Dean really freaking hates wendigoes.
Carefully arranging himself against the Impala's wheel, he closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. “Hey, it’s okay, Cas."
Feeling two fingers on his forehead, he shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy, but that doesn’t work anymore.”
Reopening his eyes and taking in Cas’s deathly pale appearance and wide eyes, he repeats, “Hey, it’s okay. These things just happen, sometimes. We both did good."
Hearing the trunk close, he carefully turns to look at Sam. "Dammit, Sammy, I told you to bring the dissolvable stitches.”
"I told you before we left that Kevin needed them, and a new order won't come in until-"
Waving Sam quiet, he turns his hand over and holds it up. “Cas, take my hand."
“C’mon, Cas. I promise, when you’re in my position, I’ll let you test your grip on my hand, okay?”
After Cas complies, Sam starts stitching, and Cas barely flinches when Dean reacts to the antiseptic hitting his wound.
When he’s all stitched up, he exhales and lets go. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You make a half-decent squeeze toy." He winks. “Your hand still in one piece?”
Taking a breath, Cas answers, "Yes."