A/N: If you're familiar with it, you may notice I've gained some inspiration from Supernatural. I like the idea of a high school AU but with the difference that one of the characters isn't human, so hopefully it'll be something different you will enjoy.

Warnings: trigger warning for mildly descriptive scenes of bullying. Later mature rated sexual relationship between a minor (16 year old) and extremely old non-human being.

Dick's knees fucking sting.

He's been biting back pain all day, ever since Church just had to go and trip him over in the halls right after his first class, sending Dick and his bag to the floor; books and papers scattering everywhere.

"Whoops, better watch yourself Dickie!" he'd crowed and his little band of followers had jeered as Dick tried desperately to hide how badly it really hurt. And then to add insult to injury, Church had gone and walked over the papers as he was trying to pick them up, causing a number of them to tear.

Not only had his knees been shredded, he'd had to hand in his physics essay haphazardly taped up and sporting a dirty print from one of Church's big dumb boots.

Now at home, Dick can finally check what the damage is. Trudging gingerly up the stairs, he heads into the bathroom, toeing off his shoes and unbuckling the belt keeping his too-large jeans up on his slender hips. It hurts like hell as Dick tentatively rolls the jeans down to his knees and he lets out an almost shameful whimper as he has to peel the cotton off the raw skin where it's fused with dried blood.

Fucking Church...

As careful as he's being, a few scabs break open and start bleeding afresh. Dick applies a spray of antiseptic from the first aid kit to each knee grimacing at the sting of it then gently wraps a bandage around each. He contemplates his jeans for a moment and sees the bloodstains aren't too noticeable, meaning it's safe to put them in the laundry; if his mom noticed blood on his clothes again, it'd mean an awkward conversation he'd really rather just avoid.

With a resigned sigh, Dick tosses his jeans into the hamper in the corner of the bathroom and turns to contemplate his reflection in the mirror;

It's not his fault he was born with hair the orange of fucking packaged tomato soup; whenever he gets upset or embarrassed (which is most of the time) his pale, freckled skin flushes deep red, clashing horribly with the garish colour of his hair. He's also long-limbed but not nearly as tall as he wishes he was and he's skinny as a twig; in fact, he's thin and fragile-looking all over; his face sports a narrow nose, pointed chin and sharp cheekbones. Knobbly elbows and knees and startling moss-coloured eyes complete the unfortunate package that is Dick Simmons.

He sighs; he's such a fucking stereotype of a nerd it probably makes picking on him too damn easy. At least he doesn't have to wear glasses.

With a final glare at the mirror he turns on his heel and leaves the bathroom, heading down the hall to his bedroom; he just wants to do his homework and crash; he's exhausted from the hurt and the humiliation of the day and feels like he could just sleep for a week. He opens the door to his room, heading to grab a fresh pair of jeans when he hears what is unmistakably the sound of a throat being cleared behind him. Dick turns in the direction of the noise...

And there is a man sitting on his bed.

"Sup?" he says, nodding towards the teen.

. . .

Richard Eugene Simmons, commonly known as Dick, is a smart kid; he can normally break down any problem he's faced with and figure out a logical solution. Only, here there is no time for breaking any of the facts down or any kind of close examination. In spite of these variables, Dick would probably be glad to know that he made the logical decision regardless;

Which is to start screaming.

Loudly.

"Hell, kid!' the man shouts, leaping up "calm down!" he starts reaching for him but Dick is already fleeing out the door and down the hall, heart and thoughts race.

Ohgod ohgod is he a murderer?! A molester?! How is he in my house?! Gotta run, gotta call the cops and-

He collides with a solid mass and sprawls to the floor, dazed. Looking up he sees the man staring down at him like Dick is total moron and that'd probably upset him if he wasn't too busy realising that the man had somehow teleported in front of him.

. . . It doesn't seem physically possible.

"Who...? What...?" Dick is finding that he's too shocked to be scared anymore, but he's having trouble forming coherent sentences. Somehow, the man seems to understand though;

"You can call me Grif and as for the what... Ugh, this gonna sound so totally lame but whatever; yeah, I'm an angel of the Lord."

. . . Dick is only sixteen years old and he is going to be murdered by a serial killer who thinks he's an angel. Life is a special kind of cold-hearted tramp.

"Please don't hurt me, mister; I'm just a kid!" He pleads and the guy looks a little disgusted.

"Oh, for crying out loud; dumbass, I'm here to help you' he explains exasperatedly "I got drafted into the whole guardianship program because apparently they're short on man-power, what with everyone getting shunted onto the American Election Initiative; we're pretty sure your Romney dude is possessed by a demon; Luci's been sneaking them into Republicans for years now. Man, and you think your family has problems? At least you don't have a psychotic estranged big brother who, oh yeah, happens to run Hell."

Dick has no idea what in the heck this guy Grif is on about, but he just keeps quiet and lets him rant; maybe if he plays his game, he won't kill and eat him.

"M-must be tough..." he whispers and Grif looks down at him with a mildly frustrated expression.

"Kid... You don't believe a word that's coming out of my mouth, do you?" It's a rhetorical question, he clearly knows Dick isn't buying what he's selling but the frightened teen still tries to keep the fear off his face.

"Yes! Wait, I mean yes as in yes, I do believe you! Not yes as in yes, I don't!"

Grif sighs.

"Of all the needy fucking kids in the world they stick me with you' he intones scathingly "Alright kid, I'll prove I'm for real, but you'd better make me a sandwich later; manifesting these babies on the mortal plane is hungry work..."

Dick has no idea what the man is about to do and gets ready to run, but then Grif is rolling his shoulders and the air behind him shimmers like a mirage as two large shapes appear at his back.

Two tawny-coloured, feathered shapes.

Dick gapes. Wings. Actual fucking wings. There is a dude standing in his hallway with an actual pair of wings on his back. The super-computer that is Dick's brain starts trying to process this development but overheats in its attempt, instead deciding "fuck it, I'm going to sleep."

So Dick does just that... And faints.

The last thing he hears as he slumps over backwards and the world goes dark is Grif complaining in an utterly bitter voice;

"So much for getting me a sandwich..."