Saved by an Angel (a Castiel love story)

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Name: Kristena Singer

Nickname: Kris or Kristy

Age: 28

Family: Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle (parents)

Personality: Sarcastic, resourceful, clever, happy, sometimes random, generally acts her age (not)

Eyes: greenish-blue (for now)

Hair: Light brown, a little wavy, layered short in the front and longer in the back

Height: 5 feet, 5 inches

Kristena's POV:

One month after Dean was sent to Hell

I throw some more holy water on the demon. He's stuck in a devils trap that moi made and I'm enjoying every second of it. Every since my brother, Dean, went to Hell, I've been taking out my frustrations on the unfortunate demons I come across.

"And Sam still hasn't called me back," I finish, crossing my arms.

"Just exercise me already," he says.

I stick my tongue out at him.

"Shut up! You're a demon, you've got nothing better to do," I say, slightly offended.

And here I thought we were really connecting.

"Look, this has been great, really, but I have to report back to the big boss that my mission was a success," he says.

My brows pull together.

"What mission?"

Then a pair of strong arms wrap around me. Another demon. How the hell did I not notice this?

I feel something hot near me, and I struggle. Lucky for me, I'm wearing a jacket, jeans, and boots tonight-so there isn't much skin to get with the aforementioned hot thing. Unlucky for me, my struggling makes the hems of both my shirt and jacket rise up. The thing-which I soon realize is a hot branding iron-scorches the span of fleshy skin exposed above my right hip. I scream.

My hand immediately travels to the demon knife in my belt. I twist around and shove the knife into the chest of the demon holding me. He screams out and sparks fly from the knife-but I hold it still until the man-and the demon inside him-fall dead.

The other demon, who somehow freed himself from the devil's trap, sends me a wicked grin and a two-fingered salute. Black smoke pours from the human's mouth that he inhabits. It rapidly clears the room, leaving me with a burning new injury and a head full of questions. And a dead body. I can't forget about the dead body.

Before I can grab my phone to call 911, the pain in my hip suddenly explodes with even more pain. I fall to the floor, screaming with pain so intense that I nearly black out. I've felt pain before, but not like this. Not consuming me inside and out, everywhere at once. Slowly, the pain fades away and I'm left with a feeling like a great amount of time has passed. When I look at my phone, I estimate that I was in that vortex of pain for maybe five minutes total. Unsure about what to do, I call Sam. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't pick up and I'm left with his voicemail for probably the thirtieth time in the month that Dean has been gone.

"Sam," I say to the recording, "Sam, something's happened. Some demons did something to me. I need help."

I hang up. This is no ordinary burn. I consider calling dad, but I don't want to worry him with something unimportant. Dean's death hit him as hard as any of us. I don't think he's even been out on a hunt since Dean was sent to Hell. I myself am not doing well, but I'm not about to go whining to my father.

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