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Staying quiet is an easy thing to do when you’ve had decades of practice.
Don’t complain, don’t ask too many questions, don’t bother me Dean I’m working, don’t cry, don’t whine --
Staying quiet was also an easy thing to do when you’ve had decades of distractions.
Ghosts, demons, ghouls, shapeshifters, more demons, even more demons, angels, angels and demons, end of the world, end of the world again --
Staying quiet about deep feelings and emotional things was very easy for Dean. He wasn’t great at hiding it, but he was great at keeping it silent. The problem that kept happening, however, was that he stayed quiet when he should have said something.
He should have said something in Purgatory.
He should have said something when Cas escaped Purgatory and came back to them.
He should have said something at the bar when it was thought to be the last time he’d be able to speak to Cas before those gates closed.
He should have said something when he saw Cas struggling with new, human life.
He should have said something a handful of times between then and now. The worse case where he’d lost his chance to ever say anything was when that angel blade pierced Cas and killed him right in front of Dean’s eyes.
Wrapping Cas, preparing him for that stupid hunter’s funeral was his punishment for not speaking. Dean was alone in a room once again with him, but only he could talk with no one talking back and no one to listen. It was a silence that was the worse kind, something that couldn’t be fixed.
Dean missed his chance.
He should have said something when he heard Cas on the other end of the phone, meeting him a short time later. He didn’t of course, because Dean didn’t learn his lesson. Using Sam as an excuse was stupid because he knew Sam wouldn't care. But he used the excuse anyway because he was an idiot.
So many missed chances and opportunities, and Dean held back because don’t whine, don’t complain, don’t bother them
Don’t bother them.
Don’t bother him.
The justification that Dean used every time was it wasn’t the time. It was a selfish thing to do and didn’t match the situations they were ever in. It was an unnecessary distraction.
Dean didn’t know how Cas would react, handle the information, deal with the information -- and if Dean wanted to be completely honest with the little, positive part of him deep down, then he’d confirm he was terrified of Cas walking out and never coming back.
It was bullshit, and Dean knew it, but that didn’t stop his mind from bouncing that fear around whenever it could.
Staying silent and having Cas there was better than unleashing the things that Dean kept to himself, and possibly ruining what little he had. Despite how they lived, he really didn’t like risk-taking all that much when it came to things this personal.
And, if that same small part of Dean wanted more honesty, he’d remind it that he still doesn’t understand how he got to where he was. With everything. Everything that had probably been there since day one of his life on Earth but didn’t decide to show its full face until recently.
It wasn’t like he woke up one morning and had a lightbulb moment with Cas -- it was a gradual building over ten years that when he looked back on it, realized that things did change between them. Dean couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but it definitely happened.
The question that Dean had but was too scared to ask was did everything change for Cas over the years as well? It was hard to tell. Sometimes, Dean could spot little glimpses of hope, but they were quickly swallowed by those distractions that kept him silent.
For what little Dean slept, he welcomed the dreams that helped stave off any confessions building inside him. They were little, other world moments that allowed Dean to get by, to deal with the next crisis, and put whatever needed to be talked about on hold a little while longer.
The dreams were like drugs and Dean welcomed any hit he could get.
Even when they shouted, pushed, poked each other into action or inaction on situations, Dean never wavered on those deeply hidden feelings. If anything, it made him want to speak more, but when he did, the wrong words came out.
So now, at yet another catastrophic situation that Dean didn’t think would end well, he didn’t speak. The three of them stood facing the monstrosities unleashed on them, ready to hack their way out of that graveyard. Dean once again felt the fear clawing up his throat, choking any additional words other than orders, shouts, and curses.
Maybe, if they got out of there alive and had a moment to breathe, Dean would tell Cas what needed to be said before it was too late again.
But he doubted it.