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Castiel would bounce back. He always did. Dean wasn't really worried about that. No, it was just a little inconvenient to have a comatose angel in your motel room. It was too easy to forget he was there. He was scary quiet, and Dean was used to it just being him and Sam. He kept almost chucking his bag or a magazine or other things onto the bed out of habit. Plus, he felt like he was going to turn around any minute and find Cas gone. He figured the angel would pop off without a word once he regained consciousness… the dick. But as the minutes turned into hours turned into days, the annoyance waned. By day 3, he started to feel a little uneasy. But that was silly because Castiel would be fine. He always was.
Since they'd placed Cas on Dean's bed, he'd been left with a lose-lose situation. Either he slept next to his brother or on the floor. He might've chosen the floor, but Sam always jabbered on about the importance of rest. So, he ended up sleeping next to Sammy. Honestly, it brought back memories from their childhood of sharing a bed in cramped motels. Of course, Sam took up much more space now and was still a blanket hog. By the end of the second night, Dean was officially ready for this to be over. He was tempted to throw Cas onto the floor or stuff him into the trunk of his car so they could leave this stupid town. But he didn't do either of those things and just grumbled to himself.
Sam was annoyingly perceptive about the whole thing and tried three times to start a "talk" over it.
"I just... I feel like you're worried and-"
"I swear Sam, if you bring this up one more time, I will smash your head through this flimsy ass wall."
"...Alright then."
Dean was definitely, a thousand percent, not worried. Castiel would be fine. He was just annoyed about how inconvenient it all was.
The fourth day, Sam left to go buy some (likely wildly unhealthy) fast food, and Dean was left alone with the resident sack of potatoes. He tried to keep himself distracted with magazines and shitty tv, but he kept glancing over at Cas. Suddenly it was impossible to forget he was there. The quiet felt too loud and the stillness made Dean restless. Worst of all, once he noticed that there was still dried blood on Castiel’s upper lip and brow (and probably some in his hair at this point), it was impossible to ignore. Dean glared at it. Something about the sight made him uncomfortable.
So, just because the idea of blood on an angel was weird and for no other reason, Dean got a wet hand towel and sat down next to Cas. Carefully, he started wiping the blood away. It was the sort of thing Dean had done countless times for himself and Sam, but it felt odd to do to someone who wasn't conscious. Or maybe it just felt odd to do it to Cas. He wasn't supposed to need this sort of care, after all. He was still an angel, even with less mojo.
When he had just about finished and was about to retract his arm, Cas moved. He tilted his head towards the warmth of Dean's hand, pressing into his palm. For some reason, a cold fear sprung up inside Dean. He held his breath, though he couldn't say what for. But Cas didn't open his eyes or move again. He stayed silent, still. And suddenly the idea that he might never move or open his eyes again was a little too real. Dean remained frozen there for an indeterminate amount of time, frowning hard at the sleeping angel before him. But he didn't dare move away. That is until he heard the telltale sound of keys turning in the door. Then he was on his feet and halfway across the room before Sam had even cracked the door open.
Cas woke up the next morning. Dean elected to stuff the experience away somewhere he didn't have to think about it.