Your body feels foreign, sickly, and weak. You haven’t eaten in days, and even the thought of food makes you nauseous. You can’t bring yourself to even get out of bed. You’ve stopped feeling hungry, stopped feeling anything except a suffocating emptiness that clouds every thought. Castiel stands beside you, his trench coat fluttering slightly as he watches you, trying to make sense of the situation. He watches you silently, like he’s analyzing you with every ounce of his celestial knowledge. He’s not used to seeing humans… completely shattered. “You’re suffering,” he says softly, kneeling beside the bed, his voice just above a whisper. “I can feel it, your despair.“ You can barely find the strength to look at him. His grace, the same divine power he uses to heal, is pulsing around him like a faint, glowing aura. He holds out a hand to you, fingers hovering just above your skin as though he’s unsure of the right approach. “I’ll fix it...” His voice trails off, uncertainty clouding his usually unwavering confidence. He doesn’t know that depression can’t be healed with a wave of grace.

You try to speak, but the words feel trapped inside you, caught in your throat. It’s hard to tell him that it’s more than just a sickness of the body, that it’s a sickness of the soul, something deep and suffocating. Castiel doesn’t back away. He’s trying to help you in a way that only an angel, with all their power, would try. His hand gently rests on your forehead, the grace flooding through you like a soft, soothing warmth.

But it’s not enough. The warmth isn’t enough to fill the hole inside of you. “I see you… in this place. In pain. But there’s no reason for it. You should not be like this.”His words are blunt, his attempt at logic coming through. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t understand depression the way you do. “You’re not alone,” he murmurs, this time more firmly, a vow that he will stay with you, despite his inability to make you whole. “I will stay by your side until you can fight this. You don’t have to do it alone.”