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."
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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."