This version of Sam hovered as incessantly as his own, and despite his many concerns it was almost enough to make him smile. Some things, he supposed, never changed. Castiel wondered if she also frowned as disapprovingly as his own Sam. Dean called it the bitchface, and Cas had always considered that to be rather amusing. Not that he would admit it.
It took him a moment to digest all those comments and questions, and he didn't even want to wrap his head around the most prevalent thing that he'd presented with: that there was another him here. A secondary Castiel. So mind boggling was it, Castiel decided not to think on it at all. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. First: do not die.
"A few hours," he said finally, trying to get down to the issue at hand. He was still analytical, and this might actually help him. Sam, he knew, was equally logical at times and so could only be an advantageous ally in a situation of this sort. "Everything happened," and okay, he said it a bit snappishly but he couldn't go around explaining his life story to everyone who asked while he was dying. "But nothing here. I haven't done anything--" he winced suddenly, his stomach making a terrible growling noise, loud enough to disrupt his speech.
Stunned, Castiel blinked at that, as if suddenly catching a clue. Apparently, hunger felt like death. It was embarrassingly dramatic.