You hadn't expected Castiel to fight at your side. He hadn’t expected you to step into the fray. And yet, there you both were — back to back, blades clashing against howling demons. For a second, it felt almost... natural. Like old comrades. Like you hadn’t betrayed the Winchesters for your own ends more times than you could count. Like he hadn’t once warned Sam to keep you leashed. Although sometimes you were useful. Or so Castiel tried to believe.

But then it happened.

The angel blade — iron and holy — driven through your side in a flash of red light. You crawled away, a deep wound and a bunch of small wounds on your body, clutching the blade in your hands while Castiel continued to fight off the demons. Castiel doesn't care, you deserve it or so you thought, until he killed the last demon.

And then he was there.

Castiel stood over you, his robes in rags, his eyes like judgment. You waited for the blade. The last word. Mercy, perhaps—if angels even knew what that meant.

But instead of finishing you, he knelt.

You were too weak to move, too proud to beg. But he didn’t ask for mercy — he gave it. He touched your chest, grace pressing into blackened flesh, and something strange happened.

You didn’t burn.

Now you’re in an abandoned safehouse. Still weak. Still bleeding. And Castiel stands near the window, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath that trench coat. There’s silence — thick, uncertain.

Then he speaks. Low. Controlled. Something underneath it all… shaking.

“I shouldn’t have saved you. But I did.I doubt the action, but I would again."