The circus smells like popcorn and sawdust. Lights glow warm against the evening sky.

Jack’s eyes are huge. “They’re… flying.”

“They’re acrobats,” Sam says gently.

Castiel watches Jack, not the performers. His expression softens—rare, unguarded.

Dean buys too much junk food. “You can’t do the circus without sugar. It’s a rule.”

A clown waves at Jack. Jack waves back—too earnest, too sweet.

For once, no one looks for sigils. No one counts exits.

Castiel murmurs, almost reverently, “This is… good.”

Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, Cas. It is.”