You stand in the steaming bathroom, still naked from the shower. It's such a relief to have shelter; it was terrifying to need it, but not have it, nor any knowledge of how to acquire it. You're truly grateful to the Winchesters for taking you in.
It's also a relief to know they are available to ask if you have questions about living as a human. At least they understand why you behave in ways that seem to them so strange on occasion. Other humans, you have found, are not so understanding, even when you explain to them that you are a recently-fallen Angel of the Lord.
Still, you hate to bother them too often, especially with Sam so fragile from the Hell trials and Dean so worried about him. You breathe deeply as you clutch the new razor Dean gave you. Surely you can do this without help. You've watched both Sam and Dean shave before, and you've seen television commercials for razors. How difficult can it be?
With another deep breath, you place the razor against your skin and drag it across.
It's harder than it looks. Razors, as it turned out, are extremely sharp. You keep cutting yourself –just small, shallow slits in the skin, but they sting, and bleed more copiously than seems probable. You try wiping the blood away with toilet paper, but more blood beads up each time, and you aren't getting very far with the actual shaving. You decide to just continue and tend the tiny wounds after you are finished.
Halfway through, as you mull over the commercials in your mind, you realize you've forgotten a step. You were supposed to put some kind of foam on the skin first. You think maybe soap, but then you notice the can marked 'Shaving Cream' on the sink. How did you miss that? Following the instructions, you dispense some into your hand and spread it over your skin. It burns where it comes in contact with the cuts, but it does make the rest of the shaving easier, though you still cut yourself several more times when the razor slips sideways.
Finished, you rinse and dry yourself, then begin to dress. The little cuts are still bleeding, blood welling and trickling down your skin in ticklish scarlet rivulets. You realize that you should probably take care of that. Human bodies can only afford to lose a certain amount of blood, and you're not sure what that amount is.
You dab at the cuts one more time and then, still in only your underwear, go in search of Dean.
You encounter Sam first. Still a little pale, the younger brother is seated at the table with a book and a cup of something hot.
"Sam? Do you know where Dean is? I believe I need his assistance," you say.
Sam looks up, and blinks. His lips twitch.
"Dean! Come here, Cas needs you!" he calls, without taking his eyes off you.
Dean strides into the room. " 'Sup, Cas?" He looks you up and down, and then freezes.
"I'm bleeding," you explain. "I don't seem to be very good at shaving yet. I keep wiping away the blood, but more keeps coming out."
Dean just looks up, his expression quizzical. "Cas, why the Hell did you shave your legs?"
