Phil tripped backwards, finding himself outside.
Trees waved overhead, leaves twinkling in a summer sunlight. Phil spun around, looking for anything that could help him identify his surroundings.
The only thing noticeable was a cobblestone path, overgrown with long grass and weeds. Phil followed it warily, on guard for any movement besides the wind in the trees.
The path was long and winded, grass crinkling beneath his feet. Somehow he recognized this place, but he just couldn't remember from where. Something about it felt so safe, so secure, Phil let his walls down.
As he walked, he spotted a small, square building in the distance. Phil sped up his pace, curiosity taking the better of him. He started to jog, his bright sneakers pounding in the red cobblestone.
Phil made it easily to the front door of the building, finding it to be a small, quaint cottage Phil recognized all too well. Tentatively, he opened the the solid wood door. His grip around the warm brass handle was so familiar, it couldn't be coincidence.
Stepping inside, the smell of campfire smoke and olives, an odd combination but one that brought Phil back to his childhood.
"Mum?" He called, reverting back to his nine year old self, feeling the joy and excitement being at his cottage meant. "Mum!" He heard footsteps run towards him, and he saw the person he never thought he'd see again.
"Michael!" She called, embracing him. She had Phil's nose, and short, blonde hair. Phil buried his nose into his mother's shoulders, for he'd missed her for so long.
It'd been 20 years since his mother was attacked by demons. They'd possessed her, a particularly strong one he now knew as Abadawn. The demon used her body until it broke, and then moved right on to the next, but not after attempting to kill Phil in the process.
Phil blamed his mother at first, but then grew up to learn that it was a creature from Hell known as demons. He felt a pang of guilt as he realized Dan was his hunting partner, a demon.
His mother stretched out away from him, and stared him in the eyes. "Phil?" His bright blue eyes looked down into his mothers, but she seemed concerned. "Are you... Dead?"
Phil scrunched his eyebrows together, squinting his icy blue eyes. "No, why would I be?"
"Because, Michael. You're in heaven." The familiar voice of Troye echoed behind him, and Phil stiffened. He spun out of his mothers embrace, facing the angel he hated.
"What are you doing here? What have you done to me?" Phil yelled, one hand defensively over his mother, the other on his angel blade.
Troye shrugged, casually leaning against the door frame, ignoring the obvious desire Phil had to punch him in the face. "I brought you here, to heaven, to learn a little bit about yourself. Because maybe, you'll realize that helping a demon, the things that killed your family, is wrong. Just maybe you'll learn to trust your other family-" the angel boy smirked, making Phil grit his teeth. "The angels, of course, are here to help you."
Phil narrowed his eyes, a fire burning in his throat. "My other family?" He growled. "You are not my family. Dan is my family now, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten." Phil glared at the angel, that fire inside of him about to come out. "You left me behind. I was nine, living on the streets, no family left, nowhere to turn to. You forgot about me, never once did you even try to help me, tell me who I was, anything. Want to know who did? Hunters. And that's why Dan's my family. Because he's always taken care of me." Phil watched as the angel pondered this, eyebrows scrunched in thought.
Troye sighed. "I suppose you do need more time." The angel smiled. "Until later, Michael." With a snap of his fingers, the angel was gone.
Phil looked back to his mother, who stared at him in fear. He could tell that his mother no longer saw the small, happy boy she had when he first arrived. Now, she saw a violent, angry killer, and Phil didn't like any of it.
"Mum, there's something I need to ask you." Said Phil, staring into her fearsome eyes. "Who was my father?"
She took a small step away from Phil. "Y-you know who your f-father is." She stuttered. Phil could tell she was lying.
Phil asked with a little more intensity this time. "Who was my father?" He asked, hating how easy it was to intimidate his own mother.
She looked down, sighing. "Fine. Your father was an angel, Michael." Phil just blinked.
"Yeah, I know."
His mother looked at him in confusion. "You know?"
Phil just nodded. "But do you know his name?" His mother stared at her feet, disappointed.
"Yes." She said, her voice wavering. "But Michael, it's not an accomplishment, being his child. It's dangerous."
He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "Who was it?"
His mother looked back up at him, tears falling down her cheek. "He's your namesake," she sniffled. "Michael, the archangel."

Dan found himself in an alley, next to two dark buildings. He was shaking, terrified. He was a murderer. He killed a person. A living, breathing, human. Dan huddled against the rough concrete building, sinking to his knees and hiding in his shirt. He still had blood on his hands and face, but no one could see him from where he was.
Which was good, as not only was he hiding from the angels, he was hiding from the police, too.

Phil was lost.
Once he'd left the cottage, his next stop was supposed to be the Pearly Gates, if those were real. He just needed to get back to Dan. He hoped the boy was okay.
"Michael?"
The raven haired boy turned around to see a red-haired, bearded man with glasses. Phil felt a recognition inside of him, but couldn't remember who.
"Who are you?" Phil asked, backing up defensively.
"You don't remember me?" The man asked, his voice upbeat. Phil knew he did, but from where?
Phil shuffled. "I do, but..."
The man laughed. "It's all good. I'm Mark."
A light turned on in his brain. "Mark! What are you doing here?" Phil asked, excited to see an old, childhood friend in a place like this.
Mark laughed again, happy as a clam. "Getting you home, of course!" Mark held out his hand for Phil to take. "Let's get you back to Earth, shall we?"