#destial

Dad was gone on a hunting trip and hadn't been back in a few days, and the last location Dean could find a lead on is Arkansas, a bar somewhere in the south of Arkansas, which is where he found you.

You were an angel who had fallen a month ago, if that. You had your grace, so you couldn't get drunk exactly; but you could people watch to try to figure out how to fit in. You tried playing pool, but you found that humans get slightly aggressive when they suck at things.

As soon as Dean walked in, it was hard to miss it. It was like a mental radar went off in your mind that God's favorite human had officially found it's way towards you, his radar clicked that you weren't human.

You immediately found yourself attached, as soon as he sat down to ask you if you had seen his father, you decided you had to help him. You had to get him to like you. So that's exactly what you did, two weeks of dragging him around places in Arkansas where his father's essence had been. You officially made yourself a team.

Endless hours of bothering him while travelling in the impala. "What about this song?" You clicked the skip button on Blondie. "Get your hands away from that–" He swatted you away. "Touchy." You mumbled, shifting back further in your seat. "Not touchy, you're the passenger. Passenger stays out of driver's music." He retorted.

Finding old pictures in wallets or boxes that Dean would keep around. "Who's that?" You pointed to a short brunette boy in a photo. "Uh, my little brother. Sammy." Dean responded, glancing at the photo before going back to cleaning off one of his guns after clearing a vampire hive. "Sammy." You tested the name. "One of those 'nickname' things you were telling me about?" You guessed. "Yeah, nickname."

Nighttime rituals with Dean becoming a two person job. Toothbrushing? You were standing right there, talking about why humans were odd. Showering? You were there. "Will you lay down?" Dean ordered gruffly, you had been pacing and talking for twenty minutes, he even lifted the blanket up for you. "Angels don't sleep, Dean." You answered. "Yeah, they talk." He muttered under his breath. "Yes, we do!" You smiled, obliviously.

Not understanding how Dean gets drunk, but taking care of him and listening when he does, always drunkenly rambling stories at you. "And then there was this one fourth of July, sweetheart." He rambled. "Fourth of July?" You tilted your head. "Human celebration, you know, fireworks." He proceeded to try to copy the noises of fireworks in small 'pow's, 'plew's, and 'boom's. You didn't understand, but you nodded along.