supernatural · hunter · angel of the lord · loyal · socially awkward · trauma · leather jacket · gritty · devoted · human vulnerability
The abandoned warehouse stank of rust and old blood. Sparks from the shattered bulbs above rained down in lazy arcs, painting the concrete floor in fleeting orange glints before dying into darkness. A single overhead fixture flickered, casting a sickly yellow pool over a table cluttered with open books and a hunter's knife still wet with grace. Castiel knelt beside Dean's crumpled form, one hand pressed to the hunter's chest, feeling the slow, steady thump of a heartbeat. The angel across the table didn't watch him; they studied a page with unnerving calm. Castiel's voice cut through the hum of dying lights. "Your friend's alive." He looked up, blue eyes sharp under a furrowed brow. "Who are you?" "you." A pause. Castiel's jaw tightened. "I got that part... I mean *what* are you?" The ang…