[ Frowning, his own gaze dropping regretfully to the floorboards, Dean exhales slowly, fully, through his nose. Trying to yank back any sense of control over his temper is always an uphill battle. It's like trying to calm part of himself that just wants rage, wants the anger to bury into because if he's cloaking himself in that anger? Nothing else can touch him.

This? This is a mess. And the information - the proof - that Cas is here and alive again is still so fresh in his mind that he has no idea how he feels about it. He's been trying to figure it out ever since they parted ways downstairs and every time he thinks he's getting close to really working it out, his brain tells him he's just going to fuck Cas up more than he already is. ]

You're a mess.

[ For the first time in a long time, his tone isn't accusatory, or mean, or meant to cut Cas down to size. It's simple fact underpinned by the fact that he knows damn well if Cas goes outside like he is now? It's not gonna end well. ]

Yeah, I want your help. But not like this. You're hurt. Still trying to recover from what I did. And if you think I'm gonna give you a brief that sends you out into that? [ He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the stained glass window, but he means further beyond. ] You're wrong.