Castiel did not know how long he had waited; time was inconsequential beyond the fact that they definitely didn't have enough. Lillith's crusade proceeded at a troubling pace, seals continued to be broken. Delays were costly.
Not that he expected Dean to appreciate any of that, of course. Wasting time was, Castiel had concluded, a very human speciality.
Regardless, the hunter finally made his appearance. Castiel was still waiting by the car, his stillness no doubt unnerving to the average human (Dean, of course, being anything but average, and probably well used to that particular idiosyncrasy by now). He did not turn to look at Dean – unusual, perhaps, as conversational conventions went, but Castiel had decided against attempting anything more complicated after early experiments had... not gone well (evidently the wisdom suggesting copying a speaker's gestures would put them at ease had been flawed; the waitress he'd tried it on had not been amused, and refused to accept that he had little interest in obtaining the Mickey, the proverbial or her urinary excretions) and besides, he did not need to give his superiors more cause to doubt his commitment to heaven by attempting to replicate human behaviour, merely inclining his head slightly at the greeting - “Dean. It has been... some time. We need to talk. This is” - a brief pause, and something akin to but at the same time fairly unlike a sigh - “unlikely to be pleasant.”
That did not count as undue sympathy, of course. It was merely stating the facts.