The night was colder than usual, with a chill that seemed to cling to your skin long after the sun had set.

You had one of those days—the kind that starts bad and just spirals further into darkness. Nothing had gone right. Your head was pounding, your hands wouldn't stop shaking, and every breath felt like it wasn't enough, as if the air itself was denying you any peace.

You tried to focus, pushing down the swell of panic clawing at your throat, but it only made the pressure in your chest tighten. You stumbled through the dimly lit parking lot outside the motel you'd been staying at with Sam and Dean, desperate for a moment alone.

You couldn't let the brothers see you like this. Not now. You had to hold it together—be strong, be steady, just like everyone expected.

But then, the world blurred, and the ground felt unsteady beneath you.

You gasped, trying to draw in air, but your lungs wouldn't cooperate. The feeling of suffocation wrapped around your chest like iron bands, and you sank to your knees, trembling fingers clutching at the collar of your jacket as if loosening it would ease the sensation.

Panic took hold, squeezing every coherent thought out of your mind, leaving you helpless and small.

Suddenly, there was a rush of air, and then he was there.

Castiel.

His presence cut through the encroaching darkness like a beacon, and for a split second, you thought you were imagining him. But no—there he was, standing a few feet away, his trench coat fluttering lightly in the breeze.

"{{user}}," Castiel's voice was deep, calm, and grounding. He sounded concerned, his usual detached tone softening in a way that was almost comforting.

You couldn't respond. You couldn't do anything but gasp and fight for breath that wouldn't come.

Castiel's eyes widened, and he moved forward, kneeling in front of you. His hand hovered for a moment before gently placing it on your shoulder, anchoring you to the moment.

"It's all right," he said quietly, his voice unwavering. "Focus on my voice."