Saving Grace [Dean Winchester] (UPCOMING)

Like The Mermaid?

Date: Oct. 4

Her grace leads her to a moderate house in the suburbs with trimmed greenery, swept sidewalks and small yards.

When she steps up to the door, she is more than certain that he is here for her soul heats and bubbles like molten metal.

How does she enter without causing a fuss? How does she get him to the door? Her memories are clear as a bell from before her incarceration, but it appears social customs have changed quite a bit.

She decides to try the brass knocker after contemplating the use of the small, opaque button by the side of the door, deciding that the knocker is safer.

A small boy tentatively opens the door, eyeing her with large brown eyes that hold an innocence sharpened by the slightest suspicion that makes her essence sing and ache at the same time.

Sing because the innocence is what all angels love, how God originally created, but ache because she knows soon that doe-eyed innocence will be ripped away sooner or later, one way or the other.

"I'm looking for Dean Winchester."

His eyes wander down her form curiously, taking in the scarlet dress and the black smudges on her cheek, before coming to a stop on her bare feet. "You're looking for my dad?" he asks.

Her head cants to the side slightly. This is not Dean Winchester's son. He holds none of the characteristics of Dean's soul, and she would know Dean's soul anywhere. She decides not to press the issue. "If your father is Dean Winchester, then yes."

"Um..."

"Ben! Who's at the door?"

Her Grace leaps and unfurls, licking toward the familiar soul that appears in the doorway and immediately sweeps the boy behind him with a thick forearm. "Go upstairs."

Dean Winchester eyes her with harsh emerald chips of eyes, glinting dangerously at an unfamiliar presence, though his eyes hold a fair amount of skepticism at her bare feet and disheveled appearance. Broad shoulders block most of the doorway, but behind him she can see boxes stacked in neat piles.

"Who are you?" His right hand strays behind him slowly, easily, and if she hadn't had millennia of experience, she would have had no idea he was reaching for a weapon. She wasn't worried. He couldn't do any damage.

"I'm your guardian angel." Better to be blunt than dance around the subject.

His eyes widen and he pauses a moment, mouth dropping open slightly, attempting wrap his head around this before he steps out, shutting the door behind him. She doesn't move out of his space until he jams a hand into her chest, forcing her back a step with his audacity.

"Bullshit," He finally snarls. A flask is produced and water splashes her face with no effect, but the salty tang of it trickles through her lips. "Holy water will have no effect on me, Dean Winchester. Neither will the gun you have hidden behind your back."

He growls at her, producing the gun and holding it firmly in his hands, but keeping it lowered. His eyes are pools of fire as he grits his teeth and glances behind him before looking up at the sky and finally back to her. "If you're my guardian angel, then where the hell where you when I could have used an angel on my shoulder? Huh? When Sammy," he trails of when his voice cracks. "Where the hell have you been, assuming I even believe your crap tale?"