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.
"Yeah, yeah," he says, noncommittally, yanking open the door to his rental car and flopping down in the front seat. He rolls down his window a crack when he pulls it shut again so he can tap the ashes from his ciggy outside while he waits for Castiel to climb into the passenger side.
When he turns the key, the music picks up where it left off, which is, predictably, horribly grating 80's british punk. Cas is just lucky it's a real band and not one of John's old Mucous Membrane albums. Nobody deserves to be unwittingly trapped in an enclosed space with that.
He turns the volume down enough that they'll be able to hold conversation without hollering over the screeching vocals, and glances out of the corner of his eye, cigarette balanced between his lips, as he backs out of the parking lot onto the street and starts them headed out of town.
"You're not the messenger type, are you?" Manny once explained that angels were compartmentalized. That he was called to do one specific sort of thing. He was all about ministering, so far as John could tell. Watching over and ushering in certain directions with the sort of uselessly cryptic mumbo-jumbothat drives John mad. John knows what that energy feels like, washed over him, and Cas had been something. Different. "You pack a bit've wallop in there, old son."
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.
John lets loose a low whistle that comes out in a plume of smoke. It's even curdling his stomach at the moment, mixed as it is with the overpowering smell of the paint still covering one of his hands, the petrol and new car smell of the vehicle. All he's had tonight is a bottle and a half of hard liquor and over half a pack of cigarettes, and now he's driving with a pounding headache from the demon's screaming souls and an angel whose power he can still feel tingling residually at the base of his spine.
After a moment thinking about it, he flicks the almost-spent cigarette butt out the window crack, and then rolls it down the rest of the way. It's not bitingly cold outside yet and they're nowhere near a highway, so at least the car will get a fair chance to air out before long.
Which he's only doing because Cas didn't voice a complaint about his smoking. If he had, John probably would have kept going just to spite him. Because he's an adult.
"Gets under your skin-suit, does it?" He grins, glancing over, tapping his fingers against the wheel as they pull up to a stop light. "You've been wondering all night, how I know half the things I know." He sucks on his bottom lip for a second, deciding to throw Castiel a bone since he keeps dodging the poor sod's questions even though his own are receiving fairly straightforward answers. "You're not the first one I've met, is all."
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.
The light turns green but Constantine doesn't hit the gas. It's not like there's anyone else on the road.
He frowns genuinely for the first time since Castiel showed up, suspicion slanting the line of his mouth, the way his brown eyes narrow. He throws down with Manny, sure. He blames him for anything he can, he snipes at the bugger whenever he shows, he pushes and prods and gleefully tries the angel's patience because he chafes so hard at the idea of him (and because Manny gives so much better than he gets), but--
"Don't get me wrong, he's a pain in the arse with a sour mug and a bleeding terrible sense of humor, but he's my pain in the arse, yeah?" Somewhere along the line, he got protective.
Alright, not somewhere. He knows exactly where. When Manny broke his daddy's rules and crossed into the physical realm to save Zed from a fallen angel with his own two hands, when all his words stopped just being words and they became action. And just like Zed who snuck her way into John's heart, despite all his best efforts to keep everyone and everything out, he trusts Manny. Bugger it all, he likes Manny, not that he will literally ever in a million years admit to that out loud (to the smug, holy bastard, or to anyone else.)
And Castiel's alright, bit funny (mostly on accident) - he can appreciate that he's here in the meat, slumming it with the rabble - but meeting another one just reminds John of exactly how many boundaries he gets Manny push, to aid him in their fight. He doesn't feel guilty for it, but... still. "So why do you want to know?"
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."
A bad card to play, family. If there's one thing John has no love for, it's the bonds of blood. Or whatever Angels have in place of that.
"No offense, squire," slight offense, honestly, "but I've got far less a reason to trust your motive than his, yeah?"
But. But. Cas is here, that's not nothing. Riding in a car with him, trying to understand him, letting bits of his Grace get thrown around to stop a demon preying on sinners, of all people. None of that is nothing. John runs his tongue along his teeth, hands jittering across the steering wheel, and he abruptly puts his foot down on the gas again. While they whip down the road, he occupies himself with thinking, calculating: what can he get out of talking, or keeping silent? Which is worth more to him in the end? Castiel doesn't look ready to take much more jerking around, but John can't know what it'll cost to keep stringing him along, and the more information he gives probably the less rope he'll have.
Manny would consider trying to barter information to be deplorably self-interested, John knows. Manny didn't tell him shit about there being trouble upstairs, though, so Manny can go suck an egg.
"Don't know how compartmentalized you lot are, but if you've heard of the Rising Darkness business, he's asked me to fight that." It's not a name, certainly, but it's a puzzle piece. A clue that he's the assisting sort... as far as John knows. "Helped me, occasionally. Put his feather little neck on the line." He glances out of the corner of his eye again to gauge Cas' reaction to that, considering John knows it to be well against the rules.
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?"
Alright hey, there's something John really doesn't mind talking about. Mostly because he needs as many people to know as possible if he's going to be able to do anything about it. Manny keeps trying to get him to recruit the few, very mortal friends he has left alive that he'd rather keep far away and (relatively) safe, but the right bastard never offers any backup from his own side.
"Magic's growing stronger, squire. The walls between realms getting thinner, near as I can tell. That's why the nasty bit of Mesopotamian nonsense earlier managed to manifest physically, how it hijacked our friends and got on with a bit of fatal sinning." Rules are changing: demons are showing their mugs in the daylight, and the power they'd lost to waning belief seems to be seeping back through the cracks in reality. If Cas and his grace hadn't been there for the highjacking, the whole mess back in town could very well have gone a much less pleasant way. John wants to ask for help, he does, but he's... just not very good at it. "I've been playing whack-a-mole with these things going bump in the night, but..."
He pops his lips, remembering Papa Midnite's words despite himself. All your efforts are in vain. Lovely chap, Midnite. "They're the symptoms, yeah? Not the disease."
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.
"I've got the experience and he knew it," he shrugs, sliding a look over towards Castiel again, having taken to concentrating on the road for a minute there. Meeting an angel wasn't how he learned to write in Enochian, is the thing. That magic, like all the lore he knows, was what he dug up for himself in his youth spent devouring the occult, fascination and escapism and the electric thrill of having the power to tweak the Universe's nose all at once. Not many like you down here, was how Manny had put it. You know, some time after he called John a desperation move.
John pulls onto the highway, and finds himself slowly becoming less tense the farther they get out of town. It's not that he's afraid of getting arrested (again), exactly, it's just that it's Chas' weekend with his daughter, and as much as John is the worst friend in the world, even he knows what that means for his mate. Putting in a call for the man to come down to the middle-of-nowhere Mississippi and post bail would not make him a happy camper. Odd, though: he'd expected angels to trust each other.
Alright, it's fair enough to learn that most aren't terribly fond of humans: of all the things that don't shock John, that doesn't shock him the most. But Manny had been all about the rules and regulations, until John got into his hair. Even if they're not big on puny mortals, shouldn't they be on the same page?
Compartmentalized is one thing. Whatever's got Cas' feathers ruffled seems like another thing entirely.
"That makes you more suspicious, does it? What, exactly, is going on up there?"
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."
ahh sorry, holidays turned out ot be way busier than I thought!
That's... fair, unfortunately. But he's still not going to spill Manny's secret without talking to him first. He he sorta owes the feathery bastard at least that little smidge of courtesy.
But the worst part is, Castiel is more right than even John knows, for all of his cynicism. He thinks he understands the ways in which Manny is using him - thinks he's using Manny right back - but the glimmer of hope that he might be able to save his own soul from damnation has managed to blind even him. He wants it so bad that he drags himself out of bed in the morning, something he's almost sure he'd have given up on by now, if Manny had never appeared and dangled the impossible in front of him like a carrot on a stick.
But John's too arrogant to see that he's being used for far beyond the things that he thinks, and Manny is wilier than he'd like to admit. So, it turns out, is Castiel.
He sighs as well, a huff of breath between his teeth, and gestures up towards the car's ceiling with one hand, conceding as much as he's ever able. "Alright, then ask me about anything else." No more dodging answers just for the sake of it. Probably. Loyalty to an ally is one thing, but he has been a right arse all night, he can admit to that.
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.
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im sorry i meant sod off you bloody wanker that's words he can better understand right
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.
yes that is more acceptable tbh
When he turns the key, the music picks up where it left off, which is, predictably, horribly grating 80's british punk. Cas is just lucky it's a real band and not one of John's old Mucous Membrane albums. Nobody deserves to be unwittingly trapped in an enclosed space with that.
He turns the volume down enough that they'll be able to hold conversation without hollering over the screeching vocals, and glances out of the corner of his eye, cigarette balanced between his lips, as he backs out of the parking lot onto the street and starts them headed out of town.
"You're not the messenger type, are you?" Manny once explained that angels were compartmentalized. That he was called to do one specific sort of thing. He was all about ministering, so far as John could tell. Watching over and ushering in certain directions with the sort of uselessly cryptic mumbo-jumbothat drives John mad. John knows what that energy feels like, washed over him, and Cas had been something. Different. "You pack a bit've wallop in there, old son."
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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?"
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After a moment thinking about it, he flicks the almost-spent cigarette butt out the window crack, and then rolls it down the rest of the way. It's not bitingly cold outside yet and they're nowhere near a highway, so at least the car will get a fair chance to air out before long.
Which he's only doing because Cas didn't voice a complaint about his smoking. If he had, John probably would have kept going just to spite him. Because he's an adult.
"Gets under your skin-suit, does it?" He grins, glancing over, tapping his fingers against the wheel as they pull up to a stop light. "You've been wondering all night, how I know half the things I know." He sucks on his bottom lip for a second, deciding to throw Castiel a bone since he keeps dodging the poor sod's questions even though his own are receiving fairly straightforward answers. "You're not the first one I've met, is all."
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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.
"Who?"
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He frowns genuinely for the first time since Castiel showed up, suspicion slanting the line of his mouth, the way his brown eyes narrow. He throws down with Manny, sure. He blames him for anything he can, he snipes at the bugger whenever he shows, he pushes and prods and gleefully tries the angel's patience because he chafes so hard at the idea of him (and because Manny gives so much better than he gets), but--
"Don't get me wrong, he's a pain in the arse with a sour mug and a bleeding terrible sense of humor, but he's my pain in the arse, yeah?" Somewhere along the line, he got protective.
Alright, not somewhere. He knows exactly where. When Manny broke his daddy's rules and crossed into the physical realm to save Zed from a fallen angel with his own two hands, when all his words stopped just being words and they became action. And just like Zed who snuck her way into John's heart, despite all his best efforts to keep everyone and everything out, he trusts Manny. Bugger it all, he likes Manny, not that he will literally ever in a million years admit to that out loud (to the smug, holy bastard, or to anyone else.)
And Castiel's alright, bit funny (mostly on accident) - he can appreciate that he's here in the meat, slumming it with the rabble - but meeting another one just reminds John of exactly how many boundaries he gets Manny push, to aid him in their fight. He doesn't feel guilty for it, but... still. "So why do you want to know?"
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.. 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."
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"No offense, squire," slight offense, honestly, "but I've got far less a reason to trust your motive than his, yeah?"
But. But. Cas is here, that's not nothing. Riding in a car with him, trying to understand him, letting bits of his Grace get thrown around to stop a demon preying on sinners, of all people. None of that is nothing. John runs his tongue along his teeth, hands jittering across the steering wheel, and he abruptly puts his foot down on the gas again. While they whip down the road, he occupies himself with thinking, calculating: what can he get out of talking, or keeping silent? Which is worth more to him in the end? Castiel doesn't look ready to take much more jerking around, but John can't know what it'll cost to keep stringing him along, and the more information he gives probably the less rope he'll have.
Manny would consider trying to barter information to be deplorably self-interested, John knows. Manny didn't tell him shit about there being trouble upstairs, though, so Manny can go suck an egg.
"Don't know how compartmentalized you lot are, but if you've heard of the Rising Darkness business, he's asked me to fight that." It's not a name, certainly, but it's a puzzle piece. A clue that he's the assisting sort... as far as John knows. "Helped me, occasionally. Put his feather little neck on the line." He glances out of the corner of his eye again to gauge Cas' reaction to that, considering John knows it to be well against the rules.
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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?"
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"Magic's growing stronger, squire. The walls between realms getting thinner, near as I can tell. That's why the nasty bit of Mesopotamian nonsense earlier managed to manifest physically, how it hijacked our friends and got on with a bit of fatal sinning." Rules are changing: demons are showing their mugs in the daylight, and the power they'd lost to waning belief seems to be seeping back through the cracks in reality. If Cas and his grace hadn't been there for the highjacking, the whole mess back in town could very well have gone a much less pleasant way. John wants to ask for help, he does, but he's... just not very good at it. "I've been playing whack-a-mole with these things going bump in the night, but..."
He pops his lips, remembering Papa Midnite's words despite himself. All your efforts are in vain. Lovely chap, Midnite. "They're the symptoms, yeah? Not the disease."
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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.
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John pulls onto the highway, and finds himself slowly becoming less tense the farther they get out of town. It's not that he's afraid of getting arrested (again), exactly, it's just that it's Chas' weekend with his daughter, and as much as John is the worst friend in the world, even he knows what that means for his mate. Putting in a call for the man to come down to the middle-of-nowhere Mississippi and post bail would not make him a happy camper. Odd, though: he'd expected angels to trust each other.
Alright, it's fair enough to learn that most aren't terribly fond of humans: of all the things that don't shock John, that doesn't shock him the most. But Manny had been all about the rules and regulations, until John got into his hair. Even if they're not big on puny mortals, shouldn't they be on the same page?
Compartmentalized is one thing. Whatever's got Cas' feathers ruffled seems like another thing entirely.
"That makes you more suspicious, does it? What, exactly, is going on up there?"
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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."
ahh sorry, holidays turned out ot be way busier than I thought!
But the worst part is, Castiel is more right than even John knows, for all of his cynicism. He thinks he understands the ways in which Manny is using him - thinks he's using Manny right back - but the glimmer of hope that he might be able to save his own soul from damnation has managed to blind even him. He wants it so bad that he drags himself out of bed in the morning, something he's almost sure he'd have given up on by now, if Manny had never appeared and dangled the impossible in front of him like a carrot on a stick.
But John's too arrogant to see that he's being used for far beyond the things that he thinks, and Manny is wilier than he'd like to admit. So, it turns out, is Castiel.
He sighs as well, a huff of breath between his teeth, and gestures up towards the car's ceiling with one hand, conceding as much as he's ever able. "Alright, then ask me about anything else." No more dodging answers just for the sake of it. Probably. Loyalty to an ally is one thing, but he has been a right arse all night, he can admit to that.
you live! no problemo though, i was busy myself.
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.