❝ HEAVEN ON EARTH IS NO LONGER A CLICHÉ. ❞
↳ in which the angel in a trenchcoat falls in love with the girl that can hear the angels-who just so happens to be dean winchester's twin sister.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀
( season 4+ )
( makayla winchester x castiel )
#1 i...
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"THIS IS SO stupid, I mean, really, what are thinking?!"
Makayla twirled her silver-plated blade in her fingers as a nervous habit as she mumbled under her breath; her green eyes were wide and alert as she sat atop the unstable table in the abandoned warehouse that Dean had decided was a perfect place to summon their monster adversary.
Bobby turned from his place near the giant steel doors, a can of white spray paint in his grasp.
"Y'know, a little help would be nice, kid."
Makayla's eyes flicked to the sound of his voice as Dean continued to empty the duffel bag of weapons and lay them out across the table.
The girl caught the knife in her palm mid-twirl and clenched it tightly in her fist.
"Right. Sorry."
Dean stared at her in his peripheral vision, his side-eye analyzing her behavior- her sweeping gaze, the nervous movement of her fingers, the tension in her shoulders, the just-slight crease between her brows- she was hopelessly on-edge.
She stood from her position, swiping a can of red spray paint from the bag at Dean's feet before she went to stand in the center of the room.
Makayla lost track of time as she perfected the enormous devil's trap she painted on the cement flooring, making sure every last detail was just right.
Where the hell is Sammy?
she questioned.
And why do I have the feeling that he's lying to us? Dean seems to believe him, so why am I still questioning it? Why do i have more faith in that fucking voice than in my own brothers?
"Makayla!"
A pair of hands seized her arms from behind her and she let out a strangled gasp, her immediate response being to snap her neck behind herself so the back of her skull collided with her attacker's nose.
Dean, who knew his sister all too well, predicted this maneuver, and was able to dodge her attack by mere fractions of a second.
He snatched the can of paint from her grip, pulling her away from her creation on the floor. It was only until she looked down that she noticed she had been painting the same spot for quite some time; the red paint had puddled and began to trickle its way across the concrete, staining the bottoms of her boots red.
It looked like the scene of a gruesome murder, her steps creating bloody footprints on the ground.
She felt sick.
"Sorry, Dean."
She whispered as he gripped her bicep, leading her back in the direction of the table where Bobby was preparing the materials for the conjuring.
