That's right, folks. Another chapter. :)
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Dean balked, "I'm sorry. Our guardian? Like, a guardian angel?"
She nodded again.
Sam stifled a laugh, "You're joking."
"Why would I joke about something like that?" she inquired innocently. It was a genuine question.
Sam scoffed suspiciously, "Well, why should we believe you?"
Mattea shrugged helplessly, "I know I really haven't given you any reason to trust me—."
"No, not really," Dean interrupted.
"But I promise you I am only here to help. I am here to protect you," she said gravely.
"Protect us?" Sam countered spitefully.
"Yes," she replied.
Sam took a menacing step forward. Glaring down at her, his voice was like poison, "If you are really our guardian, where the hell have you been?"
Mattea seemed to stop breathing; she was unnaturally still and silent. Mattea looked up into Sam's eyes; she seemed to glower, her expression darkening,
"You think I haven't asked myself that same question for thirty years? You think I don't feel guilty every hour of every day knowing that I allowed you to be put in harm's way?"
She was furious. But not with them. Dean at least could tell that much.
"I don't understand," Dean said, his frustration manifesting itself in his voice. Nothing about her words made any sense. Dean, at that moment, began to wonder what had happened to this angel all these years, why she was so angry, and who with.
"I don't want to say everything that has happened excuses my absence, but it does explain it," she offered, her voice heavy with apology. She was no longer angry, at least, not on the outside.
"Absence? You mean you weren't even around? And then you just show up in some poor girl's meat suit and expect us to welcome you with open arms?" Dean asked harshly.
"This?" she looked down at herself, "No, this is me, not a vessel. Guardians are different. We have our own human form. We come down here more often than other angels. It's just more practical."
"I think you're lying," Sam accused venomously.
"I think you aren't listening to me," she retorted, aggravated by their suspicions, "I mean, in your line of work, I would've figured that you would believe in most things, whether you see them or not. But I guess you guys have always had a problem with that," she looked pointedly at Dean, "Especially you."
"How would you know?" Dean asked.
"It's my job to know," she stated simply.
"What is it that you guardians do exactly? The whole "sit by our bedsides and pray for our souls" gig?" Dean tried to clarify.
"Not exactly."
"Well, then, what?" Sam inquired tersely.
"Think about it, Sam. What are angels? We're warriors, defenders. A guardian is a defender of man. It is our job to make sure that whatever is out there doesn't get to you," Mattea explained, "Each guardian is designated a bloodline to protect. I have been protecting the Winchester bloodline for centuries, right down to you two."
"And you're telling us that for the last thirty years you've just been . . . gone?" Dean asked, indignant.
"I haven't just been gone," Mattea's tone grew markedly more defensive, "Like I said, circumstances were difficult."
"Yeah, you said."
"Look, I know my being here now hardly makes up for my being gone all these years, but I would like to think that it's better late than never," she pleaded apologetically.
"What makes you think we need your help?" Sam interjected bitterly.
"I don't think you need it, but who am I to withhold the help I was created to give?" she asked in reply.
Sam just shook his head contemptuously. He didn't care what this angel had to say.
Dean still wasn't sure what to think.
"Too long now I've been told to back off, to let things be. Well, not anymore. I am done being lied to. I am here and you aren't getting rid of me," she said solemnly. She would not be shaken. Their unreceptive attitude towards her was no deterrent.
"We don't need your help," Sam hissed.
"Well, you have it all the same," she replied forcefully.
"What difference does it make?" Sam yelled, his voice taut with fury, "We've survived without you, haven't we? I think we'll be alright without your help."
He turned away from her.
"Look—," Mattea began as she stepped forward toward Sam.
"Go away!" Sam turned back to her, screaming in her face; he pointed to the door, "We don't need you! So, there's the door!"
Mattea looked hurt, but not broken. She looked over at Dean, whose face was focused on the ground. She glared back at Sam.
"Fine," she said reluctantly, "I'll go. But if you need me—."
"Which we won't," Sam interrupted.
She shot him a scathing look, unimpressed by his lack of maturity, "If you need me, just say my name. I'll be there."
And with that, she disappeared.
Sam was heaving, his anger slowly subsiding. He brushed away the hair that had fallen into his face during his ardent display of emotions. He clenched his jaw and sat down.
Dean looked at his younger disapprovingly, the way he used to look at him whenever Sam would act without thinking.
Sam caught his brother starting at him out of the corner of his eye. He didn't have to look at Dean to sense his disapproval.
"Was that really necessary, Sam?" Dean asked.
"What?"
"Did you have to yell at her like that? She was here all of five minutes and it ends with you screaming in her face," Dean made no effort to mask the reproof in his voice.
"Can you blame me?" Sam cried defensively, "Some angel shows up and tells that she is here to protect us. Well, you know what, Dean, it's just not enough. Not now. Not after all that has happened."
"She didn't even have a chance to explain," Dean rejoined, admittedly feeling sorry for the rebuked angel.
"Why are you defending her, Dean?" Sam asked desperately, "You are a part of this, too. She abandoned us—."
"You don't know that," Dean hurriedly cut in. Sam ignored him.
"She left us both down here to fend for ourselves. We have faced spirits and demons and countless other creatures. We've put our lives in danger every day and she has been gone. She doesn't care about us, Dean. Why can't you see that?" Sam tried to reason with Dean, but his efforts were fruitless.
Dean shrugged, unwilling to concede to his brother's argument, "I don't know, Sammy. Something tells me there is more here than I think we know."
Sam stood up out of his chair and marched to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the lid off with hiss and headed outside, slamming the door behind him.
Bobby soon re-entered, wholly confused. He looked around and saw that Mattea had gone.
"What the hell happened in here?"
Dean heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes wearily, "I'm not even sure, Bobby."
"Well, can you at least tell me who, or what, she was?"
Dean could only laugh to himself, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Sam followed soon after Bobby. He seemed less tense, less agitated. There was remorse in his eyes. He knew he had disappointed his brother, and that was one thing Sam couldn't live with.
"Sammy here is just dying to be her best friend," Dean said sardonically, glaring at his brother.
"Dean, you remember what happened the last time I blindly trusted some supernatural chick?" Sam countered. It was a fair argument.
The name Ruby flashed through Dean's mind and he couldn't stop the shudder.
"But this is different, Sam. She's not a demon. She is an angel," Dean argued back. He couldn't believe that Mattea really meant them any harm.
"Dean," he began, "The last time I messed around with angels, I wound up in a prison."
Dean saw the hurt behind Sam's eyes. Something happened down there. Something really bad.
He decided that now was not the time to discuss it.
"An angel?" Bobby said in disbelief, "Perfect. Just what we need."
"She seems different, Bobby. I don't know," Dean offered.
"I don't trust her," Sam cut in. Sensing another argument brewing, Dean let it go.
"Alright, alright, fine," Dean got up from the wall and picked up his jacket that he had left by the door, "You know, I kind of hate to admit it but a part of me was hoping for something . . . different."
Bobby shook his head in disbelief, "Like what?"
"I don't know. A djinn?" Dean replied, "Maybe a demon, just something else."
Bobby looked at Dean knowingly, "You wanted to hunt."
Dean shrugged noncommittally, "Maybe."
He looked over at Sam, who seemed to have instantly calmed down as soon as Dean picked up the jacket.
"You leaving?" Sam asked, particularly serene.
"Yeah," Dean sighed, "Sam—."
"I know," Sam interrupted. "Lisa and Ben."
"Yeah."
Sam walked over to his brother and embraced Dean in a quick hug before withdrawing. Sam's large hand gripped Dean's shoulder.
"You take care," Sam said.
"You stay in touch," Dean replied, "Or else I will beat you so hard . . ."
"Of course you will," Sam laughed.
Dean turned around to Bobby, "Thanks, man. For everything."
"Anytime," Bobby said with a smile. Or what someone could consider a smile for Bobby.
With a quick wave, Dean was out the door. With one last look at the house, Dean stepped into the Impala and drove off.