A/N: Written for week 17 of SPN Hiatus Creations on tumblr. Prompt: Team Free Will or Team Free Will 2.0.
Castiel liked staying in the bunker with the Winchesters, though he wasn't very fond of the nights. Sure, usually he would watch TV, or read some of the books in the bunker, but he missed his friends. Funny how he could witness the entirety of human history and not feel the slightest bit of impatience, but a few hours away from his family and he no longer knew what to do with himself.
Nights were difficult for his friends. He knew that. Oftentimes they'd barely sleep. He'd hear them awake, pacing, tossing, turning, crying out from nightmares. He so often wished to go to them, to knock on their doors, to let them know he was there. But he never did, knew that humans valued their privacy.
Those nights he was there to hear them they knew he was around, but they never sought him for comfort, never even sought each other. Just suffered in silence. They never spoke of it, so Castiel never spoke of it.
On one of those nights he was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how Dean liked to organize the fridge and what sort of essentials the Winchesters might need. Sam had mentioned going on a supply run soon, and Castiel thought he might try and be of help, especially since they were in between cases and had yet to find another.
Sam was awake. That much was obvious. He hadn't gone to bed. Castiel had heard him pacing and when he wasn't doing that there was the gentle whisper of pages of being turned. Dean had gone to sleep, and he was having a nightmare. Castiel wondered what it was about, but knew he'd never get an answer if he asked. Sometimes he went in their dreams, but tonight he would refrain from that.
Sam ended up wandering, his footsteps reaching only Castiel's ears. The Winchester eventually ended up in the kitchen, and Castiel closed the fridge and straightened upon seeing him.
"Hey, Cas," he greeted, as if it were completely normal to be up at such a time.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Sam shrugged and grabbed a clean mug that had been left out on the table to dry. Castiel sat down as his friend started to fiddle with the coffee machine.
"Didn't even bother trying," he elaborated. "One of those nights, you know?"
Sam leaned against the counter to face him, arms crossed as the coffee brewed. "Well, I suppose those are all your nights."
"But I don't get tired like you do."
A half smile from Sam, but then his face fell, showing how tired he really was. "God, sometimes I wish I could be like that. I hate sleeping."
"You said it," Dean stated, suddenly entering the kitchen. Castiel had heard him wake up and had known he was approaching.
He went over to the fridge to grab a beer, and it was impossible to ignore that his face was flushed, eyes red-rimmed.
"So what is this?" Dean asked once he'd had a sip. "Slumber party?"
"Dean, maybe-" Castiel began, but was cut off with a glare.
"What?"
"Maybe you shouldn't drink that."
"It's not like the crap Sam's drinking. That's gonna keep him up, and I don't hear you scolding him."
Sam was still getting his cup ready, and Castiel sighed. Dean had a point. Neither of them were making healthy decisions, but that was what they did.
"I worry about you sometimes," Castiel intoned. "Both of you."
"We're fine," Sam easily lied before sitting down across from Castiel, cup of coffee in hand. Dean also sat down, taking the seat next to him.
"Definitely."
Dean's statement was followed by a long swallow of beer and Castiel sighed, and barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at them. At first he hadn't realized just how unhealthy the Winchesters were at times, but in his time spent being human, he'd learned. It was hard watching them go through this. Maybe if they got more sleep they'd suffer a little less. A good night's sleep could go a long way.
But he supposed nightmares were the price of saving the world.
They sat in silence for a bit, just enjoying each other's company, and then Castiel finally asked, feeling something painful deep down even without the worries of humanity plaguing him: "Do you think we'll ever be okay?"
He had expected Dean to laugh at the question, but he remained silent. Sam frowned.
"I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes… Sometimes I can picture it. Us, in the future, no monster hunting to do, no world-ending problems to take care of, and… and we're happy."
"I see a beach," Dean said. "Swim trunks, tans, booze, sand getting in irritating places, lotta sun. Just the three of us."
Castiel tried to picture what they were. Freedom from responsibility, relaxation. He smiled a little at the thought. But it seemed so far away, unreachable. Maybe for him it was, but he didn't want it to be for his family.
"You two deserve that," he told him.
"Hey, so do you," Dean said, squeezing his shoulder.
"I don't know," he replied. "I've done a lot of wrong."
Sam gestured at himself, an incredulous look plastered on his face. "And I haven't?" Now he pointed at his brother. "Dean hasn't? We've all done crap we're not proud of, and yeah, we suffer for it, but we suffer for the other stuff too, for doing the right thing. Sometimes that's just the price of living, you get dealt the short hand, but I want to believe that there's more than that. I have to, Cas."
"There'd better be more than this" Dean said. He looked down in his bottle, which he'd already drained. "And more of this," he added, tapping his fingers against the glass.
Castiel felt dark when Dean got up to get another bottle, but he said nothing, just rested his head in his hands.
More silence between them, but he could feel Sam's eyes on him.
"Cas, you okay?"
He lifted his head up, taking in Sam's worried gaze, and now Dean shared that concerned look.
He searched through his vocabulary, all the many words he knew in english, and enochian, and still he couldn't seem to find the right way to convey what he was feeling. They'd brought the Apocalypse, turned away from Heaven, they'd saved the world, over and over again, they'd saved each other. And still there was more evil out there, maybe because of them, maybe not. It seemed like too much evil, and when Castiel thought about it he felt like he was getting crushed by the insurmountable weight of it. Funny to think that a powerful, celestial being felt tiny and insignificant in the grand scheme of things and in the face of so much wrong, so much violence, and hurt. Wasn't he supposed to be able to do something about it?
"I'm tired," he eventually said.
The Winchesters didn't ask him to elaborate, just gave him sympathetic looks and reassuring pats that he cherished. But he saw in their eyes that they felt the same. They understood.
They were all tired.
Without saying more they eventually all parted ways. Dean drank himself to sleep, and Sam stayed up till it was nearly dawn. Castiel waited.
He knew things were always darker without the sun shining down on the world, knew the blackness felt oppressive and unending.
But the sun did rise, and his friends woke up to a new day. And they smiled at each other. They'd get their day eventually, their day of fun and relaxation without a care holding them down, ocean waves stealing the weight from their shoulders, sand scratching against unmarked skin that Castiel healed time and time again.
They had their problems, they had their struggles, their strife, their turmoil, their anguish, but over anything else, they had each other. After everything, that was what mattered. Family.