[ Harold is a capable driver, if not an exciting one. He's regularly the getaway driver simply because he isn't in the thick of the action. He's comfortable renting a car and chasing down "James Novak" from a distance, needing no excuses for John or Shaw about where he's going; he doesn't explain his movements to them, even though he monitors and knows all of theirs.
It's pretty rare he's taken off-guard like this, considering he's the paranoid surveillance expert. Still, he's not totally freaked out; he's observed Mr. Novak enough by now to know he isn't typically a threat to random citizens. He just needs to establish himself as one.
As soon as his nerves stop racing enough for him to convince himself of that.
Harold's eyes are wide behind his glasses as he fumbles out a reply. He answers literally. ] Harold Wren. I'm-- I'm sorry. It's just that you looked familiar to me.
[ That's quite a weak excuse to follow someone in a car this far, but it has the advantage of being close to the truth, and Harold wants to see how he'll take it. As for Harold Wren -- his oldest alias, it's also one of his most innocuous. It'll stand up best to heavy scrutiny, if it comes to that, and it's one he can embody as a second skin. ]
[ it would be a weak excuse to anyone human, but harold has the advantage, in this scenario, of facing something distinctly not. it was clear to castiel before, and it's clear to him now, that— that this harold isn't a demon or any other stripe of monster—
in fact.
in fact, now that he's close enough to look the man in the eye, he's beginning to realize something that should have been obvious to him the moment harold pinged his radar. this man isn't a man at all. castiel's eyes narrow, and he takes a step forward. this might lead harold to think that castiel's seen through some part of his act, and he has, but not in the way that one would assume.
once he's uncomfortably close, castiel speaks (under his breath, to himself), ]
Who are you?
[ never in all his days on earth did he expect to find a fallen angel here. ]
[ Harold takes an unsteady step back as Castiel steps forward, but there's really nowhere farther to go. He ends up pressed back against the wall, skin crawling, uncomfortable, something prickling his senses like --
Like the way the air feels tight with pressure before a storm. ]
I just told you, [ he answers, voice taught. ] But I'm not clear on who you are. Because it's not James Novak.
Is it?
[ That much he'd put together from their time tracking Castiel and trying to save him, or save others from him. Nothing he did was consistent with what Harold dug up about Novak's life before one defined recent point. It was like he woke up an entirely different person one day... and maybe he did, he was forced to conclude. He knows some things about the supernatural, but he's no expert; it's hard to find credible information on, and Harold's interests just went the other way, toward technology. ]
[ it's not, and he has no reason to hide it. especially not to another of his own kind— he suspects that harold is playing coy on purpose. because by all rights, any angel who's left heaven against orders should be brought back with extreme prejudice.
but... castiel considers, as he licks his chapped lips, that he hasn't been given an order to do this. the gathering storm doesn't wane, but rather remains the same uncomfortable pressure— the way it might when it seems the sky hasn't yet decided if it's going to rain.
failing any other angle he can think of (and not taking into consideration how uncomfortable harold must be), castiel presses on at exactly the same uncomfortable distance. ]
I know what you are. There's no need to hide from me.
[ He knows what he is, not who? It's a strange turn of phrase. Harold tenses even further, freezing up, feeling like a cornered prey animal and honest with himself about his fear. Someone knowing who he is, what he's done and what he's capable of... is one of his worst fears.
Harold dreads more than anything being used against those he loves. And anyone anywhere could find a use for something like the Machine, could give into a lust for power and information like he's capable of supplying. His weak points are so stunningly obvious and easy to leverage once they're known; he would do anything or at least nearly anything to protect Grace.
But he won't balk before he's totally sure the jig is up. ]
What is it you think I'm hiding? [ he asks coldly, even as his eyes are wide and his heart is racing rabbit-fast in his chest, whole body plastered back against the side of a building. ]
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no subject
It's pretty rare he's taken off-guard like this, considering he's the paranoid surveillance expert. Still, he's not totally freaked out; he's observed Mr. Novak enough by now to know he isn't typically a threat to random citizens. He just needs to establish himself as one.
As soon as his nerves stop racing enough for him to convince himself of that.
Harold's eyes are wide behind his glasses as he fumbles out a reply. He answers literally. ] Harold Wren. I'm-- I'm sorry. It's just that you looked familiar to me.
[ That's quite a weak excuse to follow someone in a car this far, but it has the advantage of being close to the truth, and Harold wants to see how he'll take it. As for Harold Wren -- his oldest alias, it's also one of his most innocuous. It'll stand up best to heavy scrutiny, if it comes to that, and it's one he can embody as a second skin. ]
no subject
in fact.
in fact, now that he's close enough to look the man in the eye, he's beginning to realize something that should have been obvious to him the moment harold pinged his radar. this man isn't a man at all. castiel's eyes narrow, and he takes a step forward. this might lead harold to think that castiel's seen through some part of his act, and he has, but not in the way that one would assume.
once he's uncomfortably close, castiel speaks (under his breath, to himself), ]
Who are you?
[ never in all his days on earth did he expect to find a fallen angel here. ]
no subject
Like the way the air feels tight with pressure before a storm. ]
I just told you, [ he answers, voice taught. ] But I'm not clear on who you are. Because it's not James Novak.
Is it?
[ That much he'd put together from their time tracking Castiel and trying to save him, or save others from him. Nothing he did was consistent with what Harold dug up about Novak's life before one defined recent point. It was like he woke up an entirely different person one day... and maybe he did, he was forced to conclude. He knows some things about the supernatural, but he's no expert; it's hard to find credible information on, and Harold's interests just went the other way, toward technology. ]
no subject
[ it's not, and he has no reason to hide it. especially not to another of his own kind— he suspects that harold is playing coy on purpose. because by all rights, any angel who's left heaven against orders should be brought back with extreme prejudice.
but... castiel considers, as he licks his chapped lips, that he hasn't been given an order to do this. the gathering storm doesn't wane, but rather remains the same uncomfortable pressure— the way it might when it seems the sky hasn't yet decided if it's going to rain.
failing any other angle he can think of (and not taking into consideration how uncomfortable harold must be), castiel presses on at exactly the same uncomfortable distance. ]
I know what you are. There's no need to hide from me.
no subject
Harold dreads more than anything being used against those he loves. And anyone anywhere could find a use for something like the Machine, could give into a lust for power and information like he's capable of supplying. His weak points are so stunningly obvious and easy to leverage once they're known; he would do anything or at least nearly anything to protect Grace.
But he won't balk before he's totally sure the jig is up. ]
What is it you think I'm hiding? [ he asks coldly, even as his eyes are wide and his heart is racing rabbit-fast in his chest, whole body plastered back against the side of a building. ]