Crowley drew in a breath, when he saw the feather, the words barely registering at first. Once it finally sunk in, what the angel cared to do, his eyes squeezed shut, and he let the breath out in a huff.
"How, Angel?" He knew it wasn't a metaphor; they had to physically kill the demon, so the angel could Rise again. But it couldn't be a suicide; that would send him back to Hell. It was going to be up to Crowley.