Dean kept not only in sight, but in reach, keeping just close enough to be there if Cas needed him. He didn’t voice how worried he was, how sure that somehow he’d fucked everything up even though it seemed like everyone’d enjoyed themselves. How the hell could he have been so stupid?
He got the water to the absolute perfect temperature and got up to help Cas in. “Come on,” he murmured, “I’ve got you, angel.”
It was a relief, when he finally got into the water -- having clung to Dean the entire time it took to step into the tub and then settle into a seated position. The angel sunk down into it, just letting the warmth cover him as completely as it could, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other still on Dean's wrist. He let his head loll back against the wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt cleaner already, although he was clearly making no moves to actually wash, not yet.
It wasn’t Cas’ job to wash right now anyway. Dean took the soap and the cloth, sat himself on the edge of the tub and did what he decided his job was: cleaned Castiel. His hands moved slowly, covering every bit of his husband he could reach. He wanted Cas to feel in his very bones that he was the most important.
“How mad are you at me?” Dean finally asked, sounding so very small even to his own ears.
Cas was leaned toward Dean now, chin resting on the side of the tub closest to his husbands' leg, just delighting in the slow, comforting touches of Dean's hands and the soapy cloth. There was a little part of him now, that even all frazzled and strange, couldn't wait until Dean washed his hair.
He tilted his head up, eyes regarding Dean with careful curiosity. "I - I'm not mad." That was true. He was a lot of things, but mad wasn't one of them.