The moment the door opened, he was pervaded by the utter wrongness that was the essence of demons. Except this was off somehow, something he'd never quite experienced before. Maybe it was the fact that he was stronger now, Dean's soul providing the balm against the hole in his Grace. He couldn't be sure.

The Hunter had reached down to grab the vest from the pile on the floor, slinging it across his shoulders though he had to know it would provide little protection against demons.

"We go in on the count of three," Dean said, glancing at him quickly as he zipped up the vest.

"No, wait. I will contact another team." They had no idea what was on the other side of that door. There could be one demon or many. They could be gathered just on the other side of the door or scattered throughout the entire room. He couldn't be sure he could take out even one unfriendly party and for some reason Michael was cowed. It would do no one any good for them to rush in only to be killed themselves.

"There's no time!" the hunter pulled a small knife from the back of his shoe. It was iron inscribed with silver, good against most ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and shifters but would be completely useless against a demon. No, this was not a situation they should enter so callously.

Except Dean didn't seem to care, his soul resonating with a fierce determination, an almost frightening level of focus and drive covering up the fear.

Before he could send out the proper alert, Dean quickly counted out, "One, two, three" and a steel-toed boot collided with the solid oak door just as Castiel hurtled himself at the wood, phone still in his hand. The Hunter would have hurt himself trying to kick in that door.

As soon as he was through the splintered wood, he gave the room a quick assessment.

It was with barely registered surprise that he saw there were two angels and one... abomination. There was no better word for it. It reeked of demon blood, dark and heavy, but it looked almost human. Its belly was engorged, skin stretched taut so that the tiny black-filled blood vessels stood in stark contrast to the paleness. Its eyes were solid black and tattered things sprouted from its back. Disgust made him shiver when he realized they were wings.

It stood in the strangest devil's trap Castiel had ever seen, the classic pentagram interlaced with soft swirls and arches. Candles lined the edge and five bowls of smoking herbs sat at the corners of the star.

Michael was the first angel, looking angry and flustered, his suit awry and his fingers clenched. Castiel didn't recognize the other angel. He was balding, which was strange for an angel, with an eagle nose and small eyes. His eyes flashed fear as they came through the door but his expression settled into cold neutrality.

The situation looked tactically superb, like there shouldn't even be a situation. Two powerful angels against a trapped demon. He was missing something.

Dean was moving forward after recovering from the impact with the door, but Castiel made sure to stay one step in front of him. He may not be able to harm the demon, but he could at least protect the Hunter.

With suppressed trepidation, he forced his Grace into his fingertips, preparing his attack, but before they got within reach, Michael had whipped around, slamming his palm against the creature's head.

It gave a high-pitched keen before light erupted through tiny fissures that wormed their way across its skin. A short second later, it was nothing but a pile of ashes on the ground.

Michael stepped back and wiped his hand against the edge of his jacket as Dean stumbled to a halt at the edge of the now-empty demon trap.

"What the hell was that thing?" Castiel was glad Dean had asked the question because he wasn't entirely sure he was allowed to question the Director so brashly after destroying his door.

"A demon," the unknown angel answered.

Dean narrowed his eyes and glanced back at Castiel and he knew that they'd both seen the wings.

"A new breed," Michael interjected, stepping around his desk to lift up the crystal carafe of wine set in the corner. "We were designing a devil's trap to accommodate its mutations. Isn't that right, Zachariah?"

"Yes, of course," the other angel, Zachariah, said, smiling the kind of smile that made children cry at night. Castiel shivered. Suspicion flared sharply from Dean's soul and he hoped to his Father that the other two angels couldn't pick up on it. Usually reading specific emotions were reserved for the Bonded, but Michael was very old and very powerful.

"Have the plans drawn up and readied for distribution," Michael instructed before the other angel flew off with a slow dip of his head. "Now, you two," the Director said, directing his gaze to the recently formed partnership.

"I apologize. I sensed a demonic presence and thought you were in danger," Castiel replied quickly before Dean could open his mouth. He didn't trust the human to conceal his bitter distrust.

Michael glared at him with what he could only read as disgust before schooling is features into the diplomatic half-smile he wore during speeches and presentations. Castiel fought the urge to flinch. He had always been a disappointment but breaking into the Directors office, implying that there was something he could handle that Michael couldn't, destroying federal property. This was a new low.

So it was with faint surprise that he greeted Michael's offer for them to take a seat and half a glass of wine. Dean fingered his fluted glass awkwardly, like he wasn't used to handling something so delicate. Castiel declined the drink.

"I will overlook this transgression, Castiel," Michael said, setting his own glass down and lacing his fingers together on the desk. "However, in the future, you will post an alert when encountering situations that are at a higher class level than you are cleared for."

Castiel nodded. It was standard procedure. He'd flouted it once or twice, when there were civilians in immediate danger, but this time they had been in Central. It would have taken less than no time for another fully-powered angel to make their way up to Michael's office.

"Hey, we thought we were saving your ass, okay? Next time you want to have creepy little pow-wows in your office, hang a sock on the door or something. You were acting weird as fuck and there were demons involved!" Castiel winced at the excessive use of profanity but he was infinitely grateful for Dean's defense, though he still shot him a glance that hopefully told the hunter to shut up. Michael already looked as if he wanted to punch him. Being punched by an angel was not enjoyable and Castiel didn't want to have his first time healing a human to be injuries inflicted by his superior.

Michael, however, did not give rein to his anger. Though his nostrils flared and his great white wings fluttered against his back, his voice was calm and steady. "I understand the urgency you felt, Mr. Winchester, but procedure exists for a reason. You can not selectively choose which rules to follow and which to ignore. If you continue to view our policies with such dismissal, we will be forced to terminate your position with us. You wouldn't want to continue the Winchester legacy would you?"

Dean immediately tensed, like a jaguar preparing to pounce and Castiel reached out a wing to settle against the Hunter's back in warning. The touch startled the man, who glanced back at the appendage with wide eyes before turning back to glare at Michael, though without the murderous intent from before. "You don't know anything about my father," he growled.

"Perhaps not," Michael said, shrugging slightly before leaning back against his wings. "I would like to speak with you two, however, about your rather unique situation."

The abrupt change in subject startled Castiel, but it was a subject that he too was eager to discuss. Dean's soul still bristled with violet rage, but there was enough curiosity mixed in to keep him settled.

"What about it?" Dean grunted.

"I would like for you two to fix the True Bond." It wasn't what Castiel expected, but it made sense. A functional True Bond could be very powerful, very beneficial in the fight against demons.

"I thought it was already fixed," Dean said with some confusion glancing over to Castiel, his arms crossed in front of his chest, one hand resting almost directly above the hand-shaped scar on his shoulder.

"Not entirely," Castiel answered slowly as he thought of the best way to explain the concept to someone who couldn't instinctively feel their basest essence. "Think of my grace within you as a reservoir of water trapped behind a dam. What we have done with the Blood Bond is to dig a canal from the reservoir to the river below. To repair the True Bond, we need to bring down the entire dam."

It wasn't completely accurate. His Grace was also actively trying to force its way out of Dean's soul, and Dean's soul was clenching back with a strength Castiel had not known possible in a human. The Blood Bond did not allow his Grace to reconnect, but it allowed his access to Dean's soul, not only to soothe it but to draw from it.

"And how are we supposed to do that? 'Cause the thought of TNTing my own soul isn't all that attractive." It was a question that Castiel had only managed to give passing thought to. In all reality, he was prepared to simply enjoy the freedom of having the power allotted him by Dean's blood. Asking to complete the True Bond as well seemed almost too much to hope for.

Michael didn't seem to have any concrete answers either. "That is something we will have investigate, although it will primarily be up to you two as there are very few sources on the subject."

"Right," Dean scoffed. "Real helpful."

Michael's phone started chirping again, another alert that didn't make its way to the rest of the system if the silence of his own cell was any indicator. The angel frowned at whatever message he'd received and stood up quickly.

"I am late for an appointment. I will contact you to speak at a different time. Please," he gestured quickly towards the gaping doorway. Dean looked set to argue but Castiel grabbed his wrist and drew him back into the hallway. Behind them, the splintered wood pieced itself back together.

The hunter bent down to scoop his remaining articles of clothing into his arms. "Dude, your boss is a giant dick."

It wasn't entirely inaccurate, though it wasn't fair to judge Michael for his actions. Managing the division had to be stressful and hectic without the intrusion of broken angels and snarky hunters.

"Don't give me that look," the hunter scowled. Castiel wasn't sure what look he was giving before but now it was probably one of surprise.

"Now get me the hell back to the hospital. Sam's probably starting to bald and he can't put his hair up into pigtails if half of its missing."

"Of course," Castiel stepped close in order to grab the hunter's arm.

"And holy hell on a biscuit I'm hungry."