Dean surprised him further by unlocking the door to the back seat of the Impala and sliding in, beckoning Cas to follow. Numerous flashes of symbolism flitted through Cas's mind - Dean surrendering the control of the driver's seat, the willingness to stay put until the conversation was done - as he shut the door firmly behind him, muffling the sounds of the city night outside.
The silence felt thick enough for Cas to reach out and knead, shape into something more palatable. He swallowed. "You look good."
"I guess." Dean was focused on his hands, folded loosely in his lap.
Cas nodded slowly. He wanted to ask what Dean was doing here. Why he'd seen it as necessary to come and bring Cas's carefully constructed world crashing back down around him. He was suddenly suffused with a subtle anger, sharper than simple frustration, and he resolved to not say a word until Dean started the dialogue he clearly wanted so desperately.
It seemed as though they might be there all night. Dean was studying his hands as though they contained the answer to the universe's mysteries. Cas waited.
"I was stupid," Dean said finally. "You called me out, and I was a bitch about it. I'm sorry."
It was, perhaps, a gross oversimplification of the three-hour shouting match they'd had, but it was a start. Cas swallowed. "Okay."
Dean looked up from his hands. "'Okay?' That's it?"
"What do you want, Dean?" They should be anywhere but here. He couldn't pace here. There was too much tension building for this tiny space to handle. "You said something that I agreed with. So I agreed with you."
"What do I want?" Dean unfolded his hands and made as though to reach across, but stopped, resting his hand on the seat between them. His brow dipped and in that slight movement Cas could fully see just how much Dean was trying to hold back. "I want you to come home. Please."
The look of desperation in Dean's eyes was too intense for Cas to look at for more than a few seconds. He turned his face away, looking out the window at the bushes before he glanced back. "You think you can come apologize, and then we'll go driving off into the sunset like nothing ever happened?"
Cas hated the tiny flinch that flashed across Dean's face. He hated that he'd caused it. "I - look, I know you're still mad, and you've got every right to be -"
"You think I stayed away because I was angry?" The words were bubbling to the surface now, miasmas of sickly guilt and sorrow and frustration. "I left because I was angry. I stayed away because - 'cause there was no point in going back."
"There is," Dean began, but Cas shook his head violently.
"There isn't," he said firmly. "Everything we fought about - those problems are still there, don't you see? Apologizing for them doesn't make them go away. Or do you really think we broke up because we hadn't been trying hard enough?"
"Yes!" Dean said forcefully, turning in the seat to face Cas, eyes pleading. "I wasn't! I always took for granted that you were, because I - I always took you for granted. I took advantage of everything you ever did for me - and you called me on it and I didn't want to hear it and…" He brought himself up short, the words threatening to break down his wall of self-control as they tumbled out faster. "I even took for granted that you'd come back, because you always have before," he said in a low voice. "And that's the problem. It's me. I wasn't trying. I never did. But I want to." He took a great, shaky breath. "Cas, I thought I didn't know what love was until I had you. I was dead wrong. I didn't know what love was until I didn't have you anymore. And I can't sleep knowing it was my fault I lost you."
Swallowing against the tightness in his chest, Cas dared to look up from his lap, touching eyes with Dean in a tentative, hesitant glance. Pain twisted in his middle, just as he'd known it would: Dean always wore every emotion so plainly on his face that it was impossible to not feel as he felt.
Dean set his jaw and reached out to take Cas's hand. Cas let him. "I need you. Always have. Please. I want to try again. And I'll try, this time. I swear it."
Dean's hand felt so warm on his, the curves of it fitting exactly to his own. Cas could feel the pulse in it, feel his pulse changing pace to match it. He closed his eyes. "Can I ask for one thing?"
"Anything."
"Space. To think. For as long as I need."
