Dean surveyed the carnage. Two of the hounds had escaped, but the rest, and their handlers, lay scattered on the ground around himself and the angel, several in multiple pieces. The human was covered in blood and other fluids, and the angel was little better off. Dean looked over at Castiel. The angel was uselessly rubbing at the stains on his armor, making small, unhappy noises like the plucking of cello strings.

"How you holding up?" Dean asked.

Castiel looked up from his fruitless attempts. "I should be asking you that," he said. As usual, there was no expression on his face, but his voice betrayed his disapproval. "I am your guardian."

Dean jabbed his finger at the angel. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't need a bodyguard. But if we're gonna get out of here, I need a wingman. We watch each other's backs. Got it?"

Castiel blinked slowly, deliberately. "Wingman," he repeated, tasting the sound of the word. He nodded. "Yes. I can be your wingman."

"Awesome," Dean replied, flashing the angel a grin. "Now let's get out of here before anyone comes to investigate."

Castiel nodded wearily and sheathed his sword. Then he reached up to remove his helmet. Dean ogled for a moment, not having realized that the helmet was, in fact, removable. Tucking the armor under one arm, Castiel ran the other hand through his thick shock of ink-black hair. Disheveled from the helmet, it stuck out in all directions, giving the angel an almost endearing look. Castiel shook his head like a dog, smoothed his hair back, and replaced the helmet.

Dean looked at the angel, really looked at him for the first time since he woke up in the cave. Somewhere between then and now, Castiel's strange form had ceased to be eerie and the blank face had stopped being creepy. Dean was finally starting to get a read on his companion, and for the first time, was thinking of him as a person.

Castiel turned to look at Dean, an inquiring tilt to his head. "Are you ready to move?"

Dean shook himself back to the present. "Yeah. Let's go. The sooner we blow this joint, the better."

"I have no intention of causing another explosion," Castiel said gravely.

For the first time in forty years, Dean laughed. It was little more than a dry chuckle, but it felt good. He clapped Castiel on the shoulder. "Probably a good idea," he agreed, and started walking.

They heard the water before they reached it. At first they couldn't identify the constant, unending roar and crash, fearing it was some hellish beast descending on them. It was Castiel who finally recognized the sound of running water.

It cut straight across their path, wide and swift, flowing down deeper into the pit. The water was black, mottled with white froth, and the bottom was hidden from sight. Dean approached it warily, but Castiel hung back, reluctant. Dean tested his fingertips in the water, and when he suffered no ill effects, plunged both hands in, scooping it out to scrub across his arms, face, and neck.

The water smelled faintly of brimstone, but it washed the blood and grime from Dean's skin and really, he had gotten used to the scent of sulfur by now. He looked over his shoulder at the angel. "C'mon," he called. "It's safe."

Castiel inched forward as if he was approaching the edge of a cliff, as suspicious of the water as a cat of a swimming pool. Dean rose from his crouch and looked across the river. "Think we can get across?" he asked.

"That depends on how deep it is," Castiel replied. He finally reached the bank and lowered the toe of his armored boot into the black liquid. Dean started to smirk at the dainty gesture, but the expression vanished when Castiel gave a discordant hiss and recoiled so suddenly he overbalanced and fell on his hindquarters, scrambling backwards from the water.

"What is it?" Dean demanded. "What's wrong?"

"The water is unholy," Castiel said tightly. His thin lips pulled back from his teeth in the first expression his face had made. His teeth were very white and pointed. "I cannot touch it."

"Well, shit, then," Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his hair. "Can you fly over it?"

Castiel regained his feet much more gracefully than he had fallen. He fanned his wings out. They still looked tattered, wisps of cloud and smoke trailing from the edges. "No," he said flatly.

Dean ground his teeth together. "Great." He looked back over the water. "Wait here." He prowled over to the water's edge and waded in.

"Dean!" Castiel called out from behind him, sounding panicked. "What are you doing?"

"Testing the depth," Dean called over his shoulder. It was difficult to keep his balance in the swift current, and twice Dean swore he felt something slither against his legs, but he reached the halfway point and the water had only risen to his chest. He turned around and made his way back to the angel. Castiel waited for him on the banks, wings quivering anxiously.

Dean skimmed the water off his body with his hands and eyed the angel. "You can change shape, right?" he asked.

Castiel blinked his golden eyes. "Yes, I have many forms," he replied.

"Can you make yourself smaller?"

The angel stared at Dean. "I don't understand," he said after a moment.

"If I'm going to carry you across the water, you'll have to be smaller," Dean explained impatiently.

"Carry me?" Castiel echoed. He looked at the black water and back to Dean. "I don't think that is a good plan."

"You have a better one?" Dean challenged. When the angel was silent, Dean continued, "You're gonna have to trust me."

Castiel sighed. He spread his wings and wrapped them tightly around himself, so that Dean could no longer see his body. There was that silky whispering sound, and then the wings peeled back, shrinking as they folded between the new shape of Castiel's shoulders.

Dean blinked down at the angel. Castiel now barely came up to Dean's waist. The armor was gone, replaced by a simple pale blue tunic, belted with a silver chain. Castiel's facial features were softer, rounder, and his black hair fell over his forehead into his golden eyes. His proportions were more human, child-like. Even his feet were bare.

Dean couldn't help the snort of disbelief. "You...you're little!" He exclaimed.

Castiel pressed his lips together and fluttered his wings. "That is what you requested, isn't it?" His voice had not changed, making it a strange contrast to his much smaller body.

"Yeah, but I didn't expect...cute," Dean replied, now fighting off a grin.

"I am not cute," Castiel protested. "I am a warrior of Heaven."

Dean's grin turned into a chuckle, and the next thing he knew, he was laughing hysterically, years of suppressed emotions bubbling up to the surface in one outpouring of mirth. Castiel crossed his chubby arms and glared up at the human, waiting for him to calm down. It took a while.

When Dean's breathing had finally returned to normal, he took a second look at the angel. "Okay, why do you have a tiny kid among all of the shapes a badass angel can take?"

"This is a reflection of my age in comparison to my brothers," Castiel said flatly.

That took Dean slightly aback. "You mean...you're actually just a kid?"

"I am the youngest of my brethren," the angel explained with another sigh.

Dean considered that for a moment. "Huh," was all he decided to say in the end, and stooped to catch hold of Castiel around his tiny waist. The angel made a tiny sound of protest that Dean ignored and hoisted him to his shoulders. "Hold tight," Dean instructed. "I'm going to need my arms to balance."

For lack of other handholds, or perhaps out of spite, Castiel seized a painfully tight grip on Dean's hair and gripped Dean's neck between his little knees. Dean winced but decided not to say anything, and waded back into the river.

As the water rose past Dean's knees, he asked, "So how many brothers do you have?"

Castiel was silent for a moment. "There are over two hundred in my garrison alone, and there are many garrisons. Several hundreds of thousands, I would estimate. I am not certain."

Dean whistled. "Man. And I thought having just one was a pain in the ass."

"Tell me of your brother," Castiel requested.

"Sammy?" Dean felt his way forward another step, cautiously testing the bottom of the river and shifting his weight to counter the current. Most of his concentration was focused on not falling rather than the conversation. "I practically raised him, you know? Was always there to take care of him. Had to. Not like anyone else was there for him. Dad was...working. Always had a job. Another case. Sam didn't like the life. Didn't have it in his blood. That's why he left. Wanted to try out the normal life. Didn't work out for him but sometimes...sometimes I wish it had. Because he would have been happy. And that's what you should want for your little brother, right?"

"I wouldn't know," Castiel said softly, almost wistfully. Then, "That is more about your brother then you remembered a short time ago."

Dean stopped, his eyes wide. He wobbled a little but regained his balance, feeling Castiel's grip on him tighten. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I guess it is." He smiled slightly, and then kept moving. "Your turn."

"My turn to do what?"

"Tell me about your brothers," Dean instructed.

"I could speak until the stars fell from the sky and I would not finish telling you of them," Castiel told him seriously.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine. Tell me about the ones in your garrison. The ones you're close to."

Castiel considered Dean's request for a while. "My brother Uriel and I have served together for a long time. He is devout in his faith, and true to our orders. He is not much older than I, and we were trained together."

"Yeah? What kind of training does an angel go through?"

Dean felt Castiel's small fingers thread through his hair, kneading at Dean's scalp almost absentmindedly. "The archangels prepare us for war," the angel replied. "To fight as soldiers for Heaven. To carry out our orders without question or hesitation. To work together to further our Father's will."

They were now more than halfway across the river. Dean could see the other bank. He continued to trudge forward, making sure each foot was firmly planted. He didn't want to risk the angel getting injured more than he already was. Especially since Castiel was Dean's only hope of ever seeing Sam again.

"Dean," Castiel suddenly said tightly. Dean jerked his head up. There were figures gathering on the bank of the river. Dean ground to a halt and twisted to look behind him. More demons lined the far shore.

"Shit," Dean spat. "Any ideas?"

Castiel shifted on Dean's shoulders. "Go forward. Get us out of the water."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked with a frown. "I mean, I'm up for a fight, but there's at least ten of 'em."

The angel's small fingers brushed Dean's cheek. "Trust me," he instructed.

Dean clenched his jaw. "All right," he muttered, and started forward again. But as he approached the shore and the waiting demons, his stomach dropped. "Castiel," he whispered hoarsely. "I can't... That's..."

"What is wrong?" Castiel demanded.

"Alastair," Dean managed to force out through a tight throat.

"Who is he?"

"He..." Dean couldn't finish the sentence. Castiel touched his cheek again.

"I understand," he said gently. "But you must trust me, Dean. I have a plan."

Dean swallowed and hunched his shoulders. The water began to recede, falling to his waist and then to his knees. He hesitated in the shallows, eying the demons warily. None of them moved, just stared at the human and the angel with hungry, empty eyes.

Alastair stepped forward and clapped slowly. "Well done," he said in a nasally lisp. "I expected this, you know. I knew the angels were going to make a play for you at some point. But I'm surprised at you, Dean, throwing yourself in with that lot. I mean, after all the times they screwed you over."

Castiel's grip on Dean tightened. "What's he talking about?" Dean hissed at the angel.

"I don't know," he replied in a low voice. "Dean, get us out of the water."

Dean had no desire to get anywhere near the master torturer, but at the angel's insistence, he edged forward until he was standing on dry ground. Alastair tilted his head, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"Though, when I warned Lilith that the angels would move, I didn't expect this." He licked his lips. "It looks so...delicious."

The other demons laughed, sounding more like a pack of half-starved hyenas. They shifted eagerly, eyes fixed on the angel. Castiel leaned down and put his mouth next to Dean's ear. "When I say, run. Don't look back."

"I'm not going to leave you," Dean whispered back.

"Don't argue," Castiel said firmly. He straightened. "You have no more claim on this soul, demon," he called out in a strong voice. "He has been marked for Heaven."

"And what are you going to do if I...dispute that?" Alastair challenged with a shark's grin. Dean felt Castiel tense, and then with strength disproportionate to his size, the angel flung himself from Dean's shoulders. Dean saw the child gliding on outstretched wings, and then the tiny body exploded.

When Castiel landed, he wasn't anything near human. There were six razor-edged wings flickering in all directions, making it hard to make his form out clearly, but whatever it was, it was horrifying. Dean thought he saw at least three heads, six eyes blazing with blue-white light. Too many arms flailed around, each gripping a flaming sword. The body was far too supple and moved with an almost boneless grace, slithering through the demons with incredible speed.

Dean was already running when Castiel's voice reached him. "DEAN, RUN!" The terror of seeing the creature Castiel could become, the fear of his "tutor," and the threat of more demons was too much for Dean to overcome. So, to his shame, he fled.

XxxXxxX

Castiel had been injured before. At the hands of demons, and by his own kind. He thought he had experienced pain.

He was wrong.

Pain for an angel was fleeting, lasting only moments before their Grace healed their injury. This...this was different. This pain was lasting. It did not go away. And as the moments passed, it only increased, each new injury adding to the symphony of agony that burned his physical form.

He couldn't fight back, couldn't defend himself. He was too weak, already spent from his previous battles. He opened his eyes only to blink blood out of them. Alastair's face floated into focus above him. The demon was studying the angel's body, tapping a finger on his lips like an artist examining a half-finished masterpiece.

"Interesting," the demon whined. "This has been so...informational. You should be so proud. I mean, after all, this is a prestigious occurrence. The first ever angel to be tortured in Hell. I wonder what will happen when I break you."

Castiel turned his face away, refusing to satisfy the demon with a reply. Alastair leaned down and pressed his nose to Castiel's neck, inhaling deeply. Castiel shuddered with revulsion.

"Mmm..." Alastair hummed happily. "Fear. How many centuries have I waited to taste that from an angel?" He dragged his finger through a rivulet of blood on Castiel's chest and licked it off. "So much sweeter than I expected. Oh yes...you and I are going to do so much together." He picked up another blade.

Castiel closed his eyes and refused to scream.

XxxXxxX

Dean didn't know how long he'd been cowering in the dubious safety of the tiny crevice, but it had been long enough for the fear to fade and his conscience to take over. He'd only stopped berating himself because he'd run out of breath. He'd left Castiel behind. And you never left your partner behind, whether it was your brother or another hunter. He had no idea what had happened to the angel, but it was probably nothing good.

He flinched as yet another demon bounded past his hiding place. They were hunting for him, now. He could hear them calling his name, taunting. It was only a matter of time before they found him, and they would drag him back to Alastair, back to the racks.

Dean knew, logically, that he couldn't hide from the demons forever. He was in Hell, after all. Castiel was still his best and only chance out. So Dean mustered up his courage, and pressed his right hand to the scar on his left shoulder.

It was as if there was a compass needle in his brain and Castiel was the magnetic North. As long as he was touching the glowing mark, he knew exactly where the angel was. The only problem was that it was leading him straight into the thickest population of demons. There was no way he was going to be able to sneak in there. So Dean did the next best thing. He wriggled out of his hiding spot and stood up in plain view.

It took less than a minute for the demons to descend.

They threw him down at Alastair's feet and he tucked and rolled to protect his head. At a gesture from the superior demon, the others backed off, leaving the two alone.

"Dean, I am disappointed in you," Alastair tutted, clasping his arms behind his back. Dean levered himself up to his knees and said nothing. He flicked his gaze around, searching. After a moment, he caught sight of an occupied rack, half-obscured by a tattered curtain.

"I really thought you had potential," Alastair continued. "I thought we were getting somewhere. But I see we still have a lot of work to do."

"I didn't mean it," Dean mumbled, not looking up at the demon.

"What's that?" Alastair questioned.

"The angel made me do it," Dean said a little louder. "I didn't have a choice."

Alastair sighed. "I really wish I could believe that, Dean. But with you running off like that, well, I'm having trust issues." He reached down and grabbed Dean by the back of his neck, hauling him easily to his feet. Dean involuntarily met Alastair's white, empty eyes, and was transfixed.

Alastair tilted his head. "All actions have consequences, my boy. And I'm going to show you the consequences of yours." He dragged Dean over to the curtain and twitched it aside.

Castiel's armor was gone, leaving his body looking strangely thin and vulnerable. His skin was completely covered by either blood or bruises. His hair was matted down over his swollen eyes. There were bite marks in his lower lip. His wings were almost gone, only a few feathers clinging to broken bones. His chest barely moved against the strap over it, the only indication he was, in fact, alive.

Dean's insides clenched in horror and he felt sick, as if he was going to throw up. This was because of him. Castiel would never have come to Hell except to try to save him. The angel was only captured because he sacrificed himself for Dean. This was all his fault.

"Stop," he whispered. "Please, stop."

"Oh?" Alastair asked, intrigued. "Stop what, my boy?"

"You can do anything to me," Dean said. "I'll stay, I won't fight. Put me back on the rack. But just...let him go. Please."

Alastair shook Dean until his teeth rattled. "That's not what I've been teaching you, Dean. Self-sacrifice is what got you into this mess in the beginning, remember?" He threw Dean down to the ground. "You bet I'll put you back on the rack. I'm gonna take you apart in ways you haven't even dreamed of yet. But I'm also gonna give you your wish. I'm not gonna kill the angel. I won't even touch him again."

Alastair crouched to shove his face close to Dean, grinning to show off crooked, broken teeth. "You are," he hissed, his breath stinking of brimstone. "I'm gonna slice and dice and cut you into a new creature. And when I'm done you're going to beg to be able to tear out the angel's heart."

The demon grabbed Dean's jaw in one hand, tilting his head from side to side. "Yes," he said slowly. "We'd better get started." He dragged Dean up and started toward the nearest empty rack, but Dean struggled, knocking into Alastair's tray of tools and sending them crashing to the ground. Alastair twitched in annoyance and released Dean only to backhand the human with enough force to throw him ten feet backwards.

Dean landed on his back hard enough to drive the breath out of his lungs, seeing stars from where his head hit the rock. Alastair stalked over to him and knelt down, straddling Dean's hips. "We've talked about this, boy," he chided. "The more you fight, the harder it is." He grabbed Dean's face again. "This will be much easier if you just give in." He grinned slowly. "Of course, I never liked doing things the easy way." He leaned forward, his face close to Dean's, and inhaled deeply. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he murmured happily.

That's when Dean buried the blade he'd been hiding into the side of Alastair's neck. The demon shrieked in pain and shock, clapping his hand over the spurting, black blood. Dean shoved Alastair off of him and scrambled to his feet, lunging over to Castiel's side. His hands were shaking as he clawed at the restraints.

"Cas?" he called. "Cas, come on. You gotta wake up. I'm going to get you out of here. Cas? Hey!" He slapped the angel lightly on the cheek.

The angel's eyelids fluttered and cracked open. "My name," he rasped, "Is Castiel."

Dean grinned in relief. "Yeah, I know that. Come on. Can you walk?"

The angel stirred weakly. "I...don't know. My wings..."

"Let's worry about getting out of here first," Dean said. "You can lean on me. Let's get you up." He looked for a good place to lift the angel, but there was nowhere without injury, so he chose the least raw skin and began to haul. The angel was heavier than he looked. Just as Dean got him to a sitting position, he was grabbed from behind and thrown into the air.

He hit a rack and landed among the pieces, groaning as wood and metal bit into his skin. He opened his eyes to see Alastair stalking toward him, blood still dribbling from the hole in his neck. "You filthy little whore," the demon snarled, spraying blood from his lips with every word. "I'm going to rip the skin from your flesh."

Dean scrabbled backwards out of the wreckage of the rack, searching frantically for a weapon. Alastair kicked the bulk of the rack out of the way and went down on one knee, grabbing Dean by the throat. His nails sank into Dean's skin and he could feel blood welling up, trickling down the sides of his neck.

"I'm going to make you scream," Alastair growled. "And then I'll rip out your tongue. I'll show you your own beating heart before I cut out your eyes." He pressed the tip of the blade in his hand against Dean's chest, dragging it slowly down toward his navel. "I'm going to kill you horribly, intimately, in every way you fear, and then I'm going to bring you back so I can do it again."

Castiel hit Alastair over the head with a metal pole, knocking the demon off of Dean. Before Alastair could recover, Castiel swung the pole again, catching Alastair's jaw in a perfect upswing and laying the demon flat onto his back. Then Castiel lifted the pole over his head with both hands and drove it down with all his strength, straight through Alastair's stomach and into the stone beneath. Alastair screamed and yanked at the pole, but it stayed fast, pinning him down like a bug.

Castiel wavered and almost fell. He looked barely able to stand, but he still offered Dean a hand up. Dean scrambled to his feet gracelessly but quickly. "We should leave now," Castiel said thickly. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, probably," he agreed breathlessly.

XxxXxxX

"Do you think it'll work?"

Castiel turned to look at the human. "I don't see how we have many choices," he pointed out.

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I'm starting to get tired of hearing that."

"That doesn't make it any less true," Castiel insisted.

"The last time you released your Grace, power, whatever, we had all of Hell descend on us," Dean reminded his companion.

"Well, this time my brothers should reach us first," Castiel said mildly.

"Should," Dean grunted. "That's comforting." He looked down. They were very close to the top of the Pit, the depths of Hell stretching out below them. He turned a pale greenish color and backed away. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

Castiel sighed faintly. It had been some time since their encounter with Alistair. How long, exactly, he couldn't tell, but long enough for most of his injuries to heal. His wings had started to re-fledge, and the feathers were coming in darker then they had been before, nearly black. He was slightly perturbed by the change, but Dean was strangely pleased by the new color.

"Dean, I am going to need to release this form in order to signal my brothers," Castiel warned.

Dean crossed his arms and nodded. "I'm ready," he said firmly.

Castiel shrugged his wings. "Very well." He let his humanoid shape dissolve into a more intangible form, light and shadow and flame and ice. A lance of silver-white light shot upwards into the green-black clouds above them, piercing through the chains and disappearing into the distance. It took some effort to regain corporeal form, but he managed it after a moment.

Dean lowered his arms from his face and looked around. Hunting cries rose in the distance. "I really hope you're right about this," he said tightly.

Castiel followed Dean's gaze into the Pit. "So do I."

Then the ground beneath them began to shake. A beam of pure, white light shot down from above them, slamming into the rock with enough force to throw chips and dust into the air. A figure rose from a crouch, hard to distinguish in the light. Another beam slammed down not too far from Dean and Castiel, bringing a second figure. Then more and more landed until the two were completely surrounded.

For the first time since he'd arrived in Hell, Castiel felt himself relax. One of the figures stepped out of the beam of light, revealing itself to be an angel in a similar form to Castiel, his wings bright gold. "Brother," his voice boomed. "We thought you lost."

"I am here," Castiel announced. "And I have saved Dean Winchester."

"Yes," Castiel's brother agreed. "It's time to bring you home."

XxxXxxX

The familiar halls of his home were a deep comfort to Castiel as he strode along behind two of his brothers. As soon as he had arrived in Heaven, he had been seen to by healers, returning him to full health. They could do nothing about the new color of his wings, however, and they remained dark. Castiel's only real complaint was that he had been immediately separated from Dean.

One of Castiel's brothers pushed open a door and gestured for Castiel to precede him through. Zachariah was waiting for him inside the room. Castiel came to a halt within wing-distance and bowed his head. "Sir," he said respectfully.

"Castiel," Zachariah greeted cheerfully, spreading his arms. "Well done! You far, far exceeded our expectations. I can't tell you how proud I am of you."

"It pleases me to hear you say that, sir," Castiel replied, keeping his emotions off his face.

"After we were driven out, we feared we'd lost you," Zachariah went on. "Let me tell you, it pained me a great deal to report our failure to Raphael. But that's all passed. You've saved Dean Winchester! That's what matters now!"

"What will become of him?" Castiel asked.

Zachariah waved a hand. "We've already sent him back to earth."

Castiel couldn't help the spasm of emotion that passed through his chest at that. Anger, jealousy, frustration, perhaps. He didn't understand the emotion, not fully. But he had sacrificed so much for Dean. Shouldn't he have at least been told?

"You'll be joining him shortly," Zachariah continued, not noticing what had just happened to his subordinate. "You'll be working with Dean closely in the future."

That pleased Castiel greatly. He nodded. "I believe I have already built a rapport with him. It will not be hard for either of us."

"Oh, I'm afraid you're going to have to start from scratch," Zachariah said absently. "We wiped all memory of you from his mind before we restored him to his body."

Castiel froze. "What?" he asked ingeniously, blinking at the other angel.

"We didn't believe those were necessary memories, so we removed them," Zachariah said with a shrug.

Castiel couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't get him in trouble. He thought of all the pain he had been through, of Alastair, of the hellhounds, of watching Dean's slow return to humanity, and all of it had been made worthless by one decision of his superiors. Everything he had been through, everything he had sacrificed rendered meaningless.

Zachariah mistook his silence for acceptance, because he was already turning away, distracted by the next thing on his agenda. "We have a vessel picked out for you. We want you on earth immediately. If that's all?" But he wasn't listening.

Castiel stood there for a moment, fists clenched. Finally he jerked his head in a stiff nod. "Sir," he gritted out. Zachariah didn't even notice him leave.

XxxXxxX

The worst part of walking into that barn was not being shot. Castiel barely felt that. It was the fear and suspicion in Dean's green eyes. The complete lack of any recognition, any acknowledgment of what they had been through together.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded.

It took all of Castiel's strength to keep the truth from spilling from his lips. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," he said instead, his voice rough.

"Yeah, thanks for that," Dean said, and slammed a knife through his chest. The blade did nothing to harm Castiel, but he felt it pierce all the way to his Grace. He had never felt loss like this, never felt such pain.

He felt betrayed.

And for the first time, Castiel felt his heart break.