In lieu of an answer, Castiel tips Dean's head to the side, lips thinning as he sees the skin around one of many stings, white and cold and spreading.

He places his hand directly against the wound, infusing as much grace as he dares before pulling back and watching the skin momentarily pink up before returning back to white.

"I don't understand," he murmurs, voice tight with fear. "Dean, we're flying home. Close your eyes but do not sleep, do you understand me?"