The Dead Bodies Mean "I Love You" Part VI
Masterpost | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V
After a night in Grand Junction, they slowly make their way to Kansas. They make stops at almost every city they find, giving Dean time to stretch his legs. Dean can’t help it. He’s never felt so restless before. A hunt will usually tide him over for a month, at least. It’s only a ten hour drive from Grand Junction to Junction City, but Dean can’t sit in a car for more than four hours at a time. It’s slow going and he can feel Sam’s judging looks.
Dean can’t help it. Ever since Illinois, he’s been thinking of Castiel. He remembers the voice, the face, the determination. It’s smoldering, suffocating. Sure, he’s miffed that Castiel is rising to the top so fast, but he won’t get far. They never do.
When he’s convinced that Sam is dead asleep, he sneaks out to the car and spreads himself out in the backseat, imagining what it would feel like to have that Angel of Thursday pressed up next to him, all hot muscle and rough voice. To have a challenge, someone who would give as good as Dean.
Dean always liked a challenge.
Sometimes Sam gives him funny looks at the bundled up pants and the not-quite there scent of sex, but he doesn’t question it and Dean never tells.
---
Castiel has his victims line up in a pretty little row. Three men. A drug lord, his interrogator, and his bodyguard. He doesn’t know their real names, but has given them names of the Lord’s choosing. Lucifer, Alastair, and Crowley.
Crowley and Alastair go down easily, a quick slice across their necks and they’re gone. The drug lord, the master of the operation, is more difficult. He fights back. Blood is dripping down Castiel’s face by the time he gets the man tied to a chair.
“And now I shall finish His holy work,” Castiel mutters, “and your soul shall be free.”
“Castiel, is it?” Lucifer says casually, as if he isn’t about to be killed. “You are a strange one. I’ve seen serial killers, and I’ve seen religious fanatics, but I’ve never seen someone like you.”
Castiel stays his blade, curiosity piqued.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on,” Lucifer drawls, grinning through the blood. “No one kills twenty people within a few months unless they like it.”
“You are wrong,” Castiel shakes his head.
“Am I?” Lucifer spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Most people can’t kill five and you’ve quadrupled that number. You like it. The feeling of holding their life in your hands. The hot blood pumping from their neck, their skin growing cold. Their final gurgles of life before their eyes darken. You like it. You want to kill these people. You may claim to do it for your God, but you’re no better than those Winchesters!”
“You are wrong!” Castiel shouts, slapping Lucifer across the face. “I am nothing like them! I was chosen!”
“You know why you were ‘chosen’?” Lucifer laughs. “Because you want to kill people. It’s who you are, in your blood. The reason you want to call out those Winchesters is because you want to join them. You want to torture, you want to hurt people.”
“No!” Castiel slams his blade into Lucifer’s leg. “I have been chosen. I am God’s holy instrument, sent to destroy the evil in the world, including the Winchesters!”
“Then why haven’t you killed me?” Lucifer gasps, eyes watering with pain. “Why listen to what I’ve got to say unless you know it’s true? It is true, isn’t it? Come on, little angel, it’s true! Admit it! You’re a serial killer!”
Castiel pulls his knife free. He thinks back to all those he has killed. He remembers the rush. He remembers the hot feeling of power. He remembers the electricity that ran up and down his body as he felt the blood pour fast and hot from his victims. He remembers the beating of his heart as the life force left.
He remembers the joy and pleasure.
The knife is solid and cool in his hands. He grips it tight with a firm resolve. Lucifer, Satan, the Father of Perdition and Sin, was right. Castiel is no avenging angel. He is no messenger of God, proclaiming peace.
He is a killer.
The thought brings him comfort and he plunges the blade into Lucifer’s heart.
---
They’re in Junction City, squatting in the largest shack on the outskirts of the town. Castiel isn’t going to be in Arkansas anymore and they needed new information. It’s been a week and there’s still no news. Dean’s taking inventory once again, feeling the familiar cabin fever itch crawling up his skin.
Various guns of all kinds, including Dean’s favorite colt, his homemade sawed off, and his UMP are spread out on a rickety table. Next to them is a machete along with hundreds of other, smaller, knives. Then there are ropes and chains and pliers and anything else that can be used in torture.
Sam flicks the TV on and is greeted with static. He hits it a few times, presses a couple of buttons until a dim picture shows up on the screen. It’s a news report. Dean drops the gun in his hand and pays attention.
“Castiel is on a major rampage. It has only been a few days but he’s already been seen in Missouri, and another triple murder was committed just yesterday in Chesterfield. The nation is beginning to wonder, are the Winchesters backing down? Has Castiel taken their spot as most wanted?”
“This is crap,” Dean growls, turning off the television.
“Gee, you think?” Sam groans. “This guy is taking all our press!”
“I know that!” Dean shouts. “I don’t like this at all. Who does he think he is? Castiel, pfft. At least we know where he was last.”
“Chesterfield,” Sam says. “That’s only five hours away.”
“And then what?” Dean asks. “He’s gonna be long gone by then if he knows what’s good for him!”
“I say we send him a message,” Sam’s grin turns feral. “Show him what happens when he messes with us.”
Dean matches the grin and licks his lips. There’s an idea. Go into this city and find the nearest church. Find the most honest and pure family and murder them in their beds. They would show this angel what happens when you mess with the real killers. They would take back their spot on top and finally get rid of Castiel.
“Let’s go then,” Dean agrees.
---
The drive is anything but fun. They may only be a few states over, but this is personal and they don’t have time to grab a Missouri plated car. They’re pulled over within minutes of crossing the border.
“Dammit,” Dean growls when he notices the flashing lights. “We don’t got time for this.”
Sam nods and pulls out Dean’s favorite handgun. “You’re the quicker draw.”
“Damn straight I am.”
They pull over and wait as the cop comes up to the window. Taking a calming breath and giving a reassuring glance to Sam, Dean rolls the window down.
“Can I help you, officer?”
The cop is a nice looking woman, a sheriff, with short dark hair. She leans up against the edge of the car and gives a warm smile.
“Hello boys, I’m afraid I need to see your license and registration. Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Not fast enough,” Dean says, cockily.
The sheriff looks confused. Dean opens his door, slamming it into her legs and knocking her over. He steps out quickly with his gun aimed at her forehead. She lifts her hands above her head.
“Hi, my name is Dean Winchester,” he says slowly. Her eyes widen at the name. He smiles, “It was nice meeting you, Sheriff...?”
“Mills,” she replies, “Sheriff Jody Mills.”
“Well, Sheriff Jody Mills,” Dean pulls back the hammer of his gun. “We’re all dust in the wind.”
He pulls the trigger.
Sam comes out of the car and drags the body off the road, hiding her in the trees. Dean takes the gun off her body and tucks it into his waistband. They nod and hop back into the car, leaving no trace they were there.
They make it to Chesterfield, Missouri just as the sun is setting. Perfect. Dean drops the car off in some alleyway and side by side the brothers start looking for a church. The city is gorgeous with some of the biggest houses Dean has ever seen. He wonders where Castiel was in this city. If he hadn’t already left.
He and Sam walk for hours. They leave the hustle of the main city and take paths less traveled.
“Dean,” Sam hits Dean’s arm. “There.”
Ahead is a sign for St. Louis Family Church. The parking lot is mostly empty, save for one car sitting beneath the streetlight. Only one person would stay so late. The Pastor. Both brothers grinning wickedly, they cross the street and walk into the church.
Cool air hits them as they enter and they find the Pastor easily enough. His arms are filled with books. Dean elbows Sam. This was his kill, his hunt. Sam nods and melts into the shadows, despite his abnormal height. Normally Dean would want to savor the kill, to make them hurt before they die. But this isn’t about what Dean wants. This is about showing Castiel who’s in charge. This is about staking their claim.
---
“Police can only imagine what horrors have taken place in Chesterfield, Missouri. The murders of drug lord Luke Fielding, more commonly known as Lucifer, and two of his henchmen occurred last Thursday. It is assumed for the moment that these murders were committed by vigilante Castiel. Four days later, another tragedy occurred.”
“Beloved Pastor, Jim Murphy, was found murdered at St. Louis Family Church. He bears the pentagram. It appears to local authorities that the nation’s three most wanted men, had a disagreement and chose to resolve it with blood.”
“Again, we encourage everyone to look out for Sam and Dean Winchester, and Castiel. If any of you have any information, please contact local authorities.”
---
He can’t say he’s surprised. Victor knew this was coming. Like all killers, the Winchesters thrive in the spotlight. They pride themselves on being the most wanted. They’ve killed to keep that title. It was only a matter of time before they decided to stake their claim against Castiel. He isn’t surprised at the dead body, he’s just surprised who it is.
The pastor is face down, a crude pentagram spray painted around the body. He’s waiting for the coroner to do the official look over, but Victor doubts anything new is going to reveal itself. Same dead body as the others.
“And so they strike again,” Ronald shakes his head.
“I hate this,” a detective says. “Damn serial killers.”
“We’ll get them,” Victor assures the detective. “Just one step at a time.”
“What are you gonna do about Castiel?” the detective asks. “Since the... um... the other murders.”
“We’re just gonna have to wait,” Ronald sighs. “See where he pops up next. He changed his MO, it’s kind of a big deal.”
The coroner waves his hand, bringing Victor’s attention to the body.
“What’s the news, doc?” Victor asks, kneeling.
“Nothing new,” the coroner shrugs. “Other than the decor.” He gestures to the paint. “He’s not marked up like the other Winchester vics, no torture or sign of struggle. In fact, I think he suffered the least of any victims I’ve ever seen.”
“This is different,” Victor muses. “You’ve seen the reports. They like to torture and abuse. This doesn’t fit their profile.”
“Don’t look at me,” the coroner says. “I’m more interested in dead bodies than your boys.”
---
Castiel frowns. He got the Winchesters interested. Too interested, it seems. It seems that he needs to send another message. A warning to the Winchesters that Castiel is not messing around. He will not be scared.
His informant has left him a manila folder with personal contacts of the Winchesters. This fight is getting personal. If this is the way they want to play, then this is the way they’re going to play. The Winchesters don’t have many personal contacts, if any, but Castiel can work with it.
Jo Harvelle, daughter of Ellen Harvelle. After the murder of her mother she ran away to Philadelphia. She used to be close to the Winchesters, like family almost. It will be perfect.
Castiel glances at the clock on the mantle. He will make it in two days. Then he will show these Winchesters that he can play with the sharks. And win.
---
Jo shuts the door to her apartment and flips on the lights. She drops her bag on the sofa and walks to the kitchen, shedding her coat and tossing it onto the chair. Hot tea sounds nice and she toes out of her shoes, kicking them towards the door.
Working at Hooters has its ups and downs. Today was more downs than ups. Some pig decided to drop his beer over her top and she didn’t have a spare shirt. Then the frat party showed up and it all went to hell.
Her teapot whistles and she pours the boiling water into a mug. Jo’s just starting to think about putting on some lame-ass TV show when there are hands around her neck and she’s being dragged into the living room.
“Don’t scream,” a rough voice growls in her ear.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” she can’t help but reply.
Jo swings her head back, connecting with her captor’s nose and breaking free. She turns around, hands up, and does a double take at the man before her. This is no common thief, not some crazy rapist or one-time killer.
This is Castiel, so called Avenging Angel.
What the hell is he doing in Jo’s living room?
“What do you want?” she demands.
He wipes the blood from his face and gives her a somewhat manic grin, “You know the Winchesters.”
Jo’s heart stops. Yeah, she knew the Winchester boys. They were like her brothers. Once upon a time.
“That was a long time ago,” she manages to keep the tremor from her voice.
“Do you still care for them?” Castiel walks to her. “Do you still love them?”
“It doesn’t matter!”
“It matters a great deal,” Castiel says. “Because if you care for them, then they care for you, and it means that I haven’t wasted my time here.”
“How did you even get here?” Jo asks, almost scared for the answer. No one knew where she was, not Sam or Dean. She was in hiding, she was protected. She backs up until her knees hit the coffee table.
“I’ve got a man on the inside,” Castiel smirks, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. “Someone I think you once knew well.”
Jo feels her eyes widen and her mouth dropping open. It can’t be. Castiel is lying. There is no way. It was bad enough losing Sam and Dean, but has she lost her other best friend as well? She thought he’d died with her mother and Bobby.
“You haven’t told me why you’re here,” Jo says, trying to take control of the conversation again.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Castiel takes another step closer until his chest is pressed against hers. Jo can smell the soap off his skin. He leans down and puts his mouth by her ear and breathes:
“I’ve come to kill you.”
Part VII
After a night in Grand Junction, they slowly make their way to Kansas. They make stops at almost every city they find, giving Dean time to stretch his legs. Dean can’t help it. He’s never felt so restless before. A hunt will usually tide him over for a month, at least. It’s only a ten hour drive from Grand Junction to Junction City, but Dean can’t sit in a car for more than four hours at a time. It’s slow going and he can feel Sam’s judging looks.
Dean can’t help it. Ever since Illinois, he’s been thinking of Castiel. He remembers the voice, the face, the determination. It’s smoldering, suffocating. Sure, he’s miffed that Castiel is rising to the top so fast, but he won’t get far. They never do.
When he’s convinced that Sam is dead asleep, he sneaks out to the car and spreads himself out in the backseat, imagining what it would feel like to have that Angel of Thursday pressed up next to him, all hot muscle and rough voice. To have a challenge, someone who would give as good as Dean.
Dean always liked a challenge.
Sometimes Sam gives him funny looks at the bundled up pants and the not-quite there scent of sex, but he doesn’t question it and Dean never tells.
---
Castiel has his victims line up in a pretty little row. Three men. A drug lord, his interrogator, and his bodyguard. He doesn’t know their real names, but has given them names of the Lord’s choosing. Lucifer, Alastair, and Crowley.
Crowley and Alastair go down easily, a quick slice across their necks and they’re gone. The drug lord, the master of the operation, is more difficult. He fights back. Blood is dripping down Castiel’s face by the time he gets the man tied to a chair.
“And now I shall finish His holy work,” Castiel mutters, “and your soul shall be free.”
“Castiel, is it?” Lucifer says casually, as if he isn’t about to be killed. “You are a strange one. I’ve seen serial killers, and I’ve seen religious fanatics, but I’ve never seen someone like you.”
Castiel stays his blade, curiosity piqued.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on,” Lucifer drawls, grinning through the blood. “No one kills twenty people within a few months unless they like it.”
“You are wrong,” Castiel shakes his head.
“Am I?” Lucifer spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Most people can’t kill five and you’ve quadrupled that number. You like it. The feeling of holding their life in your hands. The hot blood pumping from their neck, their skin growing cold. Their final gurgles of life before their eyes darken. You like it. You want to kill these people. You may claim to do it for your God, but you’re no better than those Winchesters!”
“You are wrong!” Castiel shouts, slapping Lucifer across the face. “I am nothing like them! I was chosen!”
“You know why you were ‘chosen’?” Lucifer laughs. “Because you want to kill people. It’s who you are, in your blood. The reason you want to call out those Winchesters is because you want to join them. You want to torture, you want to hurt people.”
“No!” Castiel slams his blade into Lucifer’s leg. “I have been chosen. I am God’s holy instrument, sent to destroy the evil in the world, including the Winchesters!”
“Then why haven’t you killed me?” Lucifer gasps, eyes watering with pain. “Why listen to what I’ve got to say unless you know it’s true? It is true, isn’t it? Come on, little angel, it’s true! Admit it! You’re a serial killer!”
Castiel pulls his knife free. He thinks back to all those he has killed. He remembers the rush. He remembers the hot feeling of power. He remembers the electricity that ran up and down his body as he felt the blood pour fast and hot from his victims. He remembers the beating of his heart as the life force left.
He remembers the joy and pleasure.
The knife is solid and cool in his hands. He grips it tight with a firm resolve. Lucifer, Satan, the Father of Perdition and Sin, was right. Castiel is no avenging angel. He is no messenger of God, proclaiming peace.
He is a killer.
The thought brings him comfort and he plunges the blade into Lucifer’s heart.
---
They’re in Junction City, squatting in the largest shack on the outskirts of the town. Castiel isn’t going to be in Arkansas anymore and they needed new information. It’s been a week and there’s still no news. Dean’s taking inventory once again, feeling the familiar cabin fever itch crawling up his skin.
Various guns of all kinds, including Dean’s favorite colt, his homemade sawed off, and his UMP are spread out on a rickety table. Next to them is a machete along with hundreds of other, smaller, knives. Then there are ropes and chains and pliers and anything else that can be used in torture.
Sam flicks the TV on and is greeted with static. He hits it a few times, presses a couple of buttons until a dim picture shows up on the screen. It’s a news report. Dean drops the gun in his hand and pays attention.
“Castiel is on a major rampage. It has only been a few days but he’s already been seen in Missouri, and another triple murder was committed just yesterday in Chesterfield. The nation is beginning to wonder, are the Winchesters backing down? Has Castiel taken their spot as most wanted?”
“This is crap,” Dean growls, turning off the television.
“Gee, you think?” Sam groans. “This guy is taking all our press!”
“I know that!” Dean shouts. “I don’t like this at all. Who does he think he is? Castiel, pfft. At least we know where he was last.”
“Chesterfield,” Sam says. “That’s only five hours away.”
“And then what?” Dean asks. “He’s gonna be long gone by then if he knows what’s good for him!”
“I say we send him a message,” Sam’s grin turns feral. “Show him what happens when he messes with us.”
Dean matches the grin and licks his lips. There’s an idea. Go into this city and find the nearest church. Find the most honest and pure family and murder them in their beds. They would show this angel what happens when you mess with the real killers. They would take back their spot on top and finally get rid of Castiel.
“Let’s go then,” Dean agrees.
---
The drive is anything but fun. They may only be a few states over, but this is personal and they don’t have time to grab a Missouri plated car. They’re pulled over within minutes of crossing the border.
“Dammit,” Dean growls when he notices the flashing lights. “We don’t got time for this.”
Sam nods and pulls out Dean’s favorite handgun. “You’re the quicker draw.”
“Damn straight I am.”
They pull over and wait as the cop comes up to the window. Taking a calming breath and giving a reassuring glance to Sam, Dean rolls the window down.
“Can I help you, officer?”
The cop is a nice looking woman, a sheriff, with short dark hair. She leans up against the edge of the car and gives a warm smile.
“Hello boys, I’m afraid I need to see your license and registration. Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Not fast enough,” Dean says, cockily.
The sheriff looks confused. Dean opens his door, slamming it into her legs and knocking her over. He steps out quickly with his gun aimed at her forehead. She lifts her hands above her head.
“Hi, my name is Dean Winchester,” he says slowly. Her eyes widen at the name. He smiles, “It was nice meeting you, Sheriff...?”
“Mills,” she replies, “Sheriff Jody Mills.”
“Well, Sheriff Jody Mills,” Dean pulls back the hammer of his gun. “We’re all dust in the wind.”
He pulls the trigger.
Sam comes out of the car and drags the body off the road, hiding her in the trees. Dean takes the gun off her body and tucks it into his waistband. They nod and hop back into the car, leaving no trace they were there.
They make it to Chesterfield, Missouri just as the sun is setting. Perfect. Dean drops the car off in some alleyway and side by side the brothers start looking for a church. The city is gorgeous with some of the biggest houses Dean has ever seen. He wonders where Castiel was in this city. If he hadn’t already left.
He and Sam walk for hours. They leave the hustle of the main city and take paths less traveled.
“Dean,” Sam hits Dean’s arm. “There.”
Ahead is a sign for St. Louis Family Church. The parking lot is mostly empty, save for one car sitting beneath the streetlight. Only one person would stay so late. The Pastor. Both brothers grinning wickedly, they cross the street and walk into the church.
Cool air hits them as they enter and they find the Pastor easily enough. His arms are filled with books. Dean elbows Sam. This was his kill, his hunt. Sam nods and melts into the shadows, despite his abnormal height. Normally Dean would want to savor the kill, to make them hurt before they die. But this isn’t about what Dean wants. This is about showing Castiel who’s in charge. This is about staking their claim.
---
“Police can only imagine what horrors have taken place in Chesterfield, Missouri. The murders of drug lord Luke Fielding, more commonly known as Lucifer, and two of his henchmen occurred last Thursday. It is assumed for the moment that these murders were committed by vigilante Castiel. Four days later, another tragedy occurred.”
“Beloved Pastor, Jim Murphy, was found murdered at St. Louis Family Church. He bears the pentagram. It appears to local authorities that the nation’s three most wanted men, had a disagreement and chose to resolve it with blood.”
“Again, we encourage everyone to look out for Sam and Dean Winchester, and Castiel. If any of you have any information, please contact local authorities.”
---
He can’t say he’s surprised. Victor knew this was coming. Like all killers, the Winchesters thrive in the spotlight. They pride themselves on being the most wanted. They’ve killed to keep that title. It was only a matter of time before they decided to stake their claim against Castiel. He isn’t surprised at the dead body, he’s just surprised who it is.
The pastor is face down, a crude pentagram spray painted around the body. He’s waiting for the coroner to do the official look over, but Victor doubts anything new is going to reveal itself. Same dead body as the others.
“And so they strike again,” Ronald shakes his head.
“I hate this,” a detective says. “Damn serial killers.”
“We’ll get them,” Victor assures the detective. “Just one step at a time.”
“What are you gonna do about Castiel?” the detective asks. “Since the... um... the other murders.”
“We’re just gonna have to wait,” Ronald sighs. “See where he pops up next. He changed his MO, it’s kind of a big deal.”
The coroner waves his hand, bringing Victor’s attention to the body.
“What’s the news, doc?” Victor asks, kneeling.
“Nothing new,” the coroner shrugs. “Other than the decor.” He gestures to the paint. “He’s not marked up like the other Winchester vics, no torture or sign of struggle. In fact, I think he suffered the least of any victims I’ve ever seen.”
“This is different,” Victor muses. “You’ve seen the reports. They like to torture and abuse. This doesn’t fit their profile.”
“Don’t look at me,” the coroner says. “I’m more interested in dead bodies than your boys.”
---
Castiel frowns. He got the Winchesters interested. Too interested, it seems. It seems that he needs to send another message. A warning to the Winchesters that Castiel is not messing around. He will not be scared.
His informant has left him a manila folder with personal contacts of the Winchesters. This fight is getting personal. If this is the way they want to play, then this is the way they’re going to play. The Winchesters don’t have many personal contacts, if any, but Castiel can work with it.
Jo Harvelle, daughter of Ellen Harvelle. After the murder of her mother she ran away to Philadelphia. She used to be close to the Winchesters, like family almost. It will be perfect.
Castiel glances at the clock on the mantle. He will make it in two days. Then he will show these Winchesters that he can play with the sharks. And win.
---
Jo shuts the door to her apartment and flips on the lights. She drops her bag on the sofa and walks to the kitchen, shedding her coat and tossing it onto the chair. Hot tea sounds nice and she toes out of her shoes, kicking them towards the door.
Working at Hooters has its ups and downs. Today was more downs than ups. Some pig decided to drop his beer over her top and she didn’t have a spare shirt. Then the frat party showed up and it all went to hell.
Her teapot whistles and she pours the boiling water into a mug. Jo’s just starting to think about putting on some lame-ass TV show when there are hands around her neck and she’s being dragged into the living room.
“Don’t scream,” a rough voice growls in her ear.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” she can’t help but reply.
Jo swings her head back, connecting with her captor’s nose and breaking free. She turns around, hands up, and does a double take at the man before her. This is no common thief, not some crazy rapist or one-time killer.
This is Castiel, so called Avenging Angel.
What the hell is he doing in Jo’s living room?
“What do you want?” she demands.
He wipes the blood from his face and gives her a somewhat manic grin, “You know the Winchesters.”
Jo’s heart stops. Yeah, she knew the Winchester boys. They were like her brothers. Once upon a time.
“That was a long time ago,” she manages to keep the tremor from her voice.
“Do you still care for them?” Castiel walks to her. “Do you still love them?”
“It doesn’t matter!”
“It matters a great deal,” Castiel says. “Because if you care for them, then they care for you, and it means that I haven’t wasted my time here.”
“How did you even get here?” Jo asks, almost scared for the answer. No one knew where she was, not Sam or Dean. She was in hiding, she was protected. She backs up until her knees hit the coffee table.
“I’ve got a man on the inside,” Castiel smirks, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. “Someone I think you once knew well.”
Jo feels her eyes widen and her mouth dropping open. It can’t be. Castiel is lying. There is no way. It was bad enough losing Sam and Dean, but has she lost her other best friend as well? She thought he’d died with her mother and Bobby.
“You haven’t told me why you’re here,” Jo says, trying to take control of the conversation again.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Castiel takes another step closer until his chest is pressed against hers. Jo can smell the soap off his skin. He leans down and puts his mouth by her ear and breathes:
“I’ve come to kill you.”
Part VII