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It's only when Dean is passed out on the sofa, having drunk a lot more than usual given the circumstances, that Sam -- doing well enough that he can at least do this much for his brother -- pulls the sopping, sewer-smelling overcoat out of the trunk of the Impala. He takes it back inside with him and down to the basement where the washer and dryer are and gently puts the coat into the washer. Sam measures out the detergent and tosses it in, then starts her up.
He waits there, right in that spot and leans back against the washer, mostly because he's afraid it'll change. That he'll be somewhere else and not here, waiting for the washer to stop. It's only when the damn thing buzzes and startles him that he realizes he's spaced out for nearly forty minutes, just standing there. Turning, Sam opens the lid and pulls the coat from inside. He looks it over and frowns that the coat is still stained and leans in to give it a cursory sniff. It smells fine though, the detergent having done it's job of removing the sewer stink that clung to the fabric before.
Sam then puts the coat into the dryer and sets the cycle, as well as the timer and goes back to waiting. He stands there, flexing his bandaged hand every now and then and stares off, spacing again. He's more aware this time, and listens to the coat tumbling inside the dryer, the rhythmic thump-clink. He catches the dryer before it goes off, as the buzzer is louder than the washer, not wanting to risk waking Dean or Bobby with the noise, and pulls the coat from the dryer. It looks better now that it's dried, and smells just fine. There are still splotches of blood stains and darkened corners from Leviathan's ooze, but it's better than it was.
Switching off the light, Sam goes back upstairs and into the study where Dean sleeps, breath even and quiet. Without pause Sam walks over and gently lays the overcoat length wise across Dean's prone form, blanketing him with it's lingering warmth. He stands there for a moment, watching his older brother and then turns and exits the study and meanders back upstairs to the spare room they let him have to try to get a bit more sleep.
It's only when Sam's gone, his retreating footsteps fading that Dean let's out a shuddering breath and opens his eyes. They're misty and wet and bright green with unshed tears as he tries to hold himself together. He can't fall apart now. Sam needs him, and there's just too much to worry about. So much to do. So, so much that Dean feels, this time, he might actually buckle beneath the weight of it. But needs to be strong now, stronger than he's ever been.
Dean shifts atop the sofa and pulls the overcoat tighter around him, burying his face into it's warmth and inhaling. It still smells like Cas, even though Sam's just washed it, even through soaking in the sewer water for who knows how long, it still smells like him. The scent is a mixture of warm Spring and crisp Autumn, the best of each season. The best of Castiel.
There is so much he wants to say, so much he should have said and now he doesn't know if he'll ever get the chance again. "Cas .. if you're out there, somewhere and you can hear me .. you better fight this, you got me? You fight this or I'll kick your ass, I swear to God." It's a lame attempt but it makes him feel better, thinking that maybe somewhere Cas might hear him, he hopes. He hopes.
"Cas .." The hunter chokes out, shoulders shaking, fingers clutching the overcoat tighter, "I fuckin' miss you, you son of a bitch."
In the morning the overcoat is gone, folded up neatly and tucked deep inside his duffle bag, buried beneath mounds of his own clothes. He says nothing to Sam about the coat when he comes down stairs, only inquires about his mental state, if he's doing alright. Sam gives him a small smile and nods. It's not much, what he'd managed to do, but it's something and Sam hopes that it gave Dean a small measure of comfort.
Dean just nods, regardless whether he believes his brother or not.
He has to stay strong. For Sam, and Bobby, and the rest of the world.
Cas or no Cas.
He'll break down later, when it's all over and the big bads have been put back in their place.
Right now they've got work to do.