WHO Castiel & Crowley (~minesbigger & ~trenchcoated) WHERE Wherever Crowley happens to be WHEN Mid-Day WHAT An unamused angel wants answers RATING PG STATUS In Progress
Is this your sign, my Father? I do not understand what it is you want me to do. Castiel stood with a lost expression in the middle of a gloomy pedestrian street made sleek with rain, the sky rumbling an ill omen. In his right hand still was a key and a piece of paper with the number 106 written on it; in his left, an irreverently folded map. The man had been taciturn, deaf to any questions or threats.
Dark umbrellas bloomed and unhappy passers-by were forced to step around him, but he paid them no heed. The blank look on his face alternated from contrition and consternation as he concentrated, realising that he had effectively been sandboxed in what could best be described as someone's metropolis-sized version of heaven. His powers remained undiminished within it, but it was as though nothing else existed outside of it. He felt the surge of souls rippling in this world, yet there was something inexplicably...off about them, as though imperfect copies had been made from a single soul.
Then he found him, the Demon, and suddenly all was made clear, at least in his mind. A silent flutter and he stood behind Crowley, the accusatory look in the grim set of his mouth speaking for itself. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.