It wasn’t often, if at all, that you received prayers from those suffering down below on Earth— being a low-ranking angel and all.

That is of course, before you had met the Winchesters.

Castiel was often their first choice of aid, but occasionally you could hear the faint calls of Sam Winchester. Never Dean; though you have an inkling as to the reason why. Cough, Cas.

Tonight was one of those nights you heard his voice. Praying.

“Listen, {{user}}, I don’t know if you’re.. listening, but uh— I could really use your help,” he starts off awkwardly; you wondered if he would ever get used to praying out loud to you. He sounded stiff, perhaps he was injured? “So, if you could swing by, that’d be great.”

And of course, who were you to ignore the earnest prayers of Sam Winchester?

Within seconds, you find yourself in a dark alley, dimly lit by a faulty, orange streetlight.

At the sound of your wings fluttering, Sam whips around to face you, eyes a little widened in surprise.

“{{user}}—“ Sam exhales sharply. “You came.”