This story is set in season four.

Summary: "Well, I'm not a big fan of Touched by an Angel, if that's your question." Short one-shot.

Rating: K

Warnings: Small, almost microscopic, discussion of religion.

I do not own Supernatural. I have never owned Supernatural. Most likely, I will never own Supernatural. So please don't sue. Please.

Thank you to my wonderful Beta reader, Aindel S. Druida for her great help.

This story is basically me procrastinating from doing my English final exam that's forty percent of my semester grade and my biology homework. But the weather today was just so wonderful, that I had to write something. I just had to. Enjoy.

The Angel Of Thursday

It is not because angels are holier than men or devils that makes them angels, but because they do not expect holiness from one another, but from God alone.

-William Blake, English poet, painter and printmaker.

The motel was like every other one they had ever been in. The sheets smelled relatively clean but the dark stains on them told a much different story. Dean's stomach groaned, complaining of hunger. He set a hand on it, making a face, awaiting Sam's return.

"I'll get the food," Sam had offered a good twenty minutes ago.

Dean, tired, sore, and starving, nodded but warned his younger brother to hurry and not to do anything to his baby. Dean was still wary of leaving Sam with the Impala after the iPod accident. Messing with his baby, Dean scoffed.

But now he wished he had gone with him so he could at least eat a little in the car.

He sighed, sitting on the lumpy bed and turning the small television on and flipping through the channels. All he could hear were snippets but none of the shows were recognizable. He stopped on channel twelve, a Judge show. There was a man in over-alls and an old straw hat complaining to the Judge that his neighbor stole his cow. The neighbor flat out denied it, saying that the over-alls man was drunk. Then they fought. A lot.

Dean felt his eyes close and his mind start to drift, the soft buzz of the television lulling him to slumber.

"Hello, Dean."

Startled, Dean quickly sat upright, his hand reaching for the gun under his pillow.

"It's just me," the voice said again.

Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he saw that it was Castiel.

"God," Dean breathed. "You're like a pop-up book from Hell."

Castiel's face remained stoic. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"What are you doing here?"

The angel paused for a second, then answered, "I wanted to check up on you. I saw that you were hurt."

Dean's hands moved to the large cut on his forehead that he had gotten a few hours ago.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm okay."

Castiel nodded. "Good," he looked around the motel. "Where is your brother?"

"Getting food."

"Ah," the angel said, sitting on the chair next to Dean's bed.

Dean shifted uneasily. He debated on whether or not to ask Castiel why he was still here, but decided to say nothing. There wasn't anything good on television, after all. He wouldn't mind a bit of company, even if it were from a pain in the ass angel.

There were a few moments of awkward silence. Well, awkward on Dean's part. Castiel seemed very content, his head tilted just slightly to the right as if he was listening to something very intriguing.

Finally, Dean decided to break the silence.

"So what do you do?"

Castiel's head suddenly spun towards the man's direction. "I'm sorry?"

"You know, isn't each angel supposed to have a certain function? Like, one thing they do really well?"

Castiel paused. "You don't know much about angels, do you?"

"Well, I'm not a big fan of Touched by an Angel, if that's your question."

"It wasn't."

His mouth formed the shape of an O and he turned on the television, deciding that watching a crappy show was a better option than talking to the strange angel across from him.

"I am the angel of Thursday," Castiel suddenly said.

Dean turned towards the angel, again. "So every Thursday do you throw yourself a party, or something?"

Dean could have sworn that the angel smirked, but just as soon as it happened, it was gone.

"No, I bless people who were born on Thursday or ask for help on that day."

The man said, "That's cool. So you help people?"

"That is one of the jobs of an angel, yes."

Sam took that moment to go into the motel, making sure not to break the carefully made salt lines. He had a big brown bag in his hands, a large brown cow painted on it, advertising, "Bake Sale Betty."

He looked a little startled seeing the angel talking to his older brother, but quickly recovered. It seemed like he was seeing more and more of Castiel and that would not be stopping anytime soon.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean greeted, his eyes lighting up as he saw his younger brother taking out the containers of food. "What did you get?"

"Two chicken sandwiches with a couple bags of fries. I figure that that'll hold you until tomorrow."

Dean grinned, "Awesome," He opened the container, revealing a piece of boneless fried chicken surrounded by a soft bun.

Sam looked at Castiel, who was staring at Dean with a look he could not read. "Uh, I would have gotten you something to. I-I mean, if you wanted it."

The younger of the brothers looked down at the ground when the angel's intense gaze drifted towards him.

"No, thank you though. I was just leaving," He turned towards Dean. "I will be seeing you soon."

Dean, his mouth full of food, replied, "See you, Cas."

He didn't miss the small scowl on Castiel's face at hearing the nickname.

As soon as he left, Sam asked Dean, "What was he doing here?"

Dean merely shrugged.

The boys ate their food, not mentioning the angel for the rest of the night.

Fin