The Silent Guest
There's an angel living in Dean's bedroom; it rests above his head in the rafters. He lies in bed and observes it for a while, watching as it shuffles and arranges its wings as it settles down. Finally he rolls over and ignores it, putting it out of his head as he drifts off.
It's still there in the morning, peering at him from its perch as he selects a tie. Dean goes about his morning business, listening to the morning show on the radio as he makes toast and leaves for work without giving his new tenant much thought.
A week later Sam wakes him up bright and early a Saturday by storming into his room a flurry of insistent energy. Dean groggily cracks open his eyes in time to see Sam catch sight of the angel. He stands with his neck craned upwards, eyeballing the creature as it eyeballs him back from under a mop of dark hair, for far longer than necessary. But he doesn't say anything when he meets Dean's stony gaze.
It's after their Saturday morning run over coffee and bagels when Sam finally opens his trap on the matter.
"There's, uh, an angel in your room."
Dean grunts through his mouthful, conveying that yes, he had noticed the winged wonder squatting in his airspace. Sam wisely doesn't say anything more on the subject.
The next few weeks Dean is not happy. He takes it out on Sam and his colleagues, snapping at them and saying nasty things that maybe he does mean, but shouldn't actually broadcast. He spends his days leaving a trail of hurt people in his wake. When he's home he tears through the house like a tornado, the angel's blue gaze following him like an uncomfortable spotlight, so he goes out, gets stinking drunk and breaks a few hearts and laws while he's at it.
Sunday night Dean notices that the angel has become restless. It flits from one wall to the next and periodically shakes its wings, scattering large white feathers here and there. Dean estimates that it will have flown away by morning
To his surprise come morning the angel is still there. The beginnings of a hangover are blaring through Dean's skull when he reluctantly cracks open his eyes, but all aches and pains are forgotten when he's greeted by the sight of a scruffy head peeking over the curve of a wing.
He leaves his bed, feeling a bit like a balloon has inflated in his chest, and pads down to the kitchen where he makes two jam sandwiches and places them on a small plate. He takes them up to his room, the angel watching him with an avid curiosity, and leaves them on his dresser-draws.
Later, after work, the plate is empty, and there's a scattering of crumbs underneath the angel's lofty perch.
The angel amuses himself when he's gone, Dean finds, by poking through his stuff. Dean has yet to catch the angel in the act, but the evidence is plain to see. There's an abundance of crumbs littering the dresser where Dean keeps his deodorant and cologne (remains from the angel's breakfast, a diet of jam and bread in all it's forms) and it seems he has a liking for Deans ties that hang inside the wardrobe as he has lined them up to hang at equal lengths, and has then left a jammy smudge on the mirror attached to the door. Dean also finds that he doesn't mind.
He's running out of jam, Dean realizes as he spreads it on some toast. Sam's sitting at his kitchen table, jabbering on about something he saw on their run and swigging down coffee whenever he takes a break in his monologue. Dean excuses himself rudely and takes the toast up to his room. When he returns Sam carefully doesn't remark upon it, but feels it necessary to remind him that his lease expires in two weeks.
"Found a new place yet?"
Dean grunts, his main method of communication when Sam says stupid stuff. After Sam has eaten his fill of Dean's food he leaves for his flat, and Dean is left without his constant verbal stream of consciousness. He wanders back up to his bedroom again. The angel is perched on his rafter, looking slightly windswept as always, a piece of toast sticking out of his mouth. He stares at Dean good naturedly as is his habit, finishes his snack and then curls his wings around himself to doze.
Out of the corner of his eye Dean notices a white feather lying on the carpet next to his bed. He picks it up and places it together with the others, in the box that lives in the bottom drawer of his dresser where he keeps them.
Moving day is stressful, even with Sam's and the removal firm's help. Dean wants to lock himself up in the bathroom until it's all over, but he refrains. The angel is curled up in the rafters, watching the proceedings as the removal men take apart Deans bed and cart off the furniture. None of the men look up at him. By the time the last box has taken into the lorry to be rumbled down the road the sun has set. Dean combs through the house, checking for anything vital he might have forgotten. He leaves the bedroom for last.
The angel is seated in his usual spot. He looks so much smaller now that the room can boast its full size with the furniture gone. He fixes Dean with the entirety of his attention, expression solemn and wide-eyed.
Dean stretches out a hand, and it's the easiest thing he's ever done.
"We have rafters in the new house, too."
The angel launches itself from its perch and lands in Dean's arms in a flurry of feathers and limbs. Dean feels suddenly like he's soaring, and a bark of laughter bubbles out of him as he wraps his arms around his angel and tries to squeeze him into his heart.
If Sam notices Dean packing an angel into the back-seat of the impala next to the perishables from the fridge he remains stoic on the matter.
A/N: Basically this is a world where God takes an active roll in worldly matters. Some people are sent angels. It's not always clear why, sometimes kind people are sent angels, or hardworkers, but it can just as easily be a young child, or a bully. It's rare though. The angel is supposed to be an important person in the life of the person chosen, a constant guardian and companion. According to hearsay the angel's given a piece of the human's mind, matter and soul when they are born, and they will never feel whole without it, which cause some humans to live tragic lives before being bestowed an angel.
An angel loves it's charge unconditionally, but when they are first sent to them they must not speak or seek contact. The decision to accept an angel must the the humans own. If the human steadily rejects or ignores it, the angel will leave. In Dean's case he thought that the angel would leave because he was being such a nasty person, and didn't deserve an angel any more. Great acts of evil will also cause the angel to leave, most of the time, but there have been exceptions, some angels love more than others, you see.
The angel can be seen by everyone, but it's considered incredibly impolite to mention or draw attention to it if the angel hasn't been accepted yet, so most pretend they haven't noticed until later on. It happens occasionally that an angel is not accepted, it's rare, but not legendary. Like in Dean's case the subject can be extraordinarily pig-headed and not see the need of an angel, or not think oneself worthy. Other's might see it more of a hassle than a gain, afraid the angel will take time away from work or family. Once or twice it has been known that a jealous spouse or family member has influenced a person to reject their angel out of envy, or fear of losing them entirely to a winged wonder, which is the reasons why outside involvement in the angel-meet thing is so frowned upon
When an angel is rejected, and it's not always clear cut how to define "rejected" it must return to God. This is usually upsetting for the angel who has spent weeks watching over the human fondly and probably managed to cultivate quite the amount of celestial affection for the sod.
It's often misunderstood that angels are meant to be partners or some kind of heaven-sent soul mate for the lonely, but each angel-human pair is different and it's up to them how it turns out.
The inspiration for this was Laleh's cover of the Swedish pop song Ängeln i rummet (the angel in the room). Check it out if you have time.
