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After the fall of the angels, Castiel had stayed with Sam and Dean. He’d tried to make himself useful by hunting with them instead of being a burden on their shoulders. Although the days were calm, as they had the same repeated routine (hunt, eat, sleep), the lightness that usually took existence was gone. They all felt completely weighed down; the days would feel endlessly tiring and exhausting.
And the nights were filled with Cas’s screams.
At the beginning, his screams were piercing and woke everyone up, himself included. He would spring up from his bed, eyes shot open in a sweaty state as he would try to heave air back into his lungs. Sam and Dean would burst through the door, guns up. They always had bed head and baggy eyes, but nonetheless they ran to the door as soon as the scream reached their ears.
On the first night, they’d stay with him. After realizing there’s no real threat, Sam would get Cas a glass of water and Dean would sit by his bed. He’d rub his eyes and ruffle his hair, trying to think of what he could possibly say to help ease the pain that the former-angel was in. Sam would sit nearby in silence. Neither of the brothers had any idea what they could do to help.
On the second night, they tried to talk about what Cas was experiencing.
“What do you see?” Sam spoke up after a few minutes of silent panting filling the room.
Cas wouldn’t look them in the eyes at first. He’d stare down at his bed, glass of water in his hands, a look of remorse and fear across his face. Sam had asked the question again, but quieter and discouraged.
After a few moments, Cas had told them. He told them how he still hears the angels at night. How the angel radio in his mind still works. He hears their screams and calls for help. He hears how they’re confused, how they’re lost. He hears it all. He hears the cacophony of voices and pleas and cries and he can’t get it out of his head.
On another night, he’d told them about what he sees in his dreams. He’d told them about how he relives the night the angels fell, every time in greater detail. He sees their wings burning into the sky as they descend, how it seems as though they are calling out Castiel’s name, not in hope but in anger and confusion. He sees them fall, every night, again and again. He sees them. And he relives the moment his grace was taken from him. He feels it leaving his body, piercing his hope.
After those confessions, they stopped asking. And Cas begged them to let him be. After weeks of this recurrence, Castiel told them that it’s okay. He told them to block out the noises that come from his room for they deserve to rest and to sleep instead of catering to him at the earliest hours of the morning. The brothers were hesitant about this, not wanting to abandon their friend in some way, but the pleading in Cas’s voice and eyes had broken them.
So they had said okay. Cas forced a smile that night. Upon his tear-stained cheeks he forced a smile to convince the brothers that he was okay and didn’t need their nesting every night.
Now, Sam and Dean are trying to keep that promise. They’re trying to stop themselves from leaping out of bed and to their friend’s aid. Listening to Cas attempt to hide his bellows tears them apart more than they could imagine but burdening him with un-needed guilt is the last thing they want to do. Every night, the Winchester brothers squeeze their nails deep in their skin, shove their faces into their pillows, and try to fall back into the temporary escape of sleep.
Until Dean can’t take it anymore.
He lies wide awake on his bed staring up at the gray ceiling, arms by his side. After weeks, Castiel’s screams are quieter, less frequent, and followed only by gentle sobbing. But it’s enough to make Dean want to rip up the sky and rearrange the stars in order for Cas to be happy.
And when he hears the angstiest cry of the past week, he lets go of his promise. Dean leaves his room, he enters Cas’s room, closes the door behind him, and he does exactly what his bones have been aching to do. He doesn’t ask Cas to talk about it, he doesn’t ask him to just try to sleep, he doesn’t feed him some bullshit. He rearranges the stars for Cas. He lies on the bed with him, and he holds him.
“Dean,” Castiel whispers once his breathing calms down. He sounds confused and in denial, trying to grasp why the hunter is holding him so.
Dean has his arms around him and he only squeezes tighter. He always hugs like it’s the last time and so he holds onto the angel, resting his chin upon his shoulder and closing his eyes.
After a few seconds of unsuccessful resistance, Cas stops fighting it with his body, and instead he just lets go. He melts into Dean’s arms. He says his name again. “Dean.” Not in a way of anguish and refusal, as though he doesn’t deserve any of the warmth; this time his voice shakes when he says his name in a feeling of desperate need, but the warmth wraps around him and finally, the broken pieces inside Cas stop cutting him. He may not feel strong, but in Dean’s arms, he feels held together.
--
This ends up happening every night that Cas needs it. Around three times a week, Castiel wakes up from his nightmares, sweating and panting, and before he can even begin to cry, Dean is there. He’s there and he grabs Cas and hugs him and holds him and lies in the bed with him until their breathing is one and they’re both lost in sleep.
Sometimes, when the dreams are horridly vivid, Dean speaks softly in his ears.
“It’s okay.” He whispers.
“I’ve got you.” He comforts.
“Cas.” He breathes.
They fall asleep in Cas’s bed on most nights, often with him wrapped loosely in Dean’s arms.
--
After a while the nightmares stop, the angel radio dies out, and the nights are no longer filled with Cas’s screams and cries. After a while, they all stop. But Dean doesn’t. He lies with Cas every night, and wakes up to him every morning. Sometimes he thinks that he needs it more than Cas does, spending the nights together like this. But he knows he’s wrong. For they both need it. They both need this balance in their battleful lives. This one sacred thing that they can share without the world ripping at them.
And so, every night, the green-eyed boy joins his flightless bird and they hold onto each other like it’s the only thing keeping them alive. And sometimes, it is.
And on one night, a night filled with booze and need and want, their lips find each other, and the stars in their sky rearrange.