He'd been dreading this moment, hoping an alternative would come to him last minute, but in the end, he had a job to do.
He listened in on prayers to his Father and heard a young woman often, always praying for others. He listened closer and followed her voice to find her on a street corner in Paris. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, though he was never very good at guessing ages. She was alone, and she was very obviously homeless. Surprised by the nature of her prayers, he watched her for a while, trying to divine why she never prayed for herself. She prayed for the man walking by who looked depressed, she prayed for the woman driving while on her cell phone to stay safe, she prayed for the man sleeping in the alleyway down the road to find a way out, she prayed for the child with the balloon to stay so carefree all his life, and she prayed for any couples getting engaged in that restaurant over there to have a long happy life together. But never, not once, did this young woman pray for herself.
After a day or two, a man in a trench coat approached her in the middle of the night. He asked her in French how she could be so devout in her condition, and without missing a beat, she responded, "What condition?" At his confused look, she went on to explain that even though her family had died and she had nowhere to stay and no money to live on, she knew God would keep her safe.
"What about the others; the ones you pray for?" he asked.
"Tu sais," she said. "Even if God cares for everyone, I think sometimes He could use a little push from us as a reminder about the little things."
They stood in silence for a while, he contemplating what she said and she wondering about this strange man who knew what she prayed in her head. After a bit, he told her he needed someone devout like her. It was her turn to look confused, and he explained that he was an angel. After only a moment's hesitation, she believed him and offered to help him in any way she could. He asked her one question: "Es-tu une vierge?" At her nod, he told her she needed only sleep for now. "D'accord," she agreed.
He touched her forehead and she slept instantly. Hating himself for what he was doing, Castiel took his angel blade and pushed it through the young woman's heart. He took a jar from one of his coat pockets and collected blood from a cut he made on her neck. When she stopped bleeding and he had enough in the jar, he healed the cut on her neck. She was dead, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that she hadn't known it was coming and she felt nothing. Her sacrifice would help save the lives of many, including those she prayed for.
Castiel cleaned and sheathed his blade, sealed the jar and put it back in his pocket, and set fire to the woman's body. As he watched the flames that ensured her journey straight to Heaven, he realized he didn't even know her name.
