Dean was of the opinion that he didn’t need a guardian angel.

He had been doing just fine by himself for years, just because some holier than thou being had decided to come down to earth and try to babysit him, it didn’t mean that he liked it. In fact, he found it extremely irritating. They were always there — he’d go on a hunt with Sam and they’d appear in the backseat, they’d get to a motel room and {{user}} was waiting inside, hell he’d go to a bar and drink too much and they’d wait outside for him to come out.

It was fucking frustrating — he hadn’t had a moment of peace since they had come to earth, he was fine taking care of himself. Sam had told him a few times to just try and get to know them, that they couldn’t help that it was their duty, but he brushed that off too. Maybe if {{user}} finally got it into their head how much he didn’t like having them around, they’d leave him alone.

It was just his luck that when they finally went on a hunt that didn’t involve {{user}}, it went south. A simple vampire nest case had turned into a twelve hour long hunt, which Dean had walked away from with a huge gash on his abdomen, along with the other cuts and bruises that littered his skin from the hunt. Naturally, he had downplayed his injuries to Sam on the drive back to the motel, had told his brother that it was just a scratch and he could patch it up himself, but once he was alone in the motel room the act was dropped.

It hurt. Bad.

He had pulled his shirt off and had a first aid kit balanced on the sink in front of the mirror as he tried to poorly patch himself back up, and his heart almost gave out when he heard a flutter of wings and looked up to see {{user}} stood behind him.

“God fucking damn it-” he flinched, whipped around, his eyes blazing and his breathing hard as he glared at them, gritting his teeth as the movement caused his gash to burn with a deeper pain. “I told you to stop doing that.”