[ There aren't many situations when Cas feels the need to be stubborn and argue with Dean, but this would certainly be one of them, so it's a relief when Dean rolls up his sleeve instead of fighting it. Cas uses the time to open an antiseptic bottle and wet a clean cotton pad, an absolutely luxury compared to threadbare rags soaked in whiskey. ]

Sorry to deprive you of the scars you've been nurturing.

[ But no, actually, when Dean offers his arm and Cas takes it in his hands and wipes over the sutures, cleaning away the errant smudge of grease, they're healing nicely. Sam did a good job, but of course, Cas shouldn't be surprised. The brothers take care of each other. It's strange and painfully nostalgic to see. ]

I think that's the moment that I realized this place was real, in some form of the word: when you cut yourself, and I watched you bleed.

[ Cas muses to himself as he works, leaving the cleaned stitches to dry while he wets a new cloth and takes Dean's hand in both of his, spreading his palm open, cleaning away the rust and grease from a wound that's only rough and pink and not really in need of attention, already mostly healed. Cas cleans it thoroughly anyway, as if it were fresh. ]

In just about every other way, this place still feels like a dream.

[ For some people, this town full of monsters and mist and alternate versions of oneself would be a nightmare, but for them? It's the kindest dream Cas has had in a long time, far preferable to the waking world. Their reality feels more like a nightmare he's afraid he'll fall back into the next time he closes his eyes. ]