Irritation flares again; higher, hotter. Who the hell does this little half-winged twerp think he is? There goes the warm body he'd been just about to take advantage of, blinking across the room and suddenly wary — what are the odds it's still interested in what Dean had in mind?

This, this is why he's been avoiding the entire gang. He's not afraid of them, he's fatigued by them. Wet blankets, too uptight, too interested in leashing him.

"No, I don't think we will. See, I'm not sure if you fully grasp the situation here, so I'll lay it out for you in black and white: I don't want you here. I don't give a single shit about what you have to say, I don't care if your sad little heart is all broken up about me. I'd rather spend fifteen minutes in bed with Rando McPriest than fifteen seconds watching you make pathetic puppy eyes about your poor, dead friend. So unless you wanna stay and watch... you can go now, Cas."