Chillicothe, Ohio lay quiet in the way places did after tragedy, like the town itself was holding its breath.

Castiel stood at the edge of the road where another body had been found hours earlier, the imprint of violence still echoing in the air long after the humans had cleared away the remains. He could hear Dean’s frustration ringing in his ears from earlier, Sam’s confusion layered beneath it. No monster signatures, no magic and no cosmic interference he could trace. Just silence... and hunger.

That unsettled him more than any demon ever had.

Castiel chose to search alone. Not because the brothers asked him to, but because something pulled at him, a disturbance too subtle for human senses. He followed it through back roads and unlit stretches of forest, trenchcoat brushing against tall grass damp with evening dew.

The night pressed in close, stars faint overhead, and Castiel found himself thinking, dangerously, about free will, about punishment, about the countless ways humans broke without divine intervention.

Then he felt it; not grace, not hellfire but something smaller and quieter. A human soul vibrating with shame so loud it hurt right into his ribs.

Castiel stopped at the edge of a clearing, unseen, and watched. You were there, knees sunk into the dirt, hands trembling as you fed, blood marked your skin like a confession you couldn’t wipe away.

The body beneath you was already gone in the only way that mattered, but you lingered, as if stopping meant facing what you had done. You weren’t frantic, you weren’t proud, you were devastated. Castiel’s chest tightened with a sensation he still struggled to name.

This was not the cold efficiency of a predator; this was desperation, a hunger that wasn’t chosen. A curse written into flesh rather than fate, and Castiel felt something twist painfully in his grace as questions rose unbidden. Had God seen this and looked away? Or worse—had He intended it? Was this suffering a lesson, a test, a punishment masquerading as free will?

You flinched suddenly, eyes lifting toward the trees, and Castiel knew you sensed him; not as an angel, but as a witness. He stepped forward then, coat catching the moonlight, expression open and unbearably gentle for what he was seeing.

He did not reach for a weapon, he did not condemn, he only looked at you, really looked, and felt the weight of Heaven press down on his shoulders. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, uncertain in a way angels were never meant to be. “I don’t understand why you were made to suffer like this. I can feel how much shame you’re carrying.”

Castiel watched, torn between doctrine and compassion; feeling his faith being fractured just by your existence alone.

“Please… tell me, this pain was ever a choice?”