A Perfect Little World That Doesn't Even Need You
This is a drabble, written in response to the Chick Flick Moments challenge at the spn-het-love community on Livejournal.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine.
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam (GEN)
If the prophecy was true, angels were everywhere.
Well, the descendants of angels – diluted down to least common denominators, like strong intuition or quick reflexes; descendants just as human as everyone else, except for the twelve raised high. Exalted, the thing murmured. To follow you.
Dean didn't believe a word.
He wasn't sure he believed it, either – for all that he blew a succubus to pieces with his brain. It started with a sluggish eddy inside his veins, sigils flowering across his chest, right before he closed his fist.
He used to believe in angels.
Now Sam wasn't so sure.
A/N:
The title of this one is a song lyric from "Strange Angels" by Laurie Anderson. I used the prompt City of Angels with a lot of poetic license.
