"Oh, heavens, where am I?" she cried. The King's son, full of joy, said, "You are with me," and told her what had happened, and said, "I love you more than everything in the world; come with me to my father's palace, you shall be my wife."

Dean blinks rapidly, his vision swimming as he swears he's going to have a heart attack. The man stares at him while one hand seems to be checking his body for any damage, focusing mainly on the giant freaking wings attached to his scrawny frame; thin white fingers smooth over bent feathers while blue eyes stare owlishly into forest green. The man finally blinks, glancing over his shoulder at a particularly bent feather, a small frown playing at the corner of his mouth.

Dean takes a deep breath, prepared to be calm and rational. Of course he can explain why a man (angel? What the hell, this day couldn't get any worse.) seemed to wake up from a nearly comatose state after Dean's mouth barely made contact with his. Yeah, happened all the time, just talk to Snow freakin' White. Instead of the calm rationality he had hoped for, something resembling a squeak tumbles gracelessly from the eldest Winchester's mouth.

The man's dark eyebrows furrow, and he cocks his head again. The frown that had come to his mouth because of a bent feather now turns to a frown of confusion. "...do you not speak?" Blue eyes flit away from Dean's, and a concerned looking expression crosses briefly over the man's face. "Where was I sent? I thought Father had given humans the gift of speech..."

Dean shakes his head, finally snapping out of his shocked reverie. "Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up." The man looks back at him, his concerned expression quickly washing off his face, leaving a blank slate. "What the hell is going on?"

The man's face morphs into confusion; he hops off the table, wings wrapping around his body protectively as he wobbles slightly on his feet. Dean watches as the man lifts his hand to his lips, the pads of his fingers running lightly over the chapped skin. "You were able to break the binding enchantment on me..." Blue eyes flicker up to him while the man begins to pace slowly. "Did you not do it on purpose?"

Dean shakes his head, holding up his hands defensively as the man fixes him with a suspicious glare. "No man, I was just trying to help!" The man sighs softly and runs a hand through his already messy black hair. He gazes at the dirty ground, toeing at a mouldy bible. He's quiet for a moment until suddenly, a hand flies up to smack Dean in the middle of his forehead. A blinding white light flashes before Dean's eyes, and a shock of electricity shoots down his spine, causing a rather disgusting gurgling noise to be produced from the green eyed male.

The hand pulls back; Dean nearly collapses on top of the man, his breath coming out in wheezing gasps. His eyes try to focus, and hand comes up to rub at his forehead; the skin is cool underneath his fingertips. "W-what the hell?"

The man shrugs a skinny shoulder, his eyes fluttering as a light pink flush comes to his pale cheeks. "I had to make sure that you were not possessed." A soft, pleased sounding sigh comes from the winged man. "I am glad that you are not."

Dean straightens, his hand pausing in its massage of his forehead. His expression changes from confused anger to annoyed amusement. "What? Like possessed by a demon?" He lets his hand drop to his side, giving the man a once over. Although there are giant black wings coming from the man's boney back, Dean doesn't feel ridiculous when saying: "Sorry to break it to you, but I don't believe in that shit."

The church falls silent, eerily so as the man fixes Dean with a disapproving gaze. A frown dips the corner of his mouth, and his blue eyes suddenly seem endless and cold. There is a sort of air about the man that causes Dean to suddenly feel like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "You're a blasphemer…" The man whispers lowly; his wings seem to puff up around him, and it seems like he's trying to appear larger than he is. It reminds Dean of the birds on Animal Planet; this thought causes him to snort in humour. An expression of anger flashes briefly over the man's face, and the feathers almost stand of end.

Dean coughs to cover his laughter; he glances around the empty church, at the overturned pews, cracked stained glass windows, to the table where the man had been laying. "…so umm, what's your name? Mine's Dean." He offers his hand for the man to shake, but receives a glare instead.

"…Castiel."

Dean huffs, kicking at the dust on the ground. He notices that the light is growing darker, meaning that he's been gone from the funeral longer than he should have been. "Well, c'mon, we're gonna go."

Castiel blinks, seeming to forget his anger for a moment in light of his confusion. "Excuse me?"

Dean turns from the man, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants. "We're going back to my house, Cas. C'mon."

()()()

Tired…so tired. Enjoy this chapter.