bollock: (JC353866)
John Constantine ([personal profile] bollock) wrote2015-11-26 06:03 pm


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heavenonearth: (.005)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-05 06:55 am (UTC)(link)
It had taken days for Castiel to find the damned business card. With no call to bathe, or change his clothing, he rarely bothers to root through his pockets, and it isn't until he's doing a routine cleansing sweep to atomize the dust clinging to his slacks that he even notices it there, a small square of paper where there should be nothing. John Constantine, the name said, and Castiel had paid it little enough mind beyond passing irritation, until he'd bothered to read the rest of it. Exorcist? Demonologist? Since the narrowly averted apocalypse, the amount of demons and angels walking on earth has certainly grown, and the hunters, as far as he has seen, have learned to adapt, but Sam and Dean aside, he hasn't known of any who have considered themselves specialists. Vampires and shapeshifters, rugarus and werewolves - they're small time when compared with a demon, and sure, he'll give credit where credit is due, hunters can be cunning and deadly, but most still won't choose to tangle with a demon unless they absolutely have to.

He doesn't want to admit that he's curious, but he is. The more and more he thinks about this man, the more he wonders if it isn't a thing worth pursuing; for good or ill, John Constantine seems the sort of man that an angel ought to keep an eye on.

So here he is. That elaborate and terribly respectable 'fuck off sigil' might do its job of warding off nosy townspeople, but it is unfortunately useless at keeping out nosy angels. Few enough things can, barring correctly etched Enochian sigils (and, apparently, cursed mistletoe, but that's a horse of another color), and John is easy enough for Castiel to find. He arrives with a quiet rustle of feathers, appearing out of thin air, as angels are wont to do, and standing a little too close for comfort, as Castiel is wont to do. Dean has certainly tried his best to remind Castiel that personal space is a thing to respect, but it hasn't seemed to stick. Narrowing his eyes, Castiel frowns thoughtfully, before casting his gaze slow and measuring around the small church.

"Who are you calling for?"
heavenonearth: <user name=tesseractheart> (.040)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-05 08:15 am (UTC)(link)
Sorry John, without a kissing trap to do the brunt of the work, you'll find Castiel much harder to knock out of his comfort zone; he's used to this sort of smarmy behavior from Dean, pet names and all, so it's hardly disconcerting, even if he does take a moment to shoot John a dry stare. It's also of note that he's utterly unperturbed by John's reaction; you're not wrong, guy, angels do what they want. Popping up in your business unannounced is their M.O.

Truth be told he's far more interested in what's going on, here. He'd come to check up on this guy, hadn't expected to find him knee deep in the occult, smoking and complaining in a small church in the middle of the night. Turning away, he wanders slow down the aisle between the dusty pews, floorboard creaking under his weight as Castiel squints at the walls with an appraising eye, like a soccer mom sizing up a minivan, trying to decide if there are enough cupholders, and if a roof mounted TV is really necessary. Castiel recognizes all of these sigils, but some of them are so arcane, so old that he really needs to take a pickax to the memory banks to recall them; just how did this man get ahold of them? Where did he dig them up?

"You gave me your card," he answers, matter of factly, approaching the western wall and leaning close to inspect a particularly ancient symbol, still drying, between two windows. Castiel's voice is rough and low and even as a still pond. "I was curious."

And then, with eyes lifting further up the wall - "You didn't answer my question. Some of these sigils are dangerous, and old. Are you trying to call something?"
heavenonearth: (.052)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-05 03:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Of course he's surprised. John doesn't look like a guy who in any way looks like he knows what he's doing. But at least he's well dressed.

Castiel listens quietly, his eyes still moving over the walls while John explains a fifty word story in a hundred, and once he's finished, Cas is quiet for awhile, his answer an ineffective 'hm' while he picks across the dusty floorboards to approach the pulpit again. If he's at all offended by the blasphemous flair, it certainly doesn't show on his face; Castiel's blue eyes are hooded and thoughtful but they betray little else. He doesn't talk about God much, anymore. Doesn't try to tell people what to think, or how to address Him.

"I see," he says, uselessly, and now that he's finished studying the church, he's turned to studying John instead, staring at him in that long-unsettling way that Dean's always complaining about, like a cat, unblinking, like he's looking straight through John, right under his skin. Which he very well may be doing, so far as anyone can tell. "So you are a hunter."

There's far more to it than that, though. Castiel feels it in his gut, doesn't need to probe John's mind or thoughts or soul to know that something about him is.. different.
heavenonearth: (.060)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-06 07:29 am (UTC)(link)
John's reaction isn't terribly surprising; it is his experience that humans don't like being stared at, and Castiel himself has a particularly probing gaze, a propensity for watching people for an uncomfortable amount of time, or during odd hours like, you know, when they're fast asleep. He doesn't think to read insecurity into it, though perhaps he probably should, considering how reminiscent this man is of Dean. But for all his invasiveness, Castiel doesn't make it a habit to probe people's thoughts; that's a privacy he doesn't like to breach unless absolutely necessary.

At any rate, he continues to stare even after John looks away.

"Castiel," he remarks, to John's profile, because 'sunshine' is getting old fast, and Castiel has no real sense of sarcasm so he just thinks it's an incredibly ridiculous nickname because he's not sunny at all. why would you even call him that? When John goes on about being a specialist, Castiel's brow furrows deeply, his expression folding into something more thoughtful, because goodness gracious he certainly has a lot of questions about that, about how this man learned these esoteric symbols, who taught him how to use them correctly, and just why he chooses to throw down with demons of all things. The only thing stupider for a human to try to hunt is an angel.

Everything so far, however, points to confidence and experience, this certainly isn't John's first rodeo, and in order to build such confidence and experience, one needs to succeed. How many demons has he killed, Castiel wonders? But more important, really, is the why. He doesn't get the chance to ask that, however, before some sort of dawning epiphany blooms over John's face, and Castiel is left feeling wary while he watches him fetch his pail of.. that.

"What are you doing?"

Said the most suspicious angel, ever.
heavenonearth: (.015)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-06 08:36 am (UTC)(link)
When John begins painting the floor around him in a very definitive spell meant to include him, Castiel feels himself beginning to bristle - not only because that's an awfully rude and appallingly presumptuous thing to do, but also because he recognizes the Enochian immediately, and it unsurprisingly makes him a little tense. There are very few humans who know the language of the angels, and most who do were taught by Castiel himself, or those who Castiel taught; some demons know it too, and, he supposes, some specialists as well, who dig up arcane occult knowledge they should definitely not ever have their hands on. Even other angels are not like to impart such knowledge to humans, because these symbols are one of the very few ways to ward or control a celestial, and angels are protective and arrogant and fancy themselves superior and immune to harm or restriction.

Castiel's simply that one weirdo who's fond of humans, really fond of them, fond enough to rebel and fall for them, fond enough to destroy thousands of his own brothers and sisters before harming a hair on a human's head. So Sam and Dean know plenty of Enochian. But this guy? Mister Mysterious, chain smoking, too-charming-for-his-own-good Constantine? Yeah, Castiel is understandably circumspect about it.

It seems, however, that what he's writing is more or less innocuous, or at the very least it doesn't seem to be targeted to harm or restrain him in any way, so Castiel allows it, for the moment, following John's hands with his eyes while he paints the whole of the sigil swiftly and expertly around him with the ease of long practice. He doesn't ask questions, not yet, at least, only watches, careful and astute, studying each Enochian letter, testing the space around his vessel with his grace to feel for the building trap that never rises.

When John at last circles 'round to the point of the thing, Castiel is already beginning to put it together, and thankfully he is not too proud a creature to not offer his assistance here, even if it wasn't entirely consensual, because hey - if it means dragging in a nasty demon to smite? He's not going to turn that down. And admittedly, all right, he's curious about where this is going, how it's going to turn out, and moreso, to learn what John is capable of. Perhaps it's a bit haughty, but Castiel isn't afraid. The only thing that can kill an angel, after all, is another angel.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he says, almost serenely, staring coolly into John's face. Messing with life energy or soul energy is one thing, but angels? Grace? They are each and every one of them like miniature supernovas, the sheer power of their form so overwhelming that when visiting this plane they must wear human skin to keep from destroying everyone and everything around them simply by existing. If John is seeking to tap that.. well. Here's to hoping he's got a gentle touch, and no small amount of finesse tucked away somewhere. "If you destroy yourself, I won't take responsibility."
heavenonearth: (.065)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-06 04:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Castiel watches the entire bloody, violent thing unfold with the lofty, fearless judgment that only an angel could possess, like he's at the movies on a Sunday morning, a part of the thing, but not really. He came here, agreed to this to be a spectator, and sure, beneath the angel nonsense Castiel has a kind heart, and if anything were to happen, if this were to fly out of control in any way he would be quick to smite the thing, to come out guns blazing with all the righteous and holy fury of the Lord behind him.

He doesn't need to.

The spell is uncomfortable in the rare sort of way that it actually touches him, him, not this human suit he's wearing, not Jimmy Novak's old body, but his truest self beneath it, the form and Grace that make up a seraph, that make up Castiel. It feels like being probed somewhere deep, like a part of himself is being coaxed away, and Castiel's breath rushes sharp at the sensation, his Grace recoiling beneath his skin. In his eyes a faint glow flares pale blue, and behind him on the far wall flickers the shadow image of his great wings stretching broad and elegant over the painted walls and curved rafters, enormous in the slanting of the light. The sharp scent of ozone and rain fills the space around them.

Castiel doesn't waver. For all it feels invasive, it does not hurt, only rouses, and Castiel knows that he is not the one in danger here.

When the thing at last coalesces, Castiel feels the same lurching ire that he always does, the hallowed fury of God made manifest through His servant, because in the end Castiel is a blade, a warrior built to answer the call to arms, and his Grace cannot abide the nearness of such an abomination without itching for a fight. Adding insult to injury is the sheer amassing of human souls. Castiel holds a special place in his heart for the demons who would dare harness, capture, or bend the power of a human soul to his will, using his Father's great work toward their own ends, it is a particularly foul sort of sin, one that strikes home for Castiel in particular for his love of all things human. Whether or not the souls were great sinners being punished for their mistakes is of no consequence to him; certain things should simply not be, and this thing he sees is an anathema, heinous and unholy in a hundred different ways. It takes all of Castiel's schooled self control to keep himself rooted to the spot, to not take the thing apart with his own hands and keep it suffering for its intolerable trespass.

He lets John do his work. In the end, Castiel is not here to destroy a demon, he is here to take the measure of a man, and John had not asked for his help in this, not past, apparently, the hijacking of his Grace. So he's the backup plan, if all of this blows up in John's face, and nothing more. It doesn't, though. All of John's posturing seems in fact to have been based in fact, and it would be impressive if it weren't so dangerous, but then again, he's watched Sam and Dean pull this sort of stunt a hundred times, always pushing themselves to their limits but pulling through in the end. John's methods are, perhaps, a bit different, and that's what concerns him, but for now he's passed the test, if that is what this was.

Stepping out of the sigil and over creaking floowboards, Castiel brushes tiny shards of blue glass off of his shoulder as casually as a leaf, and walks steady toward the pulpit to find the poor whiskey bottle has not, in fact, gone undamaged. But the bottom half is intact at least, and still half full of the stuff, so Castiel plucks it up and carries it over to John like he's some great Holy Delivery Boy (oh how the mighty have fallen).

"Don't cut yourself," he says, businesslike, while he drops into a kneel and offers the broken thing forward.
heavenonearth: (.035)

i sure did misread that w h o o p s awkward kneeling is awkward

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-07 12:18 am (UTC)(link)
So horse semen specifically is something you commonly imbibe then eh, really good to know.

"No," he says succinctly, and when John sits he follows suit, falling back onto his heels in a way that's comfortable, but slightly awkward, like he doesn't entirely know how to fold his body the right way, because he doesn't. Little things like that are what set angels apart, wearing human meat is strange and cumbersome, though truth be told Castiel in particular is a little more awkward than most, a little more robotic, a little more strange.

"Why did you do this? Why do you hunt demons?"

Because that's really all this is about, isn't it? The real reason that Castiel is here. John has more or less proven his capability - though one showing isn't really enough to gauge the full measure of what he's able to do - but that doesn't explain why he's doing it, what he's getting out of this, why he's risking so much. Hunters all have their reasons, of course, and Sam and Dean had hunted the same demon for years out of personal vendetta, but most people aren't so reckless.
heavenonearth: (.053)

NO I'M AN IDIOT WHO CAN'T READ but john can shove it

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-07 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
In the grand scheme of things, yes, Castiel has been wearing this skin for far longer than most angels ever would. Years. It's been so long since he's walked the celestial planes that it almost feels like a distant memory, would if he weren't an ancient thing possessed of an impossibly long lifespan. Angels in general don't prefer to inhabit vessels for any longer than is strictly necessary - it's below them, after all, not to mention uncomfortable and restrictive - and while Castiel is, you know, several billion years old, and a handful of them spent in a vessel is as a drop of water in the ocean, it still somehow feels like a very long time. Perhaps because these recent years have been so rife with activity and change that he feels a very different creature from the angel he once was.

What it comes down to, really, is just that Castiel thinks he's people. He's just bad at it.

"Drive? Of course not," he answers, a crease forming in his brow. Why drive when you're an interdimensional wavelength that can hop wormholes and cut through the fabric of spacetime with ease? Cars are so.. slow. And cramped. "Why?"

And you're not answering his questions here, John. Ugh. Humans are impossible.
heavenonearth: <user name=tesseractheart> (.040)

im sorry i meant sod off you bloody wanker that's words he can better understand right

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-07 05:46 am (UTC)(link)
Sorry John, Castiel really couldn't give any less fucks about being caught here if he tried. He's an angel, human rules and regulation certainly don't apply to him, not when he can cheat and do things like wipe memories or teleport away or even go back in time to change it if he really wanted to; he's not particularly concerned with getting caught. Not to say that he's above the law, but I mean. He is.

So as far as he's concerned, vacating the premises in a timely manner is John's problem, not his. And what's all this 'we' nonsense, anyway? As if Castiel had anything at all to do with this debacle.

He's not particularly quick to rise, but he stands soon enough, unfolding himself smoothly and watching John's back with his head tilted just so. The guy looks sore, and Castiel could heal him with no more than a touch if he wanted to, but he doesn't offer, because he still doesn't really know this man, doesn't trust him, and his life isn't in peril, so it isn't really necessary.

Casting his gaze once more over the small, ruined church, Castiel strides down the aisle with his hands at his sides. This is where he must debate with himself whether or not it's worth staying. Sure, he certainly got an eyeful of John's skill firsthand, but he didn't really get any answers, learned nothing important beyond 'he can do spells that kill demons' which, sure, is good to know, but not what he's after. So fine, all right, he's still curious enough to stick around for now, which is really saying something, for an angel; Dean, he knows, is consistently frustrated by Castiel's habit of appearing and disappearing at will, sometimes mid-conversation, which is apparently very rude, but it's yet to stop him doing it.

"My name is Castiel," he repeats, helpfully.
heavenonearth: (.063)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-07 07:15 am (UTC)(link)
Because Castiel can't be bothered with the inefficiency of doors, he pops right into the passengers' seat in what seems like the blink of an eye, neatly snapping his seatbelt into place even though a car accident, no matter the severity, would absolutely not kill him. Some rules simply deserve to be followed, simply for the sake of being good rules. The car itself is nothing like Dean's Impala, the only vehicle that Castiel is really acquainted with. That car smells like.. well, like Dean - like leather, mostly, and whiskey, and iron, and blood. This car has the artificial clean scent of a rental, cut through by the acrid, unpleasant smoke from John's cigarette, which was bearable in a church and outdoors, but entirely disagreeable when stuck in a car.

"No, I'm not," he answers, casting the lit cigarette a baleful, disapproving stare before he fixes his eyes on the road ahead. This music is terrible. People listen to these sounds for enjoyment? "I'm a Seraph," he continues. "A warrior."

Heaven is arranged more or less like a rigid military, and for all humans like to believe that they are peaceful, kind things with fluffy wings and pink cheeks that run about performing miracles on the needy, they couldn't be more wrong. The largest mass of the heavenly host are in fact soldiers, most of them simple footmen, like Castiel himself had once been, and they are all of them brutal and terrifying, far more machine than they are sentient being, programmed to kill and destroy in the Lord's name, as per His wishes. There are, of course, other types, more peaceful sorts like the Messengers John's referencing, and Cherubs, and Healers, some angels are guardians, others work behind the scenes to keep Heaven in order, there's an entire hierarchy going on, all very neat and organized. Though it's.. a little less so, these days, no thanks to Castiel stepping in and ruining everything. That John knows even a little bit about it is a bit unnerving, though; generally speaking, human beings know far, far less about angels than they do about demons. Castiel's blue eyes narrow, and he cuts a scrutinizing glance in John's direction.

"What do you know about angels?"
heavenonearth: (.060)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-07 08:29 am (UTC)(link)
When John flicks the cigarette away, Castiel is more than a little surprised at the consideration; given his experience with this man, he seems the type to do just the opposite, to heckle and bother simply for the sake of heckling and bothering, contrary to his very core. Castiel isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth though, so he makes no comment.

He bristles, however, when John grins that jackal's grin, teasing like it's good sport, because yes, that's exactly what he's been wondering all night and this jerk knows it full well, but it seems he'd rather hop from foot to foot than give a straight answer. Contrary. There's no room to complain though, because John finally gives it to him, and truth be told, Castiel had been expecting it, but it makes his chest tighten in apprehension nonetheless.

Things have.. changed, in Heaven, as of late. Castiel's allegiance has certainly swayed and broken, and things are in disarray, confused, angels are killing one another, and much as it pains him he cannot always trust his own brethren, however much he wishes to. That there's an angel hanging around, consorting with a human, potentially teaching him dangerous things - it's telling, at the very least, and more than a little suspicious, but for all Castiel knows it might also be entirely innocent. He has no way of knowing. Not yet. Still, his voice is a little harder, tinged with something like concern or trepidation.

heavenonearth: (.091)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-07 09:20 am (UTC)(link)
He shouldn't be surprised that John's getting all cagey on him about this, and it's frustrating in a way that rankles, that makes him just want to pop out of this car and halfway across the earth just because he can, because he doesn't appreciate being jerked around and denied answers.

.. when it comes down to it, however, Castiel is reasonable, and he is smart and observant, even if that's often forgotten in the bluster of his often hilarious attempts at being human. That John is being protective is abundantly clear, and despite how vexing it currently is, he can appreciate that loyalty. He sees in it a reflection of himself, after all, for he knows if anyone were to probe him about the Winchesters in a way that seemed anything less than entirely innocent, he would respond exactly the same way. Strange though, he hadn't imagined John to be the loyal sort, but looks can be deceiving.

Castiel's irritation is clear in the cut of the frown he throws right back at John, ruffled and combative, but in the end he only sighs, exasperated, and rubs two fingers against his forehead.

"Because anything pertaining to Heaven, and my family, I consider my business," he says, quietly but firmly, a deep crease in his brow, his eyes fixed on John's face, open and honest and hiding nothing. Whether John believes a word he says or not is really not for Castiel to decide, but he is nothing if not the upfront sort, often brutally so. He'll just have to hope for the best. "Most especially if they're spending time with humans. Things upstairs are.. "

He hesitates here, because really, the state of Heaven is no one's business but the angels', and when it comes down to it Castiel is ashamed of it, ashamed of them, and it chafes him to admit the state that Heaven is in, but these reasons are entirely personal. If there's an angel walking with humans, potentially causing trouble, he must do everything within his power to squeeze out information, even if it ends in failure.

".. strained. Not every angel has a pure motive, and most of them are not particularly fond of humans, would sooner kill them than assist them."
heavenonearth: (.026)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-07 09:47 pm (UTC)(link)
The real kicker here is that it would be a thing as simple as breathing to just read John's mind, to find the name Manny right there at the front of it; angels hear thoughts just about as easily as they hear voices, really (that's how prayers work), and Castiel must actively block them in order not to hear them as passively as he hears the wind, or the sound of birds. But that's just the kind of angel that he is. Weak, maybe, but that's a line he does not cross, not unless there's much more at stake. Funny, how just a handful of years ago he would have been just fine with cracking John's mind open like an egg and taking whatever he needed in the name of the greater good; now it's not a thing he even considers. Well, okay, he definitely considers it. But it isn't going to happen.

So it's a good thing that John answers when he does, because Castiel is literally a handful of seconds from getting the hell out of dodge here, because it certainly feels that he's giving much better than he's getting, and no real return on his investment means this has been an overall waste of his time. Dammit John, he let you fuck around with his Grace okay, that's a big deal, so stop being a bitch.

Castiel's still not sure it's an acceptable response though, it's not a name like he'd asked, but the word 'Darkness' alone is enough to make his blood run cold. There's open surprise in his expression. "I haven't," he says, feeling all of the misgiving in is heart fold over and double itself, with no idea where to even begin with this, and the reckless urge to fly up to heaven this very moment to demand answers even if that would assuredly not go particularly well for him. "What is it?"
heavenonearth: (.052)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-08 06:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Castiel listens in pensive silence, hanging on every word, his expression tight with worry but laser focused nonetheless. The more John describes it, the better Castiel feels, because it sounds like this thing has less to do with the Darkness that he knows of than what he'd previously thought - though that makes it no less concerning.

There are a hundred things, a thousand things that could be at the root of this. Opening the Devil's Gate in Wyoming, breaking open the Cage, all the shattered seals of the Apocalypse, opening the door to Purgatory not only once, but twice.. plainly speaking, so much shit has been happening recently that it's impossible to say how it's affected the world, what consequences it might have wrought on this plane of existence, or all those linked to it. Thinning the barriers between dimensions seems a likely enough result, what with how many holes have been punched through the realms recently, how many more demons have been walking the earth, and angels as well, who meddle in human affairs far less than demons ever do.

"And an angel asked this of you? To look into it. To try to discover the source of this.. disease."

It's unsettling, to be sure. Castiel is high on Heaven's most wanted list these days, he can't claim to know all about everything that's going on up there, but the place is a mess, a wreck, factions following their own orders, keeping to private agendas. Everything has gone from black and white to varying shades of grey, and he no longer trusts his own kind intrinsically.
heavenonearth: (.015)

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2015-12-09 04:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Experience or not, it's not like angels to rely on a human for anything unless they're using them; Castiel is something of a rare breed when it comes to his faith in human beings, just how much he believes in them, and it's far easier for him to believe that an angel could be manipulating John for its own gain than to think it might be anything at all like himself.

John seems to be making it abundantly clear, however, that it isn't Castiel's problem, and he's exasperated enough with it to let the matter drop. He can't force a name, doesn't want to, so that's that then, isn't it? When John asks about Heaven, though, Castiel rolls his eyes so hard it's a wonder they don't fly out of his skull.

"You won't give me the name of one angel, but you expect me to give you the insider on what's happening in Heaven? Information is a two-way street, John Constantine, and some kinds of knowledge are more valuable than others."

A shame for him that Castiel isn't quite so doe-eyed as he might look; he's given John plenty to chew on, as far as he's concerned, and while Castiel's patience is plentiful and his willingness to help is great, he's not really getting much back, here, feels like he's had to pull teeth to get what he's gotten. And that's fine. To be honest, he's used to it, Dean can be just as frustratingly tight-lipped - but when you pretend to throw the ball enough times, eventually the dog learns that you're not actually going to throw it, and becomes disinterested. Sighing softly through his nose, Castiel fixes his gaze on a point in the distance, unfocused and distant.

"But you should be careful."
heavenonearth: credit: <user name="tweak"> (.076)

you live! no problemo though, i was busy myself.

[personal profile] heavenonearth 2016-01-01 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)
At the very least, John Constantine seems to know when to let it rest. Angels, apparently - or any questions surrounding this specific angel that he's associating with - are off limits. That's a sore price to pay, considering heaven and angels are the things that Castiel is, unsurprisingly, most curious about, but free will.. it sure is a bitch. He can force the answers out of John all he likes, but he doesn't want to, it would chafe his core values too deeply, but here John is all but agreeing to answer anything else, and beggars can't be choosers.

Castiel sighs, in that long suffering sort of way, squinting out at the road ahead.

"You still haven't told me why you're doing it. Why you're hunting demons."

Hunters are easy enough to figure out - they hunt because they know there are creepy, crawling things out there that go bump in the night and eat children for breakfast, or they do it out of revenge, because a werewolf mauled their husband, or a vampire turned their daughter, or a demon burned their home and family to a crisp. Most don't tangle with demons, however. The Winchesters are a bit of an anomaly, special in more ways than Castiel can rightly describe, and even still, they don't consider themselves 'specialists'. They don't hunt demons in particular, they hunt everything. That John chooses this singular, far more dangerous prey is.. interesting, and telling.