I've been unofficially cleaning out all the documents I have saved on my account here. This is a story that is rare in the sense that I actually have the next 3 parts of it written out. I never write a story past the current chapter. How unique! If this gets a good response, I'll continue. If it's something that was better left unpublished, I won't. I'll update based on whether you guys are interested or not. Either way, I hope you enjoy this strange concoction. Apologies beforehand for OOC-ness.

Part I

Once upon a time, Dean Winchester saved the life of one of the most powerful creations to ever walk the Earth...and he didn't even know it.

Which was sort of the point.

See, this woman he saved, while all kinds of almighty, wasn't in the business of revealing to the passing stranger just exactly who she was. So, when Dean just barely pulled her intoxicated form out of the way of an incoming semi truck, he had little reason to believe she was nothing more than someone who'd stumbled out of a town bar after a heavy night of drinking. Vomiting all over his jeans and subsequently passing out definitely supported this theory.

Upon reaching sobriety in a motel room at nine twenty seven the next morning, the woman reluctantly acknowledged her savior in the best way she could while still maintaining her dignity.

"The hell happened last night?"

Dean recognized a hangover when he saw one. Being the gentleman that he was (and definitely not because he'd caught glimpses of her generous cleavage each time she tossed and turned on the motel bed) obliged by answering her.

"You didn't know how to handle your liquor. I saved your ass from being roadkill," he couldn't help but boast, trying to seem nonchalant about it. "Or maybe you were looking for a death wish. Either way, watch yourself next time. I won't be there to save your pretty ass."

Perhaps not the most elegant answer, but what he lacked in conversation, Dean made up for in looks. Or so his twenty-three year old mind liked to convince him.

The woman, to his surprise, wasn't amused with his wise crack jargon.

"Suicide is a sin, asshole. I wasn't trying to kill myself," she defended irately. "And I can handle my liquor. You could have filled a bath tub with the amount I drank last night."

She didn't sound particularly proud of herself.

"I saved your life," he reminded.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she returned, moving to her feet.

Opening his mouth, Dean searched his arsenal of witty retorts for a good answer.

Oddly enough, he came up empty. Her casual dismissiveness was really screwing with his comebacks.

"This quest for the last word doesn't matter. You're right," she cut off through a yawn, stretching both arms above her. "You did save my life. I've got to be more careful drinking. Thanks."

With that, she slipped off a hair tie from her wrist and bunched up her purple hair into a sloppy ponytail.

All while purposefully ignoring him.

Unused to having chicks being impassive after saving their lives, Dean leaned against the kitchen wall with a decidedly positive morale. She appeared to be not much older than him - two years at best - and for some urgent reason, he felt it was important to remedy her dislike of him. Or at least what he thought was dislike. That was the opposite of like, right?

"Need a ride somewhere?" he offered.

"No."

"I've got a car."

"Congratulations. I have legs."

"You're hungover."

"I don't get hungover."

"Everyone gets hungover."

"Not me. I was blessed to never feel a headache or nausea the morning after."

Actually, this tid bit was true. Just a perk of being ungodly powerful.

But of course, Dean didn't believe it.

"Lady, I don't know-."

"Lady?" the woman stopped him, eyebrows raised. "How old do you think I am, Chachi?"

"I didn't mean to say...to imply that you were...heh..."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, suddenly wishing he'd never said anything in the first place. For whatever reason, conversation with this woman just wasn't working out.

Meanwhile, the woman used this silence to finally take him in. Beforehand, her attention had been on assessing the room and whether her savior had done anything indecent to her while she was asleep.

"First time on your own?" she guessed, voice calmer than before.

"Might be," he shrugged off, trying to regain his cool. He'd been the one to save her. Now, it was time he acted like a man and not some blundering jackass.

For once in a very, very long while (though Dean wouldn't have ever known this at the time), the woman's normally reserved expression, relaxed slightly.

"Pulled me out of the way of a semi truck, dealt with me vomiting all over you, brought me somewhere safe, cleaned me up and didn't once take advantage of me. That's admirable. I commend you for that."

"Are you the kinda chick that thinks all guys are pigs?"

"If I oink, will you understand me?"

Her sarcasm was razor sharp, but Dean refused to believe he couldn't keep up with it.

"Wouldn't mind a genuine thank you."

"Thank you, Chachi. You saved my life."

"That's you being genuine?"

Though he meant it jokingly, it struck the woman somewhat soberly. Sometimes, she forgot she could get a bit of an attitude about things.

"What's your name?" she tried.

"Dean."

"Just Dean? Were you raised by Madonna?"

"Oh, please. I'm more of an Ozzy man myself."

"What is your last name, Dean?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to sell your kidney on Ebay," she deadpanned, tampering down on the urge to roll her eyes.

While a bit frustrated with her savior, she had to remind herself that humans were a bit slow sometimes. Getting impatient solved nothing.

"Winchester. Dean Winchester."

The woman's head tilted curiously. She'd definitely heard that last name before. Not paired with a first name, but mentioned in passing conversations on both the good and evil side of the spectrum. Which meant her decision might pack a more significant punch than she first assumed.

"I'm Blair," she introduced, briefly raising her arm and offering him a wave with her fingers.

"Like the project?" he laughed.

"Shut up," she mumbled. "I have enough issues with that movie."

This was accurate. She'd actually encountered the witch the movie was based off of.

Not even remotely evil.

They'd watched the film together with tears of laughter running down their cheeks.

Dean approached her with an extended hand and after a few seconds of staring at the limb, Blair shook it firmly.

It took a mere three seconds before she knew Dean's entire life story from that touch. Five before she recalled the conversations she'd heard swirling around him.

Yes, he would definitely need this.

"I'm going to give you a cell phone number, Dean Winchester," Blair announced, studying him carefully. "You are to never write it down or keep it stored where it can be accessed by someone other than yourself, do you understand? In fact, you're going to memorize it and never give it out to anyone else."

"You are one weird chick. If you wanted to hook up-."

"This isn't a hookup. And you are far from my type."

Dean frowned at that.

"This is my payment back to you," she continued seriously. "You can reach me at any time with this number. But understand that I'll answer it only once from you. Should you ever need anything, you call me and I will help you. Do you understand?"

He didn't, but this woman wanted him to. And he, weirdly enough, wanted to as well. Could come in handy, provided she wasn't a complete nut job.

"So, magic number gets me anything I want?" he surmised.

"You use it once. And use it wisely. This is the number you call when the world's gone to hell and you're out of options."

She worded it as a multiple meaning metaphor, knowing he wouldn't quite understand its implication for a good long time. By touch alone, she saw a very difficult path laid out before him. In the end, he would come to need this more than he knew. Though, the exact details were still a bit foggy for her.

"Alright, I'll bite," he accepted. "What's the cost?"

"If you want to be paranoid about it, consider it paid. I'm still alive because of you."

"So...I can have anything I want? Money? A house?"

"Don't be so predictable. This is a lifeline. For when your life is on the line."

"I can take care of myself," Dean remarked stubbornly. "And I definitely don't need you looking out for me when you can barely pass a sobriety test."

Dean was twenty-three. In his defense, he was still mastering the art of speaking with charm.

Blair, bless her complicated heart, understood this.

"Want the number or not?"

She'd have given it to him regardless, but it was funner to make him work for it.

"Yeah, fine. But I gotta warn you...I don't call a girl for at least a week after. And my brain gets cluttered with a lot more important things."

"Yes, of course," she nodded seriously. "I'm sure knowing all the websites for Japanese pantie porn will come in handy."

This was about as close as Blair ever came to revealing she was something other than human since she'd glimpsed the very website in his head.

Thankfully, Dean assumed she was joking. And that worked just fine for her.

"You never know," he shrugged, returning her grin.

"You'll remember this number, right?"

He nodded casually.

And so, Blair recited the number three times. Then had him repeat the digits back the same amount just to be sure he had it.

Once she was sure those pantie porn websites really wouldn't interfere with his memorization of her number, she thanked him once more for saving her life before steering her way to the door.

"What had you drinking your sanity away anyway?" Dean blurted just as she passed the entryway.

She paused, fighting the urge to close her eyes.

Humans. They always wanted to make things personal. Relate to something. Just as much as it was cute, it was also equally taxing at times.

"My parents just died," she admitted, facing forward.

"You have parents?"

"I wasn't hatched from an egg."

"I just meant...you act-."

"I understand."

And she did.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not the end of the world. I still have a lot left to do," Blair disclosed, glancing at the man behind her one last time. "Goodbye, Dean Winchester."

He felt like he should have said an equally climatic goodbye.

But all he could come up with was, "See ya."