A/N: This chapter and the next are based off of season 9 episode 9, Holy Terror. Credit and thanks to Supernatural Wiki for the transcripts.
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Chapter 10 And Wasted
Sam and Dean sat in the main room of the bunker, Sam hunched over a pile of papers and Dean scrolling through an article on the computer telling about a slaughtered biker gang. The Winchesters suspected feuding angels and were doing their best to get to the bottom of the heavenly skirmishes. Hope, Cas, and Kevin were in the library, still working on translating the tablet.
Dean looked up as Hope walked in, brushing a few strands of short, golden hair out of her eyes. She came to stand behind Dean and wrapped her arms around his neck, peeking at the computer screen over his shoulder and frowning.
"Tired of translating the God Rock?" Dean asked playfully, pushing his chair back and pulling Hope into his lap.
"Mmm." The angel murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Dean's lips. "They've got some sort of system. Sometimes I feel like I'm more of a hindrance than a help." She ruffled Dean's short, dirty-blonde hair. "So I thought I'd come see how you guys are doing."
Dean frowned. "I haven't made any progress. Sam?" he asked, looking up at his brother who was still reading the papers in front of him.
"Hmm?" Sam asked, glancing up.
"What do you got?"
"Obituaries." He replied, holding up a paper so Hope and Dean could see. Dean rolled their chair around to get a better view.
"Is that one of the bikers'?" Hope asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah. His name was Red Dawg."
Dean snorted. "Of course it was."
"It's not what you think." Sam told him. "Look; he's a family guy. Big in the PTA, he played Santa at Christmas parties"
"So, what?" Dean scoffed. "Just one day he up and joined a biker gang."
Sam shook his head. "No, he did that years ago. Get this. This is weird. Look." He grabbed the laptop next to him and pulled up a few news articles with pictures. "These are all the victims, right? They were all baptized together."
"Baptized?" Hope asked.
"Yeah. They were a born-again biker gang."
"Well, that is not something you hear every day." Dean said.
"No, it's not." Sam agreed.
Hope squinted at the computer screen. "Wait, make that bigger." She told Sam, pointing. The younger Winchester zoomed in on the picture until a badge on one of the victims' vest was legible.
"Boyle's Boys?" Dean asked. "Boyle, as in Reverend Buddy Boyle?"
Sam leaned in to the computer and typed something, eyes scanning the screen. "Listen to this; Red Dawg's widow said he was always religious, but a week before he died, he came home from a prayer meeting and was a 'changed man filled with divine glory.'"
Dean sighed. "So, Boyle's at it again. Selling folks on being meat suits for angels."
"Just, what? Talking to smaller groups now?" Hope asked.
"I don't know." Dean shrugged. "Maybe softening them up thousands at a time, he wasn't able to control what angels got let in."
Hope nodded. "This way, Bartholomew's followers can jump in as soon as Boyle does his thing."
"So Red Dawg and his guys were Bartholomew's people?" Sam asked.
Dean frowned. "Yeah, and they got slaughtered. Which means that this new group is even worse." Dean closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "Haven't I always said that angels are dicks? No offense." he added, glancing at Hope.
"None taken." She laughed, running a hand through Dean's hair to smooth out the tangles.
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When Dean woke up the next morning He followed the smell of eggs and bacon to the kitchen where he found Hope juggling several different pans on the stove. "Good morning." She greeted him without turning around.
"Good morning." He replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You make breakfast now, too?" Dean asked, mock surprise in his voice.
Hope laughed. "Yup. I'm an all-purpose angel." Dean came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her head didn't even reach his shoulder; if someone came up behind them they would not be able to tell that Hope was there.
"Where's everybody else?" Dean asked, reaching out to steal a piece of bacon from the plate in front of them, earning himself a smack on the hand from Hope.
"I think Sam and Kevin are still asleep, and Cas went to the store. Put two more pieces of bread in the toaster." She instructed him, stirring the eggs around in their pan.
Dean obeyed. "You let Cas go to the store? Alone?" After a moment his green eyes widened in horror. "You didn't let him take the Impala, did you?"
Hope laughed at the exaggerated terror in his expression. "Of course not; I'm not crazy. I zapped him there. He has strict orders not to talk to strangers, not to take candy from people in creepy vans, and to pray to me when he's done."
Dean laughed. "Covering all of the bases. Well done. I hope you told him to get pie."
"Of course." Hope turned off the stove and scooped some eggs, bacon, and sausage onto a plate. She handed it to Dean who added two freshly-buttered pieces of toast as he carried it and his coffee to the table and sat down.
Hope came up behind him and perched on the arm of his chair, rubbing his shoulders as he made an appreciative sound around a mouthful of eggs. "Sleep well?" She asked.
Dean froze for a second, then relaxed his muscles and swallowed. "Uh...yeah." He managed, sounding unsure.
"What?" Hope asked.
"Nothing. It's just..." He huffed a small laugh but his eyes held no humor. "I can't remember the last time someone asked me that." the hunter shook his head. "God, it must have been before Mom..." He trailed off, swallowing the memories. Hope moved her hand to his back, rubbing gently. Dean's hand shivered slightly, making the light bounce off of his fork.
"I'm sorry, Dean." The angel murmured, wishing for all the world that she could heal the pain in Dean's heart as easily as a cut or a broken bone. He just nodded shakily, unable to form a reply. "My Mom used to ask me every morning." Hope told him. "And if I said no, she'd sit me down and let me talk about it and by the end I always felt better." The angel was smiling softly now, still rubbing Dean's back. "Then one morning I woke up and she wasn't there to ask me." Dean looked up sympathetically. "Car crash. I was ten." She explained. "I never knew my Dad and I didn't have any other family, so I got shuffled off to foster care. And the Mom there, she would ask. But it wasn't the same, you know? I was...afraid to tell her no because what would she do to make it better? What could she do? And after a while, she stopped." Hope looked down at Dean, two pairs of red-rimmed eyes seeing everything in each other. "I never forgot how much it meant to have someone care how you slept." She smiled. "Of course, now I don't sleep, but..."
"It's still nice." Dean supplied. Hope nodded. "Well, then, did you not-sleep well?" he asked.
"Yes." She replied, looking at Dean. The Angel's eyes were soft and warm, a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. It was the kind of look Dean was used to giving, not receiving.
"What?" Dean asked, unsure of how to respond to the affection in her eyes.
"Just...you. You're beautiful." She replied, smoothing her fingers through his hair.
Dean's heart squeezed. Once again, it had been a long time since someone had told him that. He could hear his mother's voice in his head; 'You're so beautiful, Dean. My little angel.
Angels are watching over you.'
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Castiel pushed a cart full of bagged and paid-for groceries into the parking lot, looking a bit flustered from the social experience. He was about to pray to Hope to come get him when two pairs of hands grabbed him from behind a car. A moment later the former angel and his attackers vanished, leaving his cart abandoned on the asphalt.