Work Text:
The telltale flapping of wings could be heard, but no one was awake to hear it.
So how could Castiel have been called if Dean werent awake to do so?
The angel cocked his head in confusion. He himself couldnt sleep, so he couldnt have dreamed he had heard his best friend call a very clear, "Cas, help." He had not thought of it in his mind, since the mind and prayers are clearly seperated. He walked over to the sleeping hunter, in fact, the only sleeping hunter in the old motel room. It was peculiar; ever since Sam had thrown himself into the Pit, even him,Castiel, felt as if something were missing. He knew that emotions were looked down upon in angels, but he couldnt help it. It was slightly lonesome without the younger Winchester boy not calling him everytime a case had a bump in the road.
Even worse, he knew how horribly Dean had been taking it. He watched from afar as the elder Winchester drunk his anger and sorrows away, not knowing what to say to make Dean feel better. He only could wish he knew how. He cared for Dean more than anything else.
Castiel was ripped away from his thoughts when he heard his friend whimpering. Dean, who went to hell and back; Dean, who usually shows no emotion; Dean, the so-called tough one, whimpered.
"Sam," Dean mumbled. "Castiel... come back."
The hunter began to squirm around, tangling himself in sheets. His cheeks shined, as they were wet with tears. The angel bent down, realizing what was happening. Dean was having a nightmare, but what was it about? Ignoring the fact that this was probably invasion of privacy, Castiel reached with two fingers to touch Dean's forehead, then closed his eyes. Images began forming in his head.
They were back at the cemetary in Lawerence. Cas watched as his brother, Lucifer, killed him in a shower of ichor and guts. He watched as Sam threw himself into the Pit along with Michael. He registered feelings such as helplessness and misery.
Castiel removed his hand away from Dean, taking pity in the hunter. He couldnt imagine half the things Dean was feeling. He knew he couldnt exactly cure Dean's depressed state, but he could do something. Again, Cas reached with two fingers to touch the restless hunter's forehead, just to rid of his nightmares. Soon enough, the whimpering ceased and Dean's breathing pattern was normal. No more night terrors to haunt him, at least for tonight.
The angel sat on the adjacent bed, watching his friend sleep for a bit. 'This is only really going to stop if Sam gets back, ' he brainstormed. For Dean, Cas would try as hard as he possibly could to do just that.
And not even Hell itself could stop him.