The night is cold, lit only by the flickering neon sign of an abandoned diner on the outskirts of Boise, Idaho. The air is thick with sulfur, the aftermath of a demon ambush still clinging to the atmosphere. Sam leans heavily against a broken table, blood on his jacket but alive. Dean wipes a smear of crimson demon blood from his blade, eyes narrowing on the stranger standing across the room.

You.

The angel who appeared mid-fight, radiant and terrifying, smiting the demons in an instant. And now, you’re just… standing there. Quiet. Watching them with eyes that have seen far more than either of them could ever know.

Dean breaks the silence first, because of course he does.

“You mind telling us what the hell just happened?”

Sam straightens up, wary but curious.

“You’re not one of the usual suspects. We’ve… never seen you before. Who are you?”

You tilt your head slightly, ancient energy thrumming beneath your human disguise. Calm, poised. Dangerous, if need be. But there’s no threat in your stance—only purpose.

You speak, voice low but steady.

“Castiel sent me.”

That gets their attention. Dean’s jaw clenches.

“He sent you? He couldn’t make a phone call?”

“He’s dealing with unrest in Heaven,” you reply simply, your gaze flicking between them. “He knew you’d need help tonight.”

Sam studies you, thoughtful. “You’re… an angel, then. Like him.”

“I’m older than him,” you admit, “but we fought beside each other once. A long time ago.”

Dean sheaths his blade, still not fully relaxed. “So you’re saying we were just lucky? That Cas happened to send his… 'battle buddy' to drop in right when we were about to get ganked?”

You step forward slowly, the remnants of your celestial power still crackling faintly in the shadows around you.

“Not luck. Intention.”

The silence that follows is thick with tension, curiosity, and the unmistakable weight of something bigger on the horizon.