1. An Angel to Drive Over Me

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anybody.”

“He’s an angel…what part of this are you failing to understand?” Castiel said and dropped the shells on the bed, letting them bounce as he unloaded his shotgun.

Anna rolled her eyes. She was sprawled out on the other bed, avoiding the ritual of cleaning their weapons as usual. The hunt was a bust, so it was not as if they had actually shot any rounds or bloodied a single knife. Castiel took comfort in the familiar, though, and did not understand why Anna always put off doing the necessary work. Although he supposed procrastination and junk food was her own brand of familiar as he sighed and laid out the cleaning kit.

“He doesn’t act like an angel," Castiel tried to explain.

“Because, of course, we’ve met so many to compare him too.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“Leave me alone.” It sounded childish; it felt childish, and some things never changed.

Eventually Anna got up and cleaned her 9mm and honed her knife, then stomped into the bathroom, purposefully kicking Castiel’s duffle bag on the floor as she walked by like she always did. The shower turned on and Castiel could tell just from the noise that she was going to take her time, and he resigned himself to a cold shower after she used up all the hot water, or her bitching about his b.o. while he waited for the cheap hotel water heater to get back up to speed. Either way, he had time to decide, and went to pull one of his mythology books out of his duffle and settled down to get a few chapters in before Anna emerged to make his life difficult in a 1000 unnamable ways.

Castiel enjoyed the rare solitude until he heard the now-familiar flutter of wind across the room. He refused to look up from his book.

“I get the feeling you don’t trust me.”

Castiel groan silently, giving up and putting the book down. He shifted on the bed to face the newly-arrived angel. “I get the feeling you don’t respect me.”

“I’m an angel. Of the Lord. I showed you my wings, right?”

“Yes, with an ACDC soundtrack.” Castiel snorted and gave up on his book, putting on the nightstand.

“You have no appreciation for what you’ve been given, Cas.”

“It’s Castiel, it’s my name.”

“Right. After the angel of Thursday. You know, he doesn’t look anything like you.”

“He…I…why are you here?”

“I thought I’d peek in on Anna in the shower.” The angel shifted towards the bathroom door. Castiel stood up and pushed into the angel’s chest, although the angel didn’t move a muscle, except to smirk at him. “Hey! Hey there, buddy…personal space.”

“You stay away from her.”

“Like you do?”

Castiel’s fist impacted with solid granite, or at least it felt that way. He bit his lip in pain, cradling his damaged hand.

“Nice try, but this face? Too pretty to wreck.” The angel continued smirking and leaned against the small table that was about the only furniture in the room, aside from the beds.

“You choose that meatsuit because he’s good looking?” Castiel snarled as he felt the endorphins from the injury flood through him.

“Oh yeahhhh.”

Castiel turned his back on him and tried to shake out his hand without crying in pain. “You are a very fucked up angel.”

“Dean.”

Castiel ignored him.

“That’s his name. Dean. But I’ll answer to it.”

Castiel sat down on the bed and packed up his weapons bag one handed, ignoring the sharp spikes of pain that told him he had seriously hurt himself. It was all he could do to stay on task.

“Let me see your hand.”

The angel was next to him, standing over him, his expression dark and cold, his green eyes glittering in the low light from the table lamp next to them. Castiel tried to stare him down, but the angel did not need to blink. He moved slowly, telegraphing his moves as he picked up Castiel’s injured hand, but it didn’t matter – Castiel could not have broken out of his grasp with a wench and a crowbar.

Castiel closed his eyes to the pain as the angel unfolded his hand, and he figured he had cracked at least one finger in trying to break the angel’s jaw. He felt light feathery touches as the angel smoothed out his fingers, and the pain dipped away from his consciousness. He shivered from the warmth of the touch, and light seared into his eyes despite the fact they were still closed.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m not here to hurt you.” The angel’s words floated around him, real but not, as if they were pressed into his brain instead of spoken.

“Don’t…don’t mess with me.” Castiel forced his eyes open, looking straight up at the angel who was gently, lovingly massaging his hand and staring right back. There was so much there, pain and righteousness and love and grief, that Castiel had to look away.

The door opened to the bathroom and Anna stepped out, readied for bed in her sweats, her hair hanging wet and straight. “So you two made up?”

Dean smiled at her but continued rubbing Castiel’s hand. “Just waiting for you.”

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