Castiel hadn't been long absent from the Sorting Room when that rumbling concussion of power made his every hair stand on end and his own wings, still safely secreted away, twitch in sympathy. He landed back in the room so hastily he skidded a bit on landing, eyes widening at the sight of Gabriel's majestic wings and his infuriated hold on Dean. Who was holding that wretched prank gun again.

The angel groaned inwardly. Was his friend never going to learn?

"Dean. What did you do?" he asked automatically, raising a placating hand toward his brother, acutely aware that there was very little he could do to prevent Gabriel from doing whatever he had in mind to do if the archangel would not listen. "Gabriel, please put him down. He may have acted foolishly, but he meant no harm."