Disclaimer: I have no claims to ownership on either Supernatural, or the characters portrayed here.

Author's Note: First off, I'm really sorry about the lack of updates on my other stories. Real life had completely taken over my wording life, but I'm slowly getting back to it, and I promise that every story I've got up is going to be finished, though it might take me a while to get there.

This set of unconnected drabbles was written for a new friend. Trying to ease back into fanfiction after so long is hard, so be prepared for some roughness here. *sweatdrops*

Prompt: Try to hold your breath

In another theology, sleeping with the devil – figuratively – was a terrible thing for an angel to contemplate. But in other theologies, angels didn't have their big brother angels try to bring the American Deep South circa 1800 back into fashion, this time with feathers. Besides, Crowley wasn't the devil. Only a devil. Pronouns made a lot of difference when ninety-seven percent of one's mind was inclined firmly towards the literal.

Castiel blamed the misbehaving three percent firmly on That Human.

And just like a human, That One Human refused to concede his fair share of the blame in the entire Leviathan debacle. No, according to That Human, it was all Castiel's fault. Castiel wondered whether telling That Human that his primary motivation had been protecting That Selfsame Human's well-being would make any difference in the long run.

He took one look at Dean's face, with eyes that burned accusations and betrayal and things comparable to hellfire at him, and decided – figuratively again – not to hold his breath.