[ castiel's nostrils flare, and he jerks to his feet, taking a jagged step toward barnabas. he makes no move to reach for a weapon, but who's to say he needs one? he doesn't appear to be attempting to assault the other man, however. it's obvious enough his sadness has been drowned. whited out by a surge of fury so acrid it makes his stomach and esophagus burn with bile and his chest heave with each sharp, angry intake of breath. his knuckles are bone-white in his fists, and something trembles all through him, only to escape in the hiss of his voice. ]

You assume.

[ another breath, and he presses on, a roughness abrading his voice, caused by a thickness in his throat. ]

But that is exactly what happened. I knew my Father was still with us, without a single sight of him, without ever hearing the sound of his voice, even when they told me "God is dead". I had faith— [ his face twists, his lips snagged in a snarl that lines his face like an animal's. the wildness in his blown-wide eyes lends to the effect. ] —for all the past five millennia. And then I found Him.

Do you know what He imparted to me, in all His infinite wisdom? "Back off", [ castiel spits, ] "It's not my problem."

So don't tell me who lacked faith. Even the archangels decried Him, His favored sons. But I loved Him above all. I believed in Him. And He—

[ failed me. castiel jerks back, tearing himself out of baranabas' space, aware that he's allowed himself to lose control. the anger sings in him, pure as anything. what should he do with it? he wished he had an answer. there's no balm for this hurt. except to drink. ]