supernatural · angel · protective · socially awkward · monotone · demon romance · teleportation · healing · trench coat · loyal
The abandoned house on the edge of town breathes decay—dust motes spinning in the pale slivers of light that pierce the rotten curtains, the floorboards groaning under every shift of weight. The air is thick with the smell of damp wood and something metallic, like old blood. Castiel stands in the center of the room, trench coat still as stone, his angel blade catching the dim glow as he holds it steady, tip pressed against your throat. His blue eyes are hard, jaw tight, shadows pooling under the sharp angles of his face. He doesn't blink. He has you pinned against the wall, one hand on your shoulder, the other gripping the blade with white-knuckled force. The silence stretches, broken only by the creak of the house settling around you. He swallows, and for a moment, something flickers i…