Dean stepped back into the hallway of the lab, one thought on his mind—what the hell was taking Sammy so long? The supply closet—
Shit. The jar of blood Sam had gone to get was sitting in the middle of the floor, halfway to the supply closet.
Dean stared a moment at the jar. Sammy was in the supply closet, having God only knows what kind of hallucinations of Satan and torture. The thought of it made Dean shudder—he had had more than this fair share of torture in Hell, but this had to be a completely different level, tortured by the Devil himself. He felt the urge to run to his baby brother, but they were almost out of time. If he went to Sammy, he'd lose Cas, and unleash all of Purgatory's finest on the unsuspecting world.
Cas or Sam? Dean had always had some sort of stronger feelings for the angel, even if he didn't admit it. But Sammy—well, it had always been Dean's job to protect Sam. He'd done it even when it meant possibly destroying the world twice over. But surely Sammy would be fine for just a few minutes. Cas couldn't wait. Cas could be dying at that moment, and Dean would be damned if he knew what he would do without the angel by his side.
If only Cas had listened to him in the first place, trusted him, felt that same thing Dean felt, none of this would have happened. Cas wouldn't have been playing Godm wouldn't be about to explode under the pressure of so many souls, and the Leviathans. Dean knew that was what had brought Cas to his senses, and he knew that was what had Cas in so much pain. His angel. Even if Cas had fucked up, Dean couldn't stand to see him in pain. He didn't deserve it. The angel was, well, a god in his eyes: perfect, beautiful, and someone to be worshipped. Dean had to get to him before the worst happened.