Dean sat on the bed next to Castiel's unconscious form, careful not to wake him. Sammy was asleep on the opposite bed, snoring lightly.

After Cas passed out when he had returned from the past, the brothers had eventually taken off his damn omnipresent trench coat and put him in a more comfortable position on the bed. Without passengers, the angel wasn't in quite so bad shape as he had been upon arriving 1978. Seeing Castiel coughing up the blood on the side of the road had made Dean's heart clench in a surprising bout of panic. Of course he had been quick to get it under control before anyone saw it.

It was always difficult to trust people outside his small sphere of friends. The start of trusting Castiel in the first place had been a huge leap of faith for Dean. He had certainly had his moments of regretting it, only to realize that the angel really was that naïve. When Chuck had told them that Cas was dead, an undeniable chasm had opened in his chest. The idiot had gotten himself killed for him.

Now Cas was back, but he seemed decidedly vulnerable compared to what he had been. Before, Dean wouldn't have doubted that Cas didn't care if Dean appreciated his help or not. Now, he wasn't so sure. But how do you tell someone thank you for losing everything for you, for dying for you? Certainly, no one would accuse Dean of being in touch with his feelings. Most of the time he was just too damned self conscious to admit them out loud.

Right at the moment, no one was listening. No one was watching. Hesitantly, he reached over and brushed a stray chunk of dark hair off of the sleeping angel's face.

"Thanks," he whispered gruffly. "I know you…lost a lot for me and I don't always show it, but I appreciate it. I'm glad you're around."

Cas's eyes flickered underneath the lids and he sighed in his sleep. A smile tugged at Dean's lips before he stood to move back to his chair. He felt he had gotten his message across. Things are so much easier to say when you think no one is listening.