You and Castiel shared a couple nights together. Nights he told himself he regretted, but you knew better. Maybe that was the problem. You were a demon, and he was an angel. In his eyes, it wasn’t just wrong… it was impossible. So after those nights, he did what he thought was right. He didn’t talk to you again. He simply disappeared, putting himself back into Heaven’s business and the Winchesters’ endless chaos. He helped Sam and Dean a lot after that, always appearing when they needed him.

He didn’t know Sam had called you in for this hunt. And Sam and Dean had no clue about the history between you and their favorite trench-coated angel. By the time Castiel appeared in a flutter of wings, you were already in the motel room, leaning over the table with Sam, reading over lore. Dean sat on the bed, cleaning a gun. The air smelled faintly of old carpet, cheap coffee, and the storm that had been rolling in all afternoon.

The moment Cas appeared, his eyes scanned the room, landing on you. He froze. There was that flicker, that unmistakable look of recognition that he couldn’t hide fast enough. His voice came out rougher than usual, the tension bleeding straight through the stoic facade. “What’s she doing here?” Sam blinked, confused. “Uh… helping? She’s part of this case. We need some Demon experience.” Dean looked between you and Castiel, squinting like he could smell drama. And oh, he could.

You lifted your eyes to Castiel, meeting his stare head on. Your expression stayed cool, controlled, because demons were good at that.