Dean Winchester was going to die alone. That kind of pissed him off. Sammy should be here to save his ass instead of fucking around Stanford. Be that as it may, he wasn't there and now Dean wasn't going to live to see his twenty-sixth birthday.

It all started with one of the most simple salt and burn runs Dean had ever seen. Tucker Jones had been dead for ten years but that didn't stop him from haunting his twenty year old daughter. After investigating Dean had figured the ghost was mostly harmless, all bark and no bite, and very easily dealt with.

He was very much right, because less than twenty-four hours after Dean had arrived in the little no-name podunk town he had the grave dug up, and the bones properly salted and covered in gasoline. He stood at the edge of the grave and struck a match, dropping it in and watching the flames consume the old corpse. Dean smirked to himself, he'd already paid for two nights at the motel, maybe he'd pick up Jones's daughter and have a little fun.

His thoughts were cut short when he heard a breaking branch at the edge of the woods surrounding the graveyard. He spun around, hand already reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband, but the demon was already on him, black eyes prominent.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed, twisting so they fell beside the burning grave instead of in it. The demon, who was currently inhabiting a very pretty girl about Dean's age, pulled a wicked looking knife out of a sheath on her hip.

"Say goodbye, Dean Winchester," she said as she raised the knife over her head, ready to plunge it into his chest. Dean managed to pull his legs between them, kicking her hard in the chest. They were both up in seconds, Dean had his gun drawn and she had her knife. She looked at the gun in Dean's hands with a smirk. "Useless metal," she sneered, and he snarled at her because she was right, it wasn't going to do him a damn bit of good.

"You pissed 'cause I just wasted this ghost or something?" Dean asked as they circled each other.

Dean watched as the demon's smirk got even more malicious. "I'm just one of the few that would rather not see the Righteous Man break the first seal in Hell," she said with a shrug.

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, confusion written on his face.

"You're not going to live long enough for that to matter," she said as she lunged forward. She swiped at his abdomen but he jumped back. He took aim and squeezed the trigger twice, hoping he could slow her down long enough to get away but the bullets barely seemed to register as they thudded into her chest.

He dropped his gun and went for the shovel he'd dug the grave with, hoping maybe he could knock her out, but she moved faster than he did, and as he tried to grab the shovel she slammed her foot down on it, effectively halting his actions. He quickly sprung backwards, trying to get out of her range but he wasn't quite fast enough, and this time the swipe of her blade caught him in the abdomen, fast, hard, and deep, right under his ribs.

Dean's hands flew to the wound, shock on his face. He pulled his hands away and they were covered in blood. He fell to his knees and the demon examined her knife, now coated in a thick layer of Dean's blood.

"I think my work here is done," she smirked, turning and heading back into the woods.

Dean's hands were trembling as he patted his pockets, uselessly searching for his cell phone, even though he knew he'd left it in his car. He stood, wobbling on his feet, head spinning. He looked down, nauseous at the sight of how much blood he'd lost. His shirt and jeans were soaked an ugly crimson.

He took a few unsure steps, stumbling as he went. He made it maybe ten feet before he collapsed again. He could see his car, parked maybe twenty feet away, but he couldn't stand. He pulled himself up onto his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way.

He reached his car and stopped, pulling himself up. He fumbled with the door handle, hands numb, but he got it open. He pulled himself up into the seat, fighting to stay conscious. He scooted until he was laying in the seat, popping the glove box open. He rooted around, desperately searching for his cell phone so he could call his dad, an ambulance, Sammy, anyone. His fingers closed over it just as he fell into unconsciousness.

"Dean. Wake up," a gruff voice implored.

"Dad?" Dean asked, opening his eyes and wincing at the bright sunshine spilling into his motel room.

"No," the voice said. Dean turned to it and was surprised to see an unfamiliar dark haired man standing at the edge of his bed. With a start Dean realized that he was on his bed in his motel room, not dead in the front seat of his car.

"Ok," Dean said slowly, as he slid his hand behind him, searching for the gun he kept under his pillow. "Who are you, why are you here, and while we're at it, how am I here?" he asked as his fingers closed over the gun.

"You shouldn't bother getting your gun, bullets will not harm me," the man said calmly.

"Oh, you're a demon. Awesome," Dean said sarcastically. He took in the guy's outfit, tan trench coat over a suit. "And you're riding a tax accountant. That's new. Did you come to finish the job your friend started?"

The man stared at Dean with clear blue eyes. Dean watched them for any sign of black, but he saw none. "That demon is not my friend Dean Winchester, and I am not a demon. My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord. I found you bleeding to death in your car. I healed you and brought you here," he said with the same calm tone.

"An angel," Dean snorted. "Yeah, ok."

"You were gravely wounded, and I healed you. A demon cannot do that, nor would they choose to do so."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. The guy had a point. "Ok, let's say you're an angel. Why would you save my life? I'm not exactly a religious guy, I don't set foot in a church unless I'm stocking up on holy water."

"Because you are instrumental in the end of the apocalypse," the angel replied.

"Dude did you eat a bowl of crazy for breakfast this morning? There's no such thing as angels, and there isn't a freaking apocalypse last time I checked."

"Not yet, but your brother Sam will bring about Lucifer's rising and set the apocalypse into motion."

Dean let out a dry laugh. "Now I really know you're cracked. Sammy's away at college, he's out of the family biz." Dean's face hardened. "Wait, how do you know about Sam? How did you know my name?"

"I told you Dean, I am an angel of the Lord. My time with you is up for now, however." The angel crossed the room to Dean's side with a few long strides. Dean backed up against the headboard but the angel paid that no attention. "We will meet again Dean Winchester, Righteous Man," he said, placing two fingers on Dean's forehead, erasing Dean's memories of him and of the demon from the night before, replacing them with a successful salt and burn and a night at the local bar. Then he was gone in a rustle of feathers.

Dean lapsed into a deep sleep. When he awoke he had a hangover, and he mentally slapped himself for having too many beers the night before.

All traces of the angel Castiel seemed to be gone, but sometimes Dean would dream about a pair of piercing blue eyes that he just knew he'd seen before, if he could only remember where.