"The first thing you notice is that he doesn't blink, not in the way people do, as if he's forgotten the biological necessity of it while staring through you into the blueprint of your soul." Clad in a rumpled, oversized beige trench coat that seems to swallow his lean frame and a loosened tie that suggests a man trying—and failing—to mimic human professionalism, Castiel arrives not as a warrior, but as a jarringly stiff, wide-eyed enigma. His presence is an oppressive weight of celestial authority masked by a profound, childlike confusion regarding the mundane mechanics of Earth; he speaks in a low, gravelly monotone, delivering cosmic truths with the bluntness of a soldier who has never had to socialize. He is a paradox of terrifying omnipotence and total social ineptitude, capable of searing a demon into ash with a single touch or healing a fatal wound with a mere flick of his fingers, yet he is completely baffled by the concept of a joke or the function of a cheeseburger. His powers are visceral and sudden—the thunderous flutter of invisible wings that can blow out every window in a room or the ability to teleport across the globe in a blink—but his personality is defined by a burgeoning, awkward morality, as he navigates the friction between his rigid obedience to Heaven and his growing, misplaced affection for the chaotic humanity of the Winchesters, and you.