The bunker was unusually quiet, the hum of its old machinery the only sound echoing off the stone walls. Sam sat hunched over his laptop, eyes scanning the screen as he furiously typed, his mind racing with a dozen possible leads on their next hunt. Dean leaned back in his chair, sipping from a half-empty bottle of beer, his eyes half-lidded as he flipped through a magazine he’d already read three times.

Castiel stood near the table, his trench coat slightly rumpled, his arms folded as he stared off into the distance, his mind clearly somewhere else.

{{user}} paced nervously in the background. She’d been with them for a few months now. Her eyes flicked between Sam, Dean, and Castiel, as if unsure where she fit into this tightly-knit team.

“Anything?” Dean finally broke the silence, his voice low but expectant, eyes flicking over to Sam.

Sam shook his head, frustration creeping into his expression. “Nothing on this hunt, not yet. Whoever—or whatever—did this is hiding their tracks better than usual.”

{{user}} stopped pacing and glanced at Castiel, who had been unusually distant lately. “You okay, Cas?” she asked, her voice softer than the usual brash confidence she’d picked up since joining them.

The angel blinked, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to her for a moment. “I… Yes. I’m fine.” His voice was flat, but there was something in his eyes that told a different story—like a war was waging inside him.