He felt like he ought to clap or something, the way Cas was chugging the whiskey down, but instead it unsettled Dean as much as anything else had that night, and that was saying quite a lot.

"Go easy," he said, reaching for the bottle. Guilt clutched hard and sudden at his insides at the look on the angel's face. He'd sent Dean, he said, sent him in a last ditch effort to help Sam, and it hadn't worked. It hadn't worked and the goddamn Devil was free.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I know it didn't go down like you wanted it to."