Cas was more than happy to walk away with his tail between his legs and never see the hunter again. Well, not happy, so much as... indefinitely and horrendously resigned. Dean won. Twice. He'd died, for one. And then he came back, had the audacity to show his face, and Dean ripped him so low, tore him so thoroughly, he'd likely be supporting some serious emotional problems for the rest of his meaningless, short human existence because of it. Dean won.

So naturally, the hand on his shoulder caught him by surprise. Not nearly as surprised, though, by the punch to the jaw. And god damn it hurt without any angel mojo to make him all Edward Cullen. Oh his dad in heaven, Jesus and Mary and all things holy, did that hurt. He stumbled back again, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Before he could think, before he could put a leash on his righteous temperament, he surged forward, locking his hands on Dean's wrists. They weren't angelic anymore, but the grip was surprisingly strong for such a slender dude. His eyes bore into Dean's, wide and serious. "Enough."

He kept his hands locked there, leveling the challenging stare. He was done. He was finished. No amount of hitting would make him feel any lower, because there was no worse feeling than the one he had now. His eyes said as much, and he repeated again, "enough."