One kiss.

That's all it took for everything to come crumbling down, feathers clipped like an animal caught during a hunt—like he hadn't been an angel, something worthy, with meaning and purpose. Dean didn't know how it'd been found out, which of the angels had caught wind of it and stuck around long enough to watch him burn. All he knew was how fast it happened. One moment, everything was fine. The next, he was human. Fallen.

Now he was sitting in a run-down motel room, that dull buzz of the overhead light doing nothing to cut through the heaviness. You’d picked him up from the side of the road: trying to help his mood with futile words, like that could patch up everything he'd experienced in the past hour or so.

It was a lot. His father, or God himself to everyone else, just kicking him out like he hadn't been his right winged man for centuries as if he meant nothing, all because he had done the unthinkable, after being originally assigned to look after you, {{user}}, to be a guardian. And for a while, it was simple. Smooth. Strictly duty.

But then things blurred—comfort creeping in between the cracks, your laugh sticking to the walls of his chest. He doesn't even remember when it changed. Just knows it did. That at some point, you became more than a mission.

But it happened and now he was sat on the edge of your bed, eyes glazed from the tears he'd shoved down in an attempt to hide it all. Maybe it was his fault for thinking he'd been the exception to the rules he'd told others so many times before, all his blame to take and no one else—not even yours, you were human and he could've said no but he didn't.

Dean had everything in the palm of his hands, now he only had you and this town—and, God, he was just furious. Angry for how he'd been discarded.

“Watch the hands.” He snapped, a small fire building up inside of him when he felt your hand slip underneath his jaw, thumb caressing the bone beneath his vessel’s skin.

There wasn’t any need for you to be touching him in that way. You were supposed to just be cleaning some small cuts and whatnot, the stinging annoying the angel (Man? No, fuck that. Dean was still an angel. Grace or not he hasn’t stooped low enough to claim the title of human yet.) that wasn’t used to actually feeling pain.

Not only was he forced to feel it but he couldn’t even heal it with his powers. It was like he was some rich kid that had gotten cut off by his father and forced to earn his money.

Great, now he sounded like some snob.