There’s a figure at the end of his bed when Alaric wakes up around 1AM.
It’s not entirely unusual, not since he invited Damon into his apartment. More often than not, he’s woken by the vampire announcing that he’s had a hellish night trying to find his damn wayward brother and he needs to get drunk. Alaric usually gives in. Though he’s on vervain, he likes to pretend the vampire’s compelling him. It’s either that or admit he needs the companionship as badly as Damon does and he’s not ready for that yet. He wonders how many more lessons he can teach hungover before the school finally picks up on him.
He pushes himself up, rubs at his eyes.
“What now, Damon?” He asks.
Except when he looks across to the foot of the bed, he doesn’t see the familiar dark figure of his drinking buddy. Standing before him is a taller man, dressed in a cheap suit and a ratty trench coat. Alaric scrambles for the stake he keeps in a small drawer by his bed, his senses already on full alert.
The stranger hadn’t even moved, hasn’t flinched. He doesn’t seem remotely taken aback by Alaric’s movements. Alaric is right in front of him, the stake is poised, ready to stab the creature but he stops.
The stranger tilts his head, his eyes drop to the stake before looking back up at Alaric. There’s no mockery in his actions, no arrogance.
“You would not be the first person to stab me on our first meeting.”
His voice is low, rough yet soothing.
Alaric doesn’t lower his hand, the stake is still pressed against the strangers chest, “What are you?”
“My name is Castiel.” He says, “And I am an angel of the Lord.”
Alaric just looks at him for a long moment, studies his face. There’s nothing to suggest he’s joking. Either this guy really believes his story or he actually…
Alaric starts laughing, the stake drops to the floor. (Obviously he’s not a vampire if he’s in Alaric’s home uninvited).
“Humans.” Castiel laments as Alaric sits on the end of his bed, and if that doesn’t crack him up further.
Castiel doesn’t say anymore, simply allows Alaric to recover his composure.
“I need to stop drinking.” He mutters as he looks over at Castiel again, points at him, “You’re an angel?”
Alaric nods, “Okay. What are you doing here? Come to tell me I’ve got to go find some new saviour?”
“It doesn’t do well to be so bitter, Alaric.”
Alaric laughs again, this time there’s no humour behind it, “That your big revelation for me? That I should stop being so bitter. Well you can tell him,” Alaric says, flicking his hand upward, “That I’ll stop being bitter when he stops fucking with my life.”
“Alaric…” Castiel starts, taking a step towards him.
“No.” Alaric snaps, “You know what he’s done to me over the past few years? My wife got herself turned into a vampire because I wasn’t enough for her. Then I meet this other woman, this great, amazing woman and I have to lie to her about everything.”
“It takes a goddamn psycho vampire possessing me - something my aforementioned vampire ex-wife had a hand in, by the way - for the truth to come out. Then the fuck happens there? She also gets turned into a vampire. She gets sacrificed because my so-called friends won’t let me try to save her.” Alaric finishes, “Now, I’m left looking after her niece and nephew, trying to be a functional alcoholic and there’s a goddamn angel at the foot of my bed telling me not to be bitter?”
“He has plans for everyone.” Castiel says, simply.
Alaric looks up at him, “I wish I’d staked you when I had the chance.”
Castiel half smiles, dips his head.
“Why are you here?” Alaric asks again, his tone less mocking now.
“Like I told you, Alaric, he has plans for everyone.”
The last thing Alaric sees before he passes out are two fingers being pressed to his forehead.