AN: Why hasn't someone done this yet? I don't like the ending, but it's the best that I could do. I may make a companion piece in the future.

Enjoy reading!

Disclaimer: Last time I checked I am female fan. Nice try, but I know that I'm not the creators of Supernatural or am I Diane Duane.
Title: Greetings and Defiance
Word Count: 900
Summary: Of course the big shots would send a mouthy teenager to Dean to make him say yes. Vignette.

For life's name and for life's sake…

"Dai stihó, I'm not going to turn you into a newt, cousin," the teenager said, crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned against the hood of Dean's precious baby, studying the older man's expressions.

Dean grunted and cranked his neck to see if the kid was packing any hex bags on him. He knew that this was going to be one of those mornings when he heard a loud pop, and this kid appeared out of nowhere. At first Dean thought the guy was a meat suit, but after a quick series of test it turned out that this was gong to be a problematic situation. He was gong to need lots of pie afterwards "Who you calling 'cousin', punk!"

The dark-haired kid spread his hands out, sighing. "Oh, Powers, and here I was hoping you already knew."

Dean's fingers flirted around the handle of the gun in his back pocket. Friend or foe, he didn't like the kid. His shirt showed a crappy taste in music, anyway. "Tell me something I don't know?"

"You're special," a grin moved over his features. "Like me, aye? You're chosen by The Powers That Be. You're needed for something big, and its going to happen soon."

"That doesn't mean anything," Dean said. "Loads know that I'm Michael's Sword."

"That's what you know The Bright One as?" The kid tilted his head to the side, curious. "A friend always calls him by a girl's name. Apparently he stuck around for a while as a fortune telling parrot. I thought Nita was mad when she was telling me that."

In any other situation Dean would have laughed at the image of the dickish angel as someone's feathery pet. Here he kept his face stoic and tried to imagine how Sammy would react if he was here. It was probably not thinking of shooting the kid's head off or beating him to a bloody pulp. "Give me something new or," he pulled his gun out, "that pretty face of yours—"

"Name's Ronan Nolan Jr. I am a wizard; I am in entry and I greet you." Nolan raked a hand though his dark hair. He grinned in a way that showed the arrogant teenager that he clearly was. "You may want to put that thing down. Things could get ugly if you try anything."

"I like my chances." Dean kept his arm still and readied a finger on the trigger. He'd dealt with bigger and nastier jinx-flinging edjits. This kid could probably just do some flashy tricks to impress some girl. "Who really sent you here?"

"Aren't you thick?" Nolan tutted, clearly not afraid. "And you're suppose to be The One's Champion? Take a bloody good guess on who sent me here."

"The big shots with fluffy wings of pure sweetness and sugar?"

"Ah, that's one way to look at it." The kid smiled toothily and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He rocked precariously on the balls of his feet, anxious to say more. "You're going to be a hard one to convince, aren't you? Plenty of talk going around the worlds and universes. They all say that you and your brother are going to be the biggest thing since the Transcendental Pig walked into a—"

"Porky who?" Dean hurriedly cut him off. His gun wavered. "Are you trying to tell me that some heavenly bureaucrats sent down Harry Potter to make me say yes?"

"Magic doesn't work like that," he said with some distaste. "I may no longer have him as my copilot, but they thought I could offer you some perspective, cousin. We got the same fate. Here." He fished for something in his leather jacket that made Dean resume his solder-like stance with the gun. Nolan looked at him and laughed. "Please, I'll like to see you try when I have this on me." Then defying all laws of physics, the kid pulled out a freaking spear.

It was old, weathered, and stood about a foot taller than the guy. It's once-sharp head was blunted with age and looked as though it needed to be on the props set for an Indiana Jones movie. "Holy…Mother of…"

"This is the Spear of Lugh." He planted it in the ground and stepped back. "You need a strong hand to use it. Like you, Winchester, I was given a choice; and I became The Bright One's Champion. Now you're in the same boat—fighting against the Lone Power, saving the world, kissing pretty birds, but I bet that you're used to it already."

"So," Dean said hoarsely. "If I say yes then I get a useless weapon?"

"Well, no. Not exactly…"

That's it. Dean needed some pie pronto.