Author's Note: This is the first Destiel thing I've ever written. Just a drabble, written in ten minutes. Hope you like it.
Nightmares
He has nightmares about lakes.
Long tan trench coats. Unruly dark hair. And a pair of dazzling blue eyes.
He shakes his head. There's no time for thoughts like this—he's being stupid, and weak. He grabs the glass on the table, glares at the amber liquid inside as though it's offended him, then lifts the glass to his lips. Tilting his head back, he downs the rest of its contents.
Restless, he gets to his feet and walks out of the small house.
Wandering between the trees just outside, he looks up at the sky. A few stars are visible. He stares at them for a while. Wonders if the angels are still up there, if anyone still listens.
And then he prays.
He prays because he doesn't know how much longer he can handle it. Because every time he closes his eyes, he sees that other pair of eyes staring right back at him. Because he regrets never saying anything.
No one answers. Is it because no one is listening? Or is it because no one cares?
What's the difference?
He prays aloud until his voice is hoarse. The cold starts getting to him, and he finally goes back inside. Drops into bed.
He shouldn't be letting thoughts like these get to him. There are leviathans to hunt down. Monsters that he's never faced before. Monsters that he doesn't know how to kill.
Slowly he spirals downward toward unconsciousness. He welcomes the fog that blankets his mind, the sluggish feeling that descends over his limbs.
Still, he has nightmares about lakes.