Dean froze at Cas's words for a moment before answering. Finally, he swallowed. So, he wasn't confronting Dean about his feelings for the angel. He's worried about my freakin' mood swings, Dean thought, trying to resist the urge to be frustrated. He gritted his teeth. He should feel relieved. Cas either didn't know how Dean felt, or he was choosing to ignore it. Either way, Dean was home free.
But the hunter realized when Cas asked his question that he was equally as unready to share his feelings with the angel as he was to shoulder the burden any longer. He didn't know what he wanted. And realized he wasn't ready to have this conversation as he looked at Cas's worried, expectant face.
Dean didn't want it. Any of it. And he felt his fingers twitching to take Cas and shove him back out the door of his room. He kept them steady with a deep breath.
"Why the hell would you think I'm unhappy, Cas?" he asked, his voice coming out defensive and cold, despite trying to bottle it in.
Cas squinted in reaction to Dean's tone. Or body language? Actually, come to think of it, Cas wasn't all that great at picking up social cues. But as hard as Dean was trying to hide it, it was like the angel could sense the heat of Dean's anger radiating off him. And the fact that his feelings seemed to be on display only aggravated Dean's apprehension. He turned away, unable to look Cas in the face.
"Well," said Cas, now talking awkwardly to Dean's back, "I guess it's just that you've seemed a little off lately, that's all. I guess I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. . ." his voice trailed off to the silence of the room.
Dean turned around, finally looking Cas in the eyes. He shrugged at an attempt at casual, but he paused before spitting out "I'm fine" with a nod.
For a moment, neither man spoke, letting the uncomfortableness drag on.
"Ok," Cas finally said quietly, standing up "I probably shouldn't have said anything," his voice trailed off.
Dean looked at the wall. He willed himself not to speak, knowing he was only about to make it all worse, but instead, he found himself blurting out, "Yeah. Probably not."
And he immediately wished he could take it back. Cas's face looked like a kicked puppy, and he felt a horrible wrenching feeling in his stomach. He swallowed, hoping he could find it in himself to say something comforting, to pull his arms out of the tight fold they were in at his chest, as if they were attempting to hold his heart in place. But, he was fused there, his eyes boring into Cas, frustration, disappointment and somewhere deep down, desire, pumping through his veins. And he was finding he could barely breathe, let alone offer Cas consolation for what an ass he was being right now.
Suddenly, Cas's lips drew a tight, sad sympathetic smile and Dean wished he hadn't seen it. Because it was clear that Cas had forgiven him before Dean had even attempted to apologize. When did he become so understanding? Dean wondered, as he recalled Cas beating the shit out of him during the apocalypse days, or threatening to throw Dean back into hell for showing a little bit of sass.
You've changed, Cas, he thought, looking at the angel. But he had to admit, he had too. The mere fact that he'd let another person find their way so deeply into his psyche spoke to that. He'd always been fine alone. But now his body begged for Cas, and Dean didn't know how to begin to understand the fact that he'd become so hungry and needy for another person. It wasn't him. And he was starting to get a headache.
So, he didn't say anything as the angel stood, walking quietly to the door. The man moved to shut it behind him as he left, then Cas peeked his head as it closed, letting a quick "I'm sorry," echo through the room before the door clicked shut. And Dean walked over, leaning his head forward, resting it against the wood as he locked the door, feeling an empty ache filling up his chest.
"Me too," Dean whispered quietly to himself.