Cheer Up ✔️

Angel, Assisted

A week later, and still a faint radiance could be seen in your veins, buzzing in your mind. You had a part of your destiny in your blood. What kind of normal person could say that? None, probably, unless they were the kid of a famous sports star. The rest of the team were silent on the matter, and for that, you were glad. You were not a mutant of Charles Xavier, nor you were a freak or a monster the Winchesters were born and bred to cull.

You're still _____. The _______ who tricked Dean Winchester into thinking you were Homeland Security, the _______ who he took on picnics and laid next to at night.

Except now, you were _______: Glowing edition. And you hadn't been in public around normal people for too long to avoid side glances and suspicion. You couldn't help but feel alien, almost.

"I have a lead as to the next phase," Sam spoke up from the park bench. You had all been driving around the lower states, stopping for not too long, trying out the essentially homeless life once more.

"Tell me, does it involve lighting up like a fricking Christmas tree again?" you spoke up. You and Dean lay together on the picnic rug you had been on not too long ago, that trip to the park with Castiel. It seemed like eons ago now. "I have to say, I never saw that side effect coming a mile away."

"I admit, that was unexpected," Gabriel perked up from laying across Sam's lap, just to show you his quizzical brow. "To be fair, none of us have seen you in the final stages of your Vinculum-ness, so it's not entirely anyone's fault."

You snort. "Sure it is. I'd blame your dad, first."

Sam cleared his throat. "Guys, just listen. It's just a state over, a cult of fallen angels have taken residence in an abandoned chapel just out of a nearby town."

"Wow, your Spidey-senses must be tingling, Sammy, if you're getting that amount of info these days," Dean harrumphed.

Slowly, you sat up, cross legged. The angels and hunters around you sat alert, the air tense. Nobody had mentioned Sam's old demon-superpowers for a while, and it was as terse as you imagined.

"Arguing about how Sam found the information will not solve the process," Castiel grumbled. "Do you children have to bicker?"

Gabriel beamed. "Yes. It adds fodder to the plot."

Sam sighed. "As I was about to say," he started, "It's all on a website. One of these juiced bastards doesn't like the idea of anonymity, or wants what's coming for them."

You scratch your neck. "First I get Twilight off a demon Crowley BDSM'd for me, now a cult of fallen angels? This is only step two, and I already feel like a –," Your shoulder felt the weight of Dean's palm, and leaning back into his firm form, you couldn't help but try and hold back tears just a little longer. You needed to be strong, for not just yourself, but Dean. "Never mind. Let's make a move."

"______?" Dean whispered. "I love you."

You nod. "We should make a move if we want to get there by nightfall."

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Of course, the group did not make it by nightfall, having to stop twice because Sam needed to pee, and Gabriel made himself puke from too many sweet things, and the team had to stop a town over, in the worst motel you'd seen on this side of the galaxy. How could there be that much mould in the carpet alone?

"Shotgun the big bed!" Dean shouted upon entering, and seeing the stains, retracted his raised hand. "Then again, maybe not. ______ and I take the other one."

Sam moaned. "Dude," he pleaded, "why?"

"Quit your whining, child," Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the whole room became even better than new - like a honeymoon suite in Vegas minus the cheap decor. "There. You happy, baby?"