Chapter 4: The Discovery
"This is...odd."
They had caught up to their quarry — or the car, at least. So Castiel had said, once they got to the entrance of a parking garage on the edge of Boston Common.
An apparently empty garage.
Castiel's brows were knit together in concentration as he walked forward into the garage, turning from side to side, scanning for the source of the interference. "It is here," he insisted, "but it is hidden from my sight. I do not know how this was accomplished."
Sam hummed thoughtfully. "So, what? It's invisible? Can mage-born do that?"
"I do not know," Castiel replied, "but it is not only that. Every time I believe I am close to finding it, my mind is assailed by the most incongruous thoughts."
"What kind of thoughts?" Dean said at once, peering suspiciously at him.
"That...I have duty elsewhere," the angel explained, obviously discomfited. "That Armageddon is nigh, that Leviathan must be stopped, that the Darkness must be defeated, and I must be far away from this place in order to do accomplish this."
"But we've already done all that," Sam countered.
"That is what puzzles me," Castiel said simply. "I know this cannot be real, and yet the thoughts persist."
"Huh. Maybe it's some kind of angel warding? Let me give it a try," Sam replied. He took several steps forward into the parking lot, before stopping short. "Whoa," he exclaimed, leaping backwards a step before whirling to face the two of them. "That is weird!"
"What?" Dean demanded hotly.
"It was school," Sam said, wonderingly. "I...seriously, Dean, I just remembered I have exams, like the LSAT is coming up and I've got to go!" He stood still, blinking rapidly, but making no move to leave. "I'm still feeling like I ought to go, even though I know it's not real. It's really hard to fight off. If you hadn't told me about it, Cas," he continued, "who knows what I might have done?"
"This is a waste of time," Dean grumbled, striding purposefully past his brother. He was one step away from where Sam had stopped when Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder.
"We have to go," the angel said suddenly. "Someone is trying to access the werewolf den." Without further explanation, Castiel laid his other hand on Sam's arm and winked all three of them out of existence.
Less than a moment later, they were back on the street in front of the werewolf lair. Dean and Sam were still getting their footing, but Castiel was already striding over towards an odd-looking group of people who were clustered near the site. They were mostly tall, mostly men, and all wearing what looked for all the world like graduation robes.
One or two of them were poking and prodding around in what looked like the middle of the air, except the illusion rippled like a curtain every time they did so. The lead figure was also the smallest, and the brothers recognized her in an instant.
Dean sprang past the angel with a guttural growl. "What the HELL did you do to my CAR?"
The woman spun on her heel, and Dean found himself facing a forest's worth of carved sticks. The ridiculousness of the sight was enough to stop him in his tracks. He scoffed, casually placing his hand within reach of the silver knife in his back pocket, and tried again. "I don't know what kind of hoodoo thing you pulled back there, but you stole my car and turned it invisible and I want it fixed NOW."
The only response he got was a raised eyebrow from the woman, and a sharp intake of breath from one of the others. One of the them, a dark-skinned man who held himself like a Marine, tightened his grip on the stick he was holding, and scowled. "Granger," he said sidelong at the woman, "you know the protocol."
"I am aware, Davis," she replied in a smooth British accent. This woman — Granger, apparently — was the only one of the crowd not pointing a tick at the three of them, but her hands were motionless. She wasn't passive: her stance looked more like the practiced ease of someone used to drawing a weapon faster than her opponents.
"Dean," Sam said, giving his brother a warning look. For once, Dean took the hint, and relaxed his posture somewhat. He did not, however, take his hand off the silver knife.
Castiel chose this moment to speak up. "We mean you no harm," the angel began. "We may even be able to assist each other."
Granger turned her focus on Castiel and gave him a piercing look. "You might mean no harm, but your companions are not quite as peace-loving," she replied. "Do not deny it."
"I cannot," the angel replied slowly, "but I will vouch for their behavior tonight."
The woman lifted her chin, assessing this statement. "And what will that behavior be, can you tell me that?"
"We will assist you in your case as much as we are able, and will not betray either the location of your people or the fact of your existence to anyone who would do you harm," Castiel answered readily. "You have my word."
"And what good is your word? Who are you, anyway?" Davis spat.
"My name is Castiel," he said. "I am an angel of the Lord." When the revelation garnered virtually no response from the small crowd in front of him, he sighed. "I...understand if you do not believe me."
Davis's eyebrows contracted in a frown, but Granger's lifted a full centimeter. "Really?" she blurted out, and for a moment she looked more like an excited schoolgirl than the serious woman she had been before. Catching herself, she sobered and gave a curt nod, as if the last few seconds had never happened, and turned to address Sam and Dean. "And you two?"
"Dean Winchester," Dean replied, before nodding curtly at his brother. "My brother, Sam."
The Granger woman raised an eyebrow, and nodded once herself. "Very well," she said to the angel, "I will accept your word: on one condition."
"What is your condition?" Castiel inquired.
"That your two companions reveal their weapons and leave them lying at the foot of that tree, just outside the wards you've set."
Dean grumbled some more under his breath, but one sharp elbow from Sam shut him up again. "Sure," Sam answered for the both of them, laying the sawed-off shotgun down in the indicated place. Reluctantly, Dean followed suit, pulling the silver knife from his back pocket and laying it down in the grass beside the shotgun.
The Granger woman's eyebrow twitched a bit when she saw the knife, but none of the others made a move. "What's in the flask?" she demanded, eyeing Dean's other back pocket as he straightened up again.
"Our conditions," Dean replied gruffly, pulling out the hip flask and handing it to her, holding her gaze intently. "Drink."
Never taking her eyes off Dean's, Granger took hold of the flask, opened it up, and took a swig. She closed it and handed it back to its owner. "Satisfied?" she asked, with businesslike calm.
"Now everyone else," Dean countered.
She gave the order, despite protests from Davis. When the flask had gone around completely and no one had smoked out, Dean exchanged a look with his brother and gave a satisfied nod.
"Now that we have dispensed with the formalities," Granger said, addressing Castiel once more, "may we get to our crime scene, please?"