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Summary
A beat. “You… prayed for me?”
“Must’ve been an accident. Now’s not really a good time, Cas,” Dean strains out. He doesn’t dare let his eyes stray from where they’re locked on the kitchenette table in front of him, like if he can’t see Cas then Cas can’t see him. “Sometimes a man needs his privacy.”
“Is that what you yearn for, Dean? Privacy?”
He gulps down the sinking, sinking feeling that he has been caught with no way out. It’s not the first time in his life that he’s been trapped in a half-truth, and he bears this with as much grace as he ever has in situations like it. Jaw clenched. Ungraceful. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
Cas’s voice is all unflinching divinity from a creature that watched the Library of Alexandria burn. “I feel your longing.”
or the one where dean is so touch-starved that less is more