This is Our Design

Blood and Feather will Beat the Weather

This is a Supernatural fiction in an alternate universe, where Dean was born and raised as an angle.

Warning: Graphic detail

***

"If you look up, what do you see? Beyond the layer of white and blue, that is. Many will answer that they see nothing, and that it is impossible to draw any other conclusions because our sight is, in fact, limited. But others, they will answer with longing and hope, "Another world is above us.""

-My atheist experience

***

Dean is tired. Fairly so.

His wings are sore, his vessel isn't exactly in the best shape, and people are really starting to make him mad. Like, 'If I were allowed to cuss your head off I wouldn't hesitate' mad. He's been feeling this way lately with no other way to explain it or express what's going on in his head because...well just because. Dean can't afford to 'bitch and moan' as the humans say. There's work to do, always, and it's rare that Dean even gets more than a day's worth of rest. Whether it be ushering souls from the Gates or looking down from where he stands, as long as Dean remains here, Heaven will continue to run smoothly.

Not that they don't need God, of course they need Him! But Dean's just saying--

Um.

What was he saying?

"You need some sleep Dean." he sighs. The children before him screech and whine and banter, some falling off of swing sets and others riding down the slide in doubles. He wonders if this is normal human behavior and how they manage not to mark up their bodies despite plundering to their death on the monkey bars every second. The parents don't seem worried though, Dean notes. The majority of the crowd are women (blonde, brunette, tan, pale) and are in relaxed positions sitting at park bungalows.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" A short lady with stocky muscles and long black hair gasps in apology. She picks up her stroller (it must have been at least ten pounds) from Dean's crushed foot to relieve the pressure, and sets it aside the bench he sits on. Dean can see a baby flailing about at the activity, whining in protest.

He smiles charmingly and sits up straighter, letting his palms slide up his jean clad thighs. "It's fine. Accidents happen."

"But--Are you sure? This thing is pretty heavy."

"Look--" Dean holds up his foot and wiggles it around some, "Still works." The lady just smiles, still looking embarrassed. To Dean's satisfaction, she nods and continues on as if nothing happened.

From then on Dean just sits and watches the kids play. He sits there for hours, posture erect, offering a smile to anyone who passes by, and hopes that he doesn't look like a...a...what do they say? Oh, pervert! Yeah, Dean hopes that he won't have to evacuate the area just for being polite. Still, humans are unpredictable. Anything could happen.

Around evening though, just as the sun sets, Dean grows impatient. There hasn't been any work for him to do all day. Nobody has called for him, there are no prayers he can answer, not even a cat stuck in a tree. So pretty much, he's wasted an entire day doing nothing.

Wonderful. How's that gonna look to the big guy?

"Not pretty." Dean answers. Sitting has made his bones stiff and now the need to stretch them out is tempting. So he calls it a day and rises from the bench, hearing joints pop (everywhere) as he stands to full height. Even though the park is void of humans, he gives on last hopeful glance before clenching his jaw in frustration, and flying out of there.