone had run their car into the side, though the damage was raised a few feet off the ground. So unless someone had gotten their car to come flying off a ramp and then rammed it into the side of the building, it probably hadn't been a car.

The damage was strange enough in itself but what really caught Dean's attention was a figure crouching down, facing the wall. Dean wiped a hand over his eyes to make sure the rainwater trickling down his face wasn't making him see things but, no, it was definitely a dude, white dress shirt, dark slacks, blue tie, all his clothes soaked and sticking to his skin as he wrapped something up in a trench-coat in front of him. The rain made it hard to make out his face or his expression but he definitely seemed calmer than most would-be robbers or crazed demons.

Still, didn't hurt to be careful and if this guy had made the dent in the side of the Roadhouse he wasn't anything to be taken lightly. Taking in a deep breath to steady himself, Dean made his move. Whipping around the corner, he strode forward about ten feet, now only about twenty feet away from the man and loaded a salt round into the barrel of the shotgun. The sound of the action working caused the guy to look up and Dean lowered his voice, having to shout to be heard over the rain, "Hey! What the hell are you doing here, y—!"

The man's eyes widened and before Dean could so much as finish his sentence a white light cut through the early morning darkness. It took Dean half a second to realize that the light was actually coming from the man but before Dean could process what that meant the man turned around to face him fully and wings—freaking wings—flared up behind him, the darkness of the feathers doing nothing to block out the light coming off of the guy.

Stumbling back in surprise, Dean slipped on the mud underfoot and fell onto his ass, the shotgun flying from his grip as he hit the ground. As soon as Dean was unarmed the light began to fade but the wings stayed out, completely blocking Dean's view of whatever the man had been hiding behind him.

Dean swallowed thickly, unable to so much as move an inch under the other's piercing blue eyes, the color cutting through the night like they were glowing. And maybe they were because Dean's brain had just caught up with him and he realized just what had crashed into the side of the Roadhouse.

It was a freaking angel.

To call angels rare would be an understatement. They were basically like Bigfoot: some people thought they were real, most didn't. It didn't help that, like demons, angels were supposed to look exactly like humans unless they powered up. Until about a minute ago, Dean had been one of those people who had placed angels into the "bullshit" category with unicorns and aliens but now…Jesus, angels were real. And he had just threatened one with a shotgun, which would have done about as much good as throwing a dart at a grizzly bear. Fucking great.

Dean slowly stood, managing to slip only twice in the mud before he got himself back onto his feet. "Hey, look man, I don't want any trouble." He tried to keep his voice steady, to keep calm, but it was a little hard when the thing standing less than twenty feet away could literally obliterate him with a snap of its fingers.

"Nor do I."

Dean jumped a little as it finally spoke. For its shape, the angel had a surprisingly deep voice. But at least it was talking instead of smiting. Dean wanted to keep it that way. "Alright, good. Do you mind telling me why you're trying to renovate my bar in the middle of the night then?" Dean winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Only he would cop an attitude while talking to an angel of all things.

The angel though didn't seem to have taken offense and just tilted his head like he was confused before looking over at the wall of the Roadhouse. "Ah. I apologize for the damage done, but I do not have the time to repair it. I will be leaving shortly."

The angel's wings drooped slightly, finally relaxing out of their flared stance, and for the first time Dean noticed how exhausted the thing looked. If he had been human Dean would've said he looked about ready to pass out. The rain that by now had completely soaked through his clothing didn't seem to bother him but there were heavy bags under his eyes and something about the way he was holding himself made it seem like he hadn't had the chance to rest in a long while.

But it wasn't any of Dean's business. Right now his only job was to get this thing to leave without doing any more damage to either Dean or the Roadhouse. "Right. Well, you'd better hit the road before anyone spots you. This isn't exactly a town friendly to the supernatural. Humans only."

"I understand." And it seemed like he actually did because the next moment his wings had disappeared. Turning, he stooped down towards the pile covered by the trench-coat, "If you could direct me to the highway I would be grateful."

Nodding, Dean opened his mouth to rattle off some directions but the words caught in his throat as the angel picked up the bundle leaning against the wall and two feet slipped out from underneath the trench. Holy shit; there was a kid under that coat. Concern immediately welled up in Dean's chest and he took a step forward. The angel's eyes instantly flashed over to him and his grip tightened on the child now cradled in his arms. Like he expected Dean to attack it. "Wait. What's going on? Who's that?"

The angel took a step back, eyes narrowing now. "What is happening is none of your concern."

Dean was sure that any second he would unfurl his wings again or try to blind him again but he had to take that chance. If that kid was in trouble Dean would be damned before he let this guy, angel or not, get away. "Whose kid is that and what the hell are you doing with them?"

The angel's glare sharpened and the air behind him rippled, as if his wings were fighting to burst out. "This child is my own daughter."

"What?" Dean faltered as his thoughts were thrown for a loop. "What do you mean yours?"

"She is my daughter and if you wish to keep your life you will let me leave unharassed."

"Wait, wait a minute." What the hell? Could angels even have children? If it really was his kid…But still, the kid looked dead. Even if they were a young angel that couldn't be healthy. "Alright, she's your daughter. I'm not going to hurt her, or you." And Dean hoped that the angel would return the favor. "But could I take a look at her? It looks like she's…sick." He was pretty much convinced that it hadn't kidnapped a random girl, but his conscience wasn't going to let the thing leave without making sure she wasn't in imminent danger of dying.

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, but I've been around kids a lot and I'm pretty good with a first aid kit." Four years older than Sammy, Dean had practically been a second father to this little brother, maybe more like his only father thanks to their real Dad's long work hours and trips away from home. Dean was pretty sure that thanks to Sam he had already dealt with anything medical a kid could throw at their guardian and since Sammy had lived through to adulthood with no permanent damage done Dean must have done something right. He had had a little more recent practice with Ben when he and Lisa had been living together—but that was a road he didn't want to go down right now.

For what seemed like nearly a full minute the angel had just been staring at Dean, staring hard like he was seeing right into Dean's soul. Finally he gave just the slightest of nods and relented, "Very well, you may look. For my daughter's sake."

Stepping forward before the angel could revoke the invite, Dean carefully peeled the soaked trench-coat off of the figure in the angel's arms. The water-proof clothing of the trench had done its job, the face of the pretty, blonde little girl beneath the fabric essentially dry. There was no way she was any more than eight years old, probably six or seven if Dean had to guess. Her eyes were closed, head lolled up against the angel's chest, but there was no blood or bruising. But you think she would have woken up with all the noise around her. When Sam was little Dean used to joke that he would sleep through a hurricane, but this was a little ridiculous. "She looks fine, except for the fact that she doesn't seem to be conscious."

The angel looked strangely relieved. "I put her to sleep before I began flying. Flight without the use of machines is usually unsettling to non-angels but we needed to leave town immediately. I had no time to think of an alternate solution."

"Right. Well," shit. Dean looked up at the soaking angel then down again at the young girl in his arms. Sending them away would feel like kicking a puppy. A wet, tired puppy with nowhere to go for miles. Earlier Dean would've been happy to send this thing packing, knowing that the highway was two miles away and that it'd probably have to walk another twenty before it reached anywhere with a phone but now…Jesus, Dean's soft heart was gonna kill him someday. Hopefully not today. "Listen, it's too late, early, whatever, for you two to be walking around in this rain. How about you come in and dry off."

The angel's eyes widened before he tilted his head again, examining Dean like he was some strange new animal species. "Why would you allow us in?"

"Don't think I'm happy with doing a monster any favors." Though it felt wrong somehow to call an angel a monster, it was the word Dean's mind came up with anyway. This thing wasn't human and Dean was inviting it into his home. He had officially lost his mind. Even his own justification sounded weak, "It's the kid I'm worried about. No matter what she is, it can't be good for her to be out in this storm."

Dean saw the angel readjust his grip on the bundle in his arms but didn't give it time to respond, instead turning around, picking up his shotgun, and trudging back towards the front of the Roadhouse. He didn't hear any following footsteps over the noise of the rain but when he reached the front door he glanced over his shoulder and the angel was no less than three feet behind him. Wondering again just what the hell he was getting himself into, Dean pushed the door open and stepped inside, the angel following closely.

The sudden lack of rain made Dean realize just how wet he himself had gotten and he quickly stripped off his jacket after placing Ellen's shotgun back behind the counter. He then moved to pull his t-shirt off but his fingers froze on the hem as he remembered he wasn't alone.

The angel was standing across the room, near the now-closed front door, looking about as comfortable as a nun in a whorehouse. Under the bar's fluorescent lights Dean could now see its disheveled black hair, five o' clock shadow, too-big suit, and its lips that were pressed tightly together as its blue eyes did a quick sweep of the room. It was gonna be hard to remember that this thing could kill him with a thought if it always went around looking like an awkward tax accountant.

Hanging his soaked leather jacket up on a peg on the wall, Dean waved towards the angel. "Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

His hand gesture finally coaxed the creature away from the entryway and it followed Dean through a door behind the bar, into the back of the building. As he stepped into the new space Dean flipped on the light, thankful that he had at least picked up his dirty laundry this morning on a whim. The second-hand lamp in the corner of the room flickered on, illuminating the place Dean now called home.

When he had inherited the Roadhouse, Dean had moved everything he owned from the shabby apartment he had been renting into the back room of the Roadhouse. Ellen and Jo had lived there before him so it had already been set up like a small house. In fact, most of the furniture, save for a few essentials like the mattresses, was theirs. The main room was more or less a studio apartment with two doors leading off to the bathroom and a closet-sized second bedroom that had belonged to Jo. It felt almost sacrilegious now as he pointed towards it, "You can sleep in there. The bed's small, but it should be able to fit both of you."

Nodding, the angel's eyes darted around the small space before he took a step over to an armchair pushed into the corner of the room. Then he stopped, hesitating, and his blue gaze flew back over to Dean, "May I?"

Realizing that he wanted to set the kid down, Dean nodded back. "Go ahead and get her settled. I'll go grab some towels so you can dry off. Just don't, uh, don't go anywhere."

Again, Dean didn't wait for a response but slipped back out into the main section of the bar before the logical part of his brain could catch up with what he was doing. Closing the door most of the way behind him to try and further discourage wandering angels, he hurried over to the cupboards where he kept all his towels, his personal towels the same as the ones he used in the bar. Dean grabbed three then remembered just how wet they all were and grabbed half a dozen more. A little overkill was better than everyone dripping water over all of the furniture.

Heading towards the back once he checked everything in the front of the house had been locked up, Dean stopped short as he heard a murmured conversation drifting through the crack in the door. Dean didn't usually consider himself nosy but he didn't think anyone could blame him for eavesdropping.

The first voice he was able to make out was the angel's, his voice lighter than Dean had heard before. "How are you feeling?"

The second voice was definitely the little girl. Dean released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding; she sounded drowsy but perfectly healthy, which was more than Dean had been expecting. "Mmn…Tired. Daddy, where are we…?"

"Somewhere…safe. Out of the rain at least. Are you feeling any after-effects from sleeping?"

"…'m just tired."

"We will get to sleep soon. I just need to get you dry first so you do not catch a cold overnight."

Dean was pretty sure that was his cue and shouldered open the door, doing his best to pretend like he hadn't just listened in on half of their conversation. "Alright, here we go. Go ahead and use as many towels as you need, there's more where they came from."

The angel, who had been crouched done in front of the armchair where his daughter was sitting, straightened up and cautiously accepted a stack of towels. All the lightness was gone from his tone as he stared back at Dean, clearly on edge again, "Thank you. You have already given us more than I could have asked for but I cannot help but ask for more. Do you have some old clothes that my daughter and I can use, just for tonight? If you wish, I can repay you for their use as soon as I am able to acquire some money but," the angel looked down at his soaked suit, "I am afraid these would not be comfortable to sleep in."

Dean blinked. Right. Of course. "Uh, ya." Dean walked the six steps it took to cross the room and rummage through his drawer, "I don't have anything in your size, or the girl's, but I have some old t-shirts that would probably work." What else did people need when they stayed over? It had so damned long since he'd had overnight company, he sort of forgot how it works. How pathetic was it that the first company he had was a monster? Jesus… "I have a comb you could borrow. Unfortunately I don't have any extra toothbrushes or anything but—"

"What you have already given us is more than satisfactory." Turning to the girl, the angel passed her one of Dean's oversized shirts and two towels. "Please take these into the bathroom, dry off as best you can, and change into this, Claire. I ensured that you stayed fairly dry, but we do not need to take any chances now."

"Yes, Father."

The two adults watched as the young girl pushed herself up from the chair, grabbed the fabric in her father's arms, and tripped over to the bathroom, the two left in an uncomfortable silence as the door shut behind her. After what felt like a full minute of just trying not to stare at the angel, Dean cleared his throat, "So…She's awake now. How's she doing?"

The angel blinked, startled to be addressed directly, but recovered quickly. "She seems to be recovering well."

"Good." Well that conversation didn't last as long as Dean had been hoping. What did a guy say to a supernatural creature? Dean was usually pretty skilled at filling awkward moments of quiet, but he was pretty stumped this time. The only thing left to do was to fall back on his natural instincts, which was to turn off his politically-correct filter and just say what was on his mind. "I don't suppose you could tell me why you showed up on my metaphorical doorstep with your kid in tow?"

The angel heaved a small sigh, looking very human as he turned his stare back to Dean. "I suppose I owe you that much at least." Dean waited as it picked up one of the towels himself and spent a moment drying off his face and hair before speaking again. It didn't seem very anxious to share, which of course only made Dean that much more curious. Finally it pulled the towel down around his shoulders, revealing his now-dry, ridiculously mussed hair. Had it not been on something that could kill him with a thought, Dean would have called it sort of adorable. "It is a long story that is…rather complicated."

Dean walked back over to his drawer and pulled out a new shirt for himself. "Give me the abridged version then."

"Very well. I…" The angel let out another small sigh before he seemed to steel himself, squaring his shoulders and relentlessly maintaining eye contact with Dean. "My name is Castiel…Castiel Novak. My daughter, Claire, and I are trying to reach one of my brothers in order to ask for his assistance."

It had a name? Of course it had a name. Other things besides humans had names too, Dean had just never bothered to ask any of them before. Peeling off his drenched t-shirt, Dean replaced it with the dry one then began to dig around for what he really wanted: a pair of dry pants. "You seemed to be in a pretty big rush to get there."

"Yes. The matter is rather urgent. My daughter's safety relies on my ability to find my brother as soon as possible."

Dean paused a moment as his fingers found a new pair of jeans. "That serious, huh? Where does your brother live?"

"The last I heard he was living in Los Angeles."

A low snort burst past Dean's lips and he managed to free the jeans from the tangle of clothes stuffed into the drawer. "You're a long way from L.A., buddy."

"I realized as much when I landed. I had hoped that I would be able to fly further, but…circumstances did not allow it."

Pretty sure that he wasn't going to be told what those "circumstances" were, Dean decided to switch topics. "So what's this brother of yours got that you need? A place to stay? Money? Influence? You figure something as powerful as an angel would be able to handle himself pretty well."

As Dean turned back to face the angel Castiel's head was once again tilted to the side, his expression thoughtful, "From most things in this world, yes. But even we can be harmed. That is why I require Gabriel's help."

Wait, what? "Gabriel? As in Gabriel? I thought that was just a Bible story!"

"No, Gabriel is…" Castiel sighed, "very real."

"Is he really an archangel?" And what did that even mean, archangel?

"Yes, for better or worse." Cas continued on as if he had read Dean's mind. Maybe he had. Who knew what angels were really capable of? "An archangel is different than regular angels, like myself, in that they are much more powerful. Their greater power also allows them, among other things, a lifespan far extended past what is considered normal even for angels."

"So this Gabriel you're trying to find really is the same Gabriel in the Bible?"

"Yes." Castiel hesitated for a moment, what looked like a smile almost flickering across his lips, "Though he has changed much since then. Your Bible does contain a surprising number of historical events along with its inaccuracies and Gabriel was indeed present during the time in question. Gabriel remains one of the most powerful angels of our time and that is why I have been searching him out. If he were willing he would certainly be capable of protecting my daughter."

"Alright." There was nothing alright about that. The idea that there was something more powerful—more dangerous—than an angel living in a place like L.A. was a big freakin' problem. Especially since Dean was almost positive that the majority of humanity was like him and didn't even realize that these things really existed.

Before he could ask any more questions though the bathroom door opened and Claire stepped out, essentially ending their conversation. The shirt she had borrowed from Dean reached all the way down to her knees and it looked like she had dried off about as well as her father had, her blonde hair mussed and hanging in her face. Castiel opened his mouth to speak but his daughter beat him to it, the girl letting out a wide yawn, one hand reaching up to rub at her eyes. "Daddy, I wanna go to bed now…"

"Of course. Go ahead and get settled on the bed, I will be there in a moment after I change."

The girl, Claire, pouted but gave a small nod, Dean and Castiel both watching as she padded off to Jo's old room. As soon as she disappeared into the room, Castiel nodded to Dean before slipping into the bathroom himself. While he was alone Dean took the opportunity to change his own pants, just barely getting them hitched up over his hips when the bathroom door swung back open. Dean turned as the angel emerged, the slighter man looking like he was drowning in Dean's old t-shirt. At least he looked more comfortable. "It's a little big, but at least it's dry, huh?"

Castiel blinked down at his clothes and nodded, "Yes. It is indeed an improvement. Thank you for lending it to me." His eyes drifted back up to Dean's face, "I also apologize. I realized I never asked for your name."

Huh. Dean wondered why it mattered to an angel what one man's name was. But who was he to be rude? "It's Dean, Dean Winchester."

That small, almost-smile snuck across Castiel's expression again as he nodded. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Dean Winchester."

"Uh, ya." Dean wished he could say the same. Castiel seemed like a decent guy, minus the fact that he wasn't a "guy," he was an angel. God damn, what was wrong with Dean's life? "See you in the morning."

OoOoOo

When Dean woke up to the sound of his alarm going off he had stumbled out of bed and into the shower, his body working on automatic. He had gotten dressed, done a quick inventory, and unlocked the Roadhouse before he heard a shuffling in the backroom—and it was only then that he fully came to terms with the fact that no, yesterday was not a dream and yes, there was an angel and its child in his house.

Dean had really been hoping that had been a weird dream.

Castiel and Claire didn't peek out of the backroom for another half-hour. In fact, it was Claire who poked her head out first, the child's curiosity getting the better of the small warning Dean heard Castiel whispering at her. It was only eleven in the morning and there was no one in the bar yet so Dean, always a sucker for kids, waved her over.

A smile lit Claire's face and she hurried over dressed in the clothes she had arrived in, the outfit having had the chance to dry overnight. Dean couldn't help but return the smile, "Hey Claire. How'd you sleep?"

"Good! It was nice to sleep in a real bed!"

Both the angel and his daughter must've been exhausted if they had just woken up a few minutes ago. "Glad to hear you got a good night's sleep in." And Dean actually was. Both Castiel and Claire had looked about ready to pass out where they stood yesterday—this morning, whatever—and now that he was slowly being convinced these particular creatures didn't want him dead Dean was starting to appreciate the idea that he was helping them out.

"Claire!" The door to the backroom swung all the way open as Castiel himself walked out. Like his daughter he was dressed in the clothes he had arrived in but instead of a smile he sporting a disapproving frown. "You should not bother Mr. Winchester while he is working."

Dean almost did a double-take at being called "Mr. Winchester" but instead hurried to the kid's defense as a pout threatened to cross over Claire's face. "Don't worry about it, I'm not exactly busy at the moment. And please, call me Dean. No one calls me anything different."

Castiel walked over to they were standing and tipped his head begrudgingly. It was clear he wasn't used to informality. "Dean, then. Even though you do not currently have any customers, I still feel it would be inappropriate for my daughter to turn your establishment into her playground."

"She's behaving herself so far, huh?" Dean ended his sentence by winking down at Claire. The girl's sullen expression instantly evaporated and she grinned up at him. Looking back up at Castiel though Dean saw that the angel's own expression hadn't changed. "Really, she's fine for now but you're right in thinking that she probably shouldn't be out and about when people start showing up. Both of you should probably make yourself scare actually when customers start arriving. You're both pretty human looking but if anyone catches a whiff of anything supernatural they'll cause you some trouble."

"I had not planned on staying long enough to make it an issue. As I mentioned to you last night, we have limited time and we should probably leave within the hour."

Something about the idea of the two just wandering back out didn't sit right with Dean. As eager as he had been last night to have them hit the road, he no longer felt that it was good enough to simply point them towards the highway and wish them good-luck. "What're your plans?"

Castiel answered back exactly what Dean had been afraid he'd say. "I believe I will be unable to fly us to Los Angeles so we will instead have to depend upon other means of transportation. However, we have no money, so my only thought was to reach the interstate and try and find someone who will give us a ride for free."

Dean raised a brow. "So your plan is to hitchhike to California."

"Yes."

"You know that's like over a thousand miles from here, right?"

"Yes."

Well, at least he seemed sure of himself but Dean still felt the need to point out the obvious. "That could take you days, weeks even depending on how the interstate drivers are feeling. I thought you said you were in a hurry."

Now Castiel just looked frustrated. "It is the only option I can see available to us. As I said before, we have no money and no other means of travel. It may be slow to hitchhike but it will be faster than walking."

"Alright, listen." Again, Dean could not believe the things that came out of his mouth. He wouldn't have imagined that he could make an offer more ridiculous than letting them stay the night but apparently he had underestimated himself. Monsters or not, just the thought of Castiel and Claire having to freaking hitchhike over one thousand five hundred miles to the West Coast kept his mouth running. "Here's the thing; your plan is too stupid for me to let happen. You say you have no money, fine, here's a deal for you. You and Claire stick around for a few days and help out around this place. Wash dishes, sweep, whatever. At the end of the day, you'll get a small cut of the earnings and by the end of the week you should have enough to buy each of you a couple of tickets for a bus that'll at least take you most of the way to L.A. You'll be stuck here for a while, but you should get to where you're going faster in the long run."

Castiel's eyes widened, Claire's wide eyes turning to father as the older angel struggled to find the right words. "I could not possibly—We have imposed on your hospitality long enough as it is. You have been more helpful than I anticipated already but as you yourself have pointed out humanity has little love for things different than them. I could not expect you to do more for us than you already have."

"Hey, I'm just as surprised about this as you are, but the offer's been made. Take it or leave it, buddy. My feelings won't be hurt either way."

All it took was a small tug on his hand from Claire for Castiel to accept. "Very well. Thank you, very much. You are a kind man, Dean."

Dean shook the compliment off, the sentiment making him decidedly uncomfortable. "I'm not that kind, you won't be getting something for nothing. Besides, running this place by himself can wear a man out. A few extra hands around for a while would be a nice change."

"I promise we will both do whatever we can to earn our keep."

When Castiel had made that promise, Dean hadn't given it too much thought, thinking it was just another way to say thank-you but Castiel and Claire both really upheld their end of the verbal contract. In fact, they worked their asses off. For the next two days Claire helped Dean set up and clean up, the little girl racing around to do whatever chore Dean assigned her, and Castiel as it turned out earned more than his fair share once Dean found out that he was good with numbers. Never one to deal with number crunching himself, Dean was happy to give the angel all his paperwork for the month to sort out. What normally would've taken Dean a week to plow through only took the angel four hours to make sense of, making all the trouble and stress of harboring a supernatural creature almost worth it.

In all honesty, Dean just liked having someone, or at least something, else around. It'd been awhile since he had had the comforting presence of someone waiting in the back, someone he could talk to if the day had been rough or to gripe about customers to. Dean had forgotten what it felt like to not work alone and how much he had missed it. Admittedly Castiel wasn't the perfect working buddy but what he lacked in basic human social skills he made up for in a sort of subtle earnestness that Dean had only thought Labrador puppies capable of. And then there was Claire who, unlike her father, could talk for hours if you let her, especially once she started getting used to Dean. She acted every inch like a human child and Dean wasn't surprised when he started to grow attached despite himself.

The false sense of security Dean had let himself be lulled into shattered on the fourth morning of the angels' stay, when he walked outside to pick up a few scattered bottles in the Roadhouse parking lot and out of the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of red on the front of the building. Spinning around to investigate, Dean almost dropped the beer bottle he had been holding as he got a good look at it. There, right on the front of the building beneath the Roadhouse sign someone had sprayed a sigil in a dark, blood red. For a sickening moment Dean thought it really was blood until he ran up to take a closer look, but the fact that it was paint didn't do much to dispel his fears. If it was spray painted it had been done by a human, and that meant that someone, somehow, had figured out that Dean was housing something inhuman.

The mark was the stereotypical pentagram, probably supposed to indicate some sort of devil-worshiping. Whoever had figured it out probably didn't know what Castiel and Claire were, just knew what they weren't and in this town that was enough for them to be targeted. Cussing under his breath, Dean quickly gathered up the rest of the bottles in the parking lot then hurried back inside to find some rags and a bucket. If one person in town knew then by the time the Roadhouse opened for business everyone would know. That's just how this place worked. Having such a tight-knit community really sucked sometimes.

Bursting in through the front door, Dean dumped the empty bottles into the recycling, buzzed straight by Claire who had been tasked with sweeping, and marched straight to the bar where Castiel was busy cleaning glasses. "Cas, take a break from those, I need your help outside."

Castiel looked up from his work, his eyes narrowing at Dean's tense tone. "What happened?"

Knowing Claire was probably listening in, Dean just shook his head and tried to lighten his voice. No need to worry her. "You'll see. Nothing life threatening, just a mess that needs to be cleaned up. Grab some buckets from under the bar and fill them half way up with water, will ya?"

Obeying, Castiel snatched up the buckets and without any further questions, filled them, then waited for Dean to collect some rags and a bottle of heavy-duty cleaner before following him outside. As soon as they had the front door closed behind them though he spoke up, his voice low, reminding Dean of when they had first met. "What is this about? I assume you did not want to speak about it in front of Claire."

"Yeah, she doesn't need to know about this." Dean thumbed up towards the graffiti and Castiel immediately found it, his gaze locking on it and glaring at the red stain as if his stare alone would melt it off of the wood paneling.

"What does it mean?"

"It means that someone knows you're here." There was a ladder along the side of the building and Dean went and got it, leaning it up against the front of the Roadhouse so that they would have access to the small wooden overhang that had been built over the front door to shelter people from the rain. The structure wasn't entirely sturdy but he was hopeful that it would still hold the weight of two full-grown men—or a full-grown man and an angel. "Someone knows you're here and they're not happy about it. Now give me a hand and help me scrub it off." Hopefully the paint was still relatively fresh and wouldn't be too hard to take off.

Castiel's frown deepened as he climbed up the ladder after Dean who was happy to see that the overhang could indeed support the weight of two. "Are we in danger?"

Dean added a healthy amount of cleaner to the water then dunked a rag into the mixture. "Not necessarily, but you should probably think about heading out soon." They were in luck. The spray paint was still tacky, not having had the time to fully dry yet, so with just a little elbow grease it came off pretty easily. "I wouldn't take this too seriously though. When we open tonight, I'll have a nice little chat with everyone and tell them to back the hell off."

And a nice little chat Dean had himself indeed. After having to waste two hours scraping paint off of weather-beaten wooden siding, he was grumpy enough thanks to all the sweating and splinters to make him almost bite the head off of the first man that came walking through the door that night. But Dean resisted, doing his best to go on like normal. He didn't want anyone thinking that he had been rattled and not even the furtive glances of his patrons were enough to shake his façade. His patience carried him all the way til ten o' clock when, with nearly a full house of people with terrible acting skills pretending like they weren't sneaking peeks at him, he finally snapped.

Standing back behind the bar, Dean clanged a spoon against an empty whiskey bottle to get everyone's attention, silence falling eerily fast as all eyes turned on him. Unwilling to give in under pressure, Dean passed his own gaze over the crowd, looking over their faces, each belonging to a person he had known his entire life. "Listen up! I know you all know something funny's going on, so I'm just gonna get to the point." In his peripheral vision, Dean checked that the door to the backroom was closed tight. He didn't think there'd be a riot or anything after his little talk but it was better to be safe than sorry. "You probably all heard by now that I've got some visitors this week, and I'm not gonna deny that it's true. And before anyone asks, no, they're not exactly human."

A low murmur ran through the crowd but Dean silenced it with a glare. He wondered if Castiel and Claire were listening in, the thought urging him on. "But that doesn't give any of you a right to complain about it. Especially if that 'complaining' involves damaging my property. Y'all know I don't put up with any kind of bullshit, so I'm politely asking whoever is causing me trouble to knock it off. They'll be gone soon anyway so no one needs to worry about chasing them out of town, understood?"

Dean was answered by a resounding silence and disgruntled glares. You probably could've heard a pin drop clear across the room but Dean waited for one of them to break the silence. Finally someone spoke up, a middle-aged woman who worked at the bank during the day who had never exactly been afraid to keep her opinions to herself. "So if they're not human, what the hell are they?"

"None of your business, that's what—"

Before Dean could even finish, another person interrupted from the back of the room, "Someone said they saw wings!"

"You got a demon back there boy?"

"It figures he would, knowin' his family!"

"Hey, that's enough!" Dean's shout broke through the sudden flurry of noise. Damn it, it sounded like someone had seen Cas's wings. He didn't let them out much, maybe only for a few minutes every day when he was alone, but Dean figured that someone had been spying once they learned he had someone over. "They're not demons! You all know I would be the last person to bring a demon into my home after what happened." Besides, Dean wanted to add, demons didn't even have wings. But saying as much would've made him admit to knowing more about demons than he should.

Quiet settled uneasily in the crowd as Dean's words dredged up memories of what had happened to Ellen and Jo. But it wasn't quite enough to soothe their curiosity. "So if they ain't demons, what are they?"

Dean hesitated a good long moment before answering. These were people that Dean had grown up with and even if they had gone about their business in a bad way didn't mean they were bad people. They deserved the truth, even if the truth was ridiculous. "They're angels."

Immediately the noise started back up again, his neighbors' voices filled with disbelief, Dean having to yell again to be heard. "Listen! They're angels, honest to God angels. I know how it sounds, but it's true!"

"I knew angels were real!"

"How do we know they ain't here to kill us?"

Dean scowled, holding his hands up to try to get attention back on himself. "No one's here to kill anyone, no one's looking for any trouble! They're just passing through, okay! So cool down, alright? If anyone has any questions, please just, come up and ask."

No one came up to ask anything. After Dean finished speaking, a good half of the crowd just left the Roadhouse, apparently having heard enough. Those who stayed were bunched together in small groups, whispering amongst each other as they nursed their drinks. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife but Dean did his best to ignore it. He had done the right thing; there was no reason that he should be nervous.

Five hours had to pass before Dean realized just how wrong he was.

It was three in the morning, the bar patrons long since gone and the Roadhouse locked up for the night. Dean had finally just gotten to sleep after some restless tossing and turning when a sharp noise startled him back awake. For a second he had half a thought that another angel had smashed into the side of his building but the notion was tossed aside as Castiel pulled his door open. He had started sleeping in his own clothes and now looked so wide awake that Dean had to question if he had ever gone to sleep at all. Dean had fallen asleep in his day clothes too but somehow he just looked, and smelled, like a dirty pile of laundry.

"What was that noise?"

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, "I dunno…sounded like glass breaking." Maybe a bottle had fallen off of a shelf; it happened every now and again. "You stay here, I'll go check it out."

Flipping the covers off, Dean had just swung his legs off the bed when a deafening alarm suddenly split the night. Dean slapped his hands over his ears and stumbled to his feet. Castiel's face was tight with barely concealed dread as Claire appeared at his side, gripping her father's shirt with his trench wrapped around her like a blanket. Dean had to shout to be heard above the blaring alarm, "It's the fire alarm!" What the hell was going on? "Hang on, I'll see if I can turn it off!"

Before Dean could take two steps toward the door that led to the bar, the small window across the room from Dean's bed shattered. Dean heard Claire scream as a bottle flew into the room, whatever was inside the bottle bursting into flame as soon as the glass smashed against the carpet.

Cussing, Dean raced forward to try and put the fire out but it was already burning too hot for him to deal with. With the fire alarm screaming at him, Dean fought to think, to figure out what the fuck was going on. But first they had to get the hell out. "Cas! Claire! Get outta there! Come on!'

In a second Castiel had pulled his daughter up into his arms and he danced around the building flames. By now the armchair in the corner had caught fire, the flames licking up at the wallpaper and out towards the bed. At this rate they only had minutes before the whole thing went up, the scorching temperature already pricking Dean's skin.

Grabbing his leather jacket, hoping that it would shield his bare skin from some of the flames, Dean yanked it on as he turned back to the door leading out to the bar, the only way out. Dean reached for the doorknob only to jerk his hand back, "Shit! It's burning hot!" It had to mean that the front room had caught fire as well, that first crash probably another Molotov cocktail being thrown into the building.

Castiel was now right at his side and with one hand holding Claire tight against his chest he used his other to reach around Dean and grip the doorknob, his face showing no reaction to the blistering heat. "We do not have the time to hesitate." Dean watched with wide eyes as Castiel ripped the door open, reminding Dean again the he wasn't even close to human.

As soon as the door opened the world seemed to freeze in front of Dean's eyes for the span of a single heartbeat. Then the growing inferno behind them exploded into hellfire, propelling Dean through the doorway and skidding across the hardwood floor of the bar. Rolling over, Dean tried to regain his breath but all he sucked into his lungs was smoke. He knew Cas and Claire had to be somewhere nearby but all Dean could see as he pushed up onto his hands and knees was fire. Fire swallowing up the tables, the walls, the bar counter.

"God dammit!" Forcing himself into a crouch, Dean scanned the room for the two angels as he tried to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve. His gaze finally found Castiel few feet away, his body curled protectively around his daughter's. He hadn't been thrown as far as Dean, but he didn't look entirely unscathed either, his clothes and hair singed.

Coughing, gasping for air, Dean tried to call out to them, tried to do something but before he could even move an ominous groaning reached Dean's ears over all the other noise. Already dreading what he was going to find, Dean looked up to search out the source of the sound. Jesus Christ. The ceiling. The fire had worked its way up the wooden paneling and had already reached the ceiling, and one of the heavy wooden support beams looked ready to snap. As it was hanging right over the two angels.

"Cas! Move!"

But the warning was too late. Castiel had just enough time to look up before the beam gave out and came crashing down. A moment before it hit the ground Dean swore he saw a flash of black before the Roadhouse was filled with embers, smoke, and dust.

Dean felt like he was hacking up a lung as he lurched to his feet, "Cas? Cas! Claire?"

"Dean!"

Thank God. Tripping over piles of charred debris, Dean made his way over to the fallen beam and found Cas and Claire. Castiel was pinned underneath the beam, the flash of black Dean had seen explained as his large wings beat against the wooden beam, the floor, anything in his large wingspan that might help to free him. Claire had tumbled to the side, undoubtedly thrown away from the beam by her father's last ditch effort to escape the impact.

Castiel's blue eyes were crystal clear and showing every ounce of his panic as embers sparked against his black feathers, "Dean! I can't—this fire, it's—"

"Hold on, I'll get you out!"

"No, get Claire out!"

Dean shook his head, thoughts scattered as he desperately tried to figure out how to get Cas out. "I'm not just leaving you here to burn!"

"Take her!"

"Cas—!"

"Take her, Dean! She won't survive the heat or the smoke!"

There was something in Castiel's voice that Dean just couldn't disobey. That, and his worry for his daughter was almost palpable. Against all his instincts, Dean turned from Cas and scooped Claire up into his arms. There was a wall of flames blocking the front door but Dean barreled through it as Claire clutched her arms around his neck, too scared to even speak. She let out a sharp whimper as he jumped over the fire even though he was moving fast enough that it shouldn't have hurt.

The front door was locked but Dean didn't have the time to go looking for the keys and instead hit the wood hard with his shoulder. The blow was strong enough to knock the thirty-year-old lock from the doorframe and Dean and Claire spilled out. When Dean got them both right-side back up, Claire was sobbing, tears streaking through the soot that had covered her face, "Dean! My daddy!"

"Don't worry, I'll go get him! Don't move, you hear me?"

Castiel had told him to get Claire out, but he hadn't said anything about Dean not coming back in. Leaving Claire in the parking lot far enough away from the flames that she wouldn't be in danger, Dean sucked in his last breath of clean air then ran back into the Roadhouse. The heat which could be felt all the way outside hit him like a brick wall but he pushed through.

In the short span of time he had been gone, the situation had only gotten worse, more dangerous, and it took Dean longer than he wanted to weave his way through the collapsing pieces of roof and wall. When he finally reached Castiel the angel was still trapped, his face tightened in pain. His wings were still out but now Cas had them drawn as close to his body as he could manage with half of his body covered by the beam, the feathered appendages shuddering as the fire drew closer. He seemed…like he had given up.

"Cas! Hang on, I'm gonna get you out of there!"

Castiel's head snapped up, his eyes going wide in shock. "Dean! I told you to—"

"—To get Claire out, I know! And I did. Now it's your turn!" Dean stared at the beam pinning Cas down as his heart pounded in his chest. How the hell was he going to do this? He was going to get himself killed playing hero! "I'm gonna try and get this off of you!"

Following his gaze, Castiel winced, trying weakly to shove the beam off himself but as soon as he touched the burning wood he jerked his hands away. Whatever trick he had used earlier with the scalding doorknob wasn't working for him now. With their time running out fast Dean didn't want to wait for Cas to get his act together. Steeling himself, Dean grit his teeth then leaned down and grabbed the beam.

The muscles in his arms and back pulled tight as he strained to lift the heavy slab of wood, a shout bursting passed his lips as his palms began to burn from the embers still crackling in the beam. It weighed a ton but the adrenaline that had been pumping through Dean's veins ever since he woke to the shattering of glass gave him the strength he needed.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly the beam lifted off of Castiel's body. Cas gasped as the pressure finally let up enough for him to wiggle his way out, his wings flaring as he fought to get free. Dean coughed as the rush of air from his wings kicked up a flurry of ash, his fingers beginning to slip on the rough wood, scraping at his skin. "Hurry it up, Cas!"

"I'm free Dean, you can let go!"

As soon as the words hit his ears, Dean's grip gave way, the beam crashing back down to the floor, sending sparks flying out in every direction. Castiel lurched back, his usual grace gone. Seeing that the angel was having trouble even standing upright, Dean grabbed his arm and swung it over his shoulder, hauling Cas to his feet. "Hang on, we're getting out of here!"

Dean didn't remember how they got out of the collapsing building, only flashes of orange and red, the feeling of being baked alive, and Castiel's harsh breathing against his neck. The next clear thought he had was lowering Castiel to the pavement of the parking lot, leaning him up against the Impala. Claire was there, grabbing her father's arm and crying against his shoulder and the Roadhouse…Dean looked back. The Roadhouse was burning, flames shooting up nearly twenty feet from the roof as the wood snapped and crackled. The light from the fire lit up the early morning sky, casting an eerie orange glow as everything Dean had worked for over the last half of his life burned down to the ground. He heard sirens in the distance but it barely registered, his gaze stuck on the hellscape in front of him.

Someone had done this, had done this to him, intentionally. Someone he knew, someone he had trusted. Someone who had wanted two angels dead more than they cared about him or the Roadhouse.

But no matter what they thought, what everyone else in town thought, Dean knew he was still in the right. He had saved two lives today and even the life of a monster had to be worth something. Had to be worth even this.

Didn't it?