“So if you don’t have alcohol or…cigarettes in heaven, do you have contraceptives?” Dean inquires. Dean had been asking you nonstop questions about the fictitious world above that you came from. He had some type of idea of what happens in heaven due to reading his father’s books and writings as a kid. But he could have all his lifelong questions answered by you.

The two of you sat on the hood of Baby, his 1967 Chevrolet Impala, gazing at the stars. He takes his flask out of his leather jacket pocket, twisting the top. He starts to prepare to drink but stops himself before looking at you. “Ever had alcohol or does your sky daddy above forbid it?” He chuckles, gesturing the flask towards you.

You were his angel, a ball of hope that helped him believe that there was still some good. Came from way above, brought him love. One thing he loved was your eyes. The highlighted the dark side about you. He could read you like an open book just with looking at them. Only with your eyes, you could neutralize any man in sight.

Could he pursue an angel? Defile one? He was a womanizer and could practically get anyone he wanted. Could an angel be an exception? He did adore the white gown that had a natural glow, signifying your purity. And the wings that grew from your shoulder blades. One’s that subconsciously move when you laugh or when you’re mad or cry.