"Jesus!" Dean exclaimed, nearly running the Impala off the road as his body jerked in surprise at the unexpected presence that had teleported into the front seat next to him.

"I am Castiel," he clarified unnecessarily.

"Damnit, I know that, Cas." He had swerved back onto the asphalt. Again in control of his vehicle, Dean gave the angel an irritated sidelong glare. "What are you doing here?"

Cas had been MIA for weeks, and Dean was still slightly irked at him for not coming to heal him when he'd been bedridden with a demonic flu virus. Alright, so there was nothing particularly demonic about the sickness, but it still sucked ass and he was at least 80% sure that the demon world was somehow responsible.

"I… have a favor to ask." Castiel tried to keep his requests from the humans to a minimum, but he had more on his plate than he could handle at the moment.

"Yeah, Cas, sure. Anything." He'd saved their asses more times than Dean could count; he was allowed to ask for a hand every now and then.

"There is a girl," he started to explain, but paused, trying to decide how much he should reveal.

"Ah, my kinda favor." Dean winked at his best friend and waggled his eyebrows. "First of all, you gotta do something about that face."

"What's wrong with my face?"

"You look like you're constipated all the damn time. Lighten up a little."

"Your mortal body would disintegrate in the light of my grace."

"Dude, not literally. And oh – please, for the love of god get rid of that trench coat."

Cas cocked his head to the side. "I do not believe my father's favor is dependent on an article of clothing."

Dean sighed. "It's an expression, Cas," he explained with thinning patience. "Look, if you want to get this girl to like you –"

"She does like me. I have saved her life, several times already."

"Alright, Cas!" Dean punched him in the arm affectionately. "Playing the knight in shining armor card, I like it. Chicks love it. She got daddy issues?"

"More than she realizes," he muttered seriously.

"Awesome. Now I know you're new to this whole 'acting human' thing, but you know how sex works, right? Know where everything goes?" The topic weirded Dean out a little, but it was so worth it to see the sheer magnitude of discomfort radiating off of the heavenly being to his right.

"Who said anything about intercourse?"

"Oh right, you're probably a little old fashioned with the courting process," he said with derision. "Want to take it slow."

"What? No. Dean, I think we're getting off topic."

Dean momentarily threw his hands off the wheel in surrender. "You're right, you're right. I won't judge."

"Dean, I'm not trying to bed her; I need you to protect her."

"Oh." He paused, thoughtful for a moment. "Could be doin' both though," he finally muttered, smirking as he remembered the many grateful women he'd come across in the business of saving people.

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger; he was fairly certain that angels didn't get migraines, but somehow conversations with Dean always seemed to elicit an equivalent physiological response.

"I am playing multiple games of chess with numerous dangerous opponents at the moment. There are many moving pieces. She is one of them, which puts her in danger, and she needs to be kept safe. I need to keep her safe."

Dean bit his tongue against anymore euphemisms; Cas looked truly torn about having to pass this task off to someone else. "Sure, Cas. We'll keep her safe." Cas nodded in acknowledgement. "As soon as Sam gets back –"

"Just you," Cas interrupted.

"I'm sorry?"

Cas stumbled over his words for a moment. "This is very urgent, Dean. She is without protection at this very moment. We simply cannot wait for your brother."

The explanation seemed weak, and Cas was acting a little squirrely; Dean would have much preferred to wait for backup – things tended to go South when he didn't – but Sam was on a hunt and it could be days, weeks before he got back. If this girl was in as much danger as Cas was implying, then no, he probably couldn't wait. "So, wanna tell me how to find her?"

Cas breathed a sigh of relief and placed two fingers on Dean's forehead. He had just enough time to pull to the side of the road before his mind was flooded with images forced there by an outside source. He saw a map, a city, a building, an apartment number. The last image lingered on a petite brunette with sharp eyes that held a rebellious challenge.

"Damnit, Cas, warn me next time you're gonna do that!" he yelled, but his companion had already vanished from the car. "Guess I'm goin' to California," he said to himself, turning over the engine and pulling out onto the road. He looked around and realized that it wasn't the same road he'd been on five seconds earlier. "Or I'm already in California," he amended, the nauseous feeling that always accompanied teleportation roiling uncomfortably in his stomach.

He drove for another hour or so, following the directions Cas had implanted in his brain, until he pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript high rise. There were half a dozen of them in the complex, each identical to the next, but he somehow knew exactly which one to walk into, how many flights to go up, and which door to knock on.

The problem was, when he got to said door… there was nothing to knock on. The few splinters scattered around the threshold and the mangled pieces of metal that used to be the hinges were the only indication that there had even been a door there.

"Damnit." Dean pulled the gun from the base of his back and crouched low, keeping the weapon drawn as he peered into the room. The furniture was in tatters and there was glass – and a few bodies – strewn all over the floor. He compared them to the mental image he had of the girl, but none of them were a match. "Well that's somethin'."

There was a blood trail leading through the living room and into the kitchen. He reached down and pressed his fingers into the carpet; they came up crimson. The blood was fresh.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," Dean taunted, eyes darting around the seemingly empty apartment. He followed the line of drops until they disappeared around the corner and paused, sensing a trap. As if on cue, a beast of a man leapt from the coat closet to his left, knocking the gun out of his hand and pinning him face first into the wall.

"Winchester," he greeted, eyes flashing black as he rammed Dean's head into the wall once, twice; the third time, stars began to dance across his vision.

"How do all you damn demons keep finding these –oof," another blow to his skull, "friggin' linebackers to possess?" Dean used the wall as leverage to push himself back and into the imposing demon. They both tumbled backward, but Dean's smaller size allowed him to maneuver better. He tucked and rolled over the man and unsheathed the demon blade he now habitually kept on his belt loop.

The demon reached out one of his massive arms and delivered a powerful shot to Dean's kidney. "This one was a boxer," he explained with delight as Dean doubled over in pain. With the second blow – a knee to his already bent over face – the knife flew from his hands and out of sight, though he could hear it clanging across the kitchen floor.

"This isn't about you, Winchester. You can still walk out of here," the demon proposed, yanking Dean's head back painfully by his hair.

"Mmm, gotta take care of a little business first. You wanna tell me where the girl is, then we can talk." Dean watched as the demon's eyes flickered toward the kitchen, giving away her location without having to say a word. "Hey honey, is there any pie in there? This fight ain't gonna last long and I am starving," he called to her while simultaneously taunting the demon who was currently in a position to easily snap his neck. He had hoped she would respond with some sort of indication that she was alright, but his request was met with silence.

"Perhaps neither of us will get what we want today," the demon snarled, lifting Dean's body off the ground only to slam it back down several feet away.

Dean groaned and tried weakly to push himself off the ground, but his arms would not support him and he fell back with a thud. The demon stalked over to him at the same time the sound of metal scraping drew his attention toward the kitchen, which he had been thrown onto the threshold of. The demon blade was clattering toward him and he grabbed it, swinging his arm around his body and using the momentum to bury it to the hilt between the demon's ribs.

"Speak for yourself, gigantor."

Dean slowly pushed himself to a standing position, swaying slightly until his sense of balance stabilized, and took a few steps into the kitchen. The girl was standing at the far corner of the room, and there was a large chef's knife poised at her neck. When Dean took another step forward, the demon knife still in his hand and dripping with the evidence of its last kill, the demon holding her hostage pressed the blade into her skin hard enough to draw a thin layer of blood that beaded and streaked down in stark contrast to her pale skin.

"Easy, now," Dean soothed, holding his own weapon out to the side to indicate his submission.

"Drop it."

"Well that would put me at a distinct disadvantage, now, wouldn't it?" Dean ventured another step into the room.

"Drop it or she dies."

Dean looked between the demon and the girl. She looked… very calm about the whole thing. Aside from a small hiss that escaped her lips following the initial pain of the laceration, everything about her demeanor radiated a passive indifference. Her eyes, however, were tactful, appraising, scanning the room and the situation and playing out possible scenarios.

"Yeah, I don't think so," Dean guessed, judging by the way the demon shrank back behind the human in fear; it had possessed a woman – even smaller and weaker than the one she was holding hostage. "See, I think Dwayne Johnson over there," he pointed to the still form of the demon's companion, "was the muscle, the bodyguard. You're the brains here, and you know damn well that the one chance you got of getting out of here alive is that girl you're hiding behind." He took another step and in a flash the demon had moved the blade from her neck to just below her navel.

Dean watched as the girl's mask of stoicism faltered; her eyes widened and mouth popped open in an 'o' as she sucked in a breath. She recovered quickly, though she couldn't completely hide the tight set to her jaw or the anger that now burned behind her eyes.

"Careful now; I can still get what I came for," it hissed triumphantly.

"Maybe," Dean acknowledged; Cas had been a little skimpy on the details as to why exactly this girl was such a magnet for all things dangerous. "But in the end, you're all the same. Given the choice, you'll always save your own ass."

"You don't know me, boy." The demon slid the tip of the knife about half an inch into her flesh; to its disappointment, the only reaction it got was slight tremble from its hostage and an angry glare from the hunter. "Scream for me, whore," it whispered, slicing into her a little deeper.

At this, she hunched over, curling in on herself as a high-pitched whine was forced from her throat; the demon smiled victoriously. Almost doubled over, the girl was leaning close enough to the island to snatch a small paring knife from its surface. In one swift move, she planted her feet firmly and threw herself backwards with as much force as she could generate, slamming the demon into the wall of cabinets at her back and jamming her small blade into its thigh.

The demon keened and loosened its grip on her enough for her to spin out of its grasp, rolling to the side. It was back on top of her in an instant, pinning her back against the ground. She struggled with the tiny arms that were bearing down on her with demonic strength, the blade hovering inches above her heart. "Would you stab this bitch already?" she grunted, tucking her knees up, driving her heels into the floor, and bucking her hips to the side with enough force to throw the demon off of her.

Dean had been standing in shock; one minute he had been exchanging not-so-witty banter with the thing, and the next they're in an all-out brawl.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he muttered, shaking himself out of his stupor. He ran over and the demon swiped and slashed at him with its large blade. Dean dodged and pivoted away from the thrusts. The girl came up behind it and whacked the back of its knife-wielding hand with a cast iron pan. Weaponless, and without leverage, it pushed him back – knocking the knife from his hand as well – and made a run for it.

He was about to run after it when something whizzed right by his ear. The demon blade flew over his shoulder and landed deep in the demon's back. It arched and a red light sparked beneath its skin, signaling the demon's demise.

The girl walked past Dean, kicking the lifeless form for good measure before bending down and yanking the knife back out of the body. "I have got to get me one of these," she marveled, examining the weapon from all angles before offering it back to Dean.

Dean cleared his throat, taking the knife and sliding it back into place at his side. "Uh, hey there," he said by way of introduction. "I'm, uh…" How did he explain who he was and why he was there?

"Dean. I know." She smiled, clearly amused at his disorientation.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Castiel did the –" she took her middle and index finger and placed them in the center of her forehead, then jerked her head back as if recoiling from a headshot.

"Then maybe you can tell me what I'm doing here exactly," Dean sighed in frustration.

"Yeah, not much one for words that one, is he?" she mused with an affectionate tone. "I'm Allison." She held out her hand and he shook it; her grip was strong and deliberate.

"So, Allison, who'd you kill to end up on their shit list?" he asked genially, following her into the living room and retrieving his gun along the way. "And where'd you learn to throw a knife like that?" She retrieved a packed bag – which was only slightly in tatters – from beside the couch; Dean whistled in appreciation as they stepped around the demon's corpse on their way to the door.

"You can't?"

Dean smirked. "My style is more… hand-to-hand." Or fist-to-face, knife-to-throat; however you wanted to put it.

"Ah. Well, for those of us who are incapable of walking around with 200 pounds of hard muscle on their tiny frames, we must learn to develop other skills. Like those that require… strategy and expertise." She paused in her stride and gazed at him expectantly.

"I do believe I have been insulted," he scoffed, feigning offense.

They continued their repartee down the stairs and into the parking lot until she stopped outside the passenger door of the Impala, waiting for him to walk over to the driver's side.

"How did you…" he began; she tapped her forehead again. "Ah. Right." They each slid into the car through their respective doors and slammed them shut behind them. He put his hands on the steering wheel, but realized belatedly that he had no destination. "Do you know where we're going?"

Allison looked over at him and pursed her lips. "I'm thinking lunch. Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Do you like burgers? There's this great place just outside the city. It's a little off the beaten path, but their duck fat fries…"

"No, I mean, like, after that." He was actually starving, and a double bacon cheeseburger sounded pretty damn good at the moment. But whatever house she'd been holed up in was obviously blown now, so he wasn't exactly sure what to do with her.

"Oh. I just… well Castiel said that you knew a place that was like a fortress. Like, that was off the grid and protected against all kinds of demons and angels, full of weapons, and that I could stay there until…" Dean had a bewildered expression on his face; Cas wanted him to take her back to the bunker? That was their home. "He really didn't tell you any of this, did he?"

"Uh, let's just say Cas and I are gonna have a long discussion about his communication skills when he gets back." He started to turn the key into the ignition when Allison reached out and squeezed his forearm; her eyebrows were drawn together and she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Something I should know?"

"Dean, I know… I know you're here because Castiel asked you to be."

"Teleported my ass across state lines to be here, yeah."

"But I don't think you really… you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Not an uncommon occurrence." The Winchesters always seemed to be the first in the fire, and the last to know why. "You could start by filling me in on some of the details," he suggested. He hadn't even learned her name before he'd had to save her life.

"See, there's this prophecy –"

"Goddamn prophesies," Dean spat, interrupting. He looked up toward the heavens and narrowed his eyes. "Can't you dicks just mind your own damn business?"

Allison's lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "I guess you're familiar with the concept?"

Dean lolled his head to the side to give her an exasperated look. "Intimately. So what about your pain-in-the-ass prophesy has everyone's panties in a twist?"

Allison cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably. "I don't really… I don't understand it."

She was lying; Dean knew it, but he didn't call her out on it. He was still a stranger to her, and she'd already almost died once that day; he didn't fault her for being a little evasive. "Probably something lost in the Enochian-English translation." She cocked her head in confusion. "Angel language. Not important."

When her stomach grumbled loudly, Allison placed her hand over it, hissing in pain as she grazed the wound incurred from the fight that she'd nearly forgotten about; there had been so many lately.

"Hey, maybe we should get that looked at," he suggested, pointing toward the small puncture. It appeared to have stopped bleeding, but it had been a pretty deep cut.

"I'm fine."

"It'll just be a couple stitches, maybe a tetanus shot –"

"I said it's nothing!" she barked, wrapping her arms defensively around her torso.

"Fine, fine. Jesus." Dean threw up his hands in surrender. "But if you die from an infection, that is 100% on you," he warned, pointing an accusatory finger at her before starting the engine and peeling out of the parking space.

Allison was silent for a while, curled in on herself and angled away from Dean. He had assumed she was just mad at him, but when he glanced over at her she was fast asleep. With his cheeseburger GPS now snoring sweetly next to him, he realized that he was again at a loss for a destination. Despite what Cas had promised her, he would not take her back to the bunker without finding out a few more things. He took meandering highways and scenic routes to pass the time, driving without really going anywhere and waiting for the chance to get her talking again.

Dean had driven hundreds of miles, stopping for gas and snacks twice, and she had only stayed awake for a few minutes at a time. By the time his eyes glazed over and he decided it was time to stop for the night, he considered the possibility that she was sick or had been drugged or something.

"Hey," he shook her shoulder, gently at first and then with increasing urgency. "Hey, we're stopping for the night." He had already rented a room and parked outside of the nicest cheap motel he could find. One step above crack house was standard for him, but somehow it seemed wrong for him to bring Allison there.

"Hmm?" She stretched and rubbed at her eyes, the dim streetlights providing enough light to make her squint. "Oh. Yeah, of course. You look exhausted."

He would have laughed, but he was achy and stiff from sitting in the same position for so long after the fight that afternoon, and he just wanted a few hours of sleep. After a quick scan of the mostly empty parking lot, Dean determined that they were out of danger for the moment.

Dean entered the room and flicked on the light; Allison glanced at the sole queen-sized bed in the room and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Ah, sorry. I told them two beds. Lemme just go –"

"It's alright, Dean," she said on a yawn; how could she possibly still be tired after sleeping so damn much? "I'll just sleep on the couch." She nodded toward the small, boxy loveseat next to the tv and he looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "Hey, you may be a giant, but I'm fun-sized. I can find a comfortable position almost anywhere." She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a little wink.

"Well you certainly settled into Baby pretty easily," he muttered, still slightly bitter at having driven aimlessly all day without company and without learning anything.

Allison's arms fell to her side and her eyes went wide. "What? What did—what was that? That you… just – What?"

"My car. You slept in my car." He spoke slowly and over enunciated. "A lot."

"Right, yes. I did, I did do that." She let out a forced and semi-hysterical laugh and again Dean was left to wonder about her mental state.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded. "Yeah, I'm just gonna –" Her eyes flicked toward the bathroom. "I need a shower."

Before Dean could respond or ask another question or maybe brush his damn teeth because he felt gross too! she scurried in and slammed the door shut behind her. The lock clicked into place and he sighed, running his hands down his face and casting his eyes up toward the ceiling. "What have you gotten me into, Cas?"