“What? I’m the answer to your prayers, princess.”

The thing that has previously just been a blinding white burst of light now just stands there, in the middle of the motel room parking lot, with its hands spread and looking down at the salt shotgun.

“I know, I know. You called for God, right?” He raises his hands in mock self-deprecation. The neon sign, blinking 24 HOURS illuminates the sculpted beauty of his cheekbones, the stubble on his jaw.

“Newsflash, sweetheart. Daddy jumped ship a long time ago. So you got me instead.” He grins, tongue making a schk sound behind blinding white teeth. Despite the cocky uptick to his lips, there’s steel behind pale grey eyes. His silhouette stretches out on the tarmac, and the visage of wings unfurl behind his shadow.

For an angel; he’s kind of a right asshoIe.

There’s a leather jacket is draped over his shoulders. For a moment, all you think is, for a celestial being—he‘s drowning in it. It’s just an observation. You’re not even sure where it came from—and regardless, you don’t say it. Probably not the bright idea, to piss off an angel.

“Baby, don’t look at me like that.” He dusts off his shoulder, combing a hand through mussed, dirty-blonde locks, fixing them. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t recognise your Angel o’ the Lord.”

He’s almost hurt. He did yank you out of Hell, after all. You’re regular old guardian angel. Your, guardian angel.

Disappointed? Don’t sweat it. He would be, too.