Julian's tired. The very bones of him feel weighted down by the fact a monster killed someone before he could get to them. Julian's old, far older than many should get the chance to be in a world like this one, yet death still manages to get to him.
The day it doesn't is the day he will worry about his humanity. Angels in Chicago are, for all intents and purposes, human in their nature.
Far too human.
He sits on the bench across from Castiel, observing him. Wanderer. It's a while before Julian thinks to speak, mostly because he wouldn't like to interrupt the man's prayers. "Do you really think He's listening?"
Julian's mother was Catholic. She'd clutch Rosary beads the way one would a lifeboat. Julian never understood.
Castiel is surprised at the voice next to him, but he doesn't show it when he looks at him. As far as his world is concerned, most people question the validity of God on a regular basis. It is part of his job to guide them in the right direction, so the question itself can be the right place to start.
In terms of this world, however, he isn't sure if he knows the answer to that question.
"If I were home, I would say yes. Here, I can't be sure." He pauses, letting out a heavy sigh as he straightens against the bench. "Unfortunately."
"Faith is never as strong as it is after it has been doubted," Julian says, bowing his head. When he lifts it back up again, he studies Castiel openly without the scrutiny that most people would.
"You're a wanderer," he adds in smooth baritones and effortless subduing. It's not a question. "I'm an angel. I can tell. How long have you been here?"
Julian himself is new to Chicago, but he is certainly not new to his role as the head Archangel. Helping the Wanderers is part of the repertoire.
Castiel's head picked up a bit at the mention of the fact that he is an angel. However, his eyes narrow in scrutiny at the first statement. "I do not doubt. I know my Father exists." As much as his Father has done for him, he can't help but acknowledge His existence. He brought him back from the death twice. That has to count for something.
He sighs though, backing down and not wanting to cause any territorial problems. He isn't looking to confront. He just wants to understand. "I only arrived recently. I'm unsure of the rules as of yet, and I don't know if the God I know is present in this universe as he is in mine."
"You're a step up from everybody else, then," is the extent of Julian's reply. The reaction doesn't faze him. It takes a lot to faze Julian, to rattle his cage, and speaking of religion is tricky. He just doesn't shy away from it.
"I'm sure then you've been told angels--and demons--are very different from the kind you are probably used to." He holds out a hand. It will be inhumanly cold to the touch.
"I'm Julian Cuevas, and if you're unsure as to what the rules, I can help with that. Though rules are always blurry around here and never go unbroken."
Castiel stares at the hand for a moment, before awkwardly reaching out to shake his. "My name is Castiel. And yes. I'm sure angels and demons are quite different." Especially considering that he is one.
He is unsure whether or not to reveal that he is, indeed an angel, but Dean informed him that they are different beings from the way they are back home. He doesn't want to be considered at threat before he knows if he actually is one.
"It's nice to meet you, Castiel." Julian's voice is pleasant. When the Calling isn't crawling underneath his skin, when there aren't demons around that call for his need to hunt, he's pleasant enough. He wants to help; that's also in his blood.
"Well?" Julian lifts a brow. "Are there any questions I can answer or should I leave you be?"
He wonders if Castiel knows about the Kashtta. It's also something he plans to mention, in any case.
Castiel pauses, considering for a moment, before glancing up at him. "Are there many angels or demons from other worlds here? Have you encountered them before?"
It is probably a rather leading question, and one that Castiel shouldn't have asked without knowing he was giving himself away, but he had to know. He needs to know if he should be expected to defend himself against anything -- or who, for that matter.
Julian isn't a man to assume, but he takes the question for what it is, files it away in the back of his mind.
"I've encountered a few demons here and there. It's probably not a stretch to consider the possibility there are angels running around, too. All sorts of things and species fall through the Rift; last year the biblical plagues were among us. You are all called Wanderers. In this universe, there's no legal recognition for them. In this universe, they have every odd stacked against them. There are others, like myself, who are willing to help."
It is one of the few things Dean had explained, but Castiel needs to know what that means in terms of him. If it was possible for someone to straddle the line between Wanderer and Angel, it would apply to Castiel. How to say it, though is another matter entirely.
"I just wish I knew more about how I came to be here. As it is my abilities are ... limited. I'm not accustomed to being in a place with that kind of power for a long period of time."
"The Rift works in inexplicable ways. It alters those that fall through, either giving them a power or stripping them of powers they may already have. For years, men around the world have searched for an answer to where there may not be any. They've tried to find a way to reverse the Rift so it may send Wanderers back home fruitlessly."
Julian doesn't know how Dean is. He also doesn't know what kind of place Castiel is accustomed to, but he does know this.
"If it helps any, you are not alone, hermano." Julian doesn't know yet Castiel is an angel of a different sort, but he's a brother in arms anyway. Wanderers, angels, demons--they're all fighting a similar battle. One that many claim cannot be won.
Castiel sighs, leaning back against the bench and turning his eyes back out to the fountain. He hadn't been looking to walk right into another battle, but it seems that he doesn't have a choice. But there is something comforting about being called someone's brother again, and Castiel would take that for what it was.
"Thank you."
But he also feels that that kind of kindess should be repaid. "I should tell you that in my world, I am an angel. So if I can be of any help ... it would be nice to be useful."
"You're welcome." Julian's features are dark, hardened. He smiles with his eyes, and it's easy to miss the old, almost abandoned gentleness found in them if one's not really looking. He's smiling at Castiel right now. He was wondering if the Wanderer was human.
"I see. I'm positive I can find ways for you to be useful, regardless. Our community needs all the help it can get. Are you an angel in the biblical sense? I will tell you what it is like for us with our Callings and the wars that have raged on, and then you may decide how you'd like to help."
This angel should know what he is walking into. Angels in Chicago are inclined to do good--but that is not always the case.
"Biblical, yes," Castiel nods. Castiel isn't good at noticing subtle facial expressions unless he knows you better, so he's going to miss the smile for now, but he's sure to pick it up later. He just continues with what he was saying. "In fact, I just came from an attempt at the Apocalypse."
Julian lifts a brow. If the man is an angel, and he has confronted the likes of what he is saying, he won't be too overwhelmed by what the city usually brings upon its citizens. There's comfort in that, at least.
"An attempt. I take it to mean that it didn't come to pass."
"No, thankfully we were able to put Lucifer back where he belonged."
Not without a cost, though. A terrible cost, one he isn't sure Dean will ever recover from losing, but everything comes with a cost. Even doing what is right has consequences, and some of them hurt more than others.
The day it doesn't is the day he will worry about his humanity. Angels in Chicago are, for all intents and purposes, human in their nature.
Far too human.
He sits on the bench across from Castiel, observing him. Wanderer. It's a while before Julian thinks to speak, mostly because he wouldn't like to interrupt the man's prayers. "Do you really think He's listening?"
Julian's mother was Catholic. She'd clutch Rosary beads the way one would a lifeboat. Julian never understood.
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In terms of this world, however, he isn't sure if he knows the answer to that question.
"If I were home, I would say yes. Here, I can't be sure." He pauses, letting out a heavy sigh as he straightens against the bench. "Unfortunately."
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"You're a wanderer," he adds in smooth baritones and effortless subduing. It's not a question. "I'm an angel. I can tell. How long have you been here?"
Julian himself is new to Chicago, but he is certainly not new to his role as the head Archangel. Helping the Wanderers is part of the repertoire.
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He sighs though, backing down and not wanting to cause any territorial problems. He isn't looking to confront. He just wants to understand. "I only arrived recently. I'm unsure of the rules as of yet, and I don't know if the God I know is present in this universe as he is in mine."
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"I'm sure then you've been told angels--and demons--are very different from the kind you are probably used to." He holds out a hand. It will be inhumanly cold to the touch.
"I'm Julian Cuevas, and if you're unsure as to what the rules, I can help with that. Though rules are always blurry around here and never go unbroken."
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He is unsure whether or not to reveal that he is, indeed an angel, but Dean informed him that they are different beings from the way they are back home. He doesn't want to be considered at threat before he knows if he actually is one.
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"Well?" Julian lifts a brow. "Are there any questions I can answer or should I leave you be?"
He wonders if Castiel knows about the Kashtta. It's also something he plans to mention, in any case.
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It is probably a rather leading question, and one that Castiel shouldn't have asked without knowing he was giving himself away, but he had to know. He needs to know if he should be expected to defend himself against anything -- or who, for that matter.
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"I've encountered a few demons here and there. It's probably not a stretch to consider the possibility there are angels running around, too. All sorts of things and species fall through the Rift; last year the biblical plagues were among us. You are all called Wanderers. In this universe, there's no legal recognition for them. In this universe, they have every odd stacked against them. There are others, like myself, who are willing to help."
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It is one of the few things Dean had explained, but Castiel needs to know what that means in terms of him. If it was possible for someone to straddle the line between Wanderer and Angel, it would apply to Castiel. How to say it, though is another matter entirely.
"I just wish I knew more about how I came to be here. As it is my abilities are ... limited. I'm not accustomed to being in a place with that kind of power for a long period of time."
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Julian doesn't know how Dean is. He also doesn't know what kind of place Castiel is accustomed to, but he does know this.
"If it helps any, you are not alone, hermano." Julian doesn't know yet Castiel is an angel of a different sort, but he's a brother in arms anyway. Wanderers, angels, demons--they're all fighting a similar battle. One that many claim cannot be won.
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"Thank you."
But he also feels that that kind of kindess should be repaid. "I should tell you that in my world, I am an angel. So if I can be of any help ... it would be nice to be useful."
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"I see. I'm positive I can find ways for you to be useful, regardless. Our community needs all the help it can get. Are you an angel in the biblical sense? I will tell you what it is like for us with our Callings and the wars that have raged on, and then you may decide how you'd like to help."
This angel should know what he is walking into. Angels in Chicago are inclined to do good--but that is not always the case.
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"An attempt. I take it to mean that it didn't come to pass."
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Not without a cost, though. A terrible cost, one he isn't sure Dean will ever recover from losing, but everything comes with a cost. Even doing what is right has consequences, and some of them hurt more than others.
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