Castiel was quiet as Azrael spoke. Let the cats choose; that did make sense. “I suppose you’re right,” he murmured, “Freedom to choose is very important.” His time with Dean had taught him that, for good or ill. Freedom is a length of rope… He shook his head.
The cat on his lap opened one eye to glare at the smaller one who’d hopped up to join them. Castiel petted each with one hand, smoothing their fur. His hands were shaking a little. His hands, that had been streaked with blood, the scorching fire of Grace burning out against his skin as he’d decimated Raphael’s troops… He wouldn’t use these hands in senseless violence again - that was his choice.
“Samandriel is right to shun me. What I did… it’s unforgivable,” Castiel said softly. He couldn’t look at Azrael. He couldn’t tear his eyes aways from his hands. “God... chose to spare me. That was his punishment and I accept it. Our brothers and sisters... ” he trailed off, shaking his head, and finally, he looked up at Azrael. “It’s kind of you to offer such support, but… it is undeserved. I should be judged. I should be punished.”
He looked away again, out over the park, at the trees and the playground and the snow. "You know... Preya is so beautiful, and so strange," he said, and thought of Dean. "Sometimes I think it can't be real. It's easy to get lost in it. But... I don't want that." His voice was very small. "I... just didn't want to hurt anyone else. That's why I came here. Not for solace."