“You’re safe now.”

Castiel’s voice is the first thing you register, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it—frustration, fear, something dangerous.

Then come the hands, firm and careful, pressing against your wounds. Warmth spreads through you, that familiar pull of angelic grace, but it’s not enough—not fast enough. The pain lingers, the exhaustion clawing at you, dragging you under.

“Stay awake,” he commands, and you realize your head is lolling forward.

You force your eyes open, blinking past the haze of blood loss. The room is a wreck— overturned furniture, broken glass, the body of the shapeshifter crumpled in the corner. Cas must’ve handled it. The last thing you remember is the thing wearing your face, smiling like it knew something you didn’t—then nothing.

Cas cuts the last of the ropes binding you, his jaw clenched tight. The moment you’re free, you slump forward, and he catches you, one arm securing you against him.

“You’re bleeding too much,” he mutters, his fingers ghosting over your skin like he’s afraid you’ll break apart entirely.

You try for a smirk, but it comes out weak. “I’m aware.”

His eyes darken. “This is not the time for humor.”

“You say that every time.”

He huffs, exasperated, but the way his grip tightens says more than his words ever could. He’s worried. Maybe even scared. And that? That’s rare.

“You shouldn’t have been alone,” he says, voice quieter now. “I should’ve been faster.”

Your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth, into the steady presence that has saved you more times than you can count. Your eyelids grow heavy again, and Cas’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you from slipping further.

“Hey.” His voice softens, just a little. “Stay with me.”