Tapping your fingers against the table in front of you, you checked your watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Sighing, you pulled your phone out, checking to make sure that your Mom hadn't sent you a text, or even called you to tell you they were going to be late.

"Miss, if you want the table any longer, I'm going to need you to order something." A younger looking waiter, his face riddled with pimples told you. He seemed guilty for saying anything, but you understood. You were the manager at one of the upscale restaurants down town, and a table meant money to be made.

"Um sure, I'll order a Pepsi and an order of mozzarella sticks." You muttered, still staring down at the blank screen on your phone.

The waiter left to place your order, and you sent a quick text out. "Everything okay? You do remember we are meeting for dinner, right? For my birthday?"

Pressing send, you sat back, staring at the door of your favorite restaurant. It was a ritual you and your parents had for your birthday. No matter what else went on during the day, you would meet here for milkshakes and appetizers. Even if you were having a party at home, this was your first stop. But they had never missed it before, or even been late actually. Usually they were the first ones here, with balloons, and their loud, annoying voices yelling Happy Birthday across the restaurant at you.

As your Pepsi arrived, you looked down at your watch again. Over half an hour late. You felt a pit in your stomach, telling you that something was definitely wrong. Throwing enough change onto the table to cover your Pepsi and appetizer, you bolted out of the restaurant, hurrying over to your car. Opening the drivers door to your old Bronco, you slid inside, praying she would start. Your Dad had promised this weekend he would help you take care of her, make sure she was still running like a top. But for right now you had to fight to get her to start.

Two cranks later, and you were driving down the road, wincing as you pushed the Bronco past the speed limit. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you double checked, but no messages had come through yet. Tossing it on the seat across from you, you clenched the steering wheel, your heart pounding.

It was a ten minute drive to your parents house, and you made it in five. Turning onto their shaded and secluded street, you pulled into the driveway. Rushing up the front porch, your shaking hands had a hard time putting the key in the lock. Finally, the door was opened, and you froze as soon as you entered the house.

All of the lights were off, casting creepy shadows throughout the living room. Furniture was tossed all around, the lights smashed on the wooden floor. But that's not what freaked you out the most, it was the blood splattering the walls and the floor. It started out lightly, but by the time you came to the hallway, there were deep puddles.

"Mom, Dad?" You whispered, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. Quietly climbing the stairs, you paused at your old room. It was empty, except for the craft cabinet, table and the day bed your Mom had placed in there. Grabbing the scissors off of the table, you moved farther along the hall, coming to your parents room. There was a bloody hand print on the door, and you wanted to turn back, run back to your car and pretend you hadn't seen anything. But you knew you couldn't do that, so instead you crept into your parents room.

What you saw had you falling to your knees, the scissors dropping from your hand. Both of your parents lay dead on their bed, their clothes completely covered in blood, multiple wounds covering their bodies. Sobs tearing from your throat, you clutched the carpet, tears streaming down your face.

Forcing yourself to move, you made your way to your mother's side of the bed, your heart seizing at the sight in front of you. Your Mom was dressed in her favorite Navy dress, probably for your Birthday dinner. But it was no longer recognizable due to all the blood and cuts covering it. "Oh, Mom." You whispered, your tears falling down and splashing on her dress.

"Don't worry. She put up a fight. Even more so than your Dad." A strange voice said. Gasping in surprise, you turned your gaze to the door. A man stood there, tall and foreboding in the darkened room.

"Why?" You said, backing away from her, tightening your hand around the scissors.

"Because of you, of course." He answered, as if it was the simplest answer in the world.

You thought about your options. There was only one door out of this room, which was straight behind him. You could try to duck pass him, or rush into the bathroom, but that would trap you there with no way out.

Your only other option was the opened window behind you. But it was at least a ten foot drop to the ground, and you weren't sure you could make it, and then still be able to run away from him.

The man took a step towards you, holding out a weird, silver blade. "Just hold still, and this won't hurt for long." He said, and you bolted.

Climbing out of the window, you felt him grasp for your ankle, his nails digging into your skin. Kicking your foot out, you felt your foot connect with something solid, and you were free. Standing on the tiny ledge, you slid carefully to the side, trying to make your way to the front porch where the drop wouldn't be as hard on your body.

Glancing frantically back behind you, you saw the man step out onto the ledge, glaring daggers at you. He was dark skinned, his head bald, wearing an everyday business suit. You had never seen the man in your life, and you wondered what you had done to send him after you.

"Why fight it puny human?" He said. "Your just prolonging your inevitable death."

Slipping on the ledge, you jumped, landing on the porch. Taking a deep breath, you crawled to the front, trying to get the nerve up to jump. You weren't the adventurous type, and you hated heights. This put both things together, and you were freaking out.

Deciding that the threat of a broken ankle was a lot less than the threat of death behind you, you stood up, closing your eyes, ready to count to three.

"Jump! I'll catch you!" A voice yelled from down below, and you opened your eyes to see a man staring up at you. He was wearing an olive green canvas coat, with a blue flannel underneath it. His dirty blonde hair was short, and spiked, and his eyes shown green even from far away. He held his arms out, showing he meant his words, but you weren't sure you could trust him. He could be with the man behind you, ready to catch you and kill you as soon as you landed in his arms.

"How can I trust you?" You asked him, before double checking to see where the man behind you was. He was having a much harder time scaling the ledge, his larger body making it hard. You had maybe thirty seconds top before he was on you.

"Princess, I don't have time to explain. But I do know that man will kill you. Trust your gut." He said, his plump lips pursing in a line as he waited for you to make your choice.

Staring down at him, you took a chance, feeling more comfortable with him than the man behind you. "Okay." You shouted, before swinging your arms and jumping off of the roof. Closing your eyes, you waited for something, anything. For the ground to break your fall, and probably bones. Or for his strong arms to catch you, saving you from possible broken bones and bruises.

You were relieved when you felt his arms tighten around you, pulling you to a warm and sturdy chest, his deep grunt his only complaint of catching you. He did stagger back a couple of steps, before catching his balance once again. Opening your eyes, you stared directly into a pair of forest green eyes with hints of golden specks throughout. They were mesmerizing eyes, and for a moment you forgot about the man trying to kill you.

"Hey, I'm Dean." He said, before setting you on your feet. But as soon as your feet touched the ground, Dean pushed you behind him, his hand drawing out a knife. Glancing around him, you noticed the man already on the ground, no dirt or grass stains showing he had jumped.

"Move over Winchester. She's mine." He growled, moving to take a step forward, but another figure stood at the door, his hand dripping blood.

"Bye Uriel." He said, before moving his hand and pressing it against the wall. You heard Uriel scream, before you saw a bright light. Covering your eyes, you waited until the light was gone before opening them once again. By then Uriel was long gone.

"What the hell just happened?" You said to no one in particular.

**So, part of this story is up to you guys. I'm not sure how I want the romantic interest to be. Sam, Dean, Cas?? Comment and let me know who you see with this Reader Insert. Thanks and much love for reading my stories!!