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Dean tossed the room key on the dresser as he entered their motel room. Shucking his jacket, he nodded at Sam sitting Indian-style on the flowered double bed, laptop balanced easily on his knees.
"He sleeping?" Dean asked hopefully.
Sam looked at the fitful form of the angel lying on the adjacent bed, and shook his head. "Not really. He's called out for you a few times."
The elder Winchester nodded sadly as he crossed to the bed. Taking his boots off, Dean spooned himself behind his injured angel.
Castiel melted into the hunter's embrace, breath slowing and body relaxing. The angel's fingers found Dean's, lacing together as naturally as taking a breath.
Dean didn't know what had happened to his angel, but he knew he'd find a way to make Cas whole again and that the others would damn well pay.