"Tell your partner something that you like about them already."
Dean frowns at his phone. "Didn't we just have to say five things we liked about each other three questions ago? That's what got us into this whole mess in the first place." He looks at Cas and winces. "I didn't mean 'mess.' Well, yes, I did but…." He points an accusing finger. "You're not allowed to hold anything I say against me until I'm done freaking out."
Cas looks him over with concern this time. "For all my flaws, I don't think I've ever judged you harshly based on word choice alone—unless you were trying to be hurtful."
Dean thinks back to calling the angel a 'baby in a trench coat' and recognizes that, if Cas were 99% of the girls he's dated in his life, he'd probably have gotten a lot worse than the silent treatment. "Well, everything's different now, right?"
"No, Dean," Cas says, with almost-anger, causing the oldest Winchester to look up from his own hands.
When they catch eyes, Cas's face softens but only marginally. "I really am sorry that my confession has been so distressing for you. But I want to reemphasize that nothing has to change. We already work and live together. You know me better than those who I have spent millennia fighting beside and I think I am one of the few people who can claim to know the real you. The difference between that and a romantic relationship should be minimal.
"But if you think that being 'with me' in that way must, by necessity, fundamentally alter our dynamic—or fundamentally alter who you are and that's why you're 'freaking out'—I don't want that."
"Been a while since you pulled out the air quotes there, Buddy," Dean can't help but mention. Then feels like smacking his head against the wall. "I didn't mean 'Buddy.'"
"That's my point, Dean. I am your buddy. You've always said that. Why should the term bother me—or you—all of a sudden? If you desire, I'll only be your buddy. Or, if you decide that you want something more, I'll be your friend and something else. Why do you seem to think that one excludes the other?"
Sometimes, talking to an angel is a lot like talking to a kid. They don't ask 'why the sky is blue?' or 'how come people are mean?' but things like 'why did humans come up with the custom of shaking hands?' or 'what is the point of feeling buyer's regret?' where you're forced to tell them that you really have no fuckin' clue and that's just the way things are. Like now, the only thing Dean can think of to say is, "I don't make the rules. That's just how it's always worked."
"Don't you think that Sam was friends with Jessica?"
"I just miss her…. All the time…everything about her," Sam whispered, head resting against the Impala's passenger side window as rain streaked down the glass. "The dozen extra pillows she kept on the bed that were impossible to sleep on. Or how she'd eat blueberry muffins or blueberry pie, but would wrinkle her nose if she found fresh blueberries in the fridge.
"She loved candles—had them all over the apartment—and she'd switch them out by season. Except one day I told her Mom died in a fire. The next time I came home, I noticed she'd switched all the candles out for scent diffusers. Didn't even mention it to me.
"And she was so smart. You have no idea how she could just—cut my arguments down to nothing in two seconds flat." Sam's already-closed eyes tightened further behind his lids and his voice cracked with pain. "She was my best friend, Dean…and, someday, she was going to be my wife."
"Well, Sammy has always been better at this stuff than me," Dean answers Cas quietly. It's true. Ruby-related detours aside, his little brother found something real with Jessica, with Amelia—at least until Dean Winchester showed back up on his doorstep. Now, with Eileen, it seems like he's on the verge of it again.
Cas rolls his eyes. "You don't know that because you haven't tried it before. The closest you came to being friends with a romantic interest was Lisa—which was also your most successful partnership."
Again, he can hear Sam say, "You have no idea how she could just—cut my arguments down to nothing in two seconds flat."
Doesn't mean Dean has to admit it though. Especially since knowing Cas is right and believing it are two very different things. "I like the head tilt."
Cas's head automatically moves to the side.
"Yeah, that one."
Cas sighs, seemingly aware he's not going to get more out of him. "I like how invested you are in your hobbies, be it cars or cowboys."
Dean nods, accepting, and then reads the next words off his phone without looking ahead. "When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?"
"Hell no!" he rushes to say, practically interrupting himself. "I am 6 ft 1 and have had a Sammy-sized amount of chick flick moments today. I am not answering that. Besides," he argues, gesturing at Cas. "Angels don't do that sorta stuff."
"No, they do not," Cas agrees.
Dean's sense of relief changes colors almost instantly at Cas's careful tone. "Why do you sound like that?" he asks, confused.
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to lie around a truth spell."
"I'm not lying. Angels do not perform unnecessary bodily functions, including the production of tears. I'm agreeing to skip this question based on that fact."
But Cas hasn't always been an angel, Dean realizes. And doesn't that make him feel like shit?
They talked about Cas's human experiences some yesterday—but what had Cas actually said besides that it sucked? Nothing concrete—but Dean already knew he'd been kidnapped and tortured a few times. Wasn't that enough reason to get emotional even without there being anything else?
Regardless, it's clear that Cas doesn't want to elaborate and Dean isn't going to make him—not when whatever happened is probably his fault to begin with.
Instead, he asks, "Weren't you more comfortable over here yesterday?" Dean nods with his head towards the spot on the bed where Cas had been reading questions the day before.
"Oh," Cas responds, ducking his head. "I thought it might help you be at ease with…everything…if I gave you some personal space."
"And I thought you wanted us to behave normally around each other," Dean points out. "And you definitely get in closer than this usually."
A tiny smile quirks the left corner of Cas's lips. "Alright," he murmurs, rising to his feet. He goes to remove his trench coat and suit jacket.
"Woah, woah," Dean halts him with his hands up. "All clothes are to remain on the angel. And keep your hands contained to your own vessel at all times. Basically, we're following rollercoaster rules here."
Cas squints at him. "Are you making some sort of innuendo about me riding you?"
"What?!" Dean panics. "No! I was saying the opposite of that!"
"I…genuinely don't understand you some times…." Cas says, pausing with one arm halfway out of his coats.
"Yes, well, join the club."
"You told me to act like yesterday. I didn't have either of these on yesterday and they're only outwear."
"Yes, well, you wear all those layers so much, people get used to it. When you don't, it's like you're practically naked. Ask Sam. Or Claire. I bet they'd agree."
"You want me to ask my body's biological daughter if I look naked when wearing a shirt and trousers," Cas asks in disbelief, but he does, thankfully, slip his arm through his sleeves again.
"No," Dean states, emphatically, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I want you to zap me back in time to five minutes ago so I can stop myself from having this conversation in the first place."
