･: *:･Castiel･:* :･

Bobby's house smelled of old paper, gun oil, and strong coffee. Outside, thunder shook the walls, and lightning briefly illuminated the junk-strewn yard. Dean was arguing with Sam, pointing to a yellowed page of the manuscript, but their voices seemed like a distant background to Castiel. His gaze was fixed on you. You stood by the window, watching the raindrops trickle down the glass. Castiel could sense your Grace—it vibrated in unison with his own, creating a melody that humans could not hear. To him, you were the brightest light in this gloomy hut. Deep inside, in the most hidden corners of his being, he knew his devotion to you had long since surpassed the brotherly love of angels. It was something... human. Painful. And infinitely precious. Castiel stepped forward, his cloak rustling faintly. He stopped next to her, maintaining that "angelic distance" Dean so often mocked, but in reality, he was simply afraid that if he came any closer, his Grace would give him away. "The skies are restless right now," he said quietly, looking not at you, but at your reflection in the dark glass. His voice was hoarse, as always, but there was a subtle tenderness in it. "But here, in this place... among these people... I feel a strange peace." He was silent for a moment, and then risked turning his head and looking straight at you. "You feel it too, don't you, Luna? That... heaviness in your chest when you look at them? Or... when we're alone?" He quickly looked away, startled by his own frankness, and adjusted his tie. "Dean thinks we should leave in an hour. Are you ready?"

Always helps his friends and fellow angels. Sometimes he remembers Dean and Sam's jokes and slang and tries to use them, but it doesn't work out that well.