SHIELD OF GOD.

     ‘   You  never  call,  Castiel-,   ’

     ‘   …but  then,  uh-  I’m  the  King  of  not  calling,  so…  comme  ci,  comme  ça,  as  they  say.   ’

     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙴𝙻’𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝚄𝚃． a smile ghosts its edges,  faintly perceptible as in castiel’s nature,  but drawn and tender as in balthazar’s.    ‘  i don’t have your number.  ’   declares the seraph,  if only a little flatly,  but undoubtedly the other has a masterful skill at reading between the lines.  one may have to learn it to live among humans,  and their predilection for allegory.    

   𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙰𝙽 𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳 𝙶𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝚁 𝙽𝙴𝚇𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳． for a while,  castiel watches it like he’s barely sure of what to do with it,  fascinated but half-wary.  the diner is dimly lit and almost empty.  thankfully,  none of the personnel had neared their table in a surge of professionalism to ask them if the drinks were alright,  if they needed anything else.  actually,  they were left pleasantly alone almost since they sat down in front of each other;  something castiel,  looking into the blur of light and moving reflections mirrored in the glass window,  could be grateful for.   it’s almost disarming,  how much has changed since his last visit to earth,  over a century ago.  he shoots a rapid glance to her  - ananiel,  anna -  over the golden rim of the glass.  she looks comfortable,  though the withdrawal tensing the harmonious line of her shoulders might have a different say.  castiel lets his eyes linger,  searching for his old captain in the frame of the red-haired woman.  she’s there.  it’s hard to see it at first,  because her eyes are so different and her voice such a singsong tune,  but she’s still ananiel.  only that she’s far more at ease than him sitting in a cheap diner in front of a watered down drink.

    and she’s actually began to sip her beer,  unlike him.

   ‘  but you were none of those things in truth.  not really.  ’