sisyphus ;
He expected the supposedly surprise greeting, expected the insistence of alcohol in his system--not too much, of course; he knew better than that now--hell, he even expected them dragging out of his apartment for a night--day, really, considering they all had work that night--out in the city. He expected as much; didn't mean that he so willingly wanted them to do such a thing, of course, but they were his friends--he knew their actions, what they were going to do, for the most part.
But this---- Dean had never wanted to punch Ash in the face so badly before.
They had just gotten back to Dean's apartment, all of them full of laughter and inside jokes that were sure to last them a few more years, all lounging about Dean's couch before Time called them to work.
What Dean wasn't expecting, however, was the knock upon his door. He never got visitors, not really, save for the people surrounding him and his baby brother in just the next city over. His brow furrowed, confusion surrounding him as Ash stood up with a grin and sauntered to the door.
Since when did Ash ever--?
"Happy birthday, dude!"
Standing by Ash's side was a man just a few inches shorter than Dean himself, with messy, jet black hair and crazy blue eyes. But none of the features truly registered in his mind, no, for his focus was solely on the swirling mass of...of....grace that was contained in a simple vial in Ash's outstretched hand. An angel. There was an angel right in front of him.
Dammit, Ash.
Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea, not telling those close to him his reasoning for his aversion to the ever popular 'pets' that lived in such close proximity to their every day lives. But he hadn't opened his mouth for a reason--a reason that was biting him in the ass as he locked eyes with the angel.
Dean clenched his jaw and forced a grin onto his face. "Uh, thanks." And when the vial was pressed into his palm, it took everything he had not to throw it away, smash it against the wall, anything to keep it away from his person. But he couldn't do that, not with Ash, Jo, and Charlie present with him.
It was only when they left did he truly pay attention to the angel he now technically owned, the vial heavy against his sternum, hung by a length of cord that Jo had too willingly given over. He shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, inwardly kicking himself for feeling like this in the presence of a supposed pet. He opened his mouth to speak, only to find that nothing would come out. Figures.
Instead he shook his head, running a hand through his hair, before turning on his heel, heading toward his room to get ready, leaving the angel in the middle of the living room. He had work to go to.