He did normally not like to be touched when he felt like this, as all his nerves were on edge and any new sensory input always made him feel like he was going to shatter, but Meg was somehow an exception and her hand on his knee was grounding; it was something to focus on, rather than something overwhelming. His jaw clenched at her expression of concern, however, and her words; this was pathetic. He was fine. He didn't need reassurance or to be treated gently, because he should be able to handle this.

Humans dealt with life every day; he should be able to as well.

His gaze focused on the far wall, hands still tightly clenched into fists in his lap, sitting up straight and totally still like a statue. If he could just be physically calm, then perhaps he could be mentally; Castiel had no real coping methods, as he'd never learned them from the Winchesters and certainly not in Heaven, so he didn't know anything but to just control and hide away everything. He knew, logically, he could talk to Meg just as he'd encouraged her to talk to him only a few minutes earlier, but it didn't seem like an option for him. Physically, it actually wasn't, but communicating in any way seemed out of the question at the moment. He didn't want to talk about what he was feeling, because he shouldn't been feeling it. He should be able to just deal with it and go on by himself.

Still, no matter how little he moved, he wasn't calming and his breathing was as unsteady as his hands.