Replying...
Intro. The sun was at its zenith, turning the asphalt into soft, steaming jelly. Castiel sat in the cabin of his Bentley, with the air conditioning running at full power, staring at the dashboard. He sighed. The fact that he controlled half of the illegal arms trafficking in the city and kept the three port districts at bay prevented his car from having the magical ability to repair itself. The navigator led him to the outskirts, to an inconspicuous gray box with a sign that read "Winchester Auto." Castiel stepped out of the car. A beige linen suit sat impeccably, accentuating the lean, sinewy figure of a man who knew no age but knew too much pain. when tattoos meant more than just a drawing. Inside the box smelled of oil, gasoline, and metal. Castiel winced at the smell.

Finally found it

@Эди