Lift Your Head Weary Sinner

89

I pray to the angel of solitude and tears to save my brothers from eminent death via a pack of rather drunk (yet still deadly) demons. (Part 1)

        I wrinkle my nose at the scars. They were always there, reminding me of who I was and who I am. To many hunters, they were badges of honor, signs that you had fought hard battles and won. But during certain occasions, I found them embarrassing. I usually hid them, wearing jeans, jackets, things that covered my skin. I had two on my face, two I couldn't cover. They were from a werewolf. Nothing huge, just two small claw marks through my left eyebrow. I was lucky to still have my eye. They were tiny compared to others, but I disliked them all the same. I knew it was silly, but the high school taunts still rang fresh in my ears. It was always the first thing they noticed.

"Oh sweetie, what happened?"

"What a shame to ruin a face like that."

"Who Frankenstein-ed you?"

But what really hurt was when I met Castiel. I knew I should really have grown a tougher shell, but it's hard when even an angel of the Lord can't look past your scars. Occasionally, he'd work with us (my brothers and I) on a hunt. He always kept his distance, as if creeped out by the cuts. I was used to it, scars usually tended to intimidate people. But for all my work, I couldn't shake what was beginning to grow within me. Castiel was handsome, he looked like he had walked through a windstorm: rumpled clothes, tousled hair, and those eyes bluer than the sky. He was incredibly intelligent and bold. His social skills were a bit lack-luster, but then again, so were mine. He was powerful beyond imagination, yet he had moments of gentleness and adorable awkwardness. Whenever he showed up unexpectedly, or helped me or my brothers out, the feeling would crop up again. I'd shove them down, ignoring that small tug in the back of my mind.

Right now my brothers and I are working a case up North. Well, Sam and Dean are. Omens of demonic activity were practically red-hot, and so here we are. But I have been confined to the hotel room, told to stay put. Though they'd never admit it, the whole prophecy thing freaks them out. We had gotten here, and everything seemed normal. It was only when my brothers visited a local bar that things had gone south.

---

Dean and Sam were in way over their heads. They were deep in a fight with the demon possessed patrons of the local bar, when Dean somehow managed to get a bit of time to dial my cell number. Apparently, almost the whole town was demon-ized and Dean had barely gotten that out before the call died.

I paced around the room, trying to collect my frantic thoughts. My brothers were in trouble. I didn't dare leave the motel for fear that I'd be ambushed. I was alone and without backup. It took three whole minutes before I was calm enough to pray without sounding like an idiot.

"Castiel, it's Y/N. Sam and Dean are in trouble. I, ah, I really really need your help right now. So, um, if you could just pop down here and help us.... Oh who am I kidding? Please Cas, I can't lose them again."

***Third Person POV***

Castiel heard Y/N's fervent prayer in Heaven. He was in the midst of a conversation with one of his many siblings. The angel was very talkative, rambling on about this thing and that. He had long since stopped listening. But at the first tentative brush of Y/N's thoughts against his consciousness, he snapped to attention. Her voice was just as soft as when she spoke verbally. He could almost see her; eyes closed and lips pursed in concentration.

Castiel excused himself rather abruptly, and flew earth-ward. When he appeared at the location where he had pinpointed her, he was surprised by her position. Sam, when he prayed, often did so in a chair, eyes shut tight and hands clasped in front of him. Dean would pray in a way that was almost irreverent, casually, as if he was talking on a cellular device. But the youngest Winchester.... Y/N was knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed. Her elbows were propped up on the edge of the mattress, and her fingers were intertwined to tightly her knuckles were white. Her bright eyes were shut, and her lips moved silently, her head tilted up towards the Heavens.

At the sight of her on her knees, her face raised in supplication, Castiel was struck with what he could only discern as a lustful and sinful thought. Often whenever he was in her presence, his thoughts were such. She was beautiful, her body honed to a hunter's lethal form. She was lithe and strong. Yet, she was seemingly soft in places. Cas could not discern much, as she wore as much clothes as her two elder brothers did. He'd never seen her in less. But something dark and hidden, pushed away and covered up told him he wanted to. There seemed to be a....baser instinct at play when he thought of her in that way. An instinct that made his vessel burn with heat and ache and longing. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it was incredibly distracting. Besides that, she was very smart. Castiel had glimpsed into her mind on a few occasions and found it to be an interesting space. Her thoughts moved quickly and orderly. She processed information swiftly, something that was very valuable during hunts. She aided brothers in situations where where without her they surely would have failed. Castiel admired Y/N. He cared for her, and not in the way he cared for her brothers. Strong emotions swelled inside his chest when he thought about her. Warmth, compassion, caring, the great need to protect, empathy. He was at a lost for what to call this...this jumble of feelings. He had never felt anything like it in all his time on earth or in Heaven, in a vessel or his celestial self. It was unsettling.

Castiel studied her still form for a moment longer before approaching her. He laid his hand gently on her shoulder, taking the feel of the smooth curve beneath his palm and the warmth of her skin through her clothing. She opened her eyes, startled, hand rising, blade at the ready. Her eyes widened as she easily slipped from beneath his touch, crouching in a defensive stance. The grace and ease with which she moved clouded Castiel's mind with other thoughts, but he shook them off. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"You prayed to me."

She nodded, her eyes flickering upwards to meet his. Castiel could feel his body reacting to her gaze, warmth flooding his vessel's veins.

"Dean called me in the middle of a fight. We traced a bunch of omens here, and the town is plagued with demons. He and Sam are," she took a shaky breath, "were at a local bar. His line went dead right after he told me he was in trouble. I tried to call him back, but he won't answer. I'm afraid he and Sam are... are dead, Cas."