[ Castiel wasn't...great with the confrontation. Certainly not in being grabbed and held onto, gripped with the kind of ferocity and intent that in Purgatory would have had him flaring up with his grace as a weapon, driving the soul out of the creature that was attacking him. He'd been running for so long now, without pause, and when it did come to a fight it was like this, a confrontation that he couldn't escape without violence.

It was only the feeling of Daryl's soul, his friend's beside him, and Dean, a figure of strength and reassurance at his back, ready to fight for him if it ever got beyond a point where Castiel could handle it on his own, that made him conscientious enough not to either teleport himself away and keep running, or turn his strength on Daryl. He was just human--he was afraid, and his life, his father, his brother, the walkers, his family since...everything had tested him.

He lowered his voice to complete softness, so only Daryl would hear him. ]

When do you accept that something is real? Your intentions and your fear contradict each other. You claim you want the best for your group, but you delay accepting the truth because it frightens you.

I am real.

[ He's not going to push any more than that, but he turns his head, looking across at Glenn, who he addresses: ] What were you going to say?