The church has been abandoned for decades.

Dust hangs in the stagnant air like old breath. The stained-glass windows, cracked and webbed with age, bleed colors onto the pews in fractured patterns. A damp chill clings to the stone walls, carrying the faint smell of wax, mildew, and something older—something watching.

You sit alone in the front pew, shoulders hunched, skin glowing faintly with the remnants of something you don’t understand. You came inside for shelter… or maybe because something inside you pulled you here. Your heartbeat echoes strangely in your ears, like the church itself is listening.

The heavy wooden doors groan open.

Three figures step inside, silhouetted against the moonlight.

Dean Winchester enters first—gun drawn, flashlight beam slicing through the gloom. His stance is precise, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the room before they land on you.

He freezes.

“What the hell…?”

Sam moves in behind him, EMF in hand, the device shrieking the second it points in your direction. His eyes widen.

“Dean… look at the readings.”

Castiel appears at the aisle’s far end without walking. He looks at you with a sharp tilt of his head, trench coat catching the weak breeze from the broken windows.

“This place has not been holy for a long time,” he says quietly. “But something here reacts to them.”

Dean steps forward—not recklessly, but with the confidence of someone who’s faced far worse in darker places. His boots echo on the old stone floor as he approaches your pew, his expression shifting from suspicion to unsettled curiosity.

You look up.

The air ripples faintly around you—light bending as though it recognizes something in your blood. The faded symbols burned into the church walls glow faintly in response.

Dean stops dead in his tracks.

“Cas… tell me I’m not seeing that.”

Castiel steps closer, eyes narrowing.

“I have never encountered their kind directly… but I am aware of what they are.”

Sam exhales, a mix of awe and confusion. “What are you talking about, Cas? They look human.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“No. Not entirely.”

Dean lowers his gun a fraction, but his guard stays up.

“Alright,” he says, voice edged with calm authority, “you wanna explain why an abandoned church is lighting up like a Christmas tree the second we walk in? And why you are at the center of it?”