[ Opening his mouth like he wants to ask why Cas is doing something he thinks is a waste of time, eventually Dean realizes he's too tired to ask. He doesn't understand half of what Cas does sometimes and maybe that's okay. Maybe the dude was out looking for more bees or something. That's going to be his guess for now.

With both forearms slung over his knees, he frowns and realizes that he has to clear his throat and for once it's because it's sore. Because he's sick. He hates being sick.

He hates asking for things too, for help, and that's exactly what he's about to do. But Cas and him, they've been on more even ground lately. And there's nobody else in this whole town he'd want to ask instead. ]

Pretty much how I look.

[ Which amounts to not much better than a reanimated corpse, but he looks better than he did a couple days ago, he can feel that at least. He's given up trying to look at himself in mirrors. Never wants to see what's staring back at him anyway. ]

Not tell you, exactly. Ask for you to do something. For me.

[ Even sick as a dog and hurting in so many ways, this is hard to ask. Like the words refuse to even be pulled together and formed into a sentence. He can't even look at Cas when he starts, chooses instead to stare at the ground covered in rotting leaves from the trees wilted under the shift to autumn. ]

I uh... I get these nightmares. Since I got back.