Samandriel watched his sister and her demon leave, reminded briefly of the kinds of things Dean both had and hadn't said. There really was a revolution on, wasn't there? And he'd wound up smack dab in the middle of it from the moment he raised his hand against the being that cost him his Grace. That there was a Plan was something Samandriel had begun to doubt, but standing in that kitchen he realized that there was far more to this than he'd been aware of. He was Good. He thought he'd been Broken, but that was wrong. He was still there and the more of Heaven that could see what was done to him, the more chance there was that the revolution would find itself with phenomenally powerful allies. He cast his gaze briefly upward before humbling himself again by bowing his head. He would fight. He wasn't a soldier, and he didn't have anything much to fight with, but he would do it anyway.
"I'm sorry," he said to Mitchell once he brought his head up again. "I didn't... I didn't mean to make you think you'd done something wrong. You haven't. You've been wonderful and...and I couldn't forgive myself."