Castiel was confused.
He sought guidance and direction, that he might follow still His will.
He wanted the solace found only in the thoughtless obedience, never erring or questioning, just obeying as he'd done for millennia; since his creation.
Until he had met the Winchesters.
Riding in the Impala Castiel fumbled over lies, unbeknownst by his beloved, albeit dull, Dean. He was desperate for the assurance he hadn't been caught, hadn't been found out. But what he would have given for Dean to have realized, to have heard the way his voice rose over each deceit... What made it all worse was that ever-trusting look smothering his face and the barely-there internal struggle to doubt his angelic friend that he constantly lost.
Deans faith made Castiel ache in shame.
So when he flummoxed, when he spewed out that Superman reference just as he'd overheard, and when Team Free Will trapped him in holy fire, he was almost relieved. Though he could have done without Crowley and his demon horde. Or the tears forming in Deans eyes before he left.
The more people spoke the less Castiel knew.
"I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you."
He could have chosen better words.
It was bad when Dean accused him of working with Crowley; the new King of Hell and Heaven's new sheriff. Working. Together. It implied things. Tentative-relationship ending things.
Things that were bad always got worse when Dean and the Supernatural were involved.
Ultimatums were made.
Castiel didn't like ultimatums - they meant lonely nights and lonely days and guilt and second-guessing. He was Deans protector, always coming when called, Deans friend and ally, fighting beside him against even trivial evils, and Deans family, being clung to and clawed at as Dean struggled to keep Cas close and alive in his four-member home.
As he was to Dean, Dean was to him.
And now Castiel had fucked it all up.