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Ah! My Angel	By : shallowshadows Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1167 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Oh! My Goddess, nor the characters from SPN. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: Many thanks for the ratings and review, loves! I am pleasantly surprised by the number of people enjoying this story thus far across websites. Thank you for the support!
Updates every two weeks on Mondays. I'm not sure of the chapter count because I always write more than I expect to from my outlines.

Ah! My Angel

Chapter 2 Ah! Those Who Believe Shall Find Salvation?

Dean's mouth feels dry much like the feeling of dehydration one would get after sleeping for 12 or so hours straight, and hell, since that about sums up the amount of sleep he'd gotten maybe he even is dehydrated. Either way, it's the longest amount of sleep he's gotten in forever yet instead of making him see things more clearly it's opening him up to drowsiness, sickness, and pain—but that could also be the fact that he drank so much his blood is swimming with alcohol still.
He stares, wide-eyed, at the stranger in front of him, the light from his porch highlighting everything about him, everything that looks perfectly human. But this man, this creature, is not, and as much as Dean wants to deny it, there is nothing he can do to prove otherwise after everything he just saw and is still seeing in his mind. A trick doesn't explain complete sudden memories one has never had of a place they've never been, nor does any food or drink that's contaminated, at least not with the timing of said "memories."
"What the hell did you do to me?" he asks, head a thunderstorm from not only his hangover but the information he can't get out of it.
The man simply stares at him for a while, eyes curious like a cat's, though there may also be concern there. "It is completely normal to be in a state of disarray. Your body and mind need to adjust to the touch transfer of information directly into your brain. It can be a little overwhelming to a human. My apologies." He says the last words much softer than the rest as if sympathetic.
"Touch transfer—w-what?"
"I transferred information directly into your brain through that contact I made with your forehead. It is something we can do," the so-called angel clarifies.
Dean presses a hand to his temple area, shuts his eyes tight, and pinches himself extremely hard with his free arm. The pained noise that escapes him is proof that this isn't a dream, as well as how he can feel the sting straight through his skin and a small red mark appears where his untrimmed nail had dug in. He reopens his eyes and looks straight up—only to flinch at the man now hovering a few inches from his face, eyebrows furrowed and staring straight into Dean's eyes once he meets them.
He takes a deep breath to avoid yelling, because while he can deal with his grouchy British neighbor just fine, he doesn't want to face the wrath of his childhood friend Jo's mother, Ellen, who would come storming out of her apartment next door in her pajamas, drag him out of his place, beat his ass, then leave him outside for random passerbys and other apartment dwellers to mock. He never wants to get on her bad side not only for that reason, but because she is the one who helped him get and pay for his apartment in the first place. To this day he feels he owes her.
"Personal space," Dean ends up murmuring, swallowing once.
"What?" the angel asks, seeming confused.
"Personal space," Dean repeats. "You don't just get up in someone's grill like this. There is a such thing as boundaries and you're totally crossin' them. You already did when you broke in, but this is worse. Get the hint?" He pauses, waiting for the other man to move, but he doesn't. "Get out of my face, in other words."
"Oh." The angel backs away and stands with at least a few feet between them. "Is this better?"
"Yeah, sure."
There is a moment of silence as Dean kind of just stares at him, unnerved further by how human this thing looks, yet his actions speak a whole other story that supports everything Dean was told and shown. It's almost ironic, really. Sam always believed in angels, even in the times he'd doubt God or gods or whatever else there may be up there. But Dean, Dean never believed in any of it. If someone even mentioned God he'd laugh and Sam would give him a scolding glare then tell him to be more respectful of other people's beliefs.
The thoughts only make him miss Sam more. This situation makes him miss Sam more. What would Sam think if he saw a real angel standing before him? He'd probably get all excited like a little kid and his eyes would twinkle as they did when the two would visit an animal shelter and their dad would disappoint them by saying they could never get a dog because they were too much work. Sam's face each time would shatter, disappoint overpowering any excitement, and Dean imagines that it'd be much the same if Sam found out how boring and creepy angels were.
Speaking of which, the angel is now looking around except with more interest this time as his head turns and his eyes trail along the bulletin board with pinned photos, the cabinet filled with small trinkets the Winchester boys bought while on road trips, and then the old jacket of Sam's hanging on the rack that he'd left here in case he came for a visit. The way the angel looks at the items, particularly Sam's jacket, it's like he knows and it only creeps Dean out further.
He turns back to Dean after staring at the coat for a while, eyes seeming softer, curious. "Your brother, is he—?"
"Away at college. Probably won't be coming back. He's engaged." Dean doesn't mean for his tone to be so harsh but there is a stranger in his apartment and he's asking about a very sensitive topic.
"I see." The angel looks away briefly. "That does indeed explain the extent of your intoxication. I had figured it was not simply addiction, though that also seems to be a problem of yours."
"Dude, fuck off," Dean snaps and he means it this time. "What do you even want?"
"I have already informed you many times now. It was far easier using the method I did rather than explaining in words. What more do you wish for me to explain? What do you not understand?"
"Angels helping people, big computer thing that processes and grants wishes," Dean begins, getting up and walking around the angel towards his bat. "Right. I got all of that. But it sounds like a hell of a lot of gibberish and bullshit if you ask me. I thought I called a sex line, man, and apparently I didn't." It's then that something dawns on Dean. He was very drunk earlier and his memory, despite the forced ones rehashed in his mind, is still iffy. "Wait. I didn't, we didn't, y'know, do anything, did we?"
The angel tips his head like a bird again, that increasingly familiar look of confusion popping back up. "You were mistaken in your belief. We did not 'do' anything except talk."
Dean sighs in relief as he bends down to retrieve the bat he'd dropped before. He is half-hoping Ellen hadn't heard that bang earlier because he'd been far too surprised and out of it to care if anyone did, including her.
"Dean." The shorter haired man looks up, bat clenched out of reflex. "If you understand what I have said and shown you, would it be possible for you to please make your wish now?"
"Okay, yeah. Get out."
"Perhaps I have not made myself clear enough—" Dean feels dizzy when the man is one place then another with the blink of an eye, irritated expression directed right at Dean from mere inches away. "—l cannot leave you until you have made your wish. I am bound by our phonecall."
"Just get out!" Dean practically screams, but manages to keep his voice a more raised angry tone than yelling. He narrows his eyes and puffs his chest to try to be intimidating, but he realizes that is likely moot point with some sort of celestial being from Heaven or wherever this guy's from. Regardless, he doesn't back down. This is his apartment and this angel is getting on the last of his nerves by not listening to his command and by invading his personal space even after telling him not to.
The angel narrows his eyes, huffing air through his nose. It's obvious he's trying to maintain a tone of patience but struggling. "If you would kindly inform me of your wish, then I will. Believe me when I say that I would rather return home as soon as possible. I cannot until you make your wish, however, as, like I have already said, I am bound here by our phonecall."
Dean quirks a brow, finding the "bound here" thing to make just as little sense as everything else the angel has said or shown. "What are you talking ab—?" He is interrupted by the look the angel is giving him, one that is clearly indicating he's not in the mood to explain. "Fine, fine. It's like I said on the phone earlier. I just want someone who can fulfill my needs, okay? Simple as that. Can you do that for me?"
The angel tips his head up a bit as if contemplating the words then lowers it, eyes drifting to look off to the side. "I suppose I could," he begins, "but I would need you to say 'I wish' before the words and focus very hard on what you want to clarify the wish. I reset the machine to be stricter to avoid the incident of last time. Thus, your wish will not take effect in the machine until you say those specific two words prior to it and I am to register it."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Seriously? God, why is this so unnecessarily complicated?"
"Please remember you already broke our branch's machine once," the angel adds, giving Dean a quirked eyebrow look that Dean can't help being amused with. "Since this is an in-person consultation, the machine will pick-up the wish through me and I did not want you to make a mistake."
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that, I guess." The older Winchester backs away to give himself some breathing room, because even if this guy doesn't have bad breath it sure as hell doesn't make Dean very comfortable to have him all up in his grill constantly. He glances around the apartment, rethinking his wording to try and be more specific, though all of this is still so weird and new to him. All he knows is that he just wants this guy to leave ASAP, so if doing all this nonsense leads to that then he'll be happy.
"Wait, what do you mean by through you?" Dean inquires, a bit startled at the thought that comes into his mind. "This isn't gonna be some Princess and the Frog type touching, right?"
"The touch I did to your forehead to transfer information directly into your mind. It would be much like that. I also do not trust you to simply make a wish without my explaining all of this. You could have easily given one of your strange remarks and you and I would both be in dresses and dancing with chickens or something."
An eyebrow skyrockets up Dean's forehead, but he's also relieved at the answer. "What?"
The angel lowers his shoulders, head ducking down with a small flush to his cheeks. "I-I could not think of a better example. I simply meant you could make a—"
"Stupid wish I don't really mean just to be a Sass-Master McGee to you?" The angel glances up at him with scrunched eyebrows and Dean can't help actually laughing this time as he places his bat against a wall gently. "I mean, I'd say something dumb just to mess with you and you meant it'd register and cause some weird effect we both don't want. Am I right?"
"Correct."
"Okay, then since we both don't want that and we both want you out of here, let's get this over with the right way. You will leave if I do this, right?"
The angel nods, moving back toward Dean but this time thankfully keeping some distance between them before he lifts a hand to gently place against Dean's forehead. Dean doesn't bother questioning it because of the prior explanation of it being similar to that weird "touch transfer," so instead he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
He thinks back to when he and Sam were kids and they'd both always wanted to come across a genie in a bottle during one of their family road trips. The two always snuck out when their parents would get into heated, nasty arguments, exploring whatever area the family had driven to, always hoping in the backs of their minds to stumble across that impossible bottle. Sam had always said he'd wish for their family to be happy, a billion dollars, and a puppy. Then he'd ask what Dean would wish for and Dean would always say the same thing—that he had everything he needed so long as his little brother was by his side. But, of course, a nice car and endless gorgeous chicks wouldn't be off the table either, which would always make Sam laugh.
A smile comes across his lips at the memory. It's not surprising to him that most of his happiest ones are with Sam, specifically when they were very young. He clears his throat, eyes clenched shut. "Uh, so let me try this again." He pauses, taking a deep breath that he intentionally lets out slow. "I wish for—" His mind spins with the memories he'd been thinking about, half-heartedly focusing on some sexy fantasy chick. "—someone to fulfill my deepest needs and desires."
The angel closes his own eyes in focus and Dean feels a certain warmness flood through his veins, something welcoming and gentle much like his mother's hugs would be after he'd fall off the swings at the playground and skin his knee. He lets it in, maybe even pulls at it mentally, body relaxing and thoughts going calm. When he opens his eyes, however, his mouth drops open at the light that's flooding out of the hand pressed against his forehead and his calmness quickly fades. Dean feels his resolve to deny all of this slipping more by the second, and he practically has what he deems a mini heart attack at what's currently happening.
Before he knows it, the light fades and the angel slowly opens his eyes as his hand drops from Dean's forehead. "It is done," he says simply, "and now I will leave you be."
Despite seeing it Dean still doesn't want to believe it. He feels the same as before, no special feeling or epiphany or anything, and his thoughts keep swaying towards the despair he'd been feeling earlier this morning. He figures, if anything, he'd somehow gotten his hopes up that this would bring some amazingly perfect chick into his life right before his eyes to make it all better, so to say he's disappointed is an understatement. Impatience apparent, he rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, okay. Whatever. Thanks for the light show, Houdini. Now let me help you find your way out," Dean murmurs bitterly, walking over to the front door. He goes to pull it open, still believing he'd left it unlocked and that's how this guy got in, but quickly realizes that the angel was telling the truth. The door is locked.
As he flicks the lock to the open side, his peripheral vision catches the angel wandering towards the big mirror in his entryway. "What are you doing?"
"Leaving as you requested. Is there a problem?"
"Uh. Dude, that's a mirror."
"I am aware. Did you not hear me say this is how I came in originally? Or were you too shocked by my presence? Now if you excuse me. It was a pleasure to meet you, Dean Winchester, and best of luck to you in your future endeavors. I sincerely hope the void within you fills with this wish."
Dean is about to argue and say how impossible mirror travel really is when the angel reaches a hand up to place against the reflective glass, which begins to glow a bright white. His eyes widen in horror as the man's body disappears halfway through the surface, the only thing left within moments one of his legs, and Dean is trying extremely hard not to gape but he's gaping and that only makes him feel like more of an idiot than ever. So angels are not only real, but they really can travel through mirrors. Now Dean feels he's seen everything.
Okay, maybe not everything.
Suddenly there is a pause of the leg there, and Dean notices what looks like something wrapping around it, but there is clearly nothing there, at least not to the naked eye. He hears a yelp, startled tone of the angel recognizable, and within seconds it's like he's being dragged out from the mirror, literally kicking and screaming.
"No! No, no, no! Please!" And he's begging, voice strained and horse, which only serves to freak Dean out and make him feel a little bad about whatever the heck is happening. "I did it right this time! I made him focus and I did it in person just to be certain! You have to let me come home! Please, Yggdrasil, please! Do not do this! I cannot do any more than I already have!"
But it seems no matter the words he's spewing, whomever he's speaking to isn't listening, because with each batch of words, he is pulled further and further back into the room. Dean can see it, the outline of the invisible thing wrapped around the angel. It's tight and thin, like a rope or maybe vine, and it keeps hooking around more of his body by the second until it's around even his arms. Dean watches as it suddenly tugs rougher than it has yet, and the angel is whipped backward until he's on his back on the floor, eyes scrunched shut in pain.
The mirror's glow quickly fades and whatever invisible force hooked around the angel's body slowly seems to recede, the pushed-in marks in his clothing loosening. He just lays there for a while, panting but quiet, breathing shaky and hair a tousled mess. He doesn't bother to open his eyes, perhaps not wanting to, keeping them shut tight. Dean is almost concerned for this bizarre stranger who intruded in his home to begin with, but he'd never admit to it.
Against his better judgment, Dean approaches the man, keeping his voice low and quiet. "Hey, uh, what the hell just happened?" He continues moving until he's only a step away and then slowly crouches down, reaching a hand to maybe help the angel up. "Are you okay?"
In the blink of an eye, the angel's own shoot open, but they glow a bright white making the sapphire blue hues look dull in comparison. This particular light actually hurts to the point that Dean snaps his eyes shut tightly, and he's barely able to recover when the angel jumps up, speaking in a language that Dean has never heard before. He swears it almost sounds demonic, like some language you'd hear in a horror movie, and the thoughts only serve to frighten him more.
The rambling goes on and the angel says just two words in English—"System Force"—before he turns to Dean and lunges at him, grabbing his shoulder roughly. Dean falls backward, startled, bracing himself up only by his arms propped against the floor, and he can't help the scream that erupts from his mouth when his upper arm feels like it's caught on fire. A light, just as bright as the one from the angel's eyes, appears underneath the angel's hand, and Dean really doesn't care in the least if Ellen wakes up at this point because this hurts like crazy and there's a lunatic with glowing eyes rambling in some freaky language causing this much pain for him.
It feels like forever has passed when the angel finally goes quiet, though it's only been a couple of minutes. He blinks once and his eyes are normal though lidded in a way that screams worry when combined with the way his eyebrows are. He takes one simple look at Dean before releasing his grip on the man's shoulder and backing away, crawling towards the mirror he'd been ripped from. He turns his body and presses his hands to the glass in a few areas, but he eventually lets them slide down the panel slowly, head and shoulders drooping.
"W-what the hell was that?" Dean barely manages to ask, tone unsteady.
The angel doesn't move for some moments, appearing to simply stare at the mirror. But then he eventually does, turning to stare at Dean with a look that is more than worry, lips parted just a tad. He hesitates to speak, moving a hand over his shoulder and using the other arm to assist in reaching for the center where his spine protrudes. "This… I am stuck," the angel finally says, voice also strained, though Dean figures it's more from emotion than his obsessive rambling.
"What's that supposed to mean? And what the hell language were you speaking in? You sounded and looked like The Exorcist and it scared the living shit out of me. I half-expected your head to start spinning."
The other man's eyes drift downward to the floor. "You have my apologies. I was not trying to frighten you. I was speaking Enochian, the language of my people. And your arm," he pauses very briefly, glancing towards Dean's shoulder then quickly looking back down, "I am also sorry about it."
"Yeah, that hurt like a bitch! What did you do to me?" Dean asks, rubbing his upper arm with his other hand.
"It was not by choice. Yggdrasil was binding us and felt the best way to do so was direct contact through me. So to say I was momentarily possessed would be quite accurate, actually."
"Who the hell is Yagdrizzel?"
"Yggdrasil," the angel corrects. "It is the name of the machine I spoke of. It is a, what you humans would call, super-computer. It is kind of like a tree with branches and roots and connects to all of the different offices we use to answer human wishes and prayers, thus what I meant when I said you broke my office's machine. You had caused our particular system to freeze with your wish, unable to process it through to the super-computer."
"What, so it's like the Internet?"
"If that is how you will look at it to understand, then yes. Like the Internet."
Some silence follows those words. Dean continues to rub his arm and looks down at it when he feels raised skin under the cloth of his T-shirt. With a roll of the fabric, his eyes widen. "Is that a goddamn handprint on my goddamn arm?!"
"Oh, I was afraid that would be a side-effect," the angel says, expression apologetic.
"Side-effect?" Dean is struggling to keep from yelling, turning his arm up to get a better look at it. "Is this ugly thing permanent?"
"No, that will fade with time." The angel heaves a heavy sigh before continuing to explain. "The mark, on the other hand…"
"What mark?"
"The one on your chest."
Dean lets go of his sleeve and instead grips the front of his shirt, tugging it down to see for himself what the other man is talking about. A simple black pentagram, specifically with a five-pointed star in the middle, now sits on his chest, some small symbols in each section of the star. Dean doesn't recognize them but quickly puts two and two together. "Is that Enochian? The symbols?"
The other man nods. "There is likely an equivalent one on my spine as I could feel something stinging between my wings."
Now that he's mentioned it, Dean does feel a bit of a sting where the black mark now is, but he was so overwhelmed with the pain in his arm he overlooked it. Dean chooses to ignore the wing comment altogether because not only does he have enough to process and worry about, but he doesn't see any damn wings and doubts he'd be able to anyway even if they are there. He isn't stupid; if some invisible force grabbed this guy and dragged him out of a mirror, who's to say that angels don't have wings simply because humans can't see them?
"So what did you mean by the 'stuck' comment before?" Dean rubs and prods at the mark gently, which looks a hell of a lot like he'd gone to a parlor and gotten a tattoo smack dab over his heart, but attempts to keep his demeanor and voice calm. "And what is this mark?"
A sad expression gets directed his way, maybe sympathy or just a general state of upset at their situation. "It is a binding symbol. The pentagram is meant to 'contain' the different Enochian symbols that equate to the spell. As for my original remark, I cannot leave. I am bound to you by your wish until it is fulfilled."
Dean feels another headache coming on as he directs a bewildered look towards the angel. "Uh, isn't that what you just did?" he asks, letting go of his shirt again.
"I did attempt to, yes. I attempted to register your wish in the machine in order for it to find someone who could actually fulfill it. The machine apparently believes I am suited to do so, however."
"What? What does that even mean? I thought you granted wishes like poof, done. What are we going to do now? I don't want this thing on my chest—it's weird."
The angel shifts and curls into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His chin rests on top, eyes staring blankly at the floor. He's completely spacing out, it seems, because Dean tries to get his attention several times before he actually manages to.
"Hello, Earth to angel dude! What do we do to fix this?"
"I suggest we drink copious amounts of alcohol."
Dean practically slaps himself in the face, classical face-palm style. "Dude, no, trust me, that doesn't work. Don't you remember how messed up I was earlier trying to fix a problem that way? What the hell do we do about this?" He notices the other man staring off into space again and snaps his fingers until he's gotten his attention back. "Come on, there's gotta be something we can do to fix this. Then you can go home and I can have my fun and we can pretend like this never happened like we were going to do in the first place."
"Dean, while I do appreciate your optimism, your wish has bound me here," the angel murmurs, tone sounding defeated, "and there is nothing we can do except attempt to fulfill it."
"Well, okay." Dean inches his way over to the other man, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder as a sort of means to comfort him. He isn't sure why he feels the need to do so, he just does. Perhaps it's the part of him that Sam rubbed off on; the sympathetic, nice part of him that he likes to pretend doesn't exist with his usual tough guy act. "Then let's go find a strip club and it'll be fine!"
"Dean, your wish was for someone to fulfill your deepest needs and desires."
"And? Strip club would do it. I'm game."
"You clearly do not understand; the machine chose me to do so."
It takes a moment for those words to register in Dean's over-exhausted and overwhelmed brain, but when they do he quickly removes his hand and gives the man a dirty look. "Whoa! Hell no, you're a guy! I'm not into guys like that! Your machine is probably broken again; just get someone to fix it."
A sincerely confused look appears on the angel's face as he perks his head up and tilts it a bit. "What does my current form being male have to do with filling the void within your soul?"
"I—what?"
"Your wish." The angel lifts a hand from his knees and jabs Dean in the forehead with it, two fingers prodding, and he doesn't seem to care when Dean shoots him yet another mean glance. "You said you wanted someone to fulfill your deepest needs and desires. Deepest. As in the void within your soul you cannot seem to fill with sexual encounters and booze."
"I just wanted sex, man!" Dean says, slapping the man's hand away. "From some hot chick who also wanted sex! That's the entire reason I even made that dumb wish in the first place! I was lonely and wanted to do the do with a nice lady, not fix my screwed-up soul or whatever. Is that really so hard for your machine to handle?"
The angel's bottom lip pops open a tiny bit and his brows furrow, his arm re-joining the other one around his legs again. He slowly leans his head back down until his chin presses into his knees, eyes locked onto Dean the way a predator's would its prey. It's probably the angriest and annoyed look he's seen since the last time Sam was over. "You thought I was granting you a wish pertaining to your sexual desires for a single night?"
"Uh, duh. I told you I thought I dialed a sex hotline originally, asshat."
"That is not how the machine works, Dean Winchester!" He's a bit surprised when the angel not only snaps at him, but lunges forward and grabs him by the collar of his shirt roughly, the fabric scrunched into his fingers that are balled into fists. "It focuses in on your heart's true desires while making a wish and your heart desires to no longer be lonely above all else! When you made your wish, your thoughts were lost in missing your brother and the happy times you shared. You made a wish that registered on those thoughts. You could easily find someone to have intercourse with given your looks and personality, and the machine recognized that, which is why this meaning behind the words of your wish took priority!"
Dean would be freaked out by the way he's being manhandled and spoken to in his apartment by an unwelcome stranger if not for the sudden anger brewing in the pit of his own stomach. "How the hell do you know what I was thinking about during that wish?! Are you being a creepy bastard and reading my thoughts?! Wouldn't put it past you! Mind your own fucking business! What the hell do you know about my brother and I anyway, huh?! Nothing! Absolutely nothing, so fuck off!" He shoves the other man back roughly, not caring about the hurt look he receives and the way the angel lets go of him without a struggle despite proving he was more than a little strong when he'd grabbed Dean's wrist back in the kitchen.
The hurt doesn't last, however, because it is quickly replaced with an equally pissed look as Dean's and then the angel pushes himself to his feet, gripping back onto Dean like he's a ragdoll as he tugs him up as well. "Even though I am fully capable of doing so, I was not reading your mind! I do not care enough about some human boy to dig around in his rotten and selfish mind for old memories! You shared those thoughts with me when you felt my grace! You welcomed my grace in to your body and as a result, your memories passed through it back into me!"
Dean doesn't snap for the 'boy,' 'rotten,' and 'selfish' words, nor does he struggle against or push the angel again, instead quieting down his own voice now shifting to a state of confusion. "Your… what?"
The other man just stares at him for some moments, eyes unreadable as he looks back into Dean's own. He lifts his head up a bit before letting go of Dean's shirt and taking a step back against the wall and, subsequently, the mirror. "My grace." He places his palms against the wall on either side of the glass, shifting his eyes to the floor. "It is, how do you say it? It is our 'powers,' what makes us an angel aside from our true forms. We do not have souls like humans do, we have grace instead."
"Is that…?" And now Dean is curious, unable to stay angry with such a burning inquiry popping up in his mind at a memory from not long ago. "Is that what that warmth I felt during my wish was?"
The angel glances at him for a second with a soft "yes" before he looks down again. "And I am sorry. I did not mean to invade your very personal memories; my intentions were to simply allow the system to process your wish using me as a medium. You pulled my grace in, however, and I was not able to stop it or risk your wish failing to process. I am bound by my duty to fulfill human wishes or I will lose my ranking or even potentially be punished."
"So that was your soul?" Dean quirks a brow. The words that come out of his mouth next seem to flow freely and he isn't even bothered by them like he usually would be. "It felt kinda… nice. Like a hot shower but less sexy."
The angel's eyes widen as a very apparent color appears across his cheeks, quickly and certainly not from rage. He keeps his eyes down and refuses to even exchange a glance with Dean, shoulders lifting and then falling back down. "You enjoyed the feel of my grace?"
Dean's prior lack of caring comes back full force instantly. "Dude! Don't make this creepier than it already is, okay?! I just felt something warm and it felt pretty nice, so I just let it in or whatever. I had no idea it was part of you! I just thought it was an aftereffect of the wish granting!"
"I did not say you were and I did not even accuse you of knowing." The other man seems to regain his composure, head tipping back up. "It is simply a little embarrassing for you to have not only experienced a part of my true form, but to also enjoy it when I hardly know you. It would have been equally embarrassing had you been able to touch and enjoy the feel of my wings. Some humans have the ability to do so."
"Whatever. Just shut up, okay? Shut up and let me figure this out." Dean begins to pace, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while the other rests on a hip. So this all happened because he made a mistake with his wish, right? Because he'd been thinking about Sam during? "Okay, got it!" He whips around and snaps his fingers, then his hands gesture while he speaks. "How about we just revoke it, yeah? I say I didn't mean it and then we can re-do it."
The angel shakes his head. "Wishes can only be fulfilled, not reversed. It is why I thought I had been being careful by taking the necessary precautions with you."
A loud groan echoes around the room. Dean doesn't bother to hide his frustration. "What kind of business do you guys run that doesn't do exchanges?!" he snaps, crossing his arms and leaning against his kitchen's doorframe.
"My apologies. There are forces greater than my own that I cannot control. The machine is one of them. I can reset our branch's computer when it freezes and malfunctions, but when it properly processes a wish and grants it, there is nothing I can do."
"So you're for real when you say you can't leave now? That we're bound until my wish is completely fulfilled? That, somehow, you've got to help do it?"
"Yes," the angel answers after some moments, shoulders slumping once more as he sighs.
Dean rolls his eyes. There have been many times in his life where he's screwed up to a point where he can't simply slap a patch on and call it a night, and this is definitely getting put onto that list. If Sam were here right now he'd be criticizing Dean for not thinking it through more carefully and just focusing instead of letting his mind wander all over the place as per usual; Dean wishes Sam were here right now to do just that.
"All right. I admit defeat for now. Since we're apparently going to be stuck together, can I at least know a little more about you since you seem to know a hell of a lot about me?"
The angel tips his head, eyes shifting from Dean, away, then back to Dean. "I suppose it would not hurt. I am an angel within the 'Guardian and Assistance' branch of the Relief Office of Heaven, Seraph class, unlimited license, specifically tasked in handling humans who are in deep emotional perils. I essentially help watch over humankind."
"So you're where the term 'guardian angel' comes from, huh?"
"You could say that."
Dean isn't as versed in his different religious studies as, say, Sam or Bobby, who both could pinpoint which the different lore and mythos originally come from, but he does recognize that the term 'Seraph' is serious business in any angel mythology. "So are you, like, Nick Fury or something? Top dog?"
"What?"
"You said you're 'Seraph class.' Isn't that the highest?"
"Oh." The angel glances toward Dean's porch door, as if lost in thought for some moments. "In my sphere, yes. It works in a manner of three spheres, so to speak—counselors, first sphere, those who take care of Heavenly and Earthly affairs including the system; governors, second sphere, those who take care of the universal affairs and make sure the cosmos remain in proper order; and warriors, third sphere, those who are specifically trained to fight in order to protect Heaven and, if necessary, Earth. I used to be a common rank in the third sphere, but they felt due to my affections for humankind and mistakes as a warrior, I was better suited in first sphere. Eventually, I was promoted to Seraph class."
"So I pretty much screwed over Heaven by stealing a top-dollar angel." Dean thinks about it for a moment before a large grin perks up his cheeks. "Cool."
The angel, on the other hand, doesn't look very entertained. He frowns and furrows his brows, directing a look Dean's way that emphasizes his tone of voice. "It is not funny, Dean. Now they will have to recruit a lesser experienced individual to help with my responsibilities until I am to return. Why do you find this amusing?"
"Because I can? I don't know what you expect me to say when there's an angel standing in my apartment when just this morning I thought you bastards only existed during Halloween, pigeon feathers and wired halos."
The angel squints at Dean, perhaps intending to shoot a glare his way, but he turns his back to him just as quickly, hands sliding over the glass of the mirror again. He traces some symbols across the surface and then presses a hand against the newly drawn lettering.
"The hell are you doing now?"
"I am attempting to see if I still possess my unlimited license for the usage of my powers and whether or not I can return to Heaven even for brief periods of time. I can still feel my connection to Heaven, which means that I have not been completely cut off, if at all. However, it appears the System Force is blocking me from returning even for brief visits."
"System Force?" Dean thinks back to the angel's freak-out earlier when he'd been rambling in Enochian and the only two English words he'd managed to say were those very ones. "You said that before. What is it?"
"It is a program within Yggdrasil that ensures all contracted wishes work out. Apparently it feels I am best suited to stay by your side in order to accomplish this wish."
Quiet drapes over the room as the angel backs away from the mirror with a disappointed demeanor, staring at the object with his arms hanging by his side and shoulders leaning forward. This prompts Dean to consider another curiosity. If he's going to be stuck with this guy for a while, then maybe it'd be best to take Sam's typical route of asking as many questions as possible, especially whenever one immediately pops up in his mind.
"So how come you can travel through mirrors?" he asks.
The angel turns back to face Dean, tipping his head, tone dry. "Are you intentionally ignoring the fact that I am a celestial being from another realm when you ask the more stupid questions of yours? I am an angel; it is standard travel next to flying."
Dean pretends not to be insulted. "So why the human look then?"
"While we have some human features in our true forms, they burn out a regular human's eyes. Few are gifted enough to see our true form or parts of them. Thus, we stay in these forms mostly."
"Okay then," Dean continues, looking unimpressed, "let's see more proof. If I'm gonna deal with all of this weird-ass shit and believe it, give me a matinee of your so-called powers. The lightshows are gettin' old and since you can't show me your true form, I'll settle on something else."
The angel sighs. "I still do not completely understand why what you have seen is not enough, though my assumption is that you are suffering from a state of disbelief due to being overwhelmed. So if you wish for more proof, I have no qualms providing it." He then takes a few steps toward Dean before pausing in place once more. "Tell me, Dean, have you ever wondered what it is like on the moon, to be able to almost 'float' in midair due to the lack of gravity?"
"Uh." His brows furrow and Dean gives the angel a look. "Yeah? But I don't get why that matters—"
"Don't blink."
Naturally, the state of confusion Dean finds himself in after his request is being met with a strange, irrelevant question in regards to his personal curiosities, is colliding with a certain rebellious nature within him rearing its ugly head. Don't blink? He scoffs at the idea and rolls his eyes, settling them back on the other man who's making his way over to him. The very idea of the moon having anything to do with this guy proving himself is beyond Dean.
That is until he blinks and almost stumbles backward into his kitchen.
The angel hops up into the air and then sits, he actually freakin' sits in midair as if there's an invisible high stool propping him up and Dean's jaw drops like straight out of a cartoon. Well, okay, maybe not to that extent, but still. There is a man now floating in the air in the middle of his hallway and Dean begins to regret even bothering to ask for more proof if all it's going to do is give him what feel like mini heart attacks. Dean feels his entire body clench up in disbelief for what feels like the millionth time today and he uses the doorframe as support.
"Is this proof enough?" the angel asks, crossing his legs and resting his hands in his lap.
Dean laughs. He can't help it; he just starts laughing like he's going insane as something clicks inside of his mind. "Oh, man," he spits out, laughter between sentences. "So that explains everything. Why when Sam would pray he'd never get anything in return. Because the guy up there I never and still don't believe in isn't calling the shots. It's a bunch of asshats entering data into a computer." By the time he's finished with those words, his laughter has stopped and he's sighing in disbelief.
The angel tips his head in that birdlike manner that he does, brows furrowing and mouth shaping into a deeper frown. Dean can't tell if he's offended or sympathetic. "What do you expect when there are so many of you and so many trivial wishes?"
"Sam's weren't trivial!" Dean snaps. "He prayed like, every night, for the same damn thing. He just wanted our parents to get along and be happy. He just wanted all of us to be happy. But now it's a little late for that when our mom is six feet under and our dad is God-knows-where probably drinking himself into a coma."
This time the angel's expression is clear and he looks toward the floor, tone softening. "My apologies. I did not mean your brother's prayers were trivial. I simply meant so many prayers generally are; they are for unnecessary things."
Dean is about to say something rude, such as how he doesn't need his pity or an explanation, but his phone starts blaring his ringtone before he can say a word. He walks past the angel silently and over to the red throw rug, looking around until he finds his phone. Speak of the devil. 'Incoming Call – Sam,' it reads. One look at the screen and Dean is smiling softly, though he opts not to pick it up right now. He sets the phone down onto his side table and turns around, met with blue eyes catching his own and staring directly into them.
"Are you not going to pick that up? It could be important."
"Dude, you have seriously got to stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Appearing in front of me like six inches away. It's creepy and invades my space. We've been over this."
"My apologies. I will try to remember that."
Dean shifts and flops down onto his couch, leaning against the back with an exaggerated sigh. His hands rest on his thighs as he stares at one of his walls with a blank look. None of this makes sense to him and only serves as a painful reminder that his entire world has been tipped upside down, invaded by things he'd rather not deal with. Then there's Sam, who will wonder and wonder what is wrong, but Dean will never be able tell to him because that would be a one-way ticket to a psychiatric facility and limited phone calls.
Dean feels the couch bow from the weight of another and he doesn't need to look to know it's the angel who's now sitting next to him, except that he's probably not sitting as casually. When Dean does take a glance, he sees he's right; the man is leaning forward with his arms draped across his thighs, hands together and fingers crossed, his eyes unreadable as he stares at the rug. If Dean didn't know any better he'd think he was hanging out with an old friend or something.
"I must be going crazy."
The angel's eyes shift to the same wall Dean is again looking at. "I assure you, you are not. Though I understand how all of this can be overwhelming."
"Dude, I'm so screwed."
"What are you so afraid of?" Dean whips his head to look at the sapphire hues now directed at him. "I too am not fond of our situation, but the System Force is absolute and we have no choice but to go along with this until your wish is fulfilled." He doesn't take his eyes off of Dean, but there's something soft that appears there, vulnerable, maybe even distressed, and Dean can't even begin to fathom what's going through the angel's mind. "I will not hurt you; I simply want to go home. So since it would be in both our best interests, I would appreciate it if we cooperated with one another."
Dean sighs in defeat through his nose. "All right." He gently backhands the other man's arm in an attempt to be friendly. "So if I'm gonna do that, I at least need a name."
The angel's eyes glance at Dean's hand, perhaps confused about the gesture, then back to him. "I suppose it was rude of me not to introduce myself before." He straightens his back, not removing his eyes from Dean. "I am Castiel, angel of Thursday. And as according to Yggdrasil, I will be the one who will grip you tight and raise you from your perdition."
xxx
The strangled squeak of a damaged lift support for a trunk lid is the only noise audible over the dozens of people shouting to one another and eagerly packing up for the summer. Sam heaves a heavy box of books and multimedia up into the trunk with ease, sliding it next to another box filled with clothes. The constant chatter and image of people moving things from the building are welcome occurrences because it's so normal, something he'd longed for since before he'd come to college.
As he lifts his phone from his pocket to check for any messages, slender arms reach up and hook around his shoulders from behind. "Hey, babe, done packing?" A woman's voice, soft and sweet, quickly turns concerned as she peeks around the man's shoulder. "What's wrong? I know that face."
"Sorry for spacing, Jess. I'm just worried about Dean. I haven't heard from him since yesterday and he never responded to my voicemail. He usually sends me at least a text."
The younger Winchester's fiancée rolls her eyes and lets go, moving around him until she's sitting cross-legged on the trunk edge. "You two are too attached at the hip sometimes. Look, he works as a mechanic, right? He probably just got really busy and was too tired or distracted to respond to your call. Give him time and he'll get back to you today, I'm sure of it. Remember you said he can be kind of forgetful when he's distracted with things."
"Yeah, but I texted him at least ten times as well and nothing. What if something is really wrong? Dean's usually a chatterbox and he was so weird on the phone yesterday morning."
"Sam."
Green eyes meet twinkling blues as the only 5-inch shorter woman gives him a teasing grin. "Okay, okay, fine. You're right. I'm overreacting. But can you blame me? He doesn't do so well living on his own. Depression or something. And well, I get weird 'feelings' and have weird dreams, you know that." He emphasizes the last words and Jess rolls her eyes yet again.
"Sam, he's been on his own for two years now." However, just as quickly her annoyance fades as she notices the sincere look of concern on Sam's face, and perhaps due to her empathetic and sympathetic nature, she sighs in defeat. "Look, if you're so worried about him, why don't we go back to your hometown for the summer? It's the first time you've taken a summer off and you've worked so hard, so you should enjoy it before law school."
Sam probably doesn't notice the ecstatic glow to his face at her suggestion because he can't see himself, but Jess certainly does and she can't help the silly smile from replacing her previous facial expression. The man turns then sits next to her, practically beaming. "Are you serious? For real? You wouldn't mind?"
"You are too adorable for me to resist. Besides, I have a friend next town over, remember? I can stay with her, and you and I can still see each other whenever we want."
Sam almost tackles her to the ground as he lunges and pulls her into a hug so tight she squeaks, but there is a warm sincerity in her eyes as he pulls back and they both exchange glances. "God, you're a genius and so patient. What would I do without you?" Sam asks, a hand sliding over one of Jess' own.
"I don't know. Maybe you'd be lost and unable to get by?" She chuckles and pats him on a shoulder. "Now give Dean another call. Let him know we'll be up."
With a peck on the lips, Jess stands and heads back toward the dorms, telling him she's going to have a quick chat with an old friend. Sam shifts his arm to look at his phone again, sliding through until he's reached his contacts. He quietly looks at Dean's name for a moment before glancing up and around at the life he's established for himself since leaving home. He remembers how only a year after he left Dean said their father suddenly vanished, leaving only a note—"I'm sorry; I'll be traveling for a while." He still feels a small pinch of guilt at how he'd left home, because he knows he could've certainly left without fighting with his dad one last time for both Dean's and their father's sake, but he knows in the end it was for the best either way.
He takes one last look up towards the window of his old dorm and taps the call button near Dean's name. After some moments, it goes to voicemail like before. "Hey, Dean. It's Sam. Not sure if you got my other messages yesterday, but I thought I'd leave you another regardless. I hope you didn't fall asleep drunk in the bathtub again; you know you worry me when you do that since I'm so far away I can't help you. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I decided to take a semester off this time and surprise! I'm coming home for the summer this time. I hope you haven't turned your apartment into a dump again. Take care and talk to you later hopefully. Bye."
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Ah! My Angel