“What do you mean you feel ‘responsible,’ Castiel?” Your eyes were wide as you spoke, 50% because you were still surprised the angel was even speaking to you, and 50% because you were amazed at how stupid he was being. “She’s not your daughter.”
Castiel’s eyes narrowed, never breaking their connection with yours. “I am the reason that she has no one and I intend to fix it.”
“Well she was born from someone’s loins, Castiel.” Clearly confusing the angel with your intention, you rolled your eyes and brought a hand to your forehead, explaining “She’s got a mom. Where’s she at?”
“Ran off. Went to ‘find herself,’” Castiel used harsh, hard air quotes while he said the final two words, dropping his hands to his sides with a dull tap immediately after. “And her grandmother, Sandra, is in heaven, clearly unfit for the taking up of a teenage girl.”
“She’s in a group home.” You said, and Castiel stared at you, expecting you to continue, so you simply shrugged and repeated yourself out of lack of knowing what to say. “So she’s in a group home. Why do you need to interfere?”
“She cannot stay in a group home. It is a child prison.”
“And you’ve tried getting custody?”
“Clearly.”
You rolled your eyes as you turned from Castiel, the fact that he was actually asking for your help still unbelievable to you. Naturally when you turned you became freshly aware of the strange location Castiel had chosen for this meeting—a cornfield in the middle of Montana, by the looks of it—and while you partially understood why he would want privacy in order to hold the conversation, you were still confused as to where it was headed. There was a sort of unspoken agreement between you and Castiel (you and all of the angels, for that matter) that your relationship would never become anything more than a forced acquaintance with multiple spatters of proof that you were never made to get along in the first place; him trusting you in such a desolate location was a clear breach of that agreement.
“Why are you telling me this, Castiel?” You turned to face the angel once again, your hands making their way into the pockets of your jeans. “What exactly are you playing? Are you trying to kill me?” Your eyebrows raised at the question, making it clear that you, too, thought the idea to be absurd. “I know you’re impulsive and incredibly daft, but that’s beyond you.”
“I’ve already told you.”
“No,” you shook your head, removing a hand from your pocket to point a finger at the angel. “No, you’ve told me the sob story of your meat suit. A story that I had no interest in hearing.”
Castiel was silent a moment, his eyes slightly narrowing but never removing their focus from yours. Finally he took a deep breath in, holding it a second before finally saying “I’ve called you here to ask for your help.”
Immediate disbelief crossed your features. “Mocking me is a real quick way to get yourself killed, Castiel.” You took a step closer to the angel, slowly closing the gap between the two of you. “I’m not having a very good day, so don’t push me.”
“I’m not joking with you.”
As was natural in such a situation, your jaw clenched shut and your eyes narrowed slightly, the clear disbelief and mistrust purposefully evident in your face. Your hand found its way back into your pocket as you continued staring at the angel, searching for any sign, any tell in his expression or body language that might show he was lying, that this was a prank. It didn’t make sense, after all; he was an angel, had gone thousands of years without asking for your help with a single thing.
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Hell's Greatest Weapon
FanfictionAfter centuries of incessant war, Reader finally managed to settle down into a normal human life; she attended medical school, bought a house, made friends that didn't make a habit of killing everything that moved. She was out of the life, out of H...
