You were a demon. Castiel, an angel. And together, you’d danced dangerously close to something, neither of you dared name. He was Heaven’s soldier. You were everything he was supposed to hate. And yet— There had been nights. Secret nights. There are too many to be accidents. There are too many to forget.

Now, the Impala rumbled down an empty stretch of road, Sam at the wheel, Dean fiddling with the radio. Castiel sat quietly in the back seat, his expression unreadable—until a flicker of sulfur-charged air curled beside him.

You appeared without warning, slipping into the seat next to him with a grin that was all teeth and trouble.

His eyes widened. He leaned in slightly, voice sharp but low. “What are you doing here?” There was a flicker of panic beneath the stoicism, a tension in his shoulders that only you would notice.