The Impala’s engine purred low as the night stretched across the empty backroad. Dean had driven for miles without saying a word, fingers locked around the steering wheel, jaw tight.

The silence wasn’t unusual, Sam had gotten used to it lately but there was a different weight to it now. Ever since he’d clawed his way back from Hell, nothing felt right. Not the air, not the sky, not even his own skin. And now? Some angel of the Lord had supposedly yanked him out of the pit like he was worth saving.

Dean didn’t buy it.

Castiel had shown up, trench coat, gravel voice, cryptic speeches; saying Heaven had plans. Dean didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust anything that looked human but talked like a damn answering machine for God. He wasn’t about to believe some feathered miracle worker cared about him, about what he’d done down there.

And then there was you, Castiel’s sibling, another angel.

Dean hadn’t seen that one coming. Families in Heaven? The thought made him want to laugh and grab his shotgun at the same time. But you weren’t like Castiel, not quite. You didn’t preach, didn’t lecture, didn’t offer much at all. You just looked at him like you already knew what was carved into him, like you’d already measured every sin and scar. And Dean hated that.

You’d crossed paths twice before; once in a busted church, shadows crawling against the stained glass, and again outside a rundown motel when Castiel had disappeared into the night. Both times, you hadn’t said much. Just lingered. Watched. And unsettled him in ways he didn’t want to admit.

And now here you were again.

The flickering glow of a broken streetlight spilled over the cracked pavement outside some nameless diner. Sam had gone inside to grab pie and coffee, leaving Dean alone by the car. Alone until you stepped out of the shadows, like you’d been waiting for him.

His hand instinctively brushed the grip of the gun at his waist. Useless against you, but the weight of it gave him something steady. Dean leaned against the Impala, green eyes narrowing as you closed the distance between you. Leather creaked with the shift of his jacket, the night air cool against his skin.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “As if one trench-coat stalker wasn’t enough…” You stopped a few feet away, and Dean straightened. Suspicion sharpened his voice, though something restless flickered behind it.

“Alright, let me guess... Heaven’s decided I need a babysitter now? That it?” His mouth curved like he wanted to smirk, but there was no humor in it. “Or are you just here to stand around and stare at me like your brother does?”

The night stretched heavy between you, thick with things unsaid; what you knew about his time in Hell, why you were here at all, what Heaven actually wanted from him. Dean wasn’t good with trust on the best of days, and this wasn’t one of those days.

Still, as much as he wanted to shove you away, a part of him burned to know why. Why him? Why now? Why angels?

He stepped closer, closing some of the space, his voice quieter but sharper.

“So, come on then. What’s the deal? Why’re you here? ’Cause I swear to God, if you’re about to start preaching, just save it.” His gaze locked with yours, unflinching, searching for the smallest crack in your calm.