"Alright, Winchester, time to go." He banged his stick in between the bars of the cage, producing such an annoying clanging noise that the captured awoke with a start.
He glared at the officer. "Jeez, pal, could ya keep is down? I was trying to get some shut-eye." He groaned, and stretched his arms above his head while the officer chattered on about how he should conduct himself better in society, how he is lucky with such a small punishment, how this is his last chance, blah blah blah.
"Oh, but it doesn't end there, Winchester." The officer grinned, and instantly Dean felt a cold fear. No, it didn't end there. He had something else to push on to him.
"By order of the judge, and for the greater good, to repay the damage made to that stoplight you wrecked last night, you'll be doing community work."
Dean gritted his teeth, glaring at the officer. "Woah, hold on, wait a minute! What makes you think I can't pay it?"
He laughed, coldly and without humor. "Please, really? You drive a cab, I bet a busboy has better pay than you do."
The officer opened the cage and released the cuffs off of Dean, the ones they had to use last night to restrain him after he tried to throw a punch in his drunken state. He rubbed his wrists, they stung a bit. Why did he have such a froggy nature when he was intoxicated? The world may never know.
Before he could leave, the sheriff made him sign a paper saying that he would show up at a local church every evening to make up the pay for at least three months, doing janitorial duties. If he tried to skip, or he broke anything else during this time, he would be thrown in prison on account of disorderly conduct.
Not as bad of a job, he thought. Until he got there.
Dean stepped out of the car, he was escorted on his first day by the same officer who threw him in the slammer, and with his smug smile that Dean wanted to punch right out of his face, told him that he didn't want hm to get 'lost' and made sure he knew that he was at the correct church. What an asshole.
"Ready, 'ole buddy?" He laughed, and held the door open for Dean as he grumbled past.
The church was definitely old, he would have to pay special attention to whatever he was cleaning to make sure one of the many expensive candle holders and carved statues didn't topple over.
The stained glass windows rose high, making it look almost like a cathedral. Various holy images were painted and figured into it, making the inside of the church seem to dance with light. A long red carpet held the middle of the aisle as row after row of long wooden benches lined consecutively on the sides.
Dean scowled. This would be a hell of a lot of cleaning.
"Good thing you have a lot of time." Said the officer, as if he almost read Dean's expression, with delight hinted in his voice.
One of the many people at the church came out to meet him, his hair smoothed back and his brown eyes warm and friendly. "Welcome! You must be Dean?"
Dean nodded, but didn't say much else.
"I hear you have offered to help keep our place of worship clean, I am honored." Dean fumed, it was almost like these people refused to accept the fact that he didn't give a fuck and he was only doing this because the law made him. This is why he always hated church, and religion. Made everyone into some kind of peace-seeking circus clowns.
"Well, let's not waste any time." He stated with a smile, though it was almost certain darker intentions lurked behind the expression. The officer left Dean with a sly word of encouragement and a hard-pressed pat on the back. Dean could hardly believe his luck, usually he got out of more serious charges with just a slap on the wrist.
The rest of the day was spent showing Dean the art of perfecting cleaning, which he went alone with without much enthusiasm. Apparently there was a certain technique to polishing brass, what a load of horse shit. The annoying guy came and went as he pleased, and patiently scolded him when he did it wrong, yet never raised his voice which only pissed Dean off even more.
It seemed everyone refered to him with a title, which put as, "Dean the Church Volunteer". He wasn't even volunteering, he was doing this against his will, so he thought the name was a bit stupid. Everything was stupid.
Around the time everybody left, the boy who had first seen him, Jacob was his name, to much of Dean's horror, a biblical name, handed him a key and told him to finish his work every evening and then lock it up after he left. But to leave it open during, so that the church could be used even when all the workers were gone. Also, he had to at least stay until eleven at night, unless someone invited him out.
Dean didn't understand why he had specific instructions about his work, but he agreed to them anyways. He figured they probably had security cameras around, and he didn't want a reason for the church to go tattling to the sheriff's office about how he left early.
After everyone left, Dean rolled up his sleeves, and started working as quickly as possible, hoping that the remainder of time he had to stay, he would catch up on his sleep. The work, sadly enough, took him a lot longer and proved to be more difficult than Jacob described, he almost broke a vase while trying to dust it. In the midst of him cleaning the holy figures, Dean heard the door open at the front of the church, and looked up to see who it was.
A business man, maybe in his late twenties, same age as Dean, entered the church, quietly closed the door behind him, and floated over to one of the benches near the front, and placed his hands together in a tight ball, and rested his head on top of it, placing his elbows on the backside of the bench in front of him. Dean looked at him, confused. The man was praying at ten o'clock at night in a closed church.
He watched while he was cleaning, and made sure he didn't make a sound while doing so. If the guy was drunk, he had no patience to deal with the disorderly and would probably end up back in jail if his temper got in the way. No, he just watched, from afar. The man never moved a muscle, which made Dean a bit freaked out.
It seemed right when the clock striked eleven, he raised himself up from his seat, and left the church without a word. It was time for him to pack up anyways, so Dean finished whatever he was doing and then ran out to see if he could catch the man. He was nowhere to be found.
Utterly confused, Dean asked Jacob the next day about the mysterious man who visited the church, and he replied with a smile. "Ah, yes, him? He is a regular visitor." Something about his tone seemed like he knew something others didn't.
"What's so funny?" Dean scowled at the young man, tired of indirect answers from this jackass.
"He is looking for his savior." And that's all Jacob would say on the matter, not his name, nor why he came in at such a strange hour.
Dean went on with his work, trying to to pay attention to the strange event that occurred every night with the man, seeing that the faster he could get it over the better. But still, the thoughts troubled him. It was something out of a movie almost, a man praying like tradition every night. 'One day his savior might come', Dean thought this over and it sounded like it would make a Blockbuster hit, some sappy religious movie. People ate those up like it actually influences their life somehow.
One night Jacob informed that the power would be out, so he warned that Dean should take extra caution when cleaning because he could fall down the stairs that lead into the basement. Dean wondered why he had to get so specific about things sometimes, the sooner he would never have to see this kid again the better. The little brat annoyed him a lot, with his coy attitude and bright nature.
The only light that decorated the church was that of the moonlight streaming through the stained windows, making the church light up with such intensity and array of rainbows, it was about the only the volunteer enjoyed while working here.
As he down to clean the baseboard for about the hundredth time, it seemed that every time he came back there was another mess for him to clean up, he looked up to see the austere man make his way over and start his nightly ritual of sitting with that pained body expression, like he was about to start crying any moment.
Dean decided to scoot a little closer, since there was no lights that would show him as far away. He finally got a better look at the man, seemed he was into business, he wore a slightly crumpled suit under his long, tan trench coat, his blue tie loosened down and his shirt frayed, like he hadn't ironed it in a few days.
Dean took another step closer, and wasn't watching were he was going, and accidentally knocked over a vase. It crashed and shattered to the floor, the same damn vase that he had troubles with earlier. Shit, he was going to have to pay for that, and not with money.
The man's head lifted as soon as he heard a noise, and he jolted up and grabbed Dean's hand, pulling him closer.
"You must be who I have prayed for." He stated, looking very intently at Dean. His voice was low, had a sort of monotone key about it, like life was a challenge that he had to constantly negotiate through.
Confused beyond belief, Dean numbly shook his head, and mumbled out, "Uh, sorry buddy, you've got the wrong guy, I-"
"I prayed for a guide." The man refused to let go of Dean's hand, he gripped it tighter instead when Dean tried to pull it away. "I prayed for an angel."
The church volunteer squinted at the mysterious man, almost as if he was looking for signs of insanity. "Who are you, anyways?"
The business man's chin pointed a little higher, his blue eyes reflecting the light from the church's window, almost if they were emitting light of their own.
"My name, is Castiel."