Dean's hand snaked out to grab the beer. He downed half of it before he came up for breath. He eyed Cas, seeming to study him, while he decided if he was going to keep the beer or give it back. After a moment, and another moderate sip, he put it down and slid it across the table toward Cas.
He didn't speak, which was generally not a good sign. He got to his feet and moved to push the door shut. No one else dared waltz in to Dean Winchester's cabin without knocking, and waiting for acceptance. Dean knew it wasn't so much out of respect as fear. He was the leader of the camp, and he lead as fairly as he could, he kept people alive and he tried to keep hope alive among them.
Cas didn't shy away from him like so many of the others. None but Cas ever really saw just how battered and bruised Dean's own hope really was. Only Cas dared to confront the darkness that had crept in to Dean's soul.
With the door shut, the cabin felt smaller. Dean would swear the walls moved in, little by little, and sooner or later he was going to suffocate. He felt like a tiger in a cage, only there were no more tigers, only cages remained.
Dean took a step forward and delivered a sudden, unannounced right hook to Cas' jaw. He shook out his hand after the thwap of contact, his dark eyes simmering on the former angel.