Dean, in an odd, desperate attempt to keep busy, searched for wood. If they planned on keeping the fire stable they were going to need far more of it than anyone likely anticipated and far too much of it was soaked to the core. And so Dean did what he could to keep moving, wandering, not stopping long enough to think at any particular moment and instead listening into the depths of the forest until he returned. But really, the whole thing was just an excuse to search for anything. To walk, almost aimlessly, hoping that he might stumble upon something. Anything at all that could mean something. It wouldn't matter at this point, but he'd take what he could get.

It also meant a lot of running. And making use of Castiel's blade, until he was splattered in a fine veneer of filth.

Making his way back to the warehouse, Dean finally resolved to keeping still. He wasn't going to crack under the weight of his desperate resilience, but he hadn't seen Cas in hours and, well, he was used to keeping him in his line of sight. And so Dean returned, ever the non-triumphant hunter, dropping down at Cas' side and outright ignoring just how unkempt he looked, but not even remotely bypassing how utterly dejected Cas looked. He was lost in the flames and finally Dean leaned forward, attention turned onto the angel, trying to get him to give him his eyes.