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Thursday, August 9, 2012

Hell Has No Fury Like an Angel Scorned

Sam Winchester sat in the booth across from his brother, wondering when the angel who sat next the older Winchester had lost his heart to him.    Yes, Cas was his guardian, but it had become more.  Sam watched the faces of the two men and came to the conclusion that Dean had no idea what was happening. His brother was flirting with a blond waitress, setting up a date.

The angel looked miserable as Dean smiled at the woman and went to 
 pay for their breakfast.  Sam decided to help his brother’s feathery guardian.

“You know, Castiel, you won’t win him by moping and looking unhappy.  If you want him, fight for him.”


“Show your feelings.”

The angel was quiet for a moment and nodded.

That afternoon, as Dean got ready for his hot date, the angel arrived with a bouquet of roses and a card with a  letter in it.  Dean grinned and thanked his friend, saying that Debbie would love the flowers.  The card was left on Dean’s bed, unopened.

“Dean, I would like you to sit down, read the card, and talk to me.”

“Can’t, Cas.  This one requires a nice dinner before I can have the dessert.”

The hunter grabbed the flowers and was out the door, leaving an angry angel behind him.

Sam, passing his brother, saw the flowers.  He walked inside and saw the unopen card on the bed and an angry angel standing by the bed.

“Fight for him, Cas,” Sam asserted.  The angel nodded again and disappeared.

Debbie liked the flowers, but a bee flew out of one of the buds and stung her on her neck.  Hazel eyes widened and the hunter tossed the flowers into the back seat, not knowing he had invisible company.  He got the First Aid Kit out of the trunk and tended Debbie’s neck.  He leaned in and kissed her, apologizing.  Cas found himself grinding his teeth.

The restaurant was a nice one.  Dean seated his date and they ordered their meal.  As he reached across to caress her hand, he knocked her water glass into her lap.  She jumped, screaming, as the cold water soaked through her sheer dress.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know what happened.”

The waiter brought towels and cleaned up ther water and helped sop the water out of the woman’s dress.  Dean was standing behind her trying to calm her down when his watch caught on the lace strap of her dress.  The dress ripped, baring the top half of her body.

“Shit!” Dean cried, taking off his jacket to cover her.  The waiter covered his mouth by this time, shoulders shaking.  Debbie stood up, slapped Dean hard across the mouth, and asked for a taxi.

Dean tried to follow her out, but he tripped, grabbing the table and pulled off the table cloth.  Everything on the table crashed to the floor. The waiter handed him his jacket and told him Debbie had left the restaurant.

Not understanding what had happened, Dean drove back to the motel.

Cas appeared inside and Sam looked up with a question.

In his usual monotone, Cas mentioned, “His date did not go well.  He is home.”

Sam snickered, got up, grabbed his jacket, and walked outside.  His brother was sitting on the car.  Sam managed to keep a straight face as he was given the gist of the date or lack on one. 

“I’m taking the Impala and going out for a beer, Dean.  Cas is inside.  By the way, those roses were for you not the blond.”


Sam didn’t respond.  He drove to the nearest bar.

Dean walked inside and found the angel sitting on Sam’s bed.  He took off his jacket and tie and sat down on his bed across from his friend.  He saw the card still on the bed. Looking into the intense blue eyes, he opened the card.

On a sheet of vellum was a poem.

        I look into your hazel eyes and see an eternity of tenderness and joy.

        Your lips would be like honey to kiss and I so want to taste them.

        To hold you would fulfill a million dreams.

        To run my fingers through your crisp hair would give me happiness.

        To feel the roughness of your unshaven face against my face, my neck

        And all of my body would satisfy a longing I never knew I could have.

        I want to spend eternity with you

        I love you.

Dean read the poem three times, shook, and looked back into the intense blue eyes.
“You were at that restaurant tonight?”

“Never scorn an angel, Dean.”

“I’ll remember that,” the hunter murmured as the angel’s lips touched the ones the waitressed had bruised.  For a second, he stiffened.  As the angel’s kiss deepened, Dean relaxed, and thought, ‘Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned?  Hell, no.  NEVER scorn an angel.’

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