Title: A Helping Hand
Rating: K+, for content and slight language.
Characters: Johnny Smith, Jimmy Novak, Castiel
Genre: Supernatural/Angst
Disclaimer: This fic is meant for entertainment purposes only and is not intended for personal monetary gain. I do not own Supernatural or The Dead Zone, nor do the characters belong to me. I am merely borrowing them for a short time.
A/N: The idea for this short arose out of a discussion I had with DarkWriter00, a fellow author here. What would happen if Johnny Smith ran into Castiel? The last psychic to have an encounter with our favorite angel didn't exactly fare too well, after all.

Johnny Smith normally payed very close attention to the people around him; while he couldn't actually control when he got a vision, he could at least attempt to avoid one unprepared. At least most of the intense interest surrounding his ability had died out, thanks to his studiously low profile over the past few years.

He had developed quite the knack for self-preservation since waking up from his coma; being a psychic helped with that. Sometimes, however, things still happened completely out of the blue. Like a man flying through a storefront window and landing on top of him. Johnny got barely a moment of warning when the glass shattered into countless shimmering fragments all around him. The next thing he knew, something heavy hit him and bore him to the ground. For a second or two, nothing happened. Johnny simply lay on the sidewalk, trying to get his breath back, with another man splayed on top of him. Then he locked eyes with the person who hit him.

The world around him twisted wildly.

All around him was light. It was everywhere. He couldn't look away, it was so beautiful, but it hurt, it hurt so much it was burning his eyes, but he couldn't even close them, it felt like they were on fire-

"Don't look at him!" someone was yelling, but Johnny couldn't move, couldn't blink, his eyes were burning-

Suddenly, cooling darkness filled his vision. He felt a hand across his face, covering his eyes. Johnny breathed a sigh of relief.

"Turn around," the strange voice commanded. Johnny complied, too overcome to argue. The hand slowly lifted, and Johnny blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots from his vision. Standing before him was a man wearing a dark suit and a rumpled trench coat; a few inches shorter than Johnny, he had somewhat messy dark brown hair and intensely brilliant blue eyes. He knew those eyes...

"Hey, you're the guy who just landed on me," Johnny remarked, in a case of 'stating the obvious.' He looked around in confusion. "What the-" He realized that he was standing on the street, looking down at himself and the other man on the sidewalk - who was also standing in front of him with a bemused expression.

"Well, that's never happened before," the man observed in a wry tone.

Johnny's gaze swiveled back and forth between the frozen tableau on the ground and the man in front of him. "Who are you?" he asked, his curiosity warring with alarm. Visions normally didn't interact with him.

"Me?" The man smiled brilliantly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Wow. It's been a really long time since anyone asked me. I mean, usually it's 'Castiel this' and 'Castiel that'. And by 'usually' I mean 'always'. Well, almost always," he replied, rambling a bit. "Oh, sorry. I'm Jimmy, Jimmy Novak."

"Hi," Johnny said, still not reassured. He stepped around to look in the shattered window, carefully avoiding the flying shards of glass frozen in midair. Inside, the store was a wreck, with displays thrown aside, their contents littering the floor. A second man was there, his expression curiously devoid of emotion. But he was clearly the only person who could have propelled Jimmy, or whoever he was, through the window. "Who's he, and why's he trying to kill you?" Johnny felt this little bit was worth asking.

"Who, him?" Jimmy glanced at the man inside. "Oh, he's not trying to kill me. He could care less about me. He's after Castiel."

"Who's Castiel?" Johnny looked around in confusion.

The man laughed, as if Johnny had just said the funniest thing in the world. "You know, I really wish I didn't know the answer to that. That I could turn back time, and take it all back, and just live a normal life with my wife and Claire. But, no. I have to say 'yes' to the Angel of Thursday using my body as a meat-suit!"

"Not helping," retorted Johnny. "Castiel?"

Jimmy's lips twitched slightly. "He's the light that nearly burned your eyes out. You're not the first psychic to have an unfortunate encounter with him, either. Though, to be fair, I think he did warn her not to look at him. Bastard."

Johnny really wanted to believe that this guy was crazy, but the light nearly had burned him up. And he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of the accusations of insanity. "So... why am I here talking to you?"

The other man shrugged. "Not a clue. He might know, but I'm not really in a position to ask him. He and I aren't exactly on speaking terms." Jimmy glanced from side to side, as if he could sense something Johnny couldn't. "Oh, by the way, you should probably run. Most of these guys really don't care about collateral damage like innocent bystanders minding their own business walking down the street."

Johnny blinked, but before he could ask what Jimmy meant, the world twisted again, and he was back on the ground. The blue eyes locked on his didn't so much as blink.

"Run!" a gravelly voice shouted at him.

He was yanked roughly to his feet and shoved aside by the figure in the trench coat, who now held a gleaming silver blade in his other hand. The second man stepped through the shattered window, an identical blade in his hand.

Johnny wisely did not stick around to ask any more questions.