[He's spent so many years scoffing at the idea of getting emotional, of sharing anything more than is necessary to their very strained well-being that he'd almost become hardened to that kind of imploring look. At least, he likes to think so. Honestly, sometimes he wants to give into it and rattle off every thought that's in his head. But he can't. Because he has to keep shit together. Because he's always has to. For his dad. For Sammy. Even for Cas. They depend on him. But he can't help but think if they knew just how much doubt and guilt and anger and pain he kept close to his heart, they would know better. It doesn't matter what Cas already knows or what he's seen, he can't bring himself to bare it all on his own whim. So it boils down to a stubbornness that has him glancing away from that inviting look.

Food, alcohol, sex, it's how he medicates himself. But that's not why he pulls Cas in close again once that coat is off. He's fine right now-as fine as he ever is. He doesn't need Cas to wipe away his anger or drown out his thoughts or remind him that he's still human. He just. Wants Cas.]

Oh, there are a whole buttload of things I'm not sure about. But you? Well, you're one of the easier things I got, Cas. [The easiest and consequently the hardest. But that's what caring about someone this much is, right?

And this time he leans in to do exactly what he imagined doing. His lips press against his jaw, his chin, down the thick cord of his neck, settle and suck at a pulse point as he works Cas' tie and shirt loose enough to nip at his clavicle, all the while slowly moving back toward the bed.]