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“Dean Winchester.”
If Dean had been in a chair, he would have knocked it over in his hurry to get to his gun. The deep voice behind him could not belong to the only other creature that was supposed to be in the room. He glanced over at the other bed – sure enough, Sammy had put down the math homework and gone for his gun too. He was so proud. “Who the hell are you and why shouldn’t I put the entire clip into you?”
“Not Hell. I come from Heaven.” Dean snorted. If angels did exist, and he was pretty well convinced they didn’t, they should be terrifying monstrosities beyond human comprehension. This guy looked like some kind of tax accountant. “Dean, you summoned me.”
He’d done no such thing. He knew how summonings worked, and he hadn’t done any of that. “If that’s meant to be why we shouldn’t shoot you? You don’t know how most of our summonings work, do you.”
“Usually they end with the death of the ghost or monster you summon, yes. As I am neither a ghost nor a monster, there is no reason for this one to go that way. However, the main reason for you not to shoot me is that it would be a waste of your bullets. Your guns can’t hurt me.”
Sam lowered his gun. Dean was going to have to have words with his little brother later. Of course the monsters say it won’t hurt them, even if it will! Just on principle, he fired two shots.
The creature looked down, making a show of pushing the bullets back out of the body and putting them back into shape before holding them out to Dean. “Any further testing you wish to do, or can we get on with what you summoned me for?”
Dean put the bullets back in his gun. That way he wouldn’t have to try to explain this to his dad. He’d probably somehow know anyway, but that he got the bullets back would be a point in his favor. “Well. About that. I really didn’t summon you. I don’t know what we’re supposed to be getting on with.”
“You called on God and demanded help with your history essay.” Okay, Dean had said some things and maybe blasphemed a bit about the stupidity of this assignment, but… “I believe he took it personally when you said that not even he could write three thousand words about the First Crusade.”
“Well if he wants to do it for me…” Dean said. Then his brain caught up. God sent this guy, which meant this guy was probably an angel. At the least, he was very committed to the bit. “Look, dude, what are you really? Because angels? Don’t take this personally, but no such thing or the world wouldn’t be so crap.”
“I am an angel of the Lord. My name is Castiel.” The room dimmed, his eyes flared blue, and huge shadows of wings appeared on the wall. Okay. Maybe, just maybe, angels were real and this guy was one. He could just about believe that.
Sam dropping to his knees, though, he was not letting that stand. “Well. We’ve established that the summons was an accident, I was venting about how much I hate school and senior year English and writing essays, so you can fuck right off and leave us alone.”
“Not until your essay is written.” Castiel looked over to Sam. “There is no need to kneel. Even to the Lord himself, such gestures are human inventions to show submission. I am not here to make either of you submit.”
“Right.” Sam got back to his feet, going back to his bed and his math homework. “Good luck getting Dean through his essay. He’s smart, he knows so much about the Crusades and all that, he just doesn’t see that.”
“Just because I know stuff doesn’t mean I can write three thousand words about it!” Dean argued. “Look, Castiel. Cas. Can I call you Cas?” He took the head tilt as a yes. “Cas, I did not summon you on purpose. If I get divine intervention to write this essay, my teacher will say I cheated or plagiarized or something, and I’ll get thrown out of school again. And while I’ve been thinking about dropping out anyway, focus on hunting since I don’t really need the diploma, there’s a huge difference between it being my choice and getting thrown out.” He glared at Sam. “Stop it with the puppy eyes. You know damn well my choice doesn’t affect yours. You’re finishing high school if I have to kick Dad’s ass to let you stay in one place long enough.”
“Have you started your essay yet, Dean, or do you need to finish complaining about it first?” Castiel asked, and Sam dropped the puppy eyes to laugh.
Dean glanced at the books on the bed. “I mean, I’ve done some reading so I can cite sources like I’m meant to, but… no, nothing on paper yet.”
“All right. Have you chosen a specific topic? Because the First Crusade is a rather large subject for a single essay.”
“I… uh…” Dean sat back down on the bed. “Still deciding between writing about the People’s Crusade and the establishment of the Crusader States? My teacher’s encouraging us to talk about the success, as compared to the failures of the later Crusades, but I always preferred the group of little guys who just decided to march off to war together and were so bad at it. Just feels more relatable.”
Castiel nodded. “Which do you care more about, pleasing your teacher for a good grade or writing about something you are interested in?”
Put that way, the choice was obvious. If he was just gonna drop out anyway, who gave a damn about what grade he actually made? “Okay, I’m doing the People’s Crusade.”
“Good choice. Peter the Hermit was a fascinating creature. Passionate, charismatic, and devout, but a terrible military commander and strategist and of course he didn’t just allow the slaughter of the Jews and pillage of the lands he traveled through once he left Catholic territory, he encouraged it.” Castiel gestured to a notebook. “Perhaps you should start by writing down everything you know. You can organize them later.”
“Brainstorm then prewrite? Yes, Mr. MacLeod.” Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “My English teacher. You sounded just like him.” Still, he had a good point. That was the logical place to start.
By the time he’d finished writing, he had realized something. First, he really did know a lot, and Castiel had offered names when Dean couldn’t remember which pope called the Council of Clermont or the name of the city where they crossed into the Byzantine Empire from Hungary. There was probably enough here to get a good start. He could look up sources later, since Mr. MacLeod was probably not going to accept “trust me bro” or “an angel of the Lord told me.” While doing that, he could get some extra details. He just might have three thousand words here.
He closed the notebook and set it aside. “Dad’s gonna be here with supper any minute now, and if you thought I didn’t react well to you, it’s nothing compared to what he’s gonna be like. You should probably take off, Cas.”
“Indeed. If you pray to me when you’re ready to get back to work, I will come back to help you.” Castiel disappeared just as the door opened.