[ He has to let go of him to thread it, keeping a close eye on the wound as he does so. Dean's question is probably meant as a distraction, but he doesn't know what to offer him besides the slightly shake of his head. Nothing useful--no supplies, no food or weapons. He thinks it's going to be a dangerous war when it actually breaks, but the only evidence of that thought is the slight tension in his mouth.

There's a huff of breath at the challenge too. ]

All right. Then I'll be sure to give the patient exactly what he wants.

[ Even if he's teasing, it's not going to be easy. At least the actually cut isn't too terribly jagged, steeling himself before setting to work on stitching him up. He goes quickly, efficiently. Before, he'd thought this form of care archaic and unnecessary; with being able to simply heal any injuries as an angel, there hadn't been any point. But he'd had to learn it after he lost his grace, basic field dressings too. Castiel still carries the scars from his particularly bad first attempts at sewing himself up. Still, that was a long time ago, and he's strangely good at this now, keeping each stitch small and uniform as he goes along.

Once he's done, has the knot tied and is cutting the excess with the tip of a knife also kept on the box, he looks at him with a smirk. ]

There's a very good chance you're going to live.