Somehow Adam really doubted the angel did realize. Did angels have souls that could feel like shredded wheat someone had chewed up and spat back into their Monday morning cereal bowl, or had the light and noise in the Cage just been the physical representation of an angel's inner lying, smug self?

... The anger inside him made him want to say as much, and for all he knew it was an unholy fire blazing in his soul that was about to burn him up. Would Castiel be able to see it if he looked hard enough?

The corner of his mouth kicked up for a moment. "I'd invite you to my room, but I don't think you'd like the decorating scheme." The humorless smile faded. "I'll go, if you have some playhouse out there Michael's not invited to. Just give me directions and I can make it myself."