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.
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"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?"