[ Castiel always carries himself with a certain kind of tension, a certain weight on his shoulders. The instances in which his guard drops and he allows himself the luxury of... not quite relaxation, but of softening, are few and far between. This is one such instance. With the weight of Dean's hand on his shoulder and more importantly the weight of what passes as an agreement, as a promise, some of the tension bleeds out of Castiel's shoulders.

He holds Dean's gaze, then nods. ]

You can call on me anywhere but the forest, and I will come to you. Prayer from a known location is enough to guide my flight.

[ And ignoring Dean is his prerogative. Prayers aren't compulsion. But they are valuable here, means of travelling with otherwise clipped wings.

After a moment of looking up at Dean, burden shared for the time being, Castiel begins frowning again. ]

There's glitter in your nostril.