Not perfect
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean or Castiel. But man I wish I did!
I stood to the sidelines, not wanting Dean to see me as he walked through the door. However, the light shining in through the musty motel curtains, shone bright on my face and my location was revealed. My eyes bore into Uriel, the anger I felt for him ever present on my face.
The door creaked open and the familiar voice of Dean Winchester greeted "Home Crappy Home". I gulped as I saw Dean's face drop at the sight of us. Of course he hated us, we were the reason he was dragged into all this in the first place… Or was we?
"Winchester and Winchester", Uriel exclaimed, almost sounding to happy to be here. I shook my head, my gaze never leaving the wall opposite were I was stood.
"Oh come on!" came the voice of an agitated and pissed off Dean. I risked a glance towards his face and noted the lines that appeared when he was angry or annoyed. Why was I even here, letting Uriel do this.
"You are needed" Uriel said, the look of smugness remaining in it's place. I hated it when Uriel was like this. When he was controlling and made me do things. I guess it's what I get for getting too close. Too close to Dean.
"Needed? We just got back from needed!". I wanted to answer the first question for him. I wanted to tell him he was only needed if he wanted to be needed. I wanted him to know that I wasn't going to force him to do anything. But I kept my mouth shut. I had to. The other angel in this room would have got angrier at me.
"Now, you mind your tone with me." Uriel spat, the look of smugness replaced by annoyance and anger. He hated people having attitude with him, but, on occasion, it was what he deserved.
"No, you mind your damn tone with us" Dean retorted. I was glad Dean was fighting back. However, I wasn't happy that, if look could kill, Dean would be dead. I wanted to jump in and stop the argument. I wanted desperately for an intervention.
"We just got back from Pamela's funeral" Sam said, his tone hurt and desperate. If I could have guessed, I would have believed he was seeking the same thing as me and had the courage to do something about it. Then I stopped to think. Pamela. I had never met her, but I had made her life a living misery. How had she now died? Was it because of me?
"Pamela, you know, psychic Pamela? You remember her. Cass, you remember her. You burned her eyes out. Remember that? Good times!" This hurt me more then it should have. Dean had just turned on me. I glanced quickly over to him, a look of begging forgiveness approaching my eyes. What he had said, had hit me below the belt. I knew I wasn't perfect, but did he have to remind me of that?