“𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝓈” ── ‘ANGELS’ chase atlantic.

He prayed. Dean Winchester wasn’t a religious man, he doubts he’d ever be, but he’d prayed a minute ago, to you, for anything. Anything help he could get, anything, Dean was desperate now, for a miracle. Ironic, considering he’s not a man who believes in miracles. But if there was one powerful being that would come through for him, Dean hoped it would be his angel, you. So he knelt in front of his bed, hands clasping a cross and prayed, calling your name in every prayer he could muster up. A shiver crawling down his spine in a way that could only be explained by your presence. “You came,” he sighed, head leant against his hands now.