I just started thinking and got hit across the face by feelings. Decided to make a one-shot of it.

Dream-Catcher

I had been in Dean's dreams before, multiple times before actually, and I continued to stalk into his late-night escapes long after the one time I used it to contact him. I know that some may say it's an invasion of privacy to snoop through the dreams of a human but I don't do it to snoop. Please understand that and let me explain.

Centuries have passed by just aimlessly admiring the work of my Father. I've spent centuries just watching these humans express themselves and evolve and adapt and I've had my few interactions with them, sometimes against the advice of my brothers and sisters, but something changed when I was commanded to raise a man from Hell. Why would any of the damned souls down there be of any significance or worth? They're there for a reason, right? However, the soul I was sent to raise from perdition was pure. Amongst all the scar tissue and tears, it was righteous and just and loving. You don't find souls like his in Hell everyday, you just don't.

Then, I hear him say things like he didn't deserve to be saved and that he was just an average guy. Why him? The soul that became the one exception in the pits of Hell, couldn't understand why he deserved to be saved. The second I came to this realization (which happened to be within twenty minutes of coming to him, face to face) I felt something rise in me. From then on, I knew that his safety was my responsibility. Go ahead, tell me that angels don't have emotions. Regardless, something rose and it was never the same.

After the encounter with Anna, I tried my best to steer clear of him and Sam. They didn't understand an angel's duty and they were rightfully angry. Still, I couldn't help but sneak down every now and then to make sure Dean was alright. I made sure to keep my visits limited to when he was asleep, as to not start another misunderstanding, and there were times I would press my fingers against his forehead to calm his tossing and turning but, at first, I refused to go digging in his personal subconsciousness.

The first time I invited myself to his dreams was his following birthday. Sam decided to split up to different towns because of a rise in activity but his job took longer than he expected and couldn't make it back in time for Dean's birthday. Dean, feeling alone and abandoned, had a few too many drinks (six too many, to be exact) and took a rather bad beating from a flight of stairs. He was out by the time I zapped him back to his room and, by the looks of it, it wasn't a pleasant sleep either. I really did intend to just press my fingers against his forehead once again but the previous three weeks were already filled with nightmares and here he is tossing and turning and sweating and grunting again. Why do the horrors of his reality have to follow him to his dreams? Those are supposed to be his safe place. I had to know what kept him scared, even in his dreams, so I went inside.

I'm still in his hotel room but I'm not the only one either. Sam and Bobby are on either side of Dean, waiting for him to blow out the candles on what looks like a birthday pie.

"Are you gonna make a wish or get wax all over the pie?" Sam asks Dean, punching him in the shoulder.

"Shut it." Dean retorts before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. As soon as he blows it out things change, though. He's thrown on to the table and held down by Sam and Bobby when, all of a sudden, Alastair pops in.

"Good to see you again, Dean." He greets with a tongue soaked in acid, destroying everything in it's path.

"What did you do to them, Alastair?" Dean demands, strenuously.

"Can't you see?" The demon pauses to close the space between them. "You're never going to escape me. Whether you're in Hell or on earth means nothing, I'll always get to you."

Knowing that I shouldn't interact with Dean in his dreams, I zap myself back to the real world. He's tossing more violently now and it takes awhile to get him still enough to heal him but even after my touch should have calmed him, he still seems upset. I decide to stay with him for the night and leave right before he wakes.

My late-night visits were never meant to invade his privacy. I saw his bare soul. I've healed his body forwards and backwards and memorized every nook and cranny of his body while doing so. How would you expect anyone to not feel a sense of responsibility for the safety of the person they know better than any other creature on this planet?

Dean fights demons and ghosts and angels and everything else that goes bump in the night, every single day. When there's work to be done, he's doing it—even when he only had a year to live. It didn't feel right to let these things follow him to his most personal space. He deals with it enough when he's awake.

It's no secret that I've faltered and lost my way. I've made mistake after mistake and I'm not proud of it but these visits are the one continuous thing that I've done right for the past four years. Even when Dean wanted nothing to do with me, I made sure his dreams were safe. Because that's what friends do. They keep each other safe.

Hope you enjoyed.

Reviews make me happy. ~