lord, send me a mechanic (if i'm not beyond repair)
“How the fuck do you know my name?” Dean hisses.
The man doesn’t look scared. He is watching Dean like there is nothing else worth watching, lips a little parted, eyes a little soft. And blue. Real blue, like the ocean on a postcard.
The ice spreading down Dean’s spine makes him shiver.
“I suppose you could say I’m your guardian angel,” the man murmurs. His breath fogs pale between them. All of him is unnaturally warm, like Dean’s touching somebody with the sun sewn up beneath their skin. “I have known you, Dean Winchester, for a very long time.”
Dean meets an angel who says he's from the future. It all gets a lot more complicated from there.