Finding An Angel

     When you were a little girl, you'd always dreamed of having a guardian angel. Someone who would protect you, keep you safe, not let all those monsters in the dark get you. You'd pray to him every night before you slept, telling him or her about your day or the memory you'd remember that day while playing in the park with your new friend. Sometimes, it would be like there was really someone there and listening. You'd hear a ringing in your ears, a small sound only you'd hear. But no one would ever seem to notice your little habits except for your mother. She picked up on everything.

     Your mother was the one person in the world who had understood you, the person you could go to in times of need. She was the shoulder to cry on when everyone else had left. After your father had left when you were just born, all you'd had was each other. Nothing quite went right, but you tried. She tried. So when she got diagnosed with a brain legion, all you could do at the age of thirteen was stand and watch your lifeline die. You waited for her to ge better, for your angel to come save her, save you.

     Nothing happened. No one came. And so she died. You were alone, no one to hold you on nights when the nightmares came. And did they come. Horrible dreams of people dying, even people you didn't know or had ever seen. Sometimes, you could swear you'd seen a man at the foot of your bed muttering in a strange language, but you'd brushed it off as you overactive imagination Honestly, you couldn't have expected much, but sometimes, little things that you couldn't explain happened: wads of cash to pay for food, fresh flowers on your bedside table every night, and the cabinets seemed to always have plenty of candy. That last part was a little strange, but at 17, you just didn't care. It had been four years since you'd had adult guidance, and at this point, you didn't think you'd ever need any. That is, until a djinn kidnapped you from your own home. 

     On the way home from school one day, a man took you to an old warehouse. He was very strange looking, with tattoos all over him and blue eyes that danced around in delight in seeing your fear. He pushed you down, and moved his hand closer to your head. His hand lit up in a burst of blue flames and you fought against him with everything you had. But his hand grazed your head and you fell into a deep come.

     It was like paradise. Your parents were back, and you had a little sister. She was beautiful, and so were you. It was like a wish had been granted. Days passed and you were finally getting used to having a family again. But there was this boy your age, someone you had seen in the hallways ay school. The new kid, an outcast. He kept popping up and haunting you, telling you to wake up, this isn't real. Suddenly, paradise didn't seem so paradise-y anymore. You brought a knife to your wrist one morning as the boy told you and cut deep. Your "family" stood in the doorway and laughed. You passed out on the ground.

     "Let's go. Dean, Sam, she's not gonna wake up. Now go get in the car. Some people we just can't save." "Dad, I saw her kill herself in there! She's alive, I swear it, please, Dad!" "Dean, get your brother to the car. You shouldn't have let him drink that African Dream Root. This is your fault. Car, now." "Yes, sir." You moved your arm slowly towards the voice and someone yelled, "I told you she was alive, Dean! I knew it!" A sharp sound and a grunt of pain. "Sorry, Dad." You opened your eyes and sat up, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your head. Three people were circled around you. One was the boy from the dream, the one you'd seen around. The other two you'd never seen. "Where am I? Who are you?" you asked quickly. "I'm John Winchester, these are my sons, Sam and Dean. Do you need to call someone? They're probably looking for you by now, sweetheart," said the older man. You shook your head. "I ain't got any family. I live on my own," you replied. Dean piped up, "She could come with us, Dad." John gave you a questioning look. "I don't want to drag her into this life, Dean." You stood up and fell to the ground with a groan. Sam put an arm around your waist to hold you up as you gave them all a hard look. "I think I am coming with you whether or not you want me.  He'll find me; he always does," you said as you thanked Sam. Dean looked at John and then back to you. "Who's he? You said you didn't have any family," John asked. "I don't know who is or if he's even a he, but someone always makes sure I have money and a place to live. He really likes candy, if that helps any. Or at least I think he does. I'm always finding wrappers everywhere," you explained. "I'll ask Bobby later," he muttered as he motioned for Sam to help you to car. 

      They took you back to their motel before John went to get some food for you and his family. Sam sat you on one of the beds and him and Dean sat on the bed next to you. "So... what's your name? How old are you? Just tell us your story," started Dean. You took a breath in and began. "My name is (y/n) (l/n), I'm seventeen, and my dad died before I was born. My mom raised me until I was thirteen, when she died. Ever since then, I've been on my own. Been renting out an apartment with what my mom left me, which wasn't much. She was a drug addict, but I loved her. So when that ran out, wads of cash just started appearing. Hundred dollar bills. The cabinets were always filled with candy and stuff. I've been going to school and working whatever job pays the most. Seems there's someone who keeps giving me really good recommendations. And I am so grateful for whoever they are. I haven't ever actually met them, but I feel like I know everything with them. Then that THING kidnapped me, y'all saved me, and here I am. Lying in a grungy bed with a dislocated leg and a headache the size of Europe." Dean got to his feet and moved to you, sitting down as he pulled the damaged leg onto his lap. "You might want to hold onto something, this will hurt a bit. On the count of three. One, two..." He pushed hard on your leg and you choked back a scream. A sickening pop, and the pain in your leg subsided bit by bit. "Thanks, Dean. I needed that. Do you, um, have any whiskey?" you asked. He handed you a small bottle out of the bedside table drawer. You gave him a nod and laid back, taking a swig of the burning drink to numb the dull pain left in your leg. "G'night, boys. Wake me up when John gets back with the food, 'kay?"