The girl whirls on him, her eyes bright. "You don't get it, do you? Those few minutes that we were connected—it was the closest I've ever been to my Dad." She pokes a finger into his chest, "I could even feel it, his love for me. Do you know how weird it is to be in the same place your Dad once was, but it was as if he was still there? It was like he was inside me, and around me—even more so than him."

Tears tumbled over her cheeks and she stood on tiptoe to whisper, dead serious, "My Dad's love for me, it was so strong it was almost a physical presence. And yet…" she sank back on her heels but stayed close, it made him uncomfortable, "that was nothing to how he felt about you." Dean frowned and crossed his arms, needing that barrier between them. Claire glanced down at this action and back up with an incredulous expression.

"You don't even know, do you?" Dean wanted to look away, but Claire's gaze held his. The same laser intensity, those eyes the same electric blue as her father's. "An angel's love for a human… that pure focus… I don't know how I could possibly explain it." Her head tilted a little, and Dean shivered at the further resemblance to a man she knew as her Dad, and he knew as someone completely different.

"You know," she said softly, "for humans it's like, a mother, and a child. She'll jump in front of a bus for her kid. That kind of sacrifice… and you can just see it, that love." A pause as she gathered her thoughts, the drying tear tracks on her face glinted in the light. "An angel's love, for their Father?" her expression went distant, and she shook her head slowly, "Even feeling it, secondhand… I can't understand it; it's too much."

"But their love for a human…" she blinked, eyes sharpening on his face once more, "his love, for you?" and here she stumbled, "It's… it's like." Dean wanted her to stop, or to just turn and run out the door. He wanted to grab his car keys, jump into his baby, and drive. But he couldn't look away as the girl who'd been closer emotionally to his angel than anyone else living opened her mouth, and sealed his fate.

"A room. And there's only so much air, and each breath you take makes the walls move closer. You could leave just by looking up—that's all you'd have to do. But you're holding a match, and if you leave, you'll take the air with you and the match will go out. So you just… look at it. Just, keep watching. You can't not—it'll go out."

Dean swallows, there's a painful lump in his throat. Claire's voice has taken on an almost hypnotic cadence. They're both caught.

"The walls crawl closer, and the air gets thinner, but you keep watching that small, insignificant flame. It's beautiful—you see. Eventually, the walls start to bear down on you, but you curl around that flame protectively. It flickers. There's little air left by now, you know? And you start to hold your breath, only taking tiny gasps when you have to."

Dean's breathing hard, almost panting at this point, as if he can feel the lack of air she speaks of. His chest feels tight. He wants her to stop, please stop. He can't—

"The walls crush you, your lungs burn, darkness encroaches on the edges of your vision. You're in agony. But that little match still holds your attention. You could leave, even now, if you wanted to. But you know. You know that, in the end, you'll breathe out your held breath."

Dean closes his eyes and hunches, a hand clasping over his mouth. He feels like he's going to hurl.

"And won't take another."

Her eyes seem to glow, and she whispers, "That's what it's like—his devotion."

"Sacrifice doesn't seem to cut it."