A/N: Based on a fanart I saw on Pinterest that was probably from Tumblr! I don't know who the artist is, but all due credit to them! Set during early-to-mid season 4.
Snow flurried in the dark night, spiraling down in the glow of the streetlamps to settle onto the warm cement, where they melted instantly. More snowflakes drifted down by the thousands, millions, billions. Castiel watched them all in fascination. He had a vage notion that Uriel was speaking beside him, but honestly he couldn't have cared less.
He had still only been on Earth again for a few months now, and the sensations were nearly overwhelming. Castiel could feel that it was cold, and logically, he knew that it was, but he could not feel the cold itself.
It was odd, he thought, that he should look so similar to any human passing by in the dark street and yet be so completely different. Billions of humans, his father's beloved creations, walked the earth every day with their own thoughts and feelings and awarenesses. They each had different stories, different ideas, different consciousnesses. Every human was exceedingly different, and yet, so fundamentally similar.
It was truly astounding to consider, Castiel decided, and perhaps a little humbling. He thought he might be beginning to understand why his father had favored the humans so.
And while all seven billion of these flawed, beautiful beings invaded his mind, only one human managed to push past them all.
Dean Winchester.
Of course. Should he have been surprised? That one human being, somehow more flawed and damaged than all the others, but all the more beautiful for it. Another haunting aspect to consider. Bottle green eyes that either sparkled with humor or glinted with anger, a soul that shined brighter even than some nuns Castiel had known, and that was truly saying something. And yet, that beautiful, astounding creation refused to believe that he was such, that he even deserved to be saved.
Many times a day Castiel found himself wondering how he might make Dean Winchester understand how important, how beloved, he was. Not just to his brother, not just to the world, but to him. In fact, Castiel was a little frightened by how quickly he had found himself depending on those short moments alone with Dean. All of these things were human emotion, and he should not be capable of having them. But the more time he spent on Earth, the more he seemed to adopt these humans' natural behaviors.
He should be terrified of what was happening to him, and Castiel thought he might have been, had it not been for Dean. Dean was what made Castiel so confident that what was happening to him wasn't such a terrible thing, a thing to be afraid of. So Castiel was content to let it happen.
"Castiel!" Uriel glared at him as he startled out of his thoughts. Honestly, Castiel had forgotten that Uriel was even there, beside him on the bench in the cold, winter night air. Uriel did not look happy, more than likely because Castiel had been tuning him out for the last, oh, twenty minutes. Castiel would have bet that Uriel hadn't taken even a moment to appreciate the beauty of the world around them.
"Are you going to listen to me, or keep staring off into space? I'm trying to tell you about the Revelation I received, but you keep ignoring me. Care to explain?"
"Not particularly," Castiel answered testily.
Uriel's features darkened and Castiel began to think he might have overstepped a thin line he hadn't known existed.
"If you think . . ."
Cas . . .
". . . then so help me, our Father, I'll speak to our superiors about you! What, have you stopped listening again?" Uriel's enraged speech had been temporarily drowned out by the strength of the fear in the prayer Castiel had heard. He had, in thruth, tuned out again, but he didn't regret it.
Help me, Cas, Sam, somebody!
". . . of our Father, listen to me, Castiel!"
Oh, God, help me. Cas, please.
"Castiel!" But he had vanished, and Uriel had spoken to empty air.
Castiel now stood in a cheap motel room a few states away from where he had been, staring down at the writhing, tortured form of Dean Winchester. The bed beside it was empty and untouched, the other brother nowhere to be found. Castiel instantly suspected where Sam was, but that was not his concern. His concern was Dean.
The man lay beneath his covers, tense and shaking. His hands clenched the pillow beneath his head so tightly that Castiel thought the fabric might rip after too much longer. He was practically dripping in sweat and his face was clenched with the pain and terror of horrors long past. And still, he cried out.
"Help me, Cas, oh, God, please help me."
Castiel sighed, feeling for an instant as overpowered with sadness as the confines of his race would allow. This poor, beautiful, tortured, glorious human being should not have such horrors to face in dreams when sleep was his only respite from the horrors that faced him in life. For an instant, Castiel understood how cosmically unfair it was to place all of this on one human's shoulders.
Stepping forward quietly in the dark room, Castiel placed his palm against Dean's forehead. The whimpers and moans faded away as the angel guided Dean's tortured dreams into more pleasurable ones of a happy past, and perhaps even a happy future. Tense muscles relaxed and his hands released the pillow. His breathing eased and slowed.
Castiel pulled away, staring down at his charge.
"Dream sweet, Dean."