So, this is where I'm at right now. Believe me when I say that i'm working on my other fics, it's for certain. But I'm busy with school and after this week I should only have one assignment left to do, but it'll be the holidays down here by then and I'll be off for two weeks; plenty of writing time...

"And I saw an angel standing in the sun; and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come and gather yourselves together unto the supper of the great God..."

~ Book of Revelations 19:17 ~

When Dean awoke from his time in Hell, he noticed a few things. First, he was no longer torn to shreds, which was definitely a good thing. It would be a little hard trying to explain to little old ladies doing their Sunday groceries, or single mums taking their kids out for the day, why he had his intestines spilling from his abdomen after he eventually broke out of his grave.

Oh, right. That.

The second thing he noticed was that he was six-feet-under. Well, from what he could assume he was six-feet-under because it was pitch black and musty as all Hell...

Yeah, he's gonna have to find a new thing to say.

Also, Dean felt like he had a roll of quarters or even a butterfly jammed down his throat. That, coupled with the memories of effectively being a skin-suit for those crazy sumbitches downstairs, he considered himself the perfect candidate to be the next victim in Silence of the Lambs. He needed a bottle of water… maybe even a longneck.


When Dean awoke from his first restless slumber in a motel after escaping his grave, he noticed Sam was nowhere to be found. This in itself wasn't unusual; Sam or himself could easily be gone when the other woke up, whether this was because they ran out of beer, they were "entertaining" (mostly in Dean's case… Oh, sue him; he was only human), or they needed food, it really didn't matter that the other was gone. It was the speculation of the amount of time Sam had been away. Since his arrival back on Planet Earth, Dean hadn't been alone at all since those first couple of hours.

The longer he was left alone, Dean feared he was going to start thinking about his torturous months—God, it hardly felt like it; Dean was pretty sure the universe was fucking with him in regards to how long he spent down there—in Hell.

Yeah, Dean hopes, Sam will be back. Soon.


When Dean awoke from his half-awed daze in the middle of the sigil-ed to Hell (again, he's got to find a new word) abandoned barn, the first thing he noticed was that in front of him stood two men. One wore a simplistic business suit, white shirt, haphazardly done up blue tie, black slacks and blazer, with a trench-coat laid over the top. Overall, nothing too noteworthy—except for the colour this guys' eyes.

The other man, on the other hand, was tall. And white; like, white. Glow in the dark, white. And had these two luminous shapes protruding from his back. The overall appearance of the second man was… ethereal. God help him for sounding like some teenage girl, but he—the guy—was. (And Sam was gonna get a load with this.) He didn't know what was freakier, the fact that both the men were standing in the exact same spot (and Dean wasn't sure that he was supposed to see one of them), or the fact that their eyes, the exact same startling shade of blue, were peering intensely all the way into the deep crevices of his soul.

Shell shocked, Dean asked, "Who are you?" to neither one in particular.

The smaller of the two men spoke after a short light show—which involved the barns long since last used lighting to spark and sputter, lightning to flash outside and the second man's luminous appendages to stretch outward at least fifteen feet causing deep dark shadows on the sigil-ed walls—and said simply, "I'm the one who gripped you tight and Raised you from Perdition."

With a sudden burst of revelation and the image of Pamela's eyes burning out Dean sputtered, "You're Castiel?"

The taller of the two glowed a brighter white when Dean said his name. The smaller man nodded.

"Yes. I am Castiel, Angel of the Lord, Warrior of Heaven," said Castiel, his tone laced with conviction. The white man behind him glowed brighter again. Dean stared.

"Well I'll be damned…" He muttered.

Mum was right all along, Dean thought to himself as he watched the taller of the two men in front of him, almost certain now that they were the same person, as he subtly pulsed with an energy that most certainly was unlike Dean's ever seen before. Angels do exist.