"We were trying to help, jackass." He stops, partly because he has to and partly because he's getting a sick, twisting sensation of vertigo boiling in his gut and partly because he's pissed. "Close the Gates of Hell, cut demons off from the rest of the world. Forever. And if it weren't for the angels, for Cas - "

Shit. No. He breaks off and keeps stumping determinedly upward. He's not about to blame Cas for whatever the hell that was with the angels, though Dean seemed ready and raring to. He's not clear on what went down - he just knows that instead of closing Hell down for business, permanently, humanity got the world's worst wake-up call in the form of falling angels, wings turned to fiery streaks in the sky.

Sam can't tell if he's shivering from the memory, or because of the fever, or because he's really damn cold. It doesn't really matter.