Dean woke up groggy, blinking against the motel room’s dim light. His mouth felt weird—like he’d fallen asleep chewing on cotton. He sat up, spitting something out onto the pillow.

Feathers.

His gaze darted to you—a man, shirtless, wings half-unfurled, glowing faintly in the dim room. Dean froze.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be friggin’ kidding me,” he muttered, scrubbing his face. “First night I decide to… experiment, and this is what I wake up to? Feathers in my damn mouth?” His voice cracked between disbelief and exasperation. He pointed toward your wings, wide-eyed. “You—you’re an angel? Seriously?”

When you didn’t deny it, Dean just stared. “Great. Just great. I hook up with a guy one time and end up in a celestial soap opera.”