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(The Angel from Above and) The Gardening Girl >> Human!Castiel X Reader

Title: (The Angel from Above and) The Gardening Girl

Paring: Human!Castiel X Reader

Warnings: just fluffy stuff

Spoilers: yes! for my readers who haven't yet reached season 8-9ish there is a few mentions, but not major stuff. I kept it low key 😌

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In mythology, people had first been made of clay, until an ancestor of the gods gave them fire, and they turned to flesh and bone, and breathed air. All of your life, you had been enraptured by these stories, delving into the things which made more sense than the corporate-fuelled world that spun around you. Maybe it was because you had been born in the garden bed out the front of your house, beside an abandoned church, or that every moment since your hands had been full of dirt and surrounded by nature, but you felt at home around things which only you could see, with thoughts you could only think.

It wasn't until you were twenty, and living alone in the house you were born in when your home had its first unexpected visitor. Not many people came to see you in your old brick home, not since your parents had decided to move to Italy to study in foreign culinary schools. Your visitor seemingly came from nowhere, and at the time, you were seemingly invisible. Glancing up from your pergola's petunia bed, you gasped.

He had dark, unkempt hair, the same shade as the bags he carried below his crystalline blue eyes. The clothes he wore hung off his body, a size too large, tattered and dirty, borderline disgusting. But he was not. Despite the fact he appeared to be quite homeless, morose, you had to do what you did best.

"You look like hell," you call out to the man. His gaze caught you, an air of shock around his agape jaw. It would seem he didn't anticipate to be in the flowery garden, let alone call out on his physical appearance "...I don't suppose you'd be offended if I invited you in for iced tea?"

He shook his head. "I -," his voice was deep, scratchy from his parched state. Gorgeous. "I would never be offended by an offer from such a pretty woman."

You felt your cheeks flush the shade of your flowers you had been tending to, and without hesitating, you stand, brush the dirt from your hands and cross to the gate where the dark-haired man stands. "My, you're too kind." You chuckle, holding your hand out for him to shake. "I'm _______, and I've been told I make a mean peach iced tea."

The man smiles sheepishly, placing his hand in yours. "My name is Castiel."

Your smile widens, and you open the gate to your home for the stranger named after an angel. "What a wonderful name - come on in, Castiel. You look like you need a rest and someone to talk to."

By the time he's had a glass of your iced-tea - "It is not mean at all, it's quite flavoursome" - and agreed to take a bath and while you wash his clothes, wear what slacks and shirts your father hadn't taken with him to the land of the pope - "You are very kind, _______"- and before you know it, you walk into the living room to chat some more with the interesting travelling man Castiel to find him passed out over the sofa.

You stand there, staring for a second. His eyes move behind the lids, caught in a dream too vivid to miss out on, his hands twitching ever so slightly every few moments. If you didn't know better, you would have thought Castiel was just a mere poor travelling man without a roof over his head. But your knowledge rooted in the mysterious, the things you had researched and read as a child, they all told you the same thing in your mind.

This man was not supposed to be a man.

Slowly, you kick off your shoes, and reach over the top of the sofa for the blanket you had made to cover your guest. It was the least you could do, the man had reeked of street filth from the city and things no human should have to smell like. He had seen hell, you could tell, even if you couldn't quite read his eyes.