"What's a shifter doing shooting up a mall?" James asks. "That's human-level monstrous."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they aren't usually into mass casualty things," Emma agrees. "Quick mercy kills aren't quite their brand."

"You have no idea how concerning it is to me that you consider being shot a mercy kill," James says.

Emma shrugs. "There are worse ways to go. Shifters usually know a lot of them."

"Fair point," he agrees.

"Question," Emma says. "What happens to the poor dude that just got accused of mass murder? Guy didn't do anything but accidentally run into a shifter."

"That actually never occured to me," James admits. "We could try to break him out. Sneak in like feds, pretend we're taking him somewhere, just give him a fake ID and a plane ticket to the west coast."

Castiel zones out after this. Though he could probably participate in the conversation, it just seems like a lot of pointless back-and-forth. They're not really getting anywhere — not when there's a shifter who seems to be staging mass shootings everyday. What to do with the falsely accused doesn't seem that important at the moment.

Castiel sits down at the motel table and gives himself a moment to readjust. Judging by the fact that his head is pounding and the whole world is spinning, he may have performed just a few too many medical miracles for one day. He should really stop pushing himself and his grace too far, because he'd hate to risk permanent problems for something he could have done over a longer stretch of time.

After a few moments, he opens his laptop, and, after muttering under his breath about how unfair it was that Sam and Dean always had WiFi while his wifi always sucks, he manages to open to the Google homepage. It's a start, at least.

"Cas, you good?"

Castiel looks up to see Emma and James looking back at him, both fighting back laughter. Castiel laughs awkwardly and looks away. So maybe he got a little too annoyed at the computer.

Emma sits on the floor next to him, craning her neck to see the screen. "Whatcha doing?"

As he types — a fairly slow process, especially compared to a computer geek like Sam — he says, "I'm looking for a map of the sewers."

Emma stares at him uncomprehendingly. "I thought you were an angel, not a vampire."

"I don't understand what you mean."

She sighs dramatically. "Of course not." She slides her feet under her and kneels next to the table for a better view. "Why do you need a map of the sewers?"

"I'm going to compare the locations of all the mass shootings in the last few days," he replies. "This shifter may not act like a normal one in its methods, but I can only assume it still lives in the sewers. Hopefully I can find enough of a pattern to narrow down where it might go next."

"Ooh, you smart," she says. "James, why aren't you this smart?"

"If you hadn't started asking about the dude stuck in jail, maybe I would have gotten around to it," he says.

"Sure, James," she says patronizingly. "Let's go with that."

He groans. "You know, Cas, she was a lot nicer to me until you showed up and one-upped me at everything."

"I'm sorry," Castiel says, though he's not quite sure how that's his fault. He's sure it makes sense somehow, but he's not quite sure how that is.

"He's just messing with you," Emma says. "I mean, he's not wrong, but that doesn't make it any less of a joke."

"I don't think that's how jokes work," Castiel says, but, then again, he's never been the best with humor. He's certainly not in a position to question it.

Emma laughs. "Never change, Cas. Never change."