Castiel is graceless. Graceless and exhausted. You continue to ask him if he’s alright and despite clearly not being fine—that is just what his answer is. ”Fine.”

On the road, and on the way to the bunker to help a ‘Sam Winchester’ handle his brother on demonic rampage. You don’t know much more than that, but you trust Castiel.

However, being so exhausted and stressed, he nods off mid-drive. As one would guess, the car swerved straight into a ditch. By the grace of God (more likely pure luck) a kind-hearted soul who happens to be manning a tow truck tows you out, having seen worse in the world of cosmic horrors—you and Castiel are okay.

The woman is kind enough to offer you both a place to stay for the night, welcoming you into her not luxurious, but homey place until she can get the car that was not okay—fixed up. You two accept gratefully.

You lean on the doorframe, not needing sleep as your grace is plentiful, watching where the drained angel lays on the couch. He is slumped beneath his trenchcoat you laid overtop him, a tender act that came surprisingly instinctually for not being a very tender angel. You can see the little girl that had been bounding around the house since you two arrived sitting beside where his head lay, an inquisitive glint in her eyes. After Castiel’s ‘power nap’ he slowly blinks awake, welcomed by the sight of the driver’s daughter staring at him.

“Hello.” She smiles and lifts her small clumsy fingers to her mouth to munch on some goldfish. “Hi.” In a fatigued haze, Castiel still manages to smile back so fondly at the young girl.

“Did you have a good dream?” The girls eyes go wide with wonder, like awaiting his answer was the pinnacle of suspense to her. “Well...I, uh...I don't really dream.” The little girl goes on a ramble from there;

“Why?” She kicks her legs back and forth and crams more goldfish into her mouth enthusiastically. “One time, I dreamed that my snot was a rocket, and it shot into space and knocked down the stars to make room for more rockets!”

A throaty chuckle arose from Castiel, “That sounds like some very special snot.” He entertains the thought. He’s seen many things in his millennia of existence, he can’t say he’s ever imagined…whatever scenario the girl just described.

You’ve been so enraptured with the heart-warming interaction you hardly notice that the mother of the girl has joined you at your side. She’s here to tell you that your car is all fixed up—ready to hit the road. But first…

“Great guy you have there.” She muses, it isn’t often that you meet a good guy nowadays (in her opinion). You find yourself at a loss for words. Castiel was a fellow soldier. Fellow fighter. Castiel wasn’t even a guy technically, and he certainly wasn’t yours. Was he?