When I Love You, I’m Sweet, Like An Angel
Song: good graces
Loving that boy was the easiest thing ever. He was strong. Mentally, physically, emotionally. He could read people better than any one else. He was brave, so brave. He'd throw himself right into the eye of a hurricane, let himself get swept up in a tornado, and feed himself alive to a shark before letting someone die. He was funny, which most guys aren't really anymore. He uses music and movies and pop culture references, some that no one even knows. He loves women, a little too much but you're not worried. He treats them fairly, he cares about their well being, doesn't make crude jokes about sex (too often).
Aside from that, he was the perfect embodiment of protector. He'd feed you, give you a place to rest your head and close your eyes, clothe you, force you to listen to shitty rock music to keep you thinking about the good stuff, he could talk your ear off, make jokes to get you to smile.
What he didn't know, was there was someone, multiples someone's, who were created just to protect him. Afterall, his mother had always told him that there were angels watching over him. While she believed it was the truth, it was quite literally, real.
The angel we all know and love, Castiel, was one of them. While he wasn't made specifically to protect Dean, their bond was other worldly. Sometimes it was a little odd for them to be so close, but that's just what hunting did to people. You were either close to the ones around you, or you were dead. No in between, so of course Dean picked to trust him. Castiel was not perfect, and that was something he struggled with immensely. He was created by the literal hands of God, and somehow, someway, he still managed to ruin everything a lot of the time. But truly, he was just trying. Which is saying a lot because most people won't even get up from their beds every morning to attempt trying. So he was further along in his growth than most people.
There were many other angels that came in and out of Dean's life. There was one angel, more important than any. And that was the one created solely to bring some kind of peace to Dean Winchester's life. She was younger than most angels by about a million years. Something God hadn't even thought of until later in his devout planning on the livelihoods of Sam and Dean Winchester in about 5,000 years.
God, or Chuck as he liked to be referred to in about 4,000 years, really just wanted to watch Dean suffer. To give him the best thing he's ever had so that he's so afraid that he won't let her go. For once, Dean Winchester would be a selfish bastard. Not for Cassie, no she had been his first love, but this little angel (figurative at the time, she wasn't always created as an angel) shall be his last. He couldn't have given up hunting at that point, the job was still a fresh ache in his chest, it was something he needed to do, it had been too ingrained in his brain to ever think about quitting. When Dean had been with Cassie, if you'd have told him in about eight years, he'd meet the love of his life and genuinely think of retiring from hunting, he'd have shot you dead and laughed over your body. He'd have thought you were possessed by something nasty.
Chuck worked tirelessly.
What would Dean like? What would Dean want? What would Dean need? And at that point, he'd already decided that Castiel's story would mix with Dean's, he realized he didn't need a human for Dean. He needed something stronger, something he could believe in. Someone who was innocent and precious and could be taken away easily. Someone with soft skin and pretty eyes and the sweetest, most melodic voice known to mankind. Dean Winchester needed a siren in angel form. Someone to make him desperate, needy, clingy, revert him back to something he had never once been. Afraid to die.
Chuck wanted Dean to be afraid to die, to leave this little angel (now, physically being created as an angel, he decided so).
And so, without it even being known, on a bright sunny day, the first spring sunshine after a rainy winter, the grass seemed to shine greener, and the flowers bloomed a little prettier. Dew drops on leaves, and the wind swaying in trees. Somewhere in the Heavens, you were born.
You didn't sleep, it wasn't something that angels were supposed to do. You don't break out into a sweat in the summer, you don't freeze in the winter, you don't get hungry either which is very convenient for long road trips across the states. But what you did get, was horny. And it was honestly all his fault.
Dean, with his pretty shining green eyes and wicked smile. You wondered how you got so lucky. So lucky when Castiel dragged you into their lives, needing your help on a case with children. You had taken a particular special interest in children. Their sweet innocence, shy smiles. Even their sticky chocolate fingers and their wails when born fascinated you. You were too just a baby. On this particular case, a few of the children were too afraid to speak, their parents had been taken and killed, and the children had seen it all. Most of the children were too afraid to even look up at the adults in room, their little brains hardly understanding anything at all. To them, it was some horrible nightmare, to Dean and Sam and Cas, this was another Tuesday.
When Castiel returned with you, Dean had been awe-struck. Literally. Frozen in his spot, jaw dropped open, drooling a little, muscles relaxing for the first time in years. You were the sweetest thing he'd ever laid eyes on. You just smiled sweetly and nodded at Sam Winchester, who honestly looked just as shocked. Every other angel they'd come across was old and gray and withering right before their eyes (cough cough uriel).
"Hello Dean." you offered the silence. And Dean almost melted right there. Castiel had always said hello to Dean with that rough voice, and you were the opposite. You were poised elegantly, so utterly chic (if Dean knew what that word meant).
You'd been wearing a long white linen skirt and a a white tank top with a baby blue cardigan, and a baby blue (but slightly darker), headband. Your hair had been long at the time (you didn't know you could cut it).
You had been alive for thousands of years, so small compared to Castiel and almost every single angel in the universe. Probably one of the last time God worked with before he abandoned the Heavens entirely.
"Do not be afraid. My name is y/n. Castiel said you needed my help?" you took his silent shock as to fear, something you had come across a lot, but this frozen look on his face not so much. You were unaware of your own beauty. You liked to watch the humans, liked to copy their dress, their speech. You loved humanity, almost more than you loved angel kind. It's why you hardly ever stepped foot in Heaven, most angels detested you.
The vessel you had picked wasn't due to being 'pretty' or 'beautiful'. You saw the person, their soul, their energy. Watched their kindness towards strangers, despite not being overly religious, this person, you knew would be the perfect vessel for you to be able to walk amongst the others. Your own random acts of kindness hadn't differed from them, and when you asked, promised to take care of their friends and family properly, you entered the body and became one with the woman. Sometimes you'd let her front, especially when something happened to your grace and you needed to rest. You lived harmoniously, you protected her, kept her healthy and alive. Lived in their house, took care of the pets and did their job to the best of your ability. You were in a shared control.
"I'm not scared." Dean brushed you off, finally blinking back into reality. Despite you being gorgeous, Dean was going to treat you like what you were, another angel who probably wasn't going to be much help.
You proved otherwise.
You sat in the room with the children, and for the first time ever, they seemed to come alive. Sam and Dean were shocked. Cas, did what was almost a smile for him at the time. "She's the angel of humanity, childhood, imagination. Special creation." that was all Cas had known about your existence and created by the highest power.
None of you knew the truth of your use to the world.
After the children talked more, and shared with you what they saw, you relayed the information to Sam and Dean, who immediately took to the books. Cas had left long before, having 'more important' thing's to do. You sat on the bed and watch the two, Dean on the computer (pretending to work), and Sam on the couch with his legs spread wide, taking up space (actually working). You thought they were interesting specimen to study.
They talked funny of course, Dean with his deep, deep voice. Usually it lacked warmth unless he was obviously making a joke, and most of them never landed. Especially with Sam, he seemed more relaxed than Dean had been the whole time. He talked quieter, almost like he was afraid of speaking out. But they both shared the same strong temper. You didn't know what happened between them before today, but it had to have been bad, because they hardly spoke to each other, or smiled.
Sam was kinda though and had offered you just about anything under the sun (food, water, his bed to sleep in, his jacket if you were cold, to turn on the crappy AC if you were hot, if you'd want to use the shower, a toothbrush), anything to make you more comfortable. Of course you didn't really need any of those thing's and while you found the topic of food and replenishment interesting, the flavors on your own tongue were vile and distasteful. But you both came to an agreement on you being the owner of the remote. So you watched crappy TV too.
You stayed with them until they finished that case and offered to drive you back home. You agreed of course and rode in the back, silent, watchful.
You liked Sam more than Dean at that point. Sam was shocked you didn't know them or what they had done. "I haven't been in Heaven... for maybe... 200 years, and I certainly won't go back."
Your dynamic was definitely interesting. Dean, classic rock, leather jackets and whiskey. Sam, spiral notebooks, the smell of books, and laundry detergent. You smelled like fresh flowers, talked like a princess, the embodiment of purity.
You made a great trio.
Upon the arrival at your house, there were cop cars and firemen littered around the block. Someone, or something, had set your house on fire. Something found out about you being in the Winchester's circle, and now you were being targeted too. Sam and Dean suspected demons were now hunting you to get close to them. A Demon? You'd never come across one.
You suggested that you just find somewhere else to live, but once the Winchesters make a decision to keep someone safe, you're all that matters. Now you had two, rather large, scary body guards.
It took a long time for you to find your own purpose within the Winchester's circle. You had to learn how to fight, to kill thing's. You didn't want to kill, you didn't have a single bad bone in your delicate body, not even your pinky finger could squash a bug, you'd cry.
On the other hand, it didn't take Sam and Dean too long before the realized just what you were; fragile.
The shrill scream came from the bathroom you were currently taking a shower in, and Sam and Dean were up before, pistol in Dean's hand, knife in Sam's. The busted through. You didn't hate bugs, really the opposite. But spiders, especially the big ones, sent a chill down your spine. You were sat on the toilet, raggedy white towel wrapped messily around your body (you'd never been one for modesty). "Spi-spider!" you wailed, and pointed at the floor across from you.
The bathroom was hot from your steamy shower, mist still hanging in the air. Dean sighed and quickly stowed away his gun. He glanced back at Sam, silently asking if he'd handle it. Sam just nods and cups his hands, kneeling, he lets the spider crawl onto him. Neither of them were afraid of bugs, they'd gone up against too much to be afraid of some little jumping spider. "Don't worry sweetheart, 've got you." Dean drawled out slowly, he scooped you up from the toilet, stepping around Sam. You squealed as you were lifted into the air, arms clutching Dean's next tightly. "Careful Sam! Careful-" you shouted at the youngest Winchester as Dean carried you out of the room. Sam followed behind him, kindly ignoring your screaming and shouting. Dean just plopped you down on the bed, uttered a quiet, "Change." and dipped out of the room after Sam. You didn't like to kill thing's, and you'd been upset the few other times you'd come across a bug and they'd squish it.
You were emotional.
They squished a bug, you sat there, very upset, all but blubbering. "What 'f they had family!" Sam patted your back, a soft, "there-there." now and again when a particularly harsh sob racked through your body. "What if he had a family to fe-feed!" Dean just kept cleaning his guns. "With that logic, we could ask ourselves why we do our job. Most monsters have friends and family they need to feed, but they kill people. You were scared of the spider, it could've hurt you, so I killed it." he just shook his head, wondering where the 'god-fearing soldier' had gone. You weren't built to be a soldier. Sam and Dean decided then, they'd never kill another bug with you around, even if you had been afraid of it.
Watching movies and TV shows was almost painful. "We can watch Titanic!" you said cheerfully. This particular motel, wasn't a motel, but Dean had scored big in a pool match and got the three of you a weekend in a nice hotel. With an H, not an M. Not like you'd complain anyway. Sam winced at your overly cheerful voice, this hotel had a DVD player, and you were rifling through the small collection of DVD's you'd collected from thrift stores. "You cry every single time when Jack dies, maybe we can watch something else?" Sam offered gently. You were stubborn, they had to give you that. You shook your head and let the DVD player slide closed with the movie disk inside. "This time I won't cry."
But you did.
And every single time they failed to save someone, you were upset for weeks. It was clear this lifestyle wasn't for you, but there were demons after you, and Sam and Dean's job was to protect you. From spiders, from your own bad decisions on making yourself cry when movies were sad, or even the sad, sick puppy commercials on the TV. You cried over people who died on the news, people you'd never even heard of before. "She's sensitive." Dean remarked once to Castiel, who had decided to stay for the evening as well. The two were watching Sam comfort you after a really sad commercial about children's cancer patients came on the screen and you were bawling your eyes out on the couch. "She's special." Castiel corrected, and Dean didn't disagree.
You didn't like when Dean smoked or they drank alcohol.
"Again!" you shouted making Dean, of all people, flinch. The beer in his hands clattered against the kitchen table in Bobby Singers house as you had just walked in. Bobby had taken you outside to distract you, showing you the cars in his lot and how he cared for them, all so Dean could have a drink. "What do you mean again?" Dean snapped, a little discouraged. He swiped the rag from the sink and wiped up his mess, and tossed his now empty beer into Bobby's recycling. He grabbed his third beer of the day from the fridge. "You drink too much. Come here." your eyes rolled as you walked up to Dean. He had barely popped the tab off before you were in his space. He blinked and backed up a few steps, you effectively cornered him against the counter. You pressed two fingers against his forehead, actively searching. "Liver damage.." you said softly, eyes fluttered shut, lashes long against your cheeks. "Heart issues.. Jesus, Dean.." you whispered and opened your eyes. "You' trying to kill yourself?"
"Not right now no." you did your best to ignore his statement, and instead, did the only thing you knew how to do: heal.
A sudden rush washed over Dean, something he'd felt a few times from Cas healing his injures. Yours was similar, but also not, because it came from you. Someone Dean... Admired...
It felt like a breath of fresh air, a cold feeling washed over his stomach and heart. Any ache in his chest dissipated, his chest felt lighter. The warmth returned when you pulled your hand back. "There." you snatched the beer from him. "No more."
And then you did the unthinkable, you took a sip. To you, it tasted bitter, like a thousand flavors battling for first place. It was disgusting. You wondered what it tasted like to him. "If you want to drink another beer, you give me one," and you took a second sip, making his eyes widen and eyebrows raise. "And you know I hate this stuff. If you suffer, I suffer. Understand me?" he couldn't do anything but nod.
Here you were, sweet little angel girl, giving him a stern talking to all the while he was trapped between your warm body and the cold tile counter. A rock and a hard place. Dean Winchester was exactly where he wanted to be.
Dean Winchester nodded, and that was the last beer he drank for two days. And then the pattern repeated again.
You didn't like being dirty.
"Yuck! Yuck- double yuck, what is this!" you whisper shouted, trying to wipe away the gunk from your skin. Your body felt like it was burning alive from being touched by the most foul smelling, thick-liquidy whatever the fuck, ever. "I'm going to burst into flames if this doesn't get off me!" Dean wished he could console you, maybe even tell you to be quiet, but he thought you looked kinda cute like this. You weren't built for this life, you were highly emotional, intuitive, shy. And yet you still got up and dressed every morning just to help Sam and Dean save lives. You were Dean's biggest dream. Not that he'd make that connection.
But here you were, obviously uncomfortable in your jeans and off the shoulder creme colored crewneck. Your big boots up to your knees, the thick heel underneath you, boosting your height just a bit. You were uncomfortable, and still you refused to wait in the Impala. "What if you need me?" you countered, slightly disappointed in yourself for wearing creme in a sewer. Dean and Sam were quiet. It wasn't often they did rely on your for much. You weren't the best at shooting, your grip on knives were too dainty for any real harm. But you were smart, and you could technically whisk them away in case there was any real danger. You could heal them, and you were very good at making the perfect getaway.
Maybe you had found your purpose within the Winchester boys after all.
You were very opinionated.
"I don't like that green color your wearing Sam. Does nothing for your eyes."
"I think Doctor Sexy is a rather boring doctor. I've done my own research, you cannot put a leg back together in two hours."
"Are you sure you're cleaning your gun properly Dean? I found this new technique and you can't clean it like that. You're actually making it lose it's shine-" you pointed out and Dean glared at you. "And how am I supposed to then sweetheart, I've been cleaning knives since I was six."
"Well, just an accidental slip of of the hand and you're impaled. But, if you insist, keep doing you. The knife will slip at an angel so peculiar, it'll slide down at an angle and pierce between your ribs. It'll be painfu-"
"just get over here and show me then."
"Don't you think you'll cause more trouble burning the body than just burying it? Sun will be up in approximately two hours, meaning if you light the body up now when the sun is up it'll leave an obvious smoky residue in the sky and you'll notice from at least two miles out.. Or it'll catch the whole forest on fire."
And each time you'd open your mouth, you said it so calmly. Like you knew you were better, that you were correct, but you didn't want to boast your correctness. It was annoying .
You were too friendly.
"hello?" you called out, you and Sam had taken a talk late at night, just something for you to, and for Sam to do something that isn't listening to Dean have sex for the millionth time. Sam took your hand quickly, yanking you away from a noisy alley. "You can't call out like that!" Sam reprimanded you, like a child in trouble. "not every noise is a friend. There's bad people out there, you should know that by now."
"But what if someone's hurt? I heard a noise." you tried to defend yourself. "We don't just call out. If there is a hurt person, or a monster, or just a regular murderer, they're just going to attack you. You can't help anyone if you're dead."
"Well they can't kill me unless they're using an angel blade." you continued. "It doesn't matter! I won't let you get hurt. Dean would be pissed!"
Your kindness went out to strangers, animals, sometimes you even understood why monsters acted out. They needed to eat too, it just so happens that their breakfast, lunch, and dinners consisted of human limbs and organs. They couldn't control it. And really, how different was monsters eating humans compared to humans cooking and eating animals? Like chickens. Like cows. Like seafood. You tried to point that out, but they couldn't come up with an answer that made sense to you. For once, you were thankful you didn't have to eat, you didn't have that feeling of hunger or thirst. You weren't sure you'd have been able to stomach eating burgers like Dean does so often, or bacon... The thought almost made you sick to your stomach.
Your kindness, naivety, innocence, it'd get you killed some day. Dean truly feared the day.
But most of all, you were too loving.
"Don't move." you whispered, lowering Dean onto the couch. Sam had a concussion, but Dean had taken a particularly bloody hit with his blade being used against him right to the side, just barely missing his ribs. His breathing was uneven. You were all glad you were an angel, their weight was almost nothing. You were able to hold them up with minor struggle. Sam was dizzy, but insisted you help Dean first, his condition was far more serious. You obliged and kneeled, your fingers rested against his temple. "Shh, it's okay Dean." you coaxed him into a relaxed state as he pain even out and withered into nothing. "No.. it's... not." he breathed out, groaning after as his pain finally dissipated, his skin healing over and the blood returning back to his veins. "I didn't mean to get that guy killed."
"You did the best you could. I saw it." you reminded him. You saw everything he'd done, that his misstep had gotten him hurt, Sam concussed, and the person they were trying to save was killed anyway. "I couldn't have done it any better. You can't beat yourself up." you kept your fingers pressed against his forehead, healing any other ailments he had. Fractured left ribs, sprained ankle, dislocated shoulder, cuts, bruises. Even the deep ache between his eyebrows was cured. The gentle waves of your healing touch washing over him like a waterfall.
Then you moved to Sam. All the while, you spoke calmly, clearing, easing them of their pain, mental and physical. "You tried your best, maybe you didn't save them, but you worked your fucking asses off. Next time you'll do better, I know you will, but you can't do it all." you whispered. You didn't need to shout for them to hear. In fact, maybe they heard you, understood you better when you were like this. Like a mother calming a child after they'd tripped, wiping away the dirt and blood from their knees, pressing a bandage to wound and kissing it better after.
You didn't see them as machines, to you, they were human. Beautiful creatures God created, like you.
What they hadn't expected, was your ruthless side. Nobody touched a hair on Dean Winchester's head (or by extension of your care for Dean, Sam), without hearing from you. And you were often times the last thing they heard before they died.
While they slept, you headed out into the night and solved it, you found the monster. It was too late to bring the man back from the dead, he'd already passed on. So you brought the body back home, left him in bed, made him look peaceful despite the bloody wound in his abdomen. You couldn't do anything else.
Many times Sam and Dean had woken up from deep slumbers, body's basically passing out from exhaustion. They'd wake, and want to take on the trail again. Only to find you casually reading the paper and pointing out the next case.
Your usual white skirt (or sometimes jeans and a basic top), and cardigan was a mess of blood and they weren't sure who it belonged to. You looked... Intact? But angels did heal quicker than humans did. "No need to get dressed, I handled it." you said, like it didn't matter.
You, the sweet angel who had cried about killing spiders? Who gagged when Dean ate bacon and eggs and hamburgers. The girl who cried about Titanic and sappy Rom-Coms, who was overly opinionated on Doctor Sexy and Dean's choice of porn. Who was upset about smelling like a sewer. Who liked to read books and study how humans interacted, who loved to help but hated getting involved. Here you were, reading the paper and covered in blood.
You handled a monster on your own, didn't break a sweat, wasn't afraid. You weren't violent, but you did the job, you cleaned up the mess they left behind.
Dean knew then he loved you. He'd never act on it, but he loved you.
And now, many years later, you were watching Dean in that way you always do, a churning in your lower belly that only meant one thing, you wanted him. Wanting Dean was so different from needing Dean. He was mouthing along to the lyrics to a song he knew by heart, one you had taken a particular liking to. "If you don't look away from me right now, I won't be able to control myself." Dean's voice was lower than usual. The two of you were just driving around, refusing to go back to the stale scent of the bunker, something you'd called home very, very recently. It still didn't feel like home, and Dean was rather restless. So when he suggested you both go on a drive, see what the town had to offer, you couldn't disagree.. Plus, you did want some alone time.
Sam claimed, "it echoes when you... you know."
And Dean had never seen you flush so profusely before.
So now you got your enjoyment out of fucking in the Impala, like you did before. You didn't mind it, there was a sudden rush there, you were careful about where though, you didn't like being seen and Dean would never put you in a position that would make you uncomfortable. "What're you gonna do? Pull over?" you teased, dragging a finger up along his stubbled jaw.
Dean's eyes flashed with something serious, his throat bobbed and he sat up a little more in the bench. "You know what, I just might." and then the short search for a nice place to fuck rolled between the both of you. Steady. Dean was steady.
Maybe he wasn't always open with how he feels on the inside, and maybe he wasn't the kindest person. He'd trick you, leave you behind in a heartbeat. But at the same time, he was really selfish. He'd rather have you than save people. Dean needed you more than he needed air to breathe. He was beginning to imagine a world without hunting. While having children was totally off the table, there were a few girls out there with Jody that he loved like his own, and that's all that he needed. Plus, he felt a little too selfish that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to share you with a baby, a baby which would take all your time up.
Yes, you were perfectly made for Dean Winchester. With your accumulated years of knowledge, and the shyness in your smile. And you were sweet. So sickeningly sweet.
You didn't know that you were actually perfectly made just for Dean, everything he needed he could find in you. Yet. You didn't know that, yet...
