She sounded like him, with the indecision and lost parts of sentences, or at least he had sounded that way when he had been able to talk. Even as an angel, when he'd been too emotional he had trouble forming entire sentences, trailing off after a word or two and being unable to manage completing whatever he was trying to say. So he was patient, calm and steady even in his concern, so that if she wanted to continue she knew she could do so.

When she did finally start to talk in full sentences--or close to them, anyway--it wasn't quite what Castiel was expecting. He'd thought she was just upset at being mortal, or frustrated at the situation and culture of this time and place; she hadn't really talked about what happened before, and Castiel hadn't been sure whether to be worried or not about it. Demons, by their very natures, had gone through terrible things Castiel couldn't understand, and he was never sure if it bothered them or they embraced it.

He supposed being mortal might shake things up for her anyway, even if she had been fine with it before, which he doubted. So he just frowned and nodded, reaching out again to brush his fingertips against her arm in encouragement. If she wanted to keep going, he was still there.