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Castiel was falling, tumbling, pitching head first towards the cold and unfeeling Earth. As the wind whistled past his ears, he took the few short seconds before his imminent death to contemplate his situation. As he tried to extend his wings, he remembered with a shock that they had just been ripped from his limp body in a ring of flames. He didn't have time to considered that fact as he plummeted further into the quiet night. He was falling ever faster and the ground grew closer, nearer, warmer, until-
Castiel jolted awake, covered in a sheet of cold sweat and a light blanket, breathing heavily. He looked around wildly at the shadowy unfamiliar surroundings. Peering over the edge of the bed he was laying in to make sure that he was on solid ground and not hurtling to his demise, he slowly caught his breath. Safety assured, Castiel swung his legs out of the covers and tip-toed around the sparse room, which he surmised to be in one of those motel things that Dean and Sam often stayed in. He made his way to the door in the dim light provided by the slits of moonlight peeking through the drawn blinds. He quietly exited his room, padded into the hallway, and listened.
At first, Castiel didn't hear anything. Realizing that he would have to work harder to achieve tasks his former angel self would have found easy, he closed his eyes, concentrated, and heard... Sam's distinct snoring from the room one door down.
Castiel made his way down the hall, depending on his weak hearing more than his weaker sight to find the right door. After grappling for a few seconds, he found the doorknob and slid into the unlocked room.
Sam was passed out on one of the two beds that lined one of the walls. A solitary lamp illuminated the slightly larger room with a soft glow. Beside the lamp in a worn armchair sat Dean, looking especially glum and completely oblivious to Castiel.
Castiel shifted awkwardly for a few moments until he moved further into the room, catching Dean's attention with a start.
"God, Cas, way to sneak up on me. Was the door unlocked? Dammit!" Dean studied Castiels' face. "What's wrong?"
"I- I was falling again," Castiel tucked his arms around himself. "I fell alseep... then fell from grace."
Dean sighed softly. "It was just a nightmare, Cas," he reassured. "You weren't really falling, you dreamed you did."
"Oh." Castiel puzzled for a moment "What's dreaming?"
Dean stared at Castiel incredulously. "You- You've never dreamed? Like, ever?"
"No. Is it always like falling?"
Dean motioned for Castiel to sit down. "Not always. Dreaming's different for everyone. Most people forget they're dreams when they wake up."
"Do you remember your dreams?" Castiel asked, ignoring Dean's gesture to sit.
"Some of them. I don't dream often, though. When I do dream, it's... confusing." He tensed and stopped talking, which did not escape Castiel's notice.
"What do you mean?"
Dean paused. "Never mind. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"
Castiel was silent. Dean couldn't help but think how much he looked like a child, standing in his rocket-ship pajamas with his toes turned in and his arms embracing himself. Dean had a sudden urge to hug the other man. He just looked like he really needed a good hug.
Not looking up from his feet, Castiel murmured, "Who do you dream about?"
"What?" Dean sputtered before Castiel cut him off.
"Do you dream about me?" Castiel hadn't meant to say anything, but the question just slipped out. He murmured it so quietly, Dean had to take a few seconds to process what he heard, then a few more to grasp the meaning.
"I- yes." No use denying, Dean thought. "Once. When you... were gone. I dreamed you spoke to me, told me that everything was alright. I woke up when you.. When you tried to touch my face." Dean took a breath as Castiel watched on. "I was so angry with you- with myself that I dreamed about you that when I woke up... that I..." Dean couldn't continue.
Cas kneeled on the floor next to the bent over man. "You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry I asked. I just wanted to know... I was being selfish. I'm sorry."
Dean stopped his companions apologies. "It's fine. I'm fine. Just exhausted." To prove the point, he rubbed his hands across his face with a gigantic yawn. "Don't worry, Cas. I'll be alright."
Castiel looked like he wanted to say more, but kept his mouth closed. Still kneeling next to the beaten armchair, he ached to be closer to Dean, to comfort himself with his touch, to rest his head on his shoulder and fall into a dreamless sleep. When he was an angel, he had felt this urge sometimes, but it had heightened over the past month, after his fall. Lately, he had been thinking about what Dean's body would feel like in his hands, how he would react to his touch. Castiel tried to push these thoughts out of his head, but sometimes his human desires outweighed his morals. When this happened, Castiel would punish himself. An angel would never think so sinfully, but he was no angel. When he remembered this, he would punish himself more, and he would give up, empty and sore.
Now more than ever, Castiel wanted to reach out and close the gap between him and Dean. Through Castiel's silent reverie, Dean watched him through half-closed eyelids. Before he passed out entirely, he groaned, lifted himself with a squeak from the battered armchair and said to the kneeling man, "Hey, Cas, I'm turning in for the night, so, uh, you're welcome to stay here and, um..."
While Dean was gesticulating, Castiel looked up with the most pitiful expression on his face. "What if the nightmare returns?" His question was almost a whimper.
Dean regarded Castiel, saw the fear and pain in his wide blue eyes, and decided he couldn't leave him alone. At least, not tonight.
"Aw, hell. Get in here." Dean pulled Castiel up off the carpet and dragged him by his waist to the unoccupied bed. Castiel sighed and nearly melted into Dean's body.
"God, Cas, you need some sleep." Castiel just sighed again and nodded as Dean tucked him in and slid next to him.
"You better not kiss me awake, or I swear to God-" Dean stopped, for Castiel had already fallen asleep in his arms. "Son of a bitch," Dean smiled to himself as he snuggled down next to his fallen angel.