The approval was barely registered in the pause of the second glass to his lips, and a sideways glance. But it was definitely registered, and considered.
At the answer to his question, he hesitated. He didn't know how to respond, and all of the available responses seemed to choke on each other. The rage, the confusion, the sense of loss all caught each other, and he bowed his head, then finished his next drink.
"No," he said flatly, pouring the third glass. And he meant it. He didn't know what all of it meant, and he felt no compulsion to find out. It always ended in more questions, and more pain. For now, he had found his father and creator, and that was something. He had no idea what, but his compulsion was not to shatter it with self indulgent questions.
The third empty glass was set on the the bar, this one a bit more stiffly than the others. Even as he slumped slightly on his stool, Castiel stole a sideways look at his Father, then averted his eyes. He helplessly realised he had no idea how to feel about his Creator. He'd been dutiful, then confused, then angry and rebellious. Then he'd just felt lost, and when he'd gotten used to that last horrible sensation... this.
"So... how've you been?" he finally asked. An earnest question. It wasn't gentle; he was too confused to be gentle, but it was earnest.