If Dean had felt bad about watching Castiel walk out into the middle of that lake, he sure as Hell felt worse now. Castiel fully understood what he was taking on when he shifted what was left of Sam's soul into himself. The decision to leave Castiel in the psychiatric ward was unanimous. Dean was already plagued by nightmares, dramatically shortening his time spent sleeping, but they were worse now. He'd often wake up, bathed in cold sweat and and the over whelming feeling that something bad was going to happen.
"So, how's it going upstairs?" Dean asked one morning, sitting across from Sam who was reading something on his laptop.
"Surprisingly good, actually," Sam pained a smile and closed the lid on the laptop, "Do you wanna talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" Dean sat back in his chair.
"About why you're not sleeping. You've bearly touched any food."
"I'm not tired or hungry. Lay off, would you?" Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was feeling the strain of his insomnia now. He'd zone out a lot and just stare off into space; he'd make careless mistakes that almost led to him to being skewered alive, courtasy of an angry ghost on one of their lastest hunts; and he'd just be plain cranky. He knew that if Bobby was still here, he'd be ordered to sleep and not allowed out of the house until he was back to normal. Unfortunately, that was never going to happen. His thoughts had wandered in this sleep-deprived state, back to the harsh reality that Cas was stuck in a mental ward, claiming to be seeing Satan. Now, Dean was no expert, but that's enough to get him sectioned.
"Hey, here's something," Sam turned the laptop to Dean, "Cattle mutilations in Oklahoma and Texas."
"That's not really our problem, Sam. We have better things to do than hunt down come hungry coyote."
"23 cows ripped open," Sam paused, "And 3 women torn to shreds."
Dean instantly perked up. This was more their division. All Dean wantred right now was to work a case or two and try to forget.
Sam felt overly-guilty for what had become of Castiel. It was because of him that Castiel was now seeing Lucifer everywhere he looked. The only relief came from the fact the the angel didn't need sleep. Lucifer had tortured Sam for days before Castiel had relieved him. Now Castiel was stuck.
Dean and Sam had decided to check out the mutilations, even though they were clueless on what would do such a thing. The journey was long and coffee-fueled. Most of it was filled with Dean blaring his music in an attempt to keep himself awake. They took turns about driving. Dean didn't mind much; the Impala was still out of bounds until everyone had forgotten about the whole interstate murder spree, thanks to the Leviathans.
They'd made it to Texas just before 9 pm and checked into a cheap motel for the night. Dean had sat up reading one of Bobby's old books until 4 am. Dean was sure he was onto something. Nothing to do with the case, but something that could put his mind to rest. Call it one too many whiskies, or a brain storm, but Dean had found something.
