Chapter Text
The Wendigo roared one final time as it burned. Dean watched with a smug grin despite the blood dripping down his chin, pocketing the flare gun and helping the hostages to their feet.
“You saved us,” the brunette said tearfully, surging forward to clutch onto Dean, crying into his chest. He rubbed a soothing hand on her back, whispering warm words of encouragement. Once her sobs had quieted to sniffling, he led all three victims out of the basement of the abandoned house in the middle of the woods of Westville, Virginia. The house seemed to disappear as they walked away, leaving no trace of what had happened.
It wasn’t unusual for Dean to find himself in this forest, watching the creepy house literally dissolve from view, vanishing until another monster wanted to use it. After all, the Old House Woods were one of the most active paranormal spots in the country, and as long as people were stupid enough to come check out the ghosts, he’d have to come back again to save some other poor bastard.
Regardless, Dean thought it was a good hunt. He had been lucky to get out of this hunt with only a long scratch on his cheek and possibly a few cracked ribs from when the Wendigo had thrown him against the wall. It was unusual to see a Wendigo this far east, but these things could always move their hunting grounds, so he didn’t think much of it.
Once the group had made it to the main road, Dean pulled out his phone and called emergency services to stitch up the survivors. He gave them the monster talk, as he called it -- warning them to not talk about it, giving them his number if they ever got into trouble again -- and ducked back into the forest, making his escape before the authorities would find him. He was still on the wanted list in this area, so he knew better than to get tangled with hospital care, even though his injuries were really starting to hurt.
An hour and a half later, he came to the clearing where he had parked his Impala, Baby, as he affectionately called her. He threw the flare gun and the rest of his weapons minus his gun and knife, which he kept on him at all times, into the trunk, and got into the front seat. He started the engine, turning up the music and pulling onto the highway, onto the next hunt.
~~~
He had been traveling for three hours, driving back to Bobby’s place, when his father called.
“Dean.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get to Boston as fast as you can. I’ll text you details, but most of it isn’t safe to say except in person.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up. Dean groaned, mumbling something about how there had better be pie and turned the car around, driving in the opposite direction towards Boston.
~~~
“Yeah, alright. Just let me know as soon as you’ve got something,” John said into his cell as Dean pulled into the motel parking lot. Dean got out, nodding to his father in greeting.
“Took you long enough,” John grumbled and Dean avoided eye contact, mumbling a “sorry, sir.” It had been a year since the two of them had finally found Yellow Eyes and killed the bastard, but John was as commanding and aggressive as ever, and Dean was always willing to let his father take the lead, always hoping to make him proud.
“Alright. So I talked to Bobby, that son of a bitch, and he said that he’s never seen anything like it,” John said, shaking his head. “He said--”
“Like what?” Dean interrupted, concerned. He knew that if Bobby didn’t know something, then they were in a tough spot.
“Let me talk, boy, and I’ll tell you,” John growled, and Dean looked down.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
John rolled his eyes but continued. “Burns on the pavement in the shape of angel wings. Not paint, not a blowtorch, for all the hunter who found it could tell. We’re starting to think that angels may be a possibility.”
Dean scoffed, thinking that his father was joking, but was taken aback when John’s face only held grim honesty.
“Seriously?” Dean asked, incredulous. No way. Angels couldn’t be real.
“Serious as a heart attack,” John sighed and absently scratched his forehead. “We can check out the alley as soon as you’re settled in, but these might be be the most dangerous creatures we’ve ever seen. We'll have to be extremely careful.”
That made sense. Demons were powerful, yes, but they only had Lucifer as their leader, who, Dean supposed, was a fallen angel. Angels, however, were probably ordered around and powered by God Himself, so they’d be a lot more powerful than any demon they’d met.
“Wow, yeah, okay. I’ll get a room and we’ll head out. But, uh,” Dean paused, not knowing whether his father was ready for him to push this line yet.
“But what? Spit it out,” John said impatiently, leaning against his truck.
“Should we let Sam know? Ask for his help?” Dean asked tentatively. John’s face hardened.
“No, Dean. We will not be talking to Sam about this. He wanted out, he got out. He doesn’t get to pick and choose when he helps,” John said icily, and Dean nodded, though he disagreed.
“Yes, sir,” and that was the end of the conversation.
~~~
When the sun finally set in the sky, Dean and John drove to the alley behind the bar where the wing burn marks were. They quietly stepped out of their cars, and John moved forward deeper into the alley, his gun firmly in both hands. Dean was right behind him, both of them walking soundlessly and cautiously to where the burn marks were. When they arrived, John pocketed his gun while Dean kept a lookout.
“The hunter who found these marks didn’t tell Bobby much before he was killed, but I’m guessing we aren’t supposed to know about angels,” John said. As Dean turned to reply, a dark figure leapt from the shadows, tackling Dean from behind. John shouted in surprise but was then focused on another figure moving towards him, narrowing his eyes when two, three, four more humanoid creatures joined it.
Dean fought against the body on top of him and twisted violently, smacking his attacker with his arm. God, his ribs hurt from that Wendigo hunt earlier. When he had squirmed free, he looked at his father being cornered by five creatures, or were they angels? Whatever they were, Dean knew that his father didn’t stand much of a chance, and neither would he, if any others showed up.
His attacker lunged at Dean again, but this time Dean was ready, and his fist met the angel’s cheek. The angel growled, and before Dean could do anything else, he felt strong hands grip his arms. One of the angels behind him kicked the back of his knee and he sagged in their iron hold, glaring defiantly as the first angel strutted up to him and painfully grasped his chin.
“What the hell are you?” Dean snarled, jerking his body, attempting to free himself. He heard his father shout a warning that was quickly followed by gunshots.
The angel smirked. “What do you think, Dean Winchester?”
Dean’s blood ran cold. Okay, so they knew who he was, and thus had probably been watching him. That was never a good sign.
“You’re an angel.” A statement, no longer a question. The angel sharply nodded.
“My name is Jequn. Now, I would greatly appreciate if you,” he paused, then continued in a louder voice, directed at both Dean and John, “and your father would cooperate and make this easier for all of us. We just want to talk.”
John grunted as he was dragged to where Dean was, father and son sharing a mutually annoyed look. John had been overpowered more easily than he’d hoped, and he was not happy about it at all. The angels kicked the guns away from the struggling Winchesters, clearly enjoying their superiority over such weak and fragile humans.
Dean rolled his eyes as he focused back on Jequn.
“If you really just wanted to talk, then why not do this in a civilized manner? Sit down, have a beer, talk--”
“Shut up!” Jequn interrupted harshly, punching Dean directly in his face. Dean groaned but still smiled as blood dripped down his chin.
“What’s wrong? You got your feathers in a twist--ah!” Dean clenched his teeth around the yell that built up inside him when he felt a very thick, very sharp blade go through his left shoulder.
“That’s enough, Nanael,” Jequn said, frowning as Dean’s breathing turned ragged in response to the pain. Jequn was annoyed at the younger Winchester, yes, but he did not need to be injured to this extent. However, any mercy, especially around these angels, who were fighting for any chance to gain ground and rank higher in the garrison, could always be interpreted as weakness, and that was not a problem any of them needed at the moment.
John said nothing, simply studying the angels around him.
“And what about you, John Winchester? Any smart comments from you?” One of the angels holding John sneered, and John wrestled with the grip on his arm before letting his rage simmer down, knowing that now was not the time to fight and that he should conserve his energy and his anger for when they would need it.
However, Dean didn’t seem to understand this. Despite the white hot pain in his shoulder and the warm blood seeping through his jacket and shirt, Dean smirked. “Nah, he’s not as mouthy as me. I got all the smartass stupidity in the family.”
In response, Jequn nodded to the angels holding John and one of them touched his forehead, causing John to slump forward as he fell unconscious. Dean’s eyes widened slightly, but he did his best to keep a brave mask, unwilling to let the angels detect any sign of powerlessness as a result of his ignorance.
“I’ll offer you a deal,” he said, staring Jequn in the eye, never backing down. “You can have my ass, willing and obedient, if you let my dad go. Because I swear to you, if you don’t, I will fight tooth and nail to get free--”
“Yes, yes, you hurt anyone who hurts your family. We know your M.O., Dean, and I’ve got to say, it’s a little disappointing to be met with such…” Jequn sighed, waving his hands in the air as if searching for the right word, “predictability.”
“What I don’t understand is why you’re doing… whatever you’re doing to us. Aren’t angels supposed to be good little soldiers and not winged dicks?” Dean said, mocking them. The angel on his left, the one who’d stabbed him, dug his nails into Dean’s arm, surely leaving bruises.
Unfortunately, Jequn didn’t rise to the bait. “Dean, there’s a lot that will be explained to you in time. Right now, you will do as you’re told or you will be hurting a lot worse than you are now.”
To emphasize his point or really prove himself to be a sadist, Dean didn’t know, but Jequn stepped closer and gripped Dean’s hair, twisting his fingers and pulling Dean’s head back as Dean let out a noise close to a whimper that Dean will never admit to making. “We are not the unorganized, reckless demons you are used to. You will obey us, your father included, whether you like it or not.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Dean snarked and was punished for his sass with a hard slap across his cheek.
“Quiet, human,” Jequn said, and turned to the other angels. “We are not to kill them. We are only to bring them to the warehouse and let Zachariah talk to them. Let us not waste any more time.”
Dean felt cold fingers press against his forehead and the cool rush of something in his veins. Finally, he fell into a deep, deep sleep.