A/N: Yay! Another chapter the day after the first! I wouldn't get too used to it, Christmas is coming up and me has Christmassy things to do . I believe this is becoming a bit of a wing!fic and goddamnit I wish I had put that in the summary but, alas, FF only allows 255 character, stupid. Anyhoo, here's chapter two fresh off Microsoft Word. Enjoy!

HUGE thanks to my reviewers Laci Cullen, Wolfa Moon, TealEyedBeing and an extra special thanks to TheNowandFutureQueen 'cause your review was amazing and nearly brought me to tears :') You make me want to write and write and write til I can't feel my fingers no more!


Chapter Two

Enochian Sigils

Castiel is sat at his desk carving his latest figurine: the little girl that had showed up on the doorstep of the bakery that he could see from the arched window. She had turned out to be the owner's niece and he knows this because Raphael had told him. Yes, Castiel is well informed on the town of Paris and its occupants, knows of people he's never set eyes on, never mind held a conversation with and that's purely down to Raphael's intense disliking of silence and his need to fill it with his own voice.

Castiel listens simply because it is the only social interaction he can take part in - that and it numbs the dull ache of ever long boredom that has settled in his chest. His hobby also helps; carving the townspeople using the tools he had stumbled upon so long ago makes him feel closer to the city somehow, like he is more of a part of it rather than merely an observer and it is a way to pass the time when he is not ringing bells.

His slender hands move swiftly with purpose and he carves with precision, the child's image clear in his mind. Within minutes the lump of wood has been transformed into a smiling young girl with long hair fixed in braids, one small hand clutching at that of a ratty teddy bear. Castiel blows the shavings off the figure and stands it proudly next to the figures of her aunt and uncle, just outside the model of the bakery he had constructed many years ago. She will need to be painted but Castiel doesn't have the energy to concentrate on details and lines and miniature facial features and so he stands, dusts himself off and goes to the window.

Longing - Castiel's lifelong friend - makes its presence known in the angel's stomach and he can feel the prick of tears in his eyes as he watches the world below him live and breathe.

He would give anything to be free of this tower, of his master, of these hideous wings that landed him here in the first place. But he knows it will never happen and so he sighs and goes back to his desk, places a greying sheet over his stagnated city and hides it away before Raphael can catch sight of it.


"Sammy, what are we doing here again?" Dean asks as he straightens up from the uncomfortable sleeping position against the Impala's window and Sam parks his baby outside a creepy looking church. Absently, he wipes the line of drool that had slipped down his chin; must've been some dream he had. He smirks.

Sam sighs. "Dude, for the thousandth time already, we're here because some locals have reported seeing a creature in the bell tower."

Dean looks sceptic. "That's it? No more info on this thing like, um...I don't know, what the hell it is?"

"Could be an angel, 'cept that it has gigantic black wings."

Sam shrugs and gets out of the car, Dean follows, suddenly not sure he wants to be a part of this anymore. They've dealt with rogue angels before, hell - they've dealt with just about every supernatural son of a bitch known to man - but never an angel with black wings. It's unheard of and so Dean begins to wonder if it is an angel after all, maybe it's some sort of overgrown bird, a scary giant crow of sorts or a mutant raven. Dean shudders; he hates birds.

"Dude." Sam is impatiently ushering him through a cluster of trees and round the back of the cathedral. Considering its peak season for tourists, Dean can't see anyone save for the odd chorister making their way to what Dean assumes to be the main entrance of the cathedral. He finds that strange but shrugs it off and trails after Sam's lanky frame that's disappeared round the corner.

"This the place then Sammy?" His brother is looking up at the two towers which stand honourably before them when he reaches him. Sam nods and begins searching for an inconspicuous way in; he finds a locked door at the side of the right tower and gets out his lock picking kit. Dean is on lookout duty, scouring for priests and churchgoers and more choristers in their bright red get up. He thinks he glimpses a flash of white wings over by the fountain behind some bushes but before he can take it in, it's gone. Again, he shrugs it off; it's not uncommon to see an angel or two surrounding a holy place and a cathedral of this magnitude is sure to attract a large amount of them, they do like to be close to Daddy after all.

Nevertheless, no one shows up to bust the two brothers when Sam succeeds in picking the lock and they both hurriedly shuffle inside the doorway. Dean closes the heavy oak door behind them, careful not to let it bang and then both brothers scan their surroundings. From what they can see, they get the feeling that this part of the cathedral is off limits to the public, hell it looks like it's off limits to everyone; cobwebs embellish the whole space, gathering in the corners in big webs of age old dust and it smells more ancient than some of the rotting corpses they so frequently salt and burn. Dean winces at the smell and covers his mouth. Sam rolls his eyes and voices his guess that the stone steps to the left of them must lead to the bell tower. Dean agrees and so they start there, climbing step by step cautiously and dodging the swinging ropes of dust that hang from the ceiling.

They reach the top puffing and wheezing and Dean has a stitch in his side. There is just no way he's ever doing that again. They better gank this freak pronto 'cause he ain't coming back for a second helping of the Steps of Death if they don't, Paris be damned.

Once they catch their breath they continue down the long corridor that snakes off from the steps. There's various doors along the way from what Dean can make out through the dark, the lack of windows really isn't helping, but they seem fairly unimportant, he doesn't know why he thinks that, only knows that Sam isn't objecting his opinion and suggesting they check them just incase. They press on, further down the corridor and come to a stop at another grand oak door. This one looks a hell of a lot thicker and stronger than the last but oddly it doesn't have a lock. It is, however, covered in weird symbols and writing of a language that in all his years Dean has never encountered. Sam's face mirrors his own baffled expression as they turn to look at one another.

"Should we..?" Dean gestures to the rusty door handle. Sam hesitates for a second before answering.

"Well, if it's unlocked, I don't see why there'd be anything dangerous in here..." He trails off and Dean can't help his comical gulp that sounds through the corridor as his bothers hand closes around the handle.


Castiel is confused; it is not yet time for Raphael's daily visit yet he hears the door to the upper quarters open and footsteps sounding on the creaky floorboards. He stiffens, if Raphael is coming to him earlier...if he wants him for something it cannot be good, it is never good when Raphael wants something. Castiel remembers when his master had ordered him to scrub the bells inside out until his angelic reflection was no longer blurred when he stood before them.

He stands, still as the gargoyles and statues of apostles that garnish the cathedral, and awaits the onslaught of torture, the demands of his master, thinking only: what have I done now?

When Raphael never appears Castiel feels the ice cold snake of fear coil around his spine. If not Raphael then Castiel does not know who, never thought he'd be willing his merciless master to walk from behind Emmanuel and burden him with a task that would be unbelievably harsh on his frail body. He listens closely, trying unsuccessfully to pinpoint where the footsteps have gone, again his Grace takes up too much strength for him to muster enough to enhance his hearing and Castiel truly begins to panic when he realises he has let the footsteps pass through his concentration and they appear to be a lot closer than they were before. And there are two sets.

A gasp sounds from behind him and with a whoosh! Castiel's wings spread out behind him reflexively in defence. Enormous and dark as shadow, they twitch and his feathers bristle and the sheer size of them consumes any and all light that was previously shining through the window. The room is plunged into artificial darkness and Castiel is still stood, body tensed and coiled like a deadly snake about to attack; he does not know where this reaction to being sneaked up on has come from: perhaps from the years of isolation - foolish angel, his minds supplies for him and Castiel vehemently agrees.

"Who are you?" He demands loudly, his voice like gravel, carrying through the shield of feathers his wings have provided him with.

The two men stiffen at this, almost as still as the angel in front of them save for the shaking of the shorter one's hands. Castiel cannot see this, can only sense it, the adrenaline pumping through his veins has donated him enough energy to put his Grace to use.

"Sam..." he hears the whisper and there's a shift in the air inhabiting the room, the shorter one has moved his head to look at the other one whom Castiel presumes to be Sam.

Castiel is being addressed, "Hey man, we're not, uh...Sammy, are we here to hurt him?"

Sam turns to his brother, a confused look on his face. Well yeah, Sam thinks, we were here to hurt him. But even he can't ignore the change of the word "are" to "were". Something about this angel seems different and Sam can't bring himself to harm him without learning more about him first, he doesn't seem dangerous. If he was they'd surely both be dead by now, or at least severely injured; angels are powerful sons of bitches yet this one chose defence over offence and that says a lot in the Winchester's book, a hell of a lot.

Sam says "no" to Dean's question and he notices the twitch of the angels wings as they slowly start to lower and the light beings to fill the room once more.

"Then what do you want with me?" The angel turns from the window and faces the brothers, sunlight gleaming behind him, flitting through the iridescent blue-black feathers, pooling above the dark hair on his head like a halo and seemingly lighting up the angels very pale skin.

Dean is awed.

He has never seen eyes that shade of blue before.