Castiel's palms were sweaty. I don't understand what this does to assist humans. I don't know why God thought this was a useful thing for them to do. He wiped his hands on his pants, and walked up to the garage. He was surprised to find he could sense the warding on the house. Not in a repulsive way, as he would have when he was an angel, but he could feel the symbols there none the less. It was nearer to an ache in his bones.
Scanning the area with his eyes, he noticed that the house was old and run-down, the other houses in the neighborhood appeared to have been abandoned to nature a long time ago. This house had no signs of being inhabited, but it was where Amelia had instructed him. A bronze set of numbers hung from the front door, '21', and the house was the only green one on the street.
The burning in his skin had been building, but he had refused to do anything other than hold it back. It would have meant another stop. Sweat soaked through his shirt under his arms, and he reached up, knocking on the garage door.
There was silence, and then slowly, the door squeaked on rusted hinges, and rolled upwards. It revealed Amelia. Her face was gaunt, her hair was messy, she was wearing a rumpled pink shirt with a cupcake pattern across the chest and as soon as she released the rope to pull the door up, she motioned them in. She looks very weary.
Amelia.
Yes, I see, Jimmy.
Castiel turned, noticing the lack of footsteps. Sam and Crowley were lingering behind, as if waiting to be sure everything was as it seemed before they took off.
Amelia looked at Castiel for a long moment, and then gave a polite nod. "Come on."
Castiel looked past the woman to the ring of holy fire, in which there sat a young woman, barely out of her awkward teenage stage. Her head was bowed, and she was mumbling in Enochian.
Dean and Castiel approached the flames, and she stopped speaking, and looked up. Her eyes were so intently gazing at them that Castiel was reminded why the angels were frightened by this breed. Their eyes. They have eyes everywhere. The creature titled it's head, with no expression shown. It gazed at each of the men, first Castiel, then he saw it move to Dean, then Crowley, and then Sam. Blinking a few times, it lingered on Sam, then looked back to Castiel. A clear voice with great control over the intonation parted the Claire's lips. "You have finally come. Please. Invite your friends in. I would speak to them."
"We're here to pluck you outta that kid, you know." Dean responded, approaching the ring of flames.
Saul's blank expression did not waver, and he narrowed his eyes a little. "I am not an enemy. Should any angel inhabit this child, you should be contented it was me." The creature never looked away from Castiel now, and the former angel felt shamed by his humanity. It was obvious he saw what a pathetic mortal that Castiel was now. "But I see. I am not the problem in entirety. Should your concern should be with solely me?"
Amelia's touch made Castiel startle a little, and he broke eye contact with the Cherubim. She took to his side, and stayed there, her hand wresting on his arm. Her demeanor was so desperate, but with a blossom of hope. "You are not welcome in Claire."
"I am welcome nowhere. I stumble. Burnt. All of my wings torn. Broken. Thrown from heaven, into a world I had never seen." Saul rose, kneeling now, his hands on his thighs. Castiel found himself locked in his gaze again. "I am the Watcher of the watchers. Assigned by Father to understand and know the angels."
"Crap." Dean's voice cut through the eloquently voiced but stilted words, and he crossed his arms. Castiel shifted back from the flames. "You've got to say anything to try to get us not to let you out of there. We ain't playin' your "I'm so abused and so innocent" game. We're zappin' you back to orbit, kiddo."
"How." Saul challenged, his attention finally shifting over to Dean. He looked at him with the same intensity he had used on Castiel. "How?"