There's not much room to feel or think on anything else right now, beyond trying not to let living be the death of him. But there's just enough, Crowley finds (opening his eyes and looking up into the fog), for a sudden swell of hatred so visceral that it nearly lifts him up off the ground. For Raguel, for the way things work, for this being the first thing he arrives back to and for every link in whatever chain of events it was that left him this addled version of his friend so completely unable to grasp that Crowley -

A gust of cold wind claws the thought clean out of his mind.