𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀 ↝ 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘭

4.3 | t h i r t e e n .

          MAKAYLA STOOD with her back to the showerhead as the muck and grime on her body was rinsed away.  The lukewarm water cascaded across her shoulders, and she watched as the dried blood and dirt ran down her body towards the drain, gradually diluting until it was completely clear.

She had fallen asleep face first into the mattress last night, as the hunt had completely drained her to the point where she didn't even have enough energy to clean the vampire blood off of her skin.  Sammy was MIA when she woke up the next morning, so she decided to let Dean sleep in until she was finished in the shower— that poor kid was exhausted, even if he'd never admit it, and he deserved all the rest he could spare.

She practically emptied a cheap bottle of vanilla scented shampoo into the palm of her hand and began washing away the filth of the hunt.  Her hair was down to her collarbones when wet now, and she silently cursed herself for allowing it to grow so long; over time, she had learned that long hair was nothing but a liability to a hunter, so anything longer than her shoulders was dangerous.  She told herself that she'd find a time to cut it before the week was over.

After conditioning her hair and washing her face, she began to scrub at the lingering sweat on her body.  She hissed as soapy water dripped down into a large slice across her left shoulder blade, which she had acquired in a physical altercation with several angered vampires.

She'd make Dean bandage that up later.  Otherwise, her body seemed to be in working order.

Makayla counted that as an absolute win.

She froze when she heard commotion outside of the bathroom door.  Dean had his voice raised, talking to someone unknown, and although she could not quite discern his words, her senses instinctively heightened in alarm.

Turning off the shower, Makayla hastily wrapped a small, white, threadbare towel around her body, her wet hair sticking to her face and allowing water to puddle around her bare feet.

The girl grabbed a loaded pistol out of her cosmetic bag on the counter, taking a deep breath to psych herself up; then, without a second thought, Makayla shoved the door open with her non–injured  shoulder and aimed her gun blindly into the room.

A pair of familiar blue eyes met her green gaze, the face that they belonged to set into an expression of both innocence and indifference.

Dean was nowhere to be found.

"Damnit, Cas,"
she lowered the gun.
"what— I don't— where did he go?"

"Hello, Makayla."

"Don't 'hello, Makayla,' me, Angel.  Where the hell is Dean?"
Makayla's hostility made Castiel falter.  It seemed, from both the tone of her voice and the angry red color of her aura, that she had yet to forgive him for his absence during the rising of the witnesses.

"Your brother is fine, Makayla.  There was a task he needed to complete, but I assure you, he's handling it."

"What kind of task?"
She questioned with the quirk of her brow, her green eyes boring into his gaze with challenge.

"A task he needs to complete alone."

"That's not cryptic or disconcerting at all."
She deadpanned, and the angel's brows furrowed.  He tilted his head slightly in confusion, his lips parting as though to speak, but the words took a while to form.

"Yes, um, well... I'm glad my explanation was sufficient."

"Wha—?  That was sarcasm, Cas."
Her face softened ever so slightly, and some of the tension that had electrified the space between them seemed to dampen.

"Right.  Of course.  Regardless, I assure you that Dean is perfectly safe and will return to you as soon as he is finished."

"And when will that be?"

He looked up, considering.
"Before the end of the day."

Her nose twitched.
"And I assume that's all you're allowed to tell me, isn't it?"

Castiel flinched, just barely, at her venomous tone.
"Unfortunately."

"Why am I not surprised?"
She rolled her eyes in response, tossing her gun gently on Sam's perfectly made bed.

"I understand your frustration, and I apologize for forcing you into an undesirable situation."

Makayla huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.  It was at that exact moment that she became aware of her current attire— or, more accurately, the lack thereof.

"However, the outcome of these particular circumstances seems to be favorable, as you and I seem to finally have some time alone."

Her eyes widened at his words, her cheeks burning hot.  She pulled the towel around her body tighter, trying her best to shrink into herself, but to no avail.

Castiel studied her with interest.
"Are you alright?  Your heart rate has increased in the past several seconds, as has your body temperature."

Makayla froze, and as Castiel's stare met her own, her emotions flooded through him.  She watched in both embarrassment and shame as his blue eyes suddenly seemed unable to resist trailing down the length of her body, stopping briefly to pause on her chest.

She swallowed, watching as color filled his cheeks and his pupils dilated ever so slightly.  She could feel his emotions now, too— and her little angel's innocent mind hadn't even processed her lack of clothing, nor the implications of such a display of indecency until he had realized why she was blushing so profusely.  And, of course, why her entire body seemed to be on fire.

Makayla somehow managed a flirtatious smile, all while attempting to cover up more of her body.
"You're glad we're alone?"

Castiel was lost.  He knew the sexual connotations of a woman's body, and there was no denying that Makayla was the most beautiful human he had ever seen.  But, still, he was an angel— he didn't understand the human interest in the pleasures of the flesh, nor did he know what is was like to feel desire towards another being.

But now he was experiencing exactly what Makayla was feeling— and he was damn well confused at the sudden surge of electricity that flooded his body with adrenaline.

"Yes, um, our current solitude gives us time to discuss your role in the upcoming events."

Makayla's heart sank at his words.

Why did he have to be so damn practical and clueless and inconveniently endearing?

She cleared her throat, averting her gaze and shaking her head slightly in order to rid herself of whatever trance Castiel had captured her in.

"Right.  Right. Just, um— let me get dressed, and then we can talk."

Castiel finally realized how unabashedly inappropriate and inconsiderate his behavior was, and quickly averted his eyes from her, turning his back respectfully.
"Of course.  I'll just... wait right here, then."

Makayla shut the bathroom door behind her, slumping against it in defeat.

One of her brothers was missing.  The other was on some mission from God.  And here she was, flirting, half–naked, with a fucking Angel of the Lord who had absolutely no concept of human moral standards or social cues, who she happened to have formed a bond with because of his infatuation with her status as a Solpetha.

Jesus Christ, what the actual fuck had her life come to?