❝ You can still stop this, John. I can help you. ❞
He knew the answer before he asked. Why else would he be here? There could only be one reason ( social calls aren't in their nature ) . No intimidation rings in his voice when he asks it, however. John finds himself fully prepared, fists bloody and shoulders heavy, to face whatever — whomever — graces him with their presence. A man scorned, a man angry ( is he? just a man? ) finds himself to be both the unstoppable force and the immovable object ( for he could never be at rest now ) .
The words are, at their core, a threat. ( Stop ... or else. ) The concern they might be said with is no matter. If he has learned one thing from this life, this existence, of his ... some things are inevitable. ( He should have seen it coming ... ) His peace had been so ... sweet — sickeningly so for anyone less desperate than he was to hold it ( a reaper ... living among them ... in love with one of them ) . He could have guessed something would drag him back, though he hardly kicks and screams. He walked down this path knowingly, inadvertently becoming Death itself. And now the light has come calling, out of its place ; to lead him away from the destruction ( his destruction ) . And if he doesn't ...
' I can help you. ' He helped Castiel once. They both remember. A thing crafted from light and a thing born from shadows crossing paths, upholding the symmetry of the universe. ( Give and take, right and wrong, an eye for an eye. ) They would meet a number of other times, becoming allies, if not friends. But how quickly friends become enemies now that John has stepped out of his place, upset the symmetry and the balance. A reaper kills and ferries souls, but only out of purpose ; he left his behind. ( He never imagined he would face a friend like this. )
John's eyes remain level with Castiel's, a familiar gaze but colder now. He watches his friend carefully, waiting and studying. Can he expect an angel to understand? ( They are, both of them, inhuman in creation. ) Though perhaps it's strange enough for a reaper to find himself so affected by the very reason for his existence ; the first instance of truly experiencing the sorrow and the grief he once wrought. Does that make him defiant, defective? ( Especially now as he rips souls from the earth out of revenge alone ; after running from his duties in the first place ... ) He takes in a breath through his nose, brows coming down over his eyes slightly more — he remains as neutral as possible for the time being. John holds no weapon, he makes no move to charge — they're just ... talking. He now replies, ❝ This is personal. ❞
