Since a few months ago. Woodenly following Dean's lead, Cas rests the shotgun on the backseat and climbs in next to Dean. He closes the door and leans against it, as if trying to keep as far away from Dean as possible.

Once again Castiel remembers how much he hates that Dean can make him feel so unsure of himself. That floundering, pathetic tumble as he slips off of his chosen path, careening through uncharted waters like a torpedo without a target. He'd been satisfied, just concentrating on hunting Leviathan. He had his reasons, his wonderfully simplistic reasons, and then Dean had to show up and complicate everything straight to Hell and back again. The bastard.

Castiel looks out the window. He wonders if he should apologize. It seems like the acceptable thing to do. "...Dean, I'm-"