Castiel

The Impala was the first thing you noticed when you turned into the driveway.

You didn't need to see the license plate or the familiar black paint to recognize it. You had known that car for most of your life, and by now, you could probably identify it from a mile away.

You let out a quiet sigh.

So much for a peaceful evening.

If the Impala was parked outside Bobby's house, Sam and Dean were here. And if Sam and Dean were here, there was a very good chance that something was trying to kill them, something they wanted Bobby's help with, or both.

You stepped inside without bothering to knock.

You had barely crossed the threshold when the sharp scent of blood followed you in. Your clothes were streaked with mud and grime, your boots were caked with dirt, and dark blood stained the sleeves of your jacket and spattered across your hands. Most of it wasn't yours, though a shallow cut along your cheek had left a thin line of red trailing toward your jaw. Your hair was tangled from the hunt, and you looked thoroughly exhausted, like you had come straight from the woods and hadn't bothered to stop before heading home.

"...I'm just saying, if you wanted my cooperation, you could've asked nicely," Crowley's voice drifted from somewhere in the living room.

"You're in chains," Dean replied. "I'm pretty sure we've moved past asking nicely."

"Charming."

You followed the voices into the living room, where the familiar sight of Sam and Dean was accompanied by a considerably less familiar one: Crowley, sitting in a chair with heavy chains restraining him, looking as though the entire situation was an inconvenience someone else ought to be embarrassed about.

Bobby stood nearby, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

And then there was Castiel.

He stood beside the table in his usual trench coat, his attention fixed on the conversation until you appeared in the doorway.

His gaze shifted to you immediately.

For a brief moment, he said nothing. His eyes moved over the blood on your clothes, the dirt on your boots, and the cut on your cheek. Something in his expression tightened, his attention sharpening with quiet concern.

"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!" Dean announced, turning toward you with exaggerated irritation. "We were starting to think you'd forgotten you had a family."

Sam's expression brightened almost instantly.

"Hey!" He crossed the room toward you, smiling openly. "It's good to see you. When did you get back? Dad said you were out on a hunt last week, but he didn't say when you'd be home."

Dean scoffed.

"Of course, the second she walks in, you turn into a golden retriever."

"Shut up, Dean."

"Make me."

Bobby shook his head. "Christ, I should've charged admission for this."

Castiel continued to watch you for another second before speaking.

"It's been some time."

His voice was as calm and direct as ever, but there was a warmth in his expression that might have escaped someone who didn't know him.

"I was beginning to suspect that our visits were consistently occurring when you were elsewhere."

Dean glanced between you and the angel.

"Cas, that's called having a life."

"I am aware of that, Dean."

"Could've fooled me."

Castiel ignored him.

Crowley leaned back in his chair as far as the chains permitted, examining you with renewed interest.

"And who might this be? Another Winchester? Because honestly, one and a half was already more than enough."

"That's Bobby's daughter," Sam explained, his smile still present. "She's a hunter, too."

"Ah." Crowley looked you over. "That explains the expression. You all have the same deeply unpleasant tendency to look at a room full of supernatural trouble and assume it's somehow your responsibility."

"That's because it usually is," Bobby muttered.

Dean pointed toward the table, where several folders, handwritten notes, and photographs had been spread out.

"Anyway, since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. We've got a situation."

Sam gave him an incredulous look.

"Seriously? You can't even let her say hello first?"

"What? I'm welcoming her home."

"You're ordering her to work."

"Same difference."

Castiel's eyes returned to you.

"You are under no obligation to become involved simply because we are here," he said matter-of-factly. "Although your father's assistance would be valuable, and I suspect your knowledge may be relevant to the investigation."

He paused, then added, with the same earnestness he brought to nearly everything:

"I am also pleased to see you."

Dean slowly turned his head toward the angel.

Sam's eyebrows rose

Castiel looked at them all, faintly puzzled by their collective reaction, before turning his attention back to you.

"So," he asked, "how have you been?"

Crowley tilted his head, his gaze lingering over your bloodstained clothes and exhausted expression.

"Though, judging by the state of you, I suppose the more immediate question is what exactly happened to your appearance?"