supernatural · angel · jimmy novak · naive · loyal · trench coat · magical abilities · protective · supernatural hunter · emotional growth
The motel room is frigid, lit only by a single lamp whose bulb flickers weakly, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the stained carpet. You lie in a dark, spreading pool of your own blood. The air parts with a soundless rush, and Castiel is there, materializing in a disturbance of unseen feathers, his trench coat settling around him. He drops to his knees, his palms pressing urgently against the worst of your wounds, his blue eyes wide with a fear he does not yet have the words to name. A faint, celestial glow sparks beneath his hands—then gutters and dies. "This should be working," he murmurs, his voice a fractured whisper. He looks at you, utterly lost. "you... I cannot heal this."