Summary: Stranded in 1978 and dragging a feverish Castiel into a crumbling motel room, she does her best to patch him up. It isn't until the fever breaks that confessions start to slip. fluff! tending to a wounded angel!
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆｡𖦹°‧★
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"Miss, are you sure your friend is alright?"
Y/N peered up at the desk clerk, a young man with reddish-brown hair and a nametag that said Reggie. He stared wide-eyed at the slumped angel hanging heavily off her shoulder. His trench coat dragged behind them like a tattered flag.
“He’s fine,” she said, though Cas’s full weight made her buckle. “He’s just jetlagged.”
Reggie blinked at her. “Jetlagged?”
“Yeah,” she snapped, fishing a few crumpled bills from her jacket pocket and slapping them on the counter. “Listen, do you have a room or not?”
Reggie took one last wary glance at Castiel’s pale face and handed over a key attached to a star-shaped tag that read Room 14. The laminate was cracked just like the rest of the joint.
“You need anything,” he said slowly, “just ring the front.”
"Thanks a ton." Y/N turned around and took short steps down the hall, ignoring the perspiration trickling down her forehead.
The motel was painfully retro in an unironic sort of way. The walls were wood-paneled, and peeling. Shag carpet caught Castiel's feet, adding resistance to an already arduous routine.
Room 11, Room 12, Room 13...
Y/N gasped a sigh of relief.
Room 14.
She thought she heard an angel's chorus but it may have just been ditzy Castiel's murmurs. She struggled to unlock the door, then, dragging Cas inside, guided him down onto the edge of the double bed. The springs gave a sad whine.
Somehow, he managed to sit up and loll his head forward. His eyes flickered blue but didn't seem to focus on anything in particular. Y/N observed the sweat matted to his forehead. His hands trembled from where they rested on his lap.
"Cas," she whispered, kneeling in front of him. "Hey, you with me?"
His gaze dropped to hers slowly, foggy and intoxicated. "Y/N," he rasped.
She exhaled deeply, temples throbbing. If there was one thing Y/N could rely on, it was Castiel's inimitable strength. To see it wane frightened her deeply. "Castiel, you brought us back to 1978, do you remember that? Sam and Dean are out looking for their parents. You're going to be alright." The last part was more to reassure herself.
"You stayed with me." His words were unsteady, unsure.
"Angel, I couldn't leave you like this." She stood up and gently worked the trench coat off his shoulders. His tie was already loosened, limp against his chest. Castiel swayed against her ministrations, but she kept on, focused on his comfort. Her fingers only froze when they reached the buttons of his shirt. His eyes were shut, and she retreated her hands for a moment.
Reconsidering, Y/N gently unbuttoned him until pale skin was revealed, damp from heat and exertion. "I'm sorry,” she muttered, grabbing the motel’s ice bucket and slipping into the bathroom.
The water was cool. She wrung out a washcloth and returned, pressing it lightly to his chest. He flinched, then sighed, a long, shuddering sound.
“You’re burning up,” she remarked and pressed another damp cloth to his brow. Castiel was laid back on the bed, head upturned on a set of soft pillows. While Y/N cooled his forehead, her other hand rested atop his abdomen.
His breathing was steady and deep.
"I'm not supposed to burn," he struggled.
Y/N hushed him gently. "Your vessel seems to say otherwise. You need to rest." She shifted and sat down beside him on the bed, thoroughly exhausted. The trip back in time had made her dizzy.
Without warning, Castiel tilted his head to the side, finding purchase against her shoulder.
She froze. "Cas?"
"I can smell your perfume" he said.
"What?"
"It's sweet. I've noticed it before. In the car, and when you sleep." He made a noise that pivoted between a groan and a hum. Y/N tried not to breathe. "I like it," he said lightly.
Y/N bit the inside of her cheek. Cas was far away right now, she was certain. Still, she let him rest and tried to catch her breath.
They sat in silence for most of the afternoon. The motel room took on a hazy golden glow at the sun's departure. All the while, Y/N sat quietly beside a sleeping Castiel. For hours, she had just observed him. Even when she had stiffened under his weight, she remained still and silent.
Finally, he stirred. "I wish," he groaned, "I could stop time right here. Keep it in a pocket watch for my own eternity."
She swallowed hard. "Cas, you're not making any sense."
“I know.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes glassy and half-lidded. "But I love you and don't know what to do with that."
Y/N pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, and he leaned into it. “You need to sleep,” she said softly, though her pulse was pounding.
Castiel shook his head weakly. "I think," he began, throat dry. "I think you are my best remedy right now."
She tried not to think and cloud his mind with prayers she'd rather keep secret. Instead, Y/N found his lips and kissed a timid question she already knew the answer to. His hands, trembling, found the sides of her face, and his touch smoothed away any doubt.
He pulled away slowly and his eyes searched frantically for something she couldn't see. "You kissed me," he said dazed.
She brushed a curl of damp hair from his face. "You'll probably forget," she said. "It's alright."
"I won't forget," he said fiercely, but Y/N could see the signs of another fainting spell in his eyes. She brushed her hand over his jawline, tracing lines down the ridge of his collarbone and then to his chest. When she reached his heart, Castiel's hand lifted to hold her own.
He closed his eyes. "I think I'm dying."
Y/N laughed quietly, enamored with the sight of him. "You're not dying, Cas."
He opened them again, blue ice caught beneath the slits. "If I die, will you stay with me?" He squeezed her hand weakly.
She nodded, then kissed his forehead.
That seemed to satisfy him. Castiel slumped to the side, sprawled out on the bed. This time, he didn't move. His breathing slowed and evened out.
Y/N stayed with him for another hour until Twilight dimmed the room. She stroked his hair, traced patterns into his skin, but didn't kiss him again.
Finally, she stood up, tense and aching. She eased Castiel into a comfortable position and pulled the covers up over his chest. A faint smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.
Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, elbows to her knees and hands clasped between them. "He won't remember," she whsipered to the empty room.
Dean: Dean was adamant that he wanted nothing to do with the “fleabag” when you took in the sweet midnight black bundle of fur you found living around the dumpsters at the roadhouse bar you and Dean both frequented regularly. Every time you pulled into the parking lot and stepped out of the Impala, his cute little panther-like face would appear purring and rubbing around your ankles for any bit of affection he could get. You queried the staff if he was theirs and they said he was just a stray who they fed scraps to every now and again as he helped to keep the rat population down so when you asked if you could take him they seemed nonchalant about it either way. Once home you named him “Batman” in the hopes of softening Dean up to him but he barely looked in his direction, however, you often found them curled up together in front of the TV watching late night shows, Dean with his popcorn and Batman getting fed treats intermittently from the bag Dean always kept in his pocket to give him when he thought no one was looking. Dean called him “fuzzball” around you, intending for it to sound mean but it always came out in an affectionate tone with one of his signature knock out smiles to match so you couldn’t help but tease him about how adorable they were together to which you always got a goofy grinned “shut up” from Dean and a contented “mew” from Batman.
Sam: 4:50am every morning, without fail, 10 minutes before Sam’s obnoxiously loud alarm went off for his morning workout you could hear Batman meowing his head off outside Sam’s door wanting his breakfast, and right on cue, like a faithful butler awaiting his instruction, Sam would open his door and greet the “impatient little rascal”. One morning you couldn’t get back to sleep so decided to take advantage of the early morning start and get coffee from the kitchen but on your way you found Sam being used as a jungle gym by Batman and later on as you sat with your morning java, looking for potential cases in the news reports, you couldn’t help but be distracted by Batman zooming around the living room and doing his best ninja skills on Sam. It took Sam at least an hour longer to finish his workout compared to Batman’s pre-arrival at the bunker but Sam clearly enjoyed the company and when you offered to shut him in the kitchen as a reprieve from the chaos he simply said he was living up to his name and maybe he should call himself Robin from now on.
Castiel: You wasn’t sure who found who more of a curiosity with Cas and Batman as you would often find them in silent staring matches but it was obvious they both held a deep affection for one another as Batman would follow Cas around like he was tethered to him and once you showed Cas how to pick him up comfortably he never had to use his own four paws again, much to Batman’s delight as evidenced by his soft chirrups and gentle pawing when Cas would stop with the pets. Cas would often be lost in Batman’s purring and “biscuit making” on his arms as he held him so reverently, saying he found him soothing and finally understood why the Egyptians held cats in such high regard, even going so far as to worship them all those years ago. You asked once why he called him his superhero namesake “Bruce” instead of Batman and he said it was more fitting for him as it loosely translated as “strength”, “power” and “Blessed” from the Hebrew, which you had to admit, were all the things this regal and beautiful creature embodied.
I'm currently working on a fanfiction of Castiel in god mode and I'm leaking some of it, to pique your curiosity. I have several drafts that I haven't finished yet but I'm very exited to post (keep in mind that I wanted to make Castiel a bit more cruel than in the original story). J'ai eu l'inspiration de la musique "how deep is your love by mitski"
So there it is (no context needed, otherwise it's not funny):
"My father has no preference, but I do, for the simplest and most miserable creature. You devoted yourself to me even before I was the new god, I saw the wavering of your soul before I could even see its color."
I won't reveal anything more, let me know if I've trigger your curiosity enough!
About: female!reader×platonic!everyone, teenage/young adult reader, reader's love language is touch: hugging, hanging off the boys' shoulders, falling asleep on their shoulders and the like :) just wholesome things (with some angst).
Word count: It's a long a one...
Warning: Angst, Shouting, other than that it's just fluffy :)
A/n: This reallt isnt a head cannon tbh. Started with an idea, created an OC then a background and then and then and then — it spiralled into this mess haha.
I meant to go further - provide that conclusion to create a holistic narrative... but it's already really long and atm felt uninspired to keep going with it. So we wait, sorry !
Welp, enjoy!
Let's imagine your love language is touch. The crave and the lingering need to touch, hug, lean on, hold onto someone, some one you felt safe around and loved by was a instinct you've always had.
Surrounding yourself with some of the most emotionally stunted and constipated people — emotionally unavailable car, pie and ACDC loving hunter, his emotionally neglected brother and monotonous 'I don't understand the reason for handholds if you're not lost' angel boyfriend — your touchy feely nature was met half-heartedly.
Given the moment you first met them was amidst a series of tumultuously devastating events — one easy case turned bad, the loss of family was never easy on a adolescent. And for the most part that's all you were to them. Another poor young soul caught up in the cusp of a terrifying world Dean and Sam intended to protect. To save. It never came without consequence — it's just this time in came in the form of a teenager, tear stained and alone.
Dead of night, once the vampires who took your mother and little brother were resolved with a few knife swings and burning bullets — it was the embrace Sam offered that changed things.
You needed it. Solace, comfort. Something to keep you grounded.
The Winchesters would do more than offer a hug. Decisions and shots were called, arguments sure did occure — another mouth to feed, a head to look out for — but in the end life kept moving and this was all you had left; a reason, an opportunity, to help.
A Winchester. You were the rookie who could barely hold a gun. Then you were the amature that fought to fight; snooping for cases, sneaking out for a chance to shoot and to prove you can contribute. Couple years fly by and now you're family.
So many night spent trading stories, on the stupid shit Dean pulled and Sam moments of pubescent embarrassment among the pockets of normal school life, or your gems of memory with your mother you missed and a brother you had teased. The banter was rich on both ends — most prominently with Dean. It was just so easy. A grumpy old man who dished out the rules and stomped around with that voice of his — you couldn't help yourself.
*in Dean's voice* "Its too dangerous, me macho man will take care of it" *normal voice* "y'know I didn't realise you were one grey hair away from being my father..."
He lets out a humorless laugh, rubbing his chin and gesturing to you at Sam. "She thinks shes funny huh? youre real comedian— thats it!"
He chases you down the bunker and you run away. Deans yelling and your laughter ringing behind Sam.
Sam truly was enjoying to have someone on his side — till at times he wasn't so lucky. You and Dean were a little too powerful once you joined arms...
Amidst this new found family, Dean and Sam quickly noticed how much you liked to hug them... almost clingy.
Granted, it wasn't like you smothered everyone who walked into your life — with Dean and Sam it was different. They saved you, welcomed you, took care of you. You trusted them.
It qas noticeable during the early days of your stay. After long hunts when you were left behind, in security of the bunker, those hours felt like days and days felt like years. Crippling fear of losing the only formed tether of family and safety frightened you.
The moment the door clicked open, "Hey, Y/n, we're back," a bag of take out ready and jackets being torn off in lethargic movements of a day's struggle, "got some burgers and those curly fries as remembered and—"
Frantic steps and a leap, Dean was almost knocked down by the force of your hug. Wrapped around his neck, face buried in his collar. "Woah there, Kid." He stumbled and huffed from the suddenness.
"Y/n? you ok?" Sam asked at your long passing moments in embrace. Words of gladness and "Thank god"s poured from your lips, stepping back to look at how they're really here. Alive. Safe. The brothers noted it was probably because of your family — you were dealing and I think they are one of few people who could really understand that.
However, this passing moment became everytime. They'd come home and you'd hug them briefly. Once you were coming with them than waiting patiently, you'd embrace them before bed.
Huddled around the table, Sam reading, Dean nursing a cold beer whilst flipping through a magazine as you ate and prompted Dean into weird topics of 'never have I ever - monster edition'. You'd bid yourself adue.
"I'm gonna hit the sack, weirdos." You'd walk around to them. "Enjoy your light reading, Sammy. And enjoy your pervy magazine, old man." Passing by, wrapping your arm their shoulders, affectionately nudging cheeks with them — Sam would accept them graciously, the loving gesture comforting to him. And Dean would simply hum at you, trying his best to look indifferent or exasperated by such contact. But you knew he silently enjoyed them, and Sam did especially; knowing his older brother, the boundary of affection was never crossed but from you — a semblance of a younger sister — was soothed but this entry of comfort. Shoulders slacked, posture less tense, you were a reminder of everything was okay.
"Now get off me - you need a shower."
When Castiel was around it, too, didn't take long before he was another victim to your embraces. Seeing how close Cas was to Dean and Sam, it meant he was good.
Late night car rides, slumped against the worn leather of Baby as the soft rock channel hummed alongside the murmuring engine pushing the hunters and a angel home. The orange street light continuously ran over their laps, exhaustion lingered in the vehicle — Dean's raw red knuckles were prominent, wrapped around the steering wheel. Sam sported a scrape on his cheek bone, exchanging hushed words between his brother and Castiel. Sat in the back with Cas, you couldn't bother chipping on the discussion. The headache you endured only just subsided, with just a bruise that ached at your side, both the dull music and gentle voices did well to block it. Soothing you into a lul.
"Someone's uncharacteristically quiet..." Sam humoured. The two shared a peak through the review mirror to catch your heavy eyes and tilting head you struggled to hold up. Dean couldn't help but smirk, chuckling under his breath at your disgruntled hum towards Sam.
"It's a nice change," he joked.
"Dean," Cas warned, glancing attentively to you, "She did a lot today."
"Yea... she did." He said silently proud. Of course she did.
Moments passed and next thing you know, Cas felt your held fall on his shoulder. Almost surprised, he didn't move an inch. Tossing and turning, laying on him finally made you settle. Staring down at you, he was glad to see you sleep — you took too many nights to sitting on thay laptop keen that every minute need not be wasted. And so he laid back a bit more comfortably, mindful on how much he moved. He understood, humans needed their rest.
Dean couldn't help but find it endearing.
The boys did their best to revieve your affection in stride. Cas was always naturally stiff when you slung your arm over his shoulders. Dean tried his best to act annoyed when you attack hug him from behind, and awkwardly patting your back. Sam never minded the time you'd sit beside him, leaning against his larger stature while he read or researched.
Then Jack showed up. Between losing Mary, Crowley, the fright of Cas' death and so much more — times weren't the easiest. Lucifer's son, the premeditated anti-christ that was the cease all life and goodness, the first day of getting to know Jack was a rocky path. While Sam continuously sympathised the young man and Dean couldn't even look at him, you remained initially indifferent. Just like your brothers, you were scared more than anything, grieving over the losses especially Cas — you didn't know what to think but you did know they needed you.
Jack noticed how you kept wrapping your arms around them every time you left off to somewhere or twist your twist your face into something warm at the much angrier man. It was so peculiar to him that he asked Sam when they were in the cellar, "why does she do that?"
"What?"
A look of seriousness worried Sam, "Do that - hold him. Dean." And he looked at him confused.
"You mean— she hugging him." Jack's face didn't change, "she's embraced him because she's worried about him," it sounded more like a question as he mimicked the gesture, "you embrace someone when you want to comfort them, or show them affection."
"'affection'?"
"It's means to show care for someone."
Jack looks at him, "She does it a lot." He noted.
Sam omitted a breathy laugh, "Yea. She does - she cares a lot, I suppose."
Soon your apprehension grew to empathy for the nephillum. His innocence and innate kindness baffled you at times. He borne no essence of evil - he rather carried Kelly's sweetness, and a fear that made you realise that Jack was far from anything like his father. He was just Jack.
The realisation settled within you as you sat on that crate where your breath transpired in the cold, facing Jack curled up beside the dumpster. Large shadows drew over his furrowed brows, deep with sadness and hurt as he said, "Maybe I'm not worth all this". Your heart sunk. All alone without the comfort of his mother and guidance of the angel she promised, made to feel like he was something he wasn't — worthless.
"Stop." The words escaped your lips faster than you could think and he stared at you saddened. "Don't..." You hesitated, too many things you want to say and you settle with reaching out a gentle hand. "Can I please uhm..." Jack slightly confused gave his hand at your hushed question. And he was surprised by your warm and firm grip; holding his palm with your other hand instantly clasping over his knuckles, you told him "Jack, you are worth all this..." staring intently into his eyes. "Sam thinks your worth it, so did Castiel, your mother. And so do I."
His eyes softened, and a small smile slipped onto your lips. Hope seeping into his features, he asked, "Really?"
"Really." You said.
That night you shared a room with Jack, agreeing with Sam things were too tense with Dean. You'd continue to be at Jack's side, speaking to him, answering his questions, simply being with Jack whilst mediating your brothers. Meaning, your constant defense of Jack caused a constant bickering and arguing with Dean. Unlike Sam the Diplomat, you two were almost explosive. Dean hated how close you'd stick by that thing, that freak; he was dangerous, he could hurt you! And you hated Dean's merciless disdain for him — always throwing warnings at the names and disregarding statements Dean would say without a thought with Jack.
At times, when Sam was with Jack, the moment he'd leave you and the eldest alone, stiff muttering of words escalated into loud yelling. Seething at each other until your red faced. Sam would always have to intervene, assuring Jack they're just "hot headed".
This anger festered into Dean's asserting orders; regulations, rules, reprimanding of your interactions with Jack. You were holding Jack's hand cause he seemed nervous, Dean would explicitly say no handing holding with devils. Alone in a room with him on an off chance again? Dean's dragging you out on errands or telling you to go to your room. Walking around the table offering your bidding night hugs, your affectionate squeeze on Jack's shoulder earned a warning glare from Dean.
You always made a face back, countering his overprotective as overbearing and stupid. When you finally had a go at him for it, Sam was out and there was nothing holding them back. You both pushed at each other to your limits. Comparing Jack to you when you some kid helpless and alone too, or Sam deemed bad before he could do any good, really sent Dean down the rails — because you're family. Jack is Lucifer's son, not you.
"Does he look like Lucifer's son to you, Dean?! He does nothing but be kind, gentle. He listens to your orders, he's even terrified of you!"
"And so he should be!" His voice booms with anger you hadn't heard from Dean till now and it shakes you. "You think I care that he can smile nicely at you, and say 'thank you' and 'sorry'? That doesn't matter. Cas is gone because of him, Mum is gone because of him. Wake up, Y/n, he can't change what he is and what he is, is a freak, an inevitable danger to you, to us, this entire freaking world- I'm sorry youre too damn stupid and niave to realise that." His starn, harsh words push past his lips in a burst of thoughts that seemed like he's been holding in forever, and he has to lean back for a moment to sigh. You stood there without moving, your eye glisten against your will as you swallow his words. He paused before turning to walk away without another word — the knife sunk a little deeper.
"I know you're hurting, Dean," your voice went small, and you caught him mid step. "but you're not the only one." His face grew sullen: he was too angry, too tired. He hadn't the energy to say or do something. Looking at you, he noticed your quivering lip you tried so hard to hide and instantly in his eyes you reverted back into that small 14 year old girl he and Sam decided to take under their wing. An image that flashed by and then you were walking away. To the other side of the bunker. And after a few heart beats, he did too.
Without either of you knowing, Jack had heard the entire altercation. Your purposeful steps rushed past him and you didn't see him — too busy fiercely wiping away escaping hot tears you didn't want. Jack had never seen you this upset and quietly he followed you to your room. He heard you slam the door shut and heard you sniffle inside. Hesitant he slowly cracked the door open to see your back facing towards him, sat on the edge of your unmade bed, silently crying.
A sensation of sorrowful guilt imbued in the centre of his chest. This was his fault wasn't it?
"Y/n?" His sudden appearance finally made known surprises you and you whip around. "Jack," your voice is thick with emotions, harshly sniffed back as your wiped your cheeks several times. "What are you..." You took a deep breath. Seeing his worried eyes you realised your attempt to appear unphased and normal was feeble — your eyes were puffy, flushed cheeks and red nose. And then it hit you, "I'm sorry, Jack. Sorry you had to hear that it's just, he's just..." you lett your hands fall to your lap defeatedly and head hung low. You looked him and flashed a weak smile, "Don't worry," Jack moved to sit on your bed, "It's just everything's a bit weird."
"I'm sorry." He finally said simply.
"What? Jack-"
"I'm sorry," he looked at you with those same eyes that night. "that you, Dean and Sam are hurting - because of me."
You shook your head, "No, no Jack, you have done nothing wrong, we're fine. We will work this out-"
"But you are crying, you are upset."
"I'm fine, Jack, don't-"
"Why are you lying?" He places a hand over yours, catching your evasive and scattered gaze. He pulls you to a halt, forcing you to meeting his big attentive eyes. They were so kind and gentle. And the warm of his hand stopped your racing heart. "You can tell me." He said softly and such simple words crashes over you. Your eyes locked onto his, you let silence hang in between as you soaked in this blooming comfort from someone you least expected it. It was overwhelming. And the longer you looked at him, all thoughts and emotions started to feel too real, too much, and your eyed began to well up in tears. Trying to blink them away made them fall faster and your gaze fell to his hand. "I- I'm sorry."
Your voice cracked and your instinctively tried to cover your face; to hide from Jack which you were sure you were confusing him even more with your immense and sudden outpour of emotions. You muttered your apologies, intending to turn to avoid overwhelming him further until the mattress dipped this way and there and a pair of arms embraced you. The foreign feeling of his body against yours made you hold your breath for a second — digesting the unexpected gesture of comfort from Jack and one that you didn't know you needed.
He held you firmly, his head tucked beside yours, eyes scrunched tight as if desperate to make you feel better. Seconds pass before you relent into his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck and burrying yourself away into the nape of his neck. And Jack squeezed you a little tighter.
You and Jack would stay like that for a while. Until your quiet sobs muffled into his shirt quietened down to weak sniffles and your arms loosened, feeling yourself wafting into sleep.
Once Sam came home from his grocery run, he was met by the unsuaul silence and brooding Dean who fixing himself a sandwich.
"Dean, I literally went shopping to cook now why are you-"
"'s not for me." He finished it before pushing it towards Sam, "Mind giving this to Y/n?" It was hardly a question.
The way his brother barely looked at him leaning back with a drink, and the sullenness of his voice, Sam knew something must've happened, "...And why can't you do that?"
"I don't think she's in the mood to talk to be right about now."
Sam walked up to your door, sick with worry and anger to hear what had gone down between you and Dean. The steam from yet another argument with Dean came to a simmer seeing your door not locked but left ajar. He slowed, softly calling out "Y/n?" coming closer he heard not only your soft snores he knew well after years but another's.
Entering he stopped — there you were deep in slumber. And in the arms of the nephilum. Your head lay in the croock of his neck, arms loosely fallen across his torso while his around your shoulders. Sam noted your red eyes and nose, stains of tears that revealed the severity of this argument with Dean had a toll on you. It pained his heart yet seeing Jack with you overturned such hurt — he comforted you. A cosmic being does not need sleep yet Jack visibly chose to rest with you — to show you he cared too. However it there was no doubt you had fallen asleep on him first — a sign of your trust.
The two of you have connected, and Sam quietly left, clicking the door shut with a relief and no plan on letting his older brother know about this.
Castiel x HALF DEMON HALF ANGEL! Reader (Part One)
My wings fluttered behind me as I landed in the library in the men of letters bunker.
“Cass you have to stop popping up behind-!” I turned around to see a man with spiky brown hair and apple green eyes. I knew who he was, no other than the famous Dean Winchester.
“I’m not Castiel.” I said a small smile planted on my lips.
“Then who the hell are you?!?” He shouted. A man raced in after hearing this shout. He was tall like a skyscraper tall with light brown chin-length hair, Sam. Sam came up behind me and pressed a knife to my neck after I looked at Dean. Dean pointed a gun at me and waited for my answer.
“It’s a funny story actually,” I said with a laugh. I felt the blade press into my neck after I looked at Dean. Dean pointed a gun at me and waited for my answer.
"Talk." sam's rough voice voiced harshly in my ear.
"Okay, okay calm your tits. im an angel alright, that knife won’t work on me." and with that said Sam let me go, and dean slowly lowered his gun.
"Why are you here then?" sam asked walking to the chair and sitting down looking at me, same with Dean.
"I need your help."
"With what?" Dean's glare seemed as though he was staring into my soul though im starting to think that’s it's just his resting face.
"Well, there isn't exactly an easy way to say this so ill just say it as it is. Armageddon is going to happen again but it’s starting in Europe. now the hunters in Europe don’t know what’s going to happen but it will."
"Why do you think we could help?" sam rested his elbows on his knees.
"You stopped yours so you might be able to help us with ours." it was silent before,
"Can me and Sam talk alone?"
"Of course." they walked out and I soon grew bored. I looked through the rows of books, the tips of my fingers dancing across each spine while I walk past them. the other hand twirling the necklace my caregivers gave me to hide the demon part of me.
i hear a flutter of wings behind me causing the angel blade in my sleeve to drop into my hand. I turn quickly to see Castiel, the Winchester's trusty sidekick. he was walking toward me before disappearing and popping right back up behind me. he grabbed my left 15-foot wing harshly before I could move. I screamed and quickly stabbed his arm till he let go. I turned around and was about to grab his shoulder so he couldn't get to my wings but my arms were pulled behind me and the blade knocked out of my hand.
"Okay, no more lies who the hell are you?" Dean said with a gun once again pointed at my hand.
"I told you I’m an angel."
"She is not an angel." Castiel voiced'
"So a demon huh?" sam took out the blade once again. "So this does work on you."
"Not-" but before I could finish the butt of the gun hit the back of my head and I saw black.
