They drove to the nearest hospital as fast as they could. Sam took the wheel while Dean sat in the backseat, cradling Cas's head in his lap, alternating barked instructions of "careful" and "faster", yelling every time there was a bump, anything that might hurt Cas.
Dean carried the man, cradling him in his arms, resting his flopping head on his shoulder whilst Sam led the way into the hospital.
The elder Winchester barely let go of Cas, yelling at the Doctors that he needed to stay with him, that he couldn't leave him. Sam had to peel him away, promising him that he would see him soon.
Dean spent the entire time pacing, kicking a few chairs, and went so far as to put a serious crack in a window. Sam spent the time trying to calm him down, but he had little luck. He rarely saw his brother like this, never this bad. This anxiety, this panic, this sheer anger and fear.
After what felt like an age, the Doctor returned.
"Physically, he's fine." The Doctor told them. "I can't see any reason why he should be comatose."
"So he'll wake up?" Sam asked.
"Of course he will." Dean vehemently assured.
The Doctor looked at Dean warily. "As it's unclear why he's in the coma in the first place, I honestly can't tell either way."
"I can." Dean replied firmly.
"You can see him when these forms have been filled." She said, fidgeting with her clipboard. "How do you know Mister Singer?"
"We're cousins." Sam told her, casting his eye to Dean, who was practically twitching, desperate to get to Cas. "I'll do this. You go to him."
Dean didn't need telling twice, merely nodding to his brother and brushing past the Doctor, who, frankly, looked relieved to be rid of him.
He followed the corridor, looking for the right window, brushing past four immediately before spotting the right one.
He hesitated at the window, his hand resting on the door handle. For all of his anxiety to go to him, to be at Cas's side, he found he couldn't move.
The room was painted white, and everything within it was either white or a washed out blue. But that was nothing compared to how pale the man looked. His dark hair stuck out against his pale skin, and the light blue hospital gown struck ugly against him, inhuman and sickening.
Steeling himself, he turned the handle and walked in, approaching the bed.
It was deathly quiet in there, the silence punctured only by the sound of machines rhythmically beeping along with the man's heartbeat.
Dean blinked hard, feeling moisture dampen his eyes.
He walked closer to Cas, getting a better look at him. His chest was moving up and down slowly, but that was his only movement. His entire body was still and rigid, arms placed over the bed sheets, an IV drip fed into his arm.
What struck dean was Cas's face. The face that was usually so impassive and stoic, so expressionless, was now completely... dead. It was only now that Dean realised that despite his inability to show emotions on his borrowed face, it had still been there. And now it wasn't. It took them leaving for Dean to be able to see them.
And his eyes. Cas rarely blinked, angels never feeling the need to, and Cas barely indulged. But now they were closed, those cold, brilliantly blue eyes hidden.
Dean fought the urge to open them himself. He knew what lay beyond there wouldn't help.
He clenched his jaw as he sat on the clinical chair beside the bed. He was hyper aware of his own breathing, as there was little other noise to be heard.
He didn't know what to do.
Because what could be done?
This was up to Cas.
He inhaled sharply through his teeth, bringing a fist up to his mouth, his vision swimming slightly. Then he brought it down, his hand grasping for Cas, but not quite getting there, stopping short, landing an inch from the man's hand.
"Cas-" He choked out, unsure what to say. His fingers twitched, reaching closer, trying to close the distance.
"Dean?"
Sam entered the room, and the elder Winchester snapped back, swallowing hard, turning to look at his brother.
"Yeah?" He spoke, his voice gruff and hoarse, his throat aching.
"How's he doing?"
Dean frowned at the stupidity of the question. "How does it look?"
Sam sighed. "Yeah, I get it." He walked over to the other side of the bed, reaching down and giving the man's shoulder a squeeze. "Hang in there, Cas."
Dean looked at his brother, watching how easily he was able to make contact. He felt a surge of... something, inside him. Jealousy? Anger?
"I need a coffee." He barked, jumping up and practically charging out of the door, leaving Sam with Cas.
He walked down the corridor, barging past orderlies and Doctors, ignoring everything.
He stopped when he saw a coffee machine, and he took out his wallet, scrambling for some change, but his hands were shaking too much, and coins scattered on the floor.
"Crap!" He yelled, far too loud, and kicked the coffee machine, slapping it with his hand for good measure.
He span away from it, the sight of it antagonising him, before charging down the corridor, away from the direction he had come from. He passed three more coffee machines, ignoring them all.
The more he walked, the worse it got. What had just been seething, burning rage, turned physical. He felt like he couldn't breathe, air not getting into his lungs fast enough, yet his lungs felt full to burst as air scraped down his throat. He felt too hot and too cold, he felt confined in the white wash walls of the hospital, crammed in by everything, and he felt miniscule, like an ant ready to be crushed by a boot.
He saw a door leading out and shoved it open, finding himself in a small garden designed to cheer up the patients and visitors, but was clearly just used as a smoking area. But the fresh air felt good, and he frantically went through, scrambling as he went, until he dropped to the floor, cramming himself into a corner and put his hands over his head, and his head to his knees.
His breath was coming harsher now, through gritted teeth, fast and hard and a choked sound left his throat, and another, and another.
It took him a while to notice his face was wet, the soggy puddles on the rough denim of his knees, but he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop himself crying, he couldn't stop the choking sobbing escaping him.
Everything he'd held in for the past... well, who knows how long, was coming out. And he couldn't stop it.
"Dean?"
A hand clapped onto his shoulder, and he jerked away from it. He looked up to see his brother crouched over him, and he tried to pull away, tried to stop crying, but instead found himself pulled in as Sam put his arms around him and held him tight.
Just held him.
After Dean had calmed down just enough, Sam spoke.
"You scared some nurses."
"I don't care." Dean spat.
Sam chuckled, letting go of his brother, but staying close. He didn't say anything, just waited for Dean.
"I don't think I can, Sammy," Dean told him. "Go back in there. Do anything. Carry on." He inhaled sharply. "It's too much."
"It's always too much." Sam reminded him gently.
"Yeah, and this is different." Dean sighed. "We have lost... everything. And we get back... Cas comes back, and we lose him again."
"We haven't lost him!"
"His first thing he's gonna do as a human is die, Sam! I can't, I can't let-"
"No." Sam spoke firmly. "He's not gonna die. You're not gonna let him." He gripped Dean's shoulder tight. "I'm not asking you to carry on, I'm not saying you have to go out there and kill monsters, I'm not even saying you have to cope. I'm saying you gotta be there for Cas." He held on a little tighter. "Cos you are gonna be the only one who can help him. You're the only one that counts."
Dean swallowed hard. "What if he never wakes up?"
Sam didn't say anything. He couldn't.
It scared him, the thought of what it would do to Dean. He didn't see how is brother could cope after that. But right now, he had to be the strong one. He had to push Dean through this.
"We should get back." Sam said, squeezing Dean's shoulder before offering him a hand to help him up.