Castiel's first two fingers touched to Sam's forehead. Instead of drawing his hand away, a concerned expression crossed his face. Slowly, he pulled away. There had been no change.

"That is not an ordinary injury. Something's prove ting me from healing it. I... am of no use," Castiel diagnosed, his deep voice showing little emotion.

"So what does that mean?" Sam asked, voice tinted with sadness. It was clear that he had no hope of returning to normal from the way he sat, the way he fingered the large bandage, the way his face made no attempt to conceal it, the way his voice was hollow. That, above all, angered Dean.

"We'll find something out, damn it!" Dean replied in a way that could be only described as merciless. He would find some way to fix his little brother. He didn't want to see that expression on his face again, the look of true hopelessness. He'd seen it when their dad died and the seconds before he died, in every near death situation, but only a few times before when considering himself. Sam thought lowly of himself but was still human, still cared a bit.

"I will try to find something," Cas said, disappearing with a flap of his wings. And on that note, three men started their research.

Bobby leaned back in his chair. Warily, he looked over to the younger boys. Sam was splayed across the couch, a book on his chest and a large pile on the table next to his computer. He was sound asleep.

Dean, on the other hand, was still awake, although hardly. He had many empty beer bottles next to him. As his website loaded, he picked up the bottle next to him and took a large swig.

"Anything?" Bobby asked unexpectedly.

Dean shook his head before it rolled back slowly, a heavy breath escaping his nose and mouth. He took another gulp and finished the bottle.

"I think I know what it is," Castiel's voice came from the corner of the room where he had appeared.

Dean coughed down his beer, looking up. "Damn it, Cas, give a warning!" he said angrily after swallowing his drink.

"Sorry," the angel said, hardly a flicker of emotion on his face. He walked briskly to the sleeping boy and looked down at him. "I believe whatever did this cursed the wound so it wouldn't heal. We would have to undo the curse before anything else could be done." He paused before adding, "It might help if we knew what happened."

"We were on a hunt in Colorado," Dean began. "Found out really soon that it was a witch. All signs pointed to her living in this old church building, so we went to check it out."

"Ya' went out on a whim like that? Idjits!" Bobby interrupted.

Dean continued without acknowledgement. "Apparently we were right. Sam and I had gone in and found where she was keeping her witchy crap when he disappeared."

"Disappeared? How?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know. I just turned around and he was gone," Dean replied. "When I found him," he paused and gestured his head toward his brother, "his arm was gone and he was out of it. I—"

He was cut off by a moan from the couch. The three older men turned to see the sleeping boy turn over and begin to awaken.

Sam opened his eyes sleepily. He gazed around the room until his eyes focused and he realized he was being watched. He began to sit up but fell back over without the use of his right arm. His face flushed when he heard his brother snickering and he mumbled, "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean shot back, still laughing.

Cas spoke up. "Where in Colorado were you?"

"Colorado Springs," Dean answered, done laughing, "but what are we gonna do?"

"We will ask her to remove the spell," Cas stated simply, standing between the brothers and touching his hand to each of their heads. The trio disappeared with a flap of his wings.