When Sam or I get hurt, we have a routine. First, we make sure it isn't fatal, then we tease and joke and white-knuckle our way through a fifth of whiskey and some home-grown medical care. When we get sick, we hunker down in some back-end motel, snipping and bantering while we ride out the worst of it. (Due to our close living quarters, if one of us comes down with something, we usually both get it.)

But when Cas gets hurt, he gets quiet. Half the time, we don't realize anything's wrong until he keels over. I remember a few months ago when he showed up at our motel. The only way I knew he had been injured was the crimson stain peeking out from behind that damned coat of his. I barely had enough time to catch him before he dropped like a sack of rocks.

Sammy told me once that cats will not show any sign of physical weakness. He said that if they did, they risked being killed by their competitor's or even their own family.

I wonder if that's what Cas was doing. If so, that kind of pisses me off. It means that he didn't trust us, that he thought that we'd kill him if he ever became a burden.

And now… now he's laid out on one of Bobby's bed with such a stillness that I have to keep touching him to make sure that he's still alive. We aren't sure how or why he got this way. All we know is that within a week he went from being "God" to literally knock knock knocking on Heaven's door (or perhaps oblivion's door- I don't really know what happens to angel's when they die.) We don't understand it, and it's driving me nuts.

Sam's convinced that it's God-the real one. But I gave up on that bastard swooping in to the rescue a long time ago. I'd like to think that Cas dug his way out on his own, that maybe there is still something to save in him.

I want him to wake up soon, though Bobby doesn't think that he ever will. I refuse to believe anything like that. Cas is going to wake up. And when he does, I'm going to demand some answers, hell I may even take a swing at him- anything to remind us both that he's still alive.

"Any change?"

I jump at the sound of Sam's voice. He is standing by the doorframe, eying Cas' limp body warily. There is a new and improved wall in his head (courtesy of our currently out of commission ex-deity) but I don't think Sam's forgiven him for tearing it down in the first place.

"No," I reply, surprised by how hoarse my voice is. The silence stretches, so uncomfortable that I must break it. I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Cas is like those damned cats!" Sam's eyebrows rise but I can tell he gets the reference so I continue. "If he would have just come to us first off! Said something-" I stop as the guilt over my actions in the past year raises its ugly head. "He should have come back," I finish lamely, staring blindly at the comatose angel. "He should have trusted us."

Sam is quiet for so long that I'm sure he left. But when I look back, he's still there, shadows hiding his expression from me. "I don't know about then," he says suddenly, in a carefully constructed tone.

"But he trusts us now."

Okay, now I'm confused. "What the hell does that mean?" I demand. Sam gives me a familiar shrug- the one that means "I know I'm right and you just don't get how these things work." I hate that shrug.

"He came back didn't he?" Sam finally points out. "An injured cat doesn't go back to his family unless he knows for sure that they won't kill him."

This is one of those times that I'm truly grateful for my brother; perhaps because he's the only one who said "injured" …not "dying…