Castiel sees Dean's blood and something is struck inside him.

Like a guitar string, pulled tight across the fingerboard and let loose to vibrate, the feeling travels through him and towards his fingers that immediately work their way towards Dean's wound.

Worry. Concern. Feelings he's never felt before.

"Let me heal this for you," he says automatically, a stern hand to Dean's stomach, where the blood stains his jacket.

Dean raises his head to the angel to give him a questioning stare. "Why?"

"Because you dead is no better than you alive," Castiel responds firmly. "It's as simple as that."

a/n. you have no idea how hard it is for me to write exactly one-hundred words. ugh. d: