Sam couldn't very well explain his urge to pull on the too-tight, blazing red hoodie hanging on the inside knob of the cottage door.

He merely twisted his face, as if he was deeply meditating on a philosophical concept of humankind and the entirety of the universe, and proceeded to indeed zip it on and bent his Sasquash-like frame so he could fit through the doorway without banging his head on the top of the wood frame like always.

Bobby lived in another village. The notion of making an hour long, nighttime walk through the dusty, winding paths of the nearby woods was quite concerning — with the rumors of blood-thirsty thieves and blood-thirsty wild beasts roaming about, and the occasional blood-thirsty real estate agent. (Sam had severe doubts that real estate agents required the daily consumption of the blood of the innocent — but, heck, he had been wrong once about Shia LeBeouf not being an cannibal.)

In any case, Bobby needed that cooler of frosty cold beer A.S.A.P and Dean agreed to meet up with him at the halfway point. Having a huntsman with a big and sharp axe as your older, co-dependent brother had its perks when traveling through potentially unsafe territory.

Just for further protective, Sam toted a fully loaded rock-salt pistol in his back jean pocket.

He came down a second path through the woods, balancing the beer cooler on his left shoulder when his ears picked up an awful ringing. A ringing that made his eardrums throb in agony along with his sinuses, and Sam nearly dropped his cargo as he squinted his eyes and tried to shut his palm over one of his ears.

"Hello, Sam Winchester."

A man in a dirtied trenchcoat called out to him, standing motionless and serenely beside the oak tree nearest Sam.

"How do you know my name?" Sam's ears no longer rang with deafening intensity. He dug a finger into an ear canal. "…You're not a real estate agent, are you?" Sam asked, giving the man a semi-distrusting look. Other than the dirtied trenchcoat, he kinda looked like one with the professional arrangement of his dark suit and silk-blue tie.

But that really didn't explain the flicking, midnight-colored, wolf ears sticking out of his head…

"I do not understand that reference," Castiel said. "I also do not understand why there is a tail protruding above my—"

Sam interrupted quickly, sparing the urgency of a rating change, "So, you're one of the beasts living out in the woods?" He removed his finger from his cleared ear canal. "What was that noise?

"I was…howling," Castiel mumbled, those striking blue eyes unblinking.


"In Enochian," he added, flatly.

(Did he really not need to blink?)



(Seriously, this guy needed to blink.)

Sam's eyebrows pulled together as he said, bluntly, "Don't do that again."

"I understand that you are traveling unaccompanied, Sam Winchester. That is very dangerous."

"I'm meeting with someone so I don't have to go alone the rest of the way."

Castiel nodded. "Perhaps I should accompany you until then."

Sam shook his head in response. "I'm good, man." His weak laugh and lopsided smile faded as Castiel's eyes fixed again soulfully on him.

"No, you are mistaken," he said in a low growl. "I am an angel of the Lord."

A skeptical eyeroll. "Yeah, okay." Sam reached out and tugged on a furry, wolf ear. An irritated twitch across Castiel's usually stoic face. "Do they all come with the ears?"

"These?" Castiel pushed Sam's hand away. "These are used as visual description to anchor the idea of an alternative universe. This vessel did not come with these appendages and they are not of import." Blue eyes slowly and curiously glanced down at Sam's muscular and golden midsection exposed by the too-tight, blazing red hoodie zipped on him.

Sam took a step back, eyes narrowing. "Uh… I need to get to Bobby's."

"I can assist you," Castiel said, presenting two of his fingers and aiming to press them to Sam's oversized forehead.

"By… zapping me?" Sam avoided their contact by jerking his head back. "Dean isn't going to like it if I don't meet up with him," he explained.

Castiel seemed to take this into consideration, finally blinking those gorgeous blue eyes that weren't that gorgeous because it wasn't like Sam was staring or anything — yeah.

He stared off into space for a good minute before addressing Sam again, "I believe your brother has now found himself at the entrance of a brothel, at the edge of the nearby town."

Sam's mouth perked up, amused. "You did that on purpose."

Castiel's own mouth did a halfhearted mimic. "You can't prove anything," he told Sam, going for full-out cryptic mode and this time shoved the pads of his two fingers against Sam's forehead.




Moral: Sam Winchesters, especially attractive, well bred Sam Winchesters should never talk to strangers, for if they do, they may be burdened with the faulty story-telling logistics of angels pretending to be wolves following them.





Whaaaaaaaaat am I doing anymore. I love you, gaaaiz. Happy birthday, Sam Winchester. Oh, and happy four year Hell anniversary to Dean Winchester. Wooooo.

Sassy Comment Fic Meme prompt found directly in the summary.