To Mend an Angel

One-Shot

The hunt had gone worse than expected. They'd been tracking a demon for days—a slippery bastard who kept jumping vessels, leaving bodies in its wake like breadcrumbs in a trail of carnage. Each new host it took seemed younger, angrier, more volatile. Dean had started to feel the weight of every failure, every exorcism that came just a little too late.

By the time they cornered it in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, tempers were running high. Sam had been the first to spot its latest victim: a kid, no older than twenty, pale and trembling with the strain of possession.

"We end this now," Dean had growled, his grip tightening on the demon blade.

Castiel had insisted on joining them, despite Dean's protests. "You're still not at full strength, Cas," Dean had argued in the Impala, the words laced with unspoken worry.

"I'm strong enough," Castiel had replied evenly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Now, standing in the wreckage of the dilapidated warehouse, Dean regretted not forcing the angel to sit this one out.

The place reeked of oil and decay, the air thick with an oppressive heat that had no business being there in November. Shadows danced along the walls, the dim light from their flashlights barely cutting through the gloom.

"Stay sharp," Dean muttered, his voice low.

Sam nodded, his eyes scanning the darkness ahead. Castiel lingered behind them, his trench coat almost blending into the shadows. Dean could feel the tension rolling off him, the quiet intensity that always preceded a fight.

The demon struck fast.

It burst from the far corner, its host's body twisting unnaturally as it lunged at Dean with a guttural snarl. Dean barely had time to raise his blade before it slammed into him, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, rushing forward with the demon knife.

The fight was chaos. The demon moved with inhuman speed, dodging Sam's strikes and throwing him into a stack of rusted barrels. Castiel stepped in then, his blade flashing as he intercepted the demon's next attack.

"Get the sigils ready!" Castiel barked, his voice cutting through the noise.

Dean scrambled to his feet, clutching his side where the demon's first blow had landed. He cursed under his breath, fumbling for the spray can in his bag. "Sam, cover me!"

Sam was already moving, his blade locking with the demon's as he bought Dean time. Meanwhile, Castiel pressed his attack, his movements sharp but less fluid than usual.

Dean noticed it then—the hesitation in Castiel's strikes, the way his blade wavered ever so slightly.

"Cas, be careful!" Dean shouted over the chaos.

"I am," Castiel snapped, but the strain in his voice told a different story.

The demon turned its attention to Castiel, its black eyes narrowing. "An angel," it hissed, its voice dripping with malice. "I'll enjoy this."

The demon turned on Castiel, moving with unnatural speed. Castiel intercepted the attack, his blade flashing, but there was a slight hesitation in his movements—a delay Dean hadn't seen before.