Dust. The only thing Dean could perceive was dust.

On his tongue- dust. Coating his eyelids- dust. A rocky pain shot through his left arm.

Then everything went dark.

...

The first thing Dean remebered thinking about was home. Looking back, it really wasn't what he would have expected himself to think, but images of the impala, Sammy, and sleep drifted through his mind. Sleep and Bobby's old house, Cas and beers, comfort and slow. Slow and the smell of Cas' trenchcoat- the nice dusty smell that lingered wherever he walked.

Mhm.

"Dean."

He realized a voice had reached his ears. Whos voice was that? He knew that voice. But the feelings that washed over him felt so nice- he wasn't quite ready to open his eyes.

"Dean!"

It was Cas's voice, and it took Dean's brain a few moments to realize how urgent and strained it sounded.

"wha- ?" he mumbled before a familiar pain sprung up from his arm and up his somehow twisted shoulder. He tried to squelch it as he listened again for the voice.

"Dean!" It came again, this time a little clearer, and as Dean struggled to open his eyes he began to make out the angels flat figure in front of him. Large, crackled boulders jutted intrusively into the edges of his vision, and he realized Cas was struggling to sit up, leaning just across from his own face and under an uncouthly rough overhang of some kind. The surface they lay on was rocky as well, but there was a small pocket of space between the two friends and the hulks of geology surrounding them.

"Cas?"

"Dean-" the other answered immediately, sounding even more dead-pan serious than usual, "Dean there was an accident. The rocks, they-"

Suddenly he stopped and curled his head towards his chest, and Dean looked down his friend's crumpled form and noticed he was ferociously clutching his hip. There was some blood showing under the fingers, and his face was screwed over with pain.

When the angel brought his head back up, Dean again noticed he himself was not void of pain. It was his left arm, and he couldn't see it from where his head was but it hurt like hell. The more he realized he was awake the stronger it stung, and it was only getting worse by the half-second. Still facing a wide-eyed, hip-clutching Castiel he let out a half-worded yelp of pain as the sting of blood suddenly grew unbearable- the pain flooded his brain and he felt his face twist under the extent of the hurt.

What the Hell had he done to his arm?! God, this was not good.

"There was a cave is- Your arm!" Cas spoke loudly, shock lifting off the end of his sentence.

"Ow," Dean clenched through gritted teeth, "Jesus, Cas!"

Upon getting no response Dean opened his eyes to look at the angel, wide and feral whites showing desperately.

"Do something!" he called gruffly, pain lacing his accent.

"Dean. I can't. It doesn't work here- something is wrong."

Gee, ya think? Dean thought as the horrible sting from his arm overwhelmed him again.

Cas looked at him with concerned, hurt blue eyes. Saddened, but maybe a little something more. Dean could never tell with this angel.

God, he was almost crying it was so bad. Being ripped apart by hellhounds was really the only thing this could compare too- no, no he couldn't think about more pain right now. Oh god. His teeth ground against eachother and he almost worried they would fall off. He could feel himself secluded in his brain by the extremity of the pain- it was all he could do to keep from screaming.

Cas glanced at his human friend's body, lying on his stomach with his arm, from what he could see, crushed beneath the corner of a particularly jagged boulder. The edge of the rock was digging into the upper half of his arm, part of his tissue that still had fresh nerves intact.

He let out a desperate, silent sigh and attempted to move his torso closer to where Dean lay in agony. he had to prop himself up awkwardly using his elbows, for he, too, was trapped by rock, and he was almost positive his vessel's right hip-bone had been crushed during the fall. It was hurting him, but more than that it seriously impaired his movement.

It was all the angel could do to drag himself several feet to his friend, and to reach out and take hold of Dean's one use-able, dirt covered and scratch encrusted hand.

"Dean." The man heard his friend speak though his own blood-buzzed ears, calmly but sternly in only the way an angel really could, "You have to try to stay calm. Listen to my voice."

Through the hazy, blinding light of the sting Dean realized a hand had found his limp one. He gripped into the flesh of the hand until he could barely feel his own, desperately trying to bear the twist that spun up his left shoulder and neck, from his arm and into his head and spewing out his ears and mouth.

"Dean. You are going to be okay," Cas said, and Dean would later look back and realize assuring safety was not one of Cas' well-known attributes. But even through the pain he guessed he appreciated the effort.

"The others saw what happened. Given the chances and the circumstances it is very likely that we will survive this."

Pffch- somehow not very assuring.

But the angel squeezed back on Dean's hand, and he found himself oddly comforted and his clenched jaw loosened. He closed his eyes and squeezed, trying to focus the energy into his right hand.

Castiel didn't recall how long they stayed like that- angel letting hunter grip his hand for comfort while he himself lay awkwardly propped up against the unforgiving stone. He solemley watched Dean's face grow less and less pained and he wondered if he would ever regain feeling in his vessel's hand.