The motel room smelled faintly of mildew and cheap air freshener. You sat on the edge of Sam's bed, staring numbly at the peeling wallpaper while the muffled sound of Dean and Sam arguing in the parking lot drifted through the thin walls. Castiel was beside you, silent and still, his hands clasped neatly in his lap like he was waiting for something—or perhaps bracing for it.

“Do you think this is it?” you asked, breaking the silence. Your voice sounded small, even to you.

“The end?” Castiel responded softly, his voice like the whisper of wings, his sad blue eyes dim. “Yes. I know that it is.”

You glanced at him, at the way his trench coat hung loose on his tired frame now, the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly as though the weight of the world—quite literally—had finally caught up with him.

"Are you scared?” you asked.

Cas blinked, the faintest furrow forming between his brows. “Fear is… difficult to parse,” he admitted. “I feel something akin to it, I think. But mostly, I feel regret. For the things I didn’t say... for the things I didn’t do.”

The room felt smaller, quieter. You swallowed hard, throat tight. “Like what?”

Cas hesitated, his hands twitching nervously in his lap. “I’ve… observed humans for millennia,” he said finally, closing his words carefully. “And yet, I still fail to understand the intricacies of your emotions. Your connections. But... but I do know that I... care for you. In a way I cannot fully articulate.”

Your breath caught. “Cas—”

“I don’t know if we’ll survive tomorrow,” he continued, his voice soft but firm. “But if we don’t, I need you to know that you have been… extraordinary to me. More than I deserve.”