It was dark in the motel room. Everything was calm and quiet. Sam slept on his bed in the tank. Dean slept in his with Jesslyn curled around him. One of her legs was draped over his hips and her arm was around his chest. Her head was tucked under his chin as she gently snored. None of them were any wiser to what was going to happen.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with noise. Doors and windows banged and rattled in their frames. The roof seemed to lift up and slam back down as a powerful wind tore at it. Outside, the wind howled and screeched. Sam sat straight up in his bed. As did Jesslyn and Dean. The difference was that Jesslyn had her 9mm in her hand and Dean his knife. If the cursed human would have been able to see, his heart would have twisted at the sight of the blade that was twin to his own.

Dean turned the bedside lamp on. There, at the end of the bed, stood a man in a plain khaki trench coat. He wore a white button-down shirt and tie. The two humans in the bed stared at him. Jess, on reflex, unloaded her clip into his chest. The man didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He simply looked at Jesslyn with a blank expression before turning his gaze back to Dean.

"Who are you?!" Dean growled. In his tank, Sam watched with a mixture of awe and fear. This thing didn't even acknowledge twelve rounds in his chest! What was he?!

"We need to talk, Dean," the being said.

"How do you know my name?!" Dean snarled. Instinct told him to plunge the knife hilt-deep into the man's chest but rational said that if bullets hadn't worked, a knife wouldn't either.

"I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," he said evenly.

Dean paled and Jesslyn did as well. "I knew it," she whispered. "There were whispers for months that said you had died. That some hellhound had shredded you. But then I see you walking around as if nothing happened. You did die!" 

"Yeah, I died. I made some stupid deal to try and bring back my kid brother and what do I get told? 'Sorry, sugar, someone already has claim on him.' After I made the deal." He growled. "That whole damn year I worked to get out of the deal since I was cheated. But on day three-hundred-sixty-freakin'-five, some overgrown pitbull showed up and dragged me down to hell." He turned hard green eyes to the being at the end of his bed. "What are you?!"

In his tank, Sam flinched. His brother had missed and ached and wanted him back so much he had sold his soul to a demon in order to try and get him back. And yet, now he was refusing to see what was so plain under his nose. He was refusing to see his chance at family was right there, literally in the room with him.

"I am Castiel; an angel of the Lord," was the calm reply.

The whole room was plunged into silence. Then, "Holy shit," Jesslyn muttered. "I mean, uh." There really was no recovering from saying 'holy shit' in front of an angel of the Lord. So she shut up.

"Impossible. Angels don't exist," Dean shot back. 

"Therein lies your problem," Castiel said. "You have no faith." Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, illuminating the room. Behind the being, a shadow of massive wings spread across the wall.

"I'm convinced," Jesslyn said. Sam was, too. Dean, however, was not. Not quite yet.

"Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling," he snapped. "Why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

The angel looked confused. His brows pinched together and he tilted his head to the side, almost like a puppy. "Good things do happen, Dean."

"Not in my experience," was Dean's hoarse, broken reply. His little brother was dead. His father had all but abandoned him. His mother had been killed when he was just a child. He had been shredded by a hellhound after attempting to resurrect his little brother. Nothing good had happened to him. He tensed when Jesslyn's hand rested on his arm. He was not in the mood or mindset for comfort.

"What's the matter?" The confused look on the angel was back as he advanced on Dean. He stared the hunter straight in the eyes. Slowly, acknowledgement dawned on the celestial's face. "You don't think you deserve to be saved." He said this as a statement, fact. It was clear to him that this man did not believe himself worthy of his Father's grace and redemption.

Dean swallowed hard. "Why'd you do it?" he asked. Why did the angel raise him from hell? Bring him back to life?

"Because God commanded it," Castiel said slowly. "We have work for you."

The room was once more silent. Jesslyn briefly thought about saying 'I'm out' and leaving Dean to all this God and destiny stuff. It was a little much when they weren't even in an official relationship outside of "hunting buddies." But she decided to stay. Dean needed support. As much as he denied it, he wasn't superman and couldn't do everything by himself. 

So she threaded her fingers through his as he finally lowered the knife. "What kind of work?" he asked.

"All will be revealed in time," was the cryptic reply. "For now, know that I will be watching." There was a fluttering of wings and he was gone.

All three occupants of the room stared at the empty spot where the angel had been. "Well that was interesting," Jesslyn quipped. She reloaded her gun and put it back in the bedside drawer. "It's too early to be up. I'm going back to sleep." She flopped onto the bed and pulled the covers up.

Dean sighed and put his knife back under his pillow. He glanced at the tank. The Borrower was still in it. The hunter rubbed his face and shook his head. It was four a.m. Early enough to do some research and find a new case. 

He leaned against the headboard with the laptop in his lap as he scrolled through news articles. They were in luck. There had been a rash of what he was surmising to be demonic possessions. It looked like a demon was joyriding in a meat-suit, doing all sorts of terrible things in it, then ditching the host who was barely alive or entirely dead to deal with the consequences.

"Hot damn," Dean muttered. The little town it was going on in was just a couple hours away. When Jesslyn woke up, they would be off. He rubbed his face and closed the laptop. It was now six-thirty. He sighed and went to take a shower. When he got out, Jesslyn was awake and making coffee in the little pot in the room. She smiled at him, eyeing the way his jeans hung a little low on his hips and the moisture on his chest highlighted the contours of his muscles, especially the V at his hips.

"Hot damn," she purred. "You are one good lookin' undead man." She handed him a cup of coffee. "Black, just like your soul."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Is that where pet names and teasings are going? Undead and a black soul?"

"Yes," Jesslyn said as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Good morning, undead-man-with-a-black-soul." 

He wrapped one arm around her and held her close, kissing her back, before taking a drink from his coffee. "Mm. My soul tastes good." He had to smirk at Jesslyn's laugh. "I found us a case. It looks like a body-jumping demon joyriding then leaving a host to deal with the consequences. Easy hunt."

Sam shuddered. Those words were bad luck for a hunter, even he knew that. Jesslyn didn't seem to mind. "Cocky. Alright. Let me shower and then we can go." She kissed him once more and headed off to the bathroom. Dean watched her go. Rather, he watched her hips as she walked away. 

When she was in the restroom, he walked over to the tank that held the Borrower. His green eyes were hard, cold as emeralds. They took in the small form sitting on the over-sized bed, wrapped in the blanket. Perhaps it was cold in the room to the little creature. It was a bit chilly to him after getting out of the hot shower. Some inkling of sympathy stirred in the man's heart. The thing had stopped with the talk of being his brother and had shown himself to be wholly innocent. He hadn't made a single move to leave or hurt himself or Jesslyn. 

Dean rubbed his face with his free hand as thoughts of "what if" floated in his mind. What if this little being was only trying to escape a hard life? What if it just wanted to be out of the walls and out of danger of being constantly smushed or caught in a trap? Dean's life wasn't exactly the best way to go about being out of danger, but the Borrower didn't know that. He was probably just trying to get a life that didn't involve scavenging scraps. Already the little being was looking healthier than when they found him. He had gained color in his face and his cheeks had filled out. Likely the rest of him had gained a healthy layer of fat as well. 

The jaded hunter turned away and pulled on his shirt and coat. He pulled on his socks and boots and threw his bed clothes into his bag. Now he was ready to go. As soon as Jesslyn was out and dressed, they would find a diner for breakfast then hit the road. He turned back to the Borrower in the tank. The small being was still bundled into the blanket but Dean could pick out a fine tremor running through him now and then.

He reached into the tank and scooped the Borrower up, ignoring the being's surprised shouts and struggles. It was a strange feeling to hold a life so small, so innocent in his hands. He wasn't used to this, hadn't felt this since carrying an infant Sam out of the house fire that took his mother. He wasn't quite sure what to think of it. He pulled his coat back and dropped the Borrower into the pocket of his shirt, blanket and all. Then he let his coat fall back into place, securing the Borrower inside, against his chest and in the cocoon of his body heat.

Sam had, indeed, been shivering. There was a chill in the room to humans, who put off a massive amount of body heat, but to him, who had so little, it was cold. The thin, toy blanket was of little use but it was all he had besides his own clothes. He watched as Dean walked up and watched him, unsure of what was going through his estranged brother's mind. There was a mix of emotions inside Sam when Dean walked away. He was grateful that Dean didn't have a cutting remark about him. He was hurt that Dean still didn't acknowledge him. He was curious as to why Dean was suddenly acknowledging his presence without Jesslyn around.

Then Dean returned after dressing and gathering up his things. His big hand reached into the tank and Sam scrambled backwards, trying to avoid it. He didn't know what the big hunter was going to do and wasn't sure he was ready to trust him since he still seemed to deny his personhood. But it was inevitable that those massive fingers wrapped around him, encircling him in a loose fist. It was surprisingly gentle and even gathered up the all-but-useless blanket. He was lifted into the air, to Dean's pocket on his shirt, then slid in, blanket and all.

The first thing Sam noticed was how warm it was. Here, in the pocket, against his brother's massive chest, it was warm. No chill of the room or of the outside reached here. The second thing he noticed was the rhythmic, steady beating of Dean's heart. There was something soothing about it, something comforting. Sam sighed, pulled the blanket over him and leaned into the wall of muscle behind him. This was better than any bed or nest of fabrics. It was warm and safe and wasn't a tank. It was good. He relaxed further and dozed off. 

It was some hours later when he woke up. Big fingers were reaching into the pocket where he was. He could hear Jesslyn shouting, it almost sounded like Latin. An exorcism. Then she grunted and her words stopped. There was a thud. Sam couldn't quite process what this all meant. He could only see Dean's face, scratched and with a busted lip. 

"This isn't going well," he panted. "You go hide. Don't get caught up in this." He set the tiny person on the floor, next to a wall. "Go hide. Don't come out until this is all over." He stood back up and turned. He scowled when he saw Jesslyn on the floor, unconscious. "Sonnuva..." He growled and advanced.

The demon laughed, eyes blacked over. The meatsuit it was wearing was that of a petite young woman but the voice that came out was eerily distorted. "Look at you, protecting your little brother. It's adorable, really. But I'll eat him up just as soon as I'm done with you." 

Dean scoffed. "My brother is dead. Has been for years." He pulled a bottle of holy water from his pocket. He was going to have to be smart to get this demon distracted enough so he could recite the exorcism. He glanced to the side as Jesslyn moaned, starting to come around. "Jess!" he called. "You okay?"

The demon giggled. "That's hilarious that you think he's dead! Oh so funny. Or are you just trying to pull a fast one on me? Well it ain't happening!" In a blink of an eye, it rushed Dean, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him into the wall. It was strange that someone so petite had so much strength, but that was all thanks to the demon inhabiting the human's body. 

Dean choked and gasped as the demon possessed hand wrapped around his throat and slowly began to crush his windpipe. 

"Dean!" Jesslyn shouted. She pulled herself to her feet and once again began to rattle off the exorcism. She was thrown across the room with a wave of the demon's hand before she could complete the recitation. She slammed into a wall and slumped to the ground, unconscious once again. 

The demon laughed. "Looks like your whore isn't of much use to you. Some good she is! Why do you keep her around? Because she's a good romp in bed?" The demonic laugh echoed again. "Well, neither of you will have to worry about that for long."

Dean couldn't breathe. His struggles were ineffective against the demon. He hit and kicked and clawed but the demon held firm. The holy water had fallen from his hand when he was pinned. The edges of his vision were starting to darken. But he could still clearly see the small figure of the Borrower flying down off the shelf and stabbing the demon in the side of the neck with the tiniest knife he had ever seen.

"What the?!" The demon grasped the tiny person, scowled at it and then chunked it across the room. Dean couldn't breathe or he would have probably screamed as the Borrower collided with a wall and fell to the floor. The hunter was out of options. He didn't know what to do. So he did the last thing he ever thought he would do. He prayed.

Castiel, if you can hear me, I need you! I could use a little help down here. His vision was fading when a brilliant light filled the room. Dean could hear the demon scream. The pressure on his throat vanished and he gasped for air. His vision was restored as he slumped to the ground. Just in time to see the meatsuit with burned-out eyes collapse to the floor. As soon as his lungs could breathe and his brain could process things, he struggled to his feet and stumbled across the room.

Jesslyn was coming around. She woke up to see Dean kneeling, cradling the little Borrower in his hands. She pulled herself to her feet, slowly limped across the room and knelt beside him. He turned and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair and breathing deep. It had been way too close of a call.