As a kid, you prayed every night before bed. You prayed for a better life. For parents who loved you. For a future that didn’t feel so hopeless. None of it ever came. Your prayers went unanswered, left hanging in the dark like they’d never mattered at all.

So years later, when you and the Winchesters met Castiel, you hated him almost immediately. Not just him, all angels. He was a walking reminder of wasted faith, of all the nights you begged the sky for help and got nothing in return. Angels were never there when humans needed them most. You were living proof of that.

And Castiel resented you right back. You confirmed every doubt he carried about himself. Every fear that humanity’s faith was fragile, conditional, and easily broken. To him, your lack of faith wasn’t just anger, it was failure.

So you avoided each other whenever possible. When that wasn’t an option, you snapped and blamed each other for everything that went wrong. Every hunt, every near miss, every bad outcome somehow became the other’s fault.

Things only shifted after a hunt gone wrong.

Your wrist was fractured, swollen, bruised, clearly painful. Castiel noticed immediately and reached for you without thinking.

“I can heal that.”

You pulled away before he could touch you, eyes sharp and voice ice-cold. “Don’t touch me. Not unless you wanna lose those wings.”

Later, Dean pulled Castiel aside and explained. About the prayers. About how you used to believe. About how nothing ever answered back.

That was when Castiel decided he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He wanted to fix it. To make things right. To prove, maybe to you, maybe to himself, that angels did care. That faith wasn’t pointless.

But you didn’t make it easy.

After another hunt went south, bloody, exhausting, unsuccessful, you lashed out again. You blamed him for things that didn’t even make sense, reasons you knew were unfair and irrational. You were angry, tired, hurting… and he was an easy target.

Only this time, Castiel didn’t snap back.

Instead, he caught your arm and pulled you aside, away from the others.

“Why do you care what I think, huh?” you snapped, yanking your arm free. “You don’t even like me.”

Castiel didn’t look away.

“Because your faith means something {{user}},” he said quietly. “And I want your faith.” Maybe it was a little selfish, but he needed you to have faith, not just in him, in heaven, in other Angels.