Castiel was feeling more than a little useless. With his broken arm and the rest of his injuries, it generally hurt to move. For an angel who was unused to this kind of pain, especially lasting pain and injuries, this was more than just frustrating.

He was useless like this. He couldn't heal. He couldn't do much moving around, and Dean was growing as tired of Cas' complaints as Cas was growing of this motel room. Daytime tv could only occupy for so long.

He shifted in the bed when Dean left, wondering if he had finally grown sick enough that he was going to leave Castiel alone here to drive himself mad.

The angel shifted to a sitting position, attempting to disguise his wince and the noise that came with it by reaching for the bag. Oh. Broken arm. Yes. That was still a thing that hurt.

He set his teeth and dragged the dufflebag closer regardless, switching arms to open it with his good one and peer inside. At least he was being quiet now.

Dean's less worried about the broken arm than he his the eight inch gash along his midsection. Just because it was stitched up and Cas wasn't bleeding on the floor didn't mean they were entirely out of the woods yet. There was still a great chance for infection, which was largely why they'd been holed up in the same hotel room since the accident, rather than leaving.

Actually, Cas's bandages probably needed changed tonight, while he's on the subject, but it could wait until later this evening. The angel couldn't exactly do it himself with a broken arm, and Dean's done his fair share of mending- on both himself, Sam, and his Dad in the past.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling when Stupid tried to reach forward with his broken arm, shook his head but didn't say anything. It was like watching a kid stick a fork in a light socket. Sure, you could tell them not to, but the only way they're really gonna learn is through experience. Cas needed this, to figure out what not to do in the future. Avoiding pain was something most humans learned in childhood, through bumps and scrapes. Cas was going to have to figure it out the hard way.

He rounded the bed, hopped up on it beside Cas, completely inconsiderate to jostling him.

"Gun maintenance. You're gonna learn to clean 'em, how they work, and then how to shoot 'em. You can't exactly go all smitey on shit now, time to fall back on Old Faithful."

Infection doesn't really occur to Castiel. Just like calling an ambulance had not. They were things he knew about, but did not think about because they had never much mattered to him before now.

The jostle of the bed had Castiel giving Dean a look that, really, was not that distinguishable from his usual looks. But it was there regardless. Ow. Again.

"I know how to fire a weapon." He did. He had done so before, and his aim had been good, despite preferring the simpler methods of his abilities. But that did not mean he understood them the way Dean did or knew their intricacies.

"I do not understand how guns relate to a pressurized spring's release of steam from the earth." But he was picking up one of the guns and inspecting it critically. (This time with his uninjured arm. Good angel. Learn through negative reinforcement)