[ He's not sure, either, and it pains him to ruin this nice thing they have going, that his idea of a celebration is telling his oh so fearless leader that he couldn't being himself to drive Lucifer to his death. He'd had the chance, and it had slipped right through his fingers because he was weak. Because he wasn't strong like Dean, couldn't lift a hand against one of his brothers when it had been their only goal in years. Castiel shudders when he grabs at him and stops him from stumbling over himself, tripping off the mattress and out the door.

He's stuck. He's screwed. ]

It's not a joke. I... [ He doesn't look at him. ] I saw him in that city, Dean. He was human, and he told me-- You tortured him.

[ It's not accusatory, more like a question he can't seem to fathom. Castiel turns back to him, trying to twist away from the hold the other man has on him. He can't do this so close, but he wants him to understand. It's the desperation that drives him, that pulls him back so that he's on his knees and grabbing at Dean's shoulders. He's thankful for the bed, that it's not as hard as the floor, but... He hardly thinks he deserves it.

Carefully, he licks at his bottom lip and draws in a breath. He's far too drunk to be having this conversation. ]

Why didn't you say something? I could have helped you. [ Or does he really think him that useless? ]