Using Nathalie's account, Sam checked for any record of family tragedies with a surviving child among the townsfolk. Other than Sara, there was none.
"We really shouldn't have let her go," Sam muttered.
"Come on, Stanford," Dean mocked. "Use that giant brain."
Sam made a face. "Sure, if you give me a day or two. This database is huge."
"Excuses."
On the other side of the room, Castiel sat in quiet contemplation. He was oblivious to the brothers' bickering, his head full of Nathalie.
Nathalie was right to be embarrassed earlier. Castiel had seen the images in her mind; of the two of them kissing, both naked, their bodies intertwined. His initial response was to ignore the images, but instead his mind kept dwelling on them.
His breath came a bit faster, and he was curious. He had not told his vessel to do anything; and yet on its own volition, it was reacting to the images in his head.
He frowned. He did not know what to do with these strange, new emotions. But the more he tried to quell them, the more insistent they became.
He scowled.
"Oh, god, crap, Cas, anyone … help!" A small, desperate prayer coming from her. He stood up, eyes blazing.
The brothers stopped their bickering and gaped at Castiel. They had rarely seen him look so terrifying.
"She's in trouble," he said, and vanished.
"Who ….? Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled.
The thing that looked like Mike advanced slowly towards Nathalie, who had backed away from the bar, her hands clenched.
"Someone wants to say hello," he said menacingly. He paused. "And goodbye too, I guess," he tittered.
Nathalie screamed. Non-Mike laughed. "Go ahead and scream all you want, hon. No one's here," he said.
Nathalie's breath came in short gasps; she was in deep trouble. She kept backing away, aiming for the front doors.
She felt the door jambs poking her butt. She turned and pushed at them, they didn't move.
Mike laughed.
She shrank back against the sealed doors. Was this what Sara went through?
"Get away!" she screamed, tossing some salt from the salt shaker she had grabbed from the bar.
Non-Mike stopped. "How'd you know –" He laughed again.
"No matter. You don't have enough salt to scare me, sweetheart."
Sobbing, Nathalie felt the temperature change. Her breath steamed in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something; fuzzy at first but fast coalescing into the shape of a woman. She had a bloody gunshot wound on her chest.
Desperately, Nathalie sprinkled salt in the ghostly figure's direction. The ghost blurred where the salt grains hit it, but like Mike said, they weren't enough. Already the ghost was becoming solid again.
Oh god, crap, Cas, anyone … help, she prayed.
What happened next was something she could only describe as unbelievable. Suddenly, Castiel was next to her. He turned to the Mike-thing and extended his hand.
"Nuh-uh, not this time, angel," the thing hissed. Black smoke poured out of Mike. Mike collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Nathalie gasped but Castiel was not done. He held her tight. She saw a flash of light.
Nathalie and Castiel materialized in the motel room. Nathalie would have fallen but the angel held her tight still. She felt oddly comforted, even as her mind was shrieking.
Sam and Dean went to her, Sam holding her hand and leading her to a bed. Nathalie clutched her chest, her breath panicky.
"What happened?" Dean asked.
"I found the seventh seal," Castiel replied, calmly.
Sam and Dean looked at Nathalie.