"I don't know a Hood, I'm sorry." He couldn't answer that question for Sam, but maybe he could find someone who might be able to. There was a blonde man in the medical ward now, who seemed very nice despite his rather war-torn face. Maybe Castiel could ask him the next time he saw him. "Dean's leg is healing well. It would be better if he would stay off of it."
But when did Dean ever listen? As Castiel had pointed out once, he seemed to do the exact opposite of whatever he was asked. Maybe Castiel should ask him to run around and pay no mind to his leg. Maybe then Dean would rest properly.
"It wasn't a pitchfork." The joke was lost on Cas. "But you have had worse." They could agree on that much, at least. Turning, he pressed the button (a careful lesson had been required to teach him to do this) to raise the back of that bed up just a little, to help Sam sit upright. Then he reached for the fresh glass of water sitting on the small table near the bed and offered it out to the patient. "Drink slowly."
He would wait to answer the youngest Winchester's question until Sam seemed to have his fill, then he would finally answer-- but only once the other man gave him a prompting look. Oh. Right.
"I'm fine." Of course he was fine. He wasn't the one in a hospital bed. He'd taken quite a bit of damage down planetside, but he'd been more than capable of healing himself.
He was, as predicted, without a scratch.
Sam, though, would have to pardon the way his brother's Angel stared so openly and intensely at him. The hunter was from another time, he was younger, and it was something Castiel could see. He'd been watching Sam all this time, sleeping in that bed, and had gotten used to the differences, but as soon as he'd opened his mouth, the Angel had become transfixed once again. No worries, he'd get over it and the novelty would wear off shortly.