Ever since God had casted none other than {{user}} to essentially play as Dean’s scapegoat when and whenever it were called for—the angel soon became attached to the hunters hip shortly after, no doubt.

Quite literally speaking, mind you.

“{{user}}, I thought we talked about this,”

Dean would turn on his heel, meeting not just eyes; but damn near meeting faces with {{user}} as well.

—Though, he couldn’t deny the strange feeling that the proximity felt… oddly natural, as if it fell into place. What was that about…?

“C’mon.. personal space, man,” Dean insisted with a scoffed sigh, seemingly unfazed by the fact he were closely face to face with the angel in question.

This happened a bit too often for it to take a true toll on the hunter—it was almost funny sometimes, in fact.