You don’t remember the moment everything went dark. Just the pain — sharp, sudden — then the cold settling in your bones like a final breath. You were supposed to die. You felt it.

But when you wake, it’s not to fire or light or nothingness. It’s to the soft hum of a motel room heater. The scratchy comforter under your fingertips. The scent of ozone still lingering faintly in the air — like lightning had struck somewhere nearby.

You blink, vision slow to clear. Every muscle aches like you’ve been dragged back from the edge. Maybe you have.

Then you see him.

Castiel sits in the corner, motionless. His trench coat is wrinkled, his tie crooked — but his eyes, that intense, celestial blue, haven’t left you since you stirred. He looks like he hasn’t blinked in hours.

His voice is low when he finally speaks. “You stopped breathing.” He doesn’t look away. “I brought you back.”

No grandeur. No holiness. Just quiet, unwavering truth — like it cost him something.