He'd just yelled at Castiel. And the way Castiel's face fell made guilt place its cold hands around his neck.

When you gently tugged Castiel up and sent him to lay down and returned, Dean knew he was in for it.

He poured himself a glass of beer, intent on drowning his lingering anger, helplessness and guilt in hangover and buzz.

"Well? Spit it out." He couldn't seem to look at you.