"Yeah. Usually he stalks around here until someone yells for him," Dean says, somewhat quietly. He's bracing himself, trying to stop the flood from rising up. It doesn't matter how many times he does this, it seems.

When she slides the sleeve up and presses her hand to it, Dean shivers. The skin's sensitive there, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His gaze is still on her when he answers.

"Never asked. Cas isn't the biggest talker." His voice is still quiet, low, and his expression's mostly just weary.