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Dean wakes up to Cas, in extremely obvious pain, screaming his name loud enough to make his ears ring.
The sound is enough to have him jerking upright, suddenly alert and wide-eyed. He looks around frantically for Cas, but finds nothing in the darkness of his room. Nothing changes when he turns on a light. His hands are steady as he grabs the knife he keeps at his bedside and steps out of bed. The floor is cold against his socked feet.
“Cas?”
No response.
Dean walks towards his door, body tense. In the back of his mind he knows he might have just hallucinated the noise, he’s done it before with Emma crying, or Sam in pain, but never at this volume. It’s always been whispers of noise that barely fill the too-quiet spaces, never something this loud.
He’s just crossed the threshold of his bedroom when he hears it again, not as loud but twice as desperate, and one hundred percent Cas. It’s in his head, like it had been when Cas first lured Dean down to the basement all those months ago, but still very real. Dean can hear the tears in Cas’ voice, and that has Dean almost running to Cas’ room which, thankfully, isn’t far from his own. The door isn’t locked because it never is, Cas hates the idea of being locked in anywhere, even his own space, but it is mostly closed, and Dean cautiously nudges it open with his foot. Low light from the hallway spills into the room.
Cas is laying in the center of his bed, covers kicked down around his feet. His chest is heaving, and bloody tear-streaks are running down his face. He’s whimpering half-formed words, pleas that taper off into hitching breaths and little sobs.
He’s trapped is what he is. In a flashback or a bad dream Dean doesn’t know, but trapped all the same.
Slowly, Dean advances. He sets the knife he’d grabbed on Cas’ side table, he won’t be needing that, and gently shakes Cas’ shoulder.
Cas’ eyes snap open, glowing and full of fear, until his gaze locks on Dean, and Dean can feel every tense muscle in the angel’s body unlock a bit. He breathes Dean’s name like it’s a prayer, and Dean feels unworthy.
“Hey Cas,” he says softly. Cas’ hair is messy and pillow-smushed, Dean kind of wants to see if it’s as soft as it looks. “Nightmare?”
Nightmare, Cas confirms in an echoing thought, broadcasted into Dean’s mind because he can’t seem to bring himself to speak. Bloody tears mark Cas’ cheeks, and his breath hitches as he struggles to calm himself down.
“Hey,” Dean murmurs, “hey, it’s okay. Breathe, Cas, just breathe.” He ducks his head a bit to catch Cas’ eyes. “Whatever you saw, it’s not real.”
Cas nods, but his eyes are still fear-wide, and he hasn’t quite caught his breath yet. It was so cold. And dark.
Without a second thought, Dean reaches out and hits the light on Cas’ bedside table. A warm glow brightens the room, and Cas lets out a relieved breath, then sinks back into his mattress. He reaches up and wipes at the bloody tears on his face. They come off surprisingly easily. The glow in Cas’ eyes is slowly disappearing too, dimming as he recovers from the nightmare and his sudden awakening, like the slowing of a heartbeat.
“Thank you for waking me,” Cas finally rasps after a second. His voice is clogged with emotions, all rough and gravelly. “That was unpleasant.”
They always are, Dean thinks, and Cas laughs once, quietly, then nods his head in agreement.
They sit in silence for a moment as the tension of Cas’ dream ebbs from the room. Neither of them speak, they just breathe, and Cas watches the light, then moves his attention to Dean.
“You’re okay now?” Dean asks after a second. He’d happily stay in Cas’ room as long as Cas wants, but he had a feeling that the angel probably doesn’t want Dean intruding in the middle of the night.
“I think so,” Cas replies. Dean shifts, about to stand up, when more words ring through his head. Please don’t go.
Dean stops.
“Is everything okay?” Cas asks, and that’s when Dean realizes that Cas might not be aware of what exactly he… for lack of a better word, transmitted.
“Yeah.” He pauses and decides to weight his options before speaking again. “Do you want me to stay?”
For a long few seconds, Cas doesn’t reply. He looks at Dean with a little spark of worry in his eyes, like he thinks this might somehow be a test or a trick. Then he nods twice, and his lips move in a please that doesn’t quite make it to his voice.
“Alright,” Dean says, and climbs into bed next to Cas. He’s not going to sit on the floor all night, and he swears that he can almost feel Cas’ grace tugging at him, pulling him closer. Either way, Cas doesn’t protest. If anything, he relaxes even more, and allows Dean to settle into place. It feels right, laying next to Cas, and even more so when Cas ends up in his arms. Apparently he has no qualms against cuddling up to Dean, or being the little spoon.
It suits Dean just fine. He’ll take it, whatever Casis willing to give him, even if it’s just tonight.
Would it be so bad to want this every night, under different circumstances? To want it to be because of love instead of comfort? The thought of Cas in bed with him, warm and comfortable and in Dean’s arms, almost feels like a dream.
But what would Sam think?
Shit, what would Cas think? Aren’t angels supposed to be against that kind of stuff?
But, from what he’s said, it doesn’t sound like Cas is all too similar to other angels.
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says softly, into the darkness.
“Night, buddy.” I think I might love you. Dean squeezes Cas’ arm a bit, it’s warm and firm. “Sleep well.”
Both of them do.