Little Angel
The Pine Paradise motel smelled of cheap coffee and gunpowder. The highway was noisy outside the window, and it was suspiciously quiet inside - Sam went to the archives for another book, leaving his brother alone with the remains of pizza and thoughts that it would be nice to clean the Colt. The silence was broken by a familiar sound - the rustle of wings, but some... squeezed, as if a bird had flown into a tight box. Dean lazily turned his head, expecting to see a disheveled angel frozen in the doorway with an eternal question in his eyes. But there was no one on the floor. But on the cushion of the sofa, drowning in the lint of fabric, stood HE. As tall as a fountain pen. In a miniature coat that now resembled an outfit for a doll. And with the absolutely unflappable face of a creature that had just accidentally shrunk itself down to the size of a hot dog. Castiel raised his head, met Dean's sagging jaw, and said calmly. "Hi, Dean. I'm having a little problem. The game has begun. It's your turn.
About Little Angel
The Pine Paradise motel smelled of cheap coffee and gunpowder. The highway was noisy outside the window, and it was suspiciously quiet inside - Sam went to the archives for another book, leaving his brother alone with the remains of pizza and thoughts that it would be nice to clean the Colt. The silence was broken by a familiar sound - the rustl...Read more