A/N: Written for a prompt on tumblr by i-write-whump: When the whumpee wakes up lying on their stomach and has no idea where they are or what's going on, and they start to try to get up and look around, but then they feel a gentle hand on their shoulder holding them down. The whumpee thinking that the whumper is the one holding them down, and beginning to react violently, until they hear the caretaker's voice coming from behind them, and they realize that they must be the one holding them down. The caretaker explaining to the whumpee that they've hurt their back, and they need to stay still so the caretaker can patch them up. The whumpee calming down and letting the caretaker help them once they're sure the whumper isn't there, and the caretaker patching them up gently, explaining everything as they work.

A deep ache awoke Castiel, and were he not so groggy, pure, cold panic would have shot through him at the knowledge that he'd been asleep. Angels didn't sleep. Something powerful must have attacked him. But what?

Where am I? Castiel asked himself.

He tried opening his eyes, but found his vision blurry, and the world spun.

The ache grew worse.

His face was pressed against rough, cold stone, neck twinging from the strain of the position. He was lying on his stomach, blood trickling from his mouth

Castiel tried to get up, tried to look around, but then there was a hand on his shoulder, holding him down.

Memories came flooding back. Chuck, Lucifer… they'd attacked, and now-

Castiel screamed, and tried to get up to fight, breathing hard. Adrenaline flared through him so sharply it left him with hot, tingling stabs that went down to his toes and fingertips. The ache grew worse, but Castiel fought it, and he fought the hand. That hand was going to hurt him, it was going to-

He'd just rammed his elbow back, and a familiar grunt met him.

"Shit, Cas."

Dean?

Hands were on him again, holding him down. He'd barely been able to get up in the first place.

"Cas, it's okay. It's just me. You got hurt pretty bad. I think there's something wrong with your back. Can you heal?"

True to Dean's word, blood was steadily pumping out of Castiel's back. It had already soaked his clothes, and was pooling around him. The slick heat was disgusting, and was surely one of the many reasons he was shuddering.

Castiel tried to focus on the pain, to center on it, even as he still assured himself that Chuck and Lucifer weren't there. But then where were they? He groaned, tears flooding his eyes as he was drawn into his pain, nearly against his will. The dark waves of it encompassed him, and they thundered so fiercely it beat into his blood, and his nerves were screaming, firing off pain signals like they would never stop. Castiel reached out through all that pain, searching his Grace, trying to move it outwards. He started gentle, just caressing the hurt with his Grace, telling his body that it was okay, that it was safe now. The darkness stabbed back.

Castiel screamed, writhing on the ground.

"I can't, I can't!" he panted. "Dean, I can't!"

Dean held him down, getting behind him, and straddling him. His hands were on Cas' shoulders.

"Okay, okay. It's okay. We're gonna fix this. We're gonna take care of this, alright? I already got the first aid kit."

Dean began to work, cutting Castiel's bloody clothes off of him, and then assessing the wound. He talked him through everything he was doing, and coaxed Castiel into taking deep breaths.

Dean started pressing around the wound, leaving Castiel gasping and grunting and breathless. There was something in him. Dean seemed to feel it too.

"This looks like a stab wound. Think maybe something got left in there."

In the eloquent and immortal words of Dean Winchester: Fuck.

"Alright, I'm gonna get it out. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be just fine."

Dean's voice was shaky, but just hearing him somehow worked to soothe Castiel. Dean got off him, and then he was gently easing his belt into his mouth. Castiel's vision cleared enough for him to see Dean give him an assuring nod, green eyes big with worry, but determined. His hand caressed his face, and ran through his hair. He placed a kiss on his head, and then got out his swiss army knife.

Panic bloomed in Castiel, like a drop of blood mixing into a cup of water. It swirled, it spread, until it encompassed everything, became part of it. More blood trickled in.

"Cas, just hold on. You're gonna be okay."

Dean began his work.

Castiel's world tumbled through flashes of black and red, and great bursts of agony.

Black won out, and the pain followed him as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Dean was pouring alcohol on his back when Castiel came to again, making him bite the belt so hard he was sure he'd torn it ever so slightly. Then his strong hands were pressing down on it, holding his blood in. The gesture of Dean holding his life in him swept Castiel up into its strong, powerful arms, and he couldn't escape. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to do everything with him. He knew they would afterwards. They always did after one of them was hurt.

"Alright, how 'bout now? Can you heal? I got that thing out."

Castiel reached out for his Grace, and he didn't find that darkness, only the flares of pain. He melded his Grace with the pain, soothing it away, light filling in the gaps of his agony.

His cells multiplied, his muscles and tendons and nerves and blood vessels knit back together, and then finally, his skin.

He sighed, body relaxing.

Dean sighed as well. Castiel took the belt out of his mouth, and let Dean help him to his feet (he hadn't been able to heal the blood loss). His ripped clothes fell from him, leaving Castiel shirtless, and in bloody pants. Dean was feeling him over, as if he had to assure himself that he was okay.

"Dean, thank you."

Castiel kissed him, and for now, he was alright.