The chintzy decorations of the roadside motel room were completely lost in darkness. Pale moonlight gleamed through the curtain seams, casting elongated shadows across the only occupied bed. The cheap, wool blanket was bunched along the base of the bed, only kept off the floor by the length tucked in between the thin mattress and box spring.
Dean Winchester moved fitfully from side to side. Small little whimpers accompanied the sudden movements and tiny beads of sweat could be seen, glistening across his deeply furrowed brow when he tossed under the motes of light stretching across the room. The light orange top sheet was twisted uselessly around his waist and between his bare legs, pushing at the black boxer briefs he wore. Both pillows had been thrown to the floor, one on either side, laying against the worn carpet like the discarded carcasses of defeated monsters.
Standing in the deepest shadows in the room, between a heavy entertainment center and the door, Castiel watched him toss and turn with a deepening frown.
Sam had slipped out nearly an hour earlier, off for a secret rendezvous with his demon lover, and Dean's nightmares had escalated almost immediately. Castiel suspected that his subconscious could sense the absence of his brother, that he felt the loneliness without registering it and it caused his night terrors to compound through the helplessness.
That is not to say that his nightmares were Sam related. Nothing so mundane. Castiel could see the horrors tearing through his mind just by watching the erratic movements happening under his closed eyelids. The literal hell that Cas himself had pulled him from plagued the hunter every time he closed his eyes.
Cas had been successful in raising Dean from perdition, yet he had no option but to stand by helplessly as he revisited the torment nightly.
He'd asked permission multiple times in the last few months to wipe the memories of hell from Dean's mind only to be told it was necessary to the Winchesters' path. The fact that his superiors saw no sin in allowing this righteous man to suffer when it could be so easily avoided had started the whispers of doubt in Castiel's mind. The whispers swelled to screams as he stared at the pain on his friend's face.
Because they were friends, Dean had said so. And friends would not stand idly by while the other suffered from something so easily helped.
"Sammy…" The quiet moan proceeded another flailing turn. Frequently, when his night terrors were particularly unbearable, Dean would call out in his sleep. Often for his brother, sometimes for his father. Cas recalled one gut wrenching, tear choked yell for his mother that had awoken emotions deep in the angel's heart that he had all but forgotten existed.
Originally, Castiel had dismissed these sleepy pleas as calls for help, the human begging for release from his agony, but as he grew closer to the ascetic hunter, he recognized it as concern. He was calling out to those he loved in the hopes of ensuring their safety. Because even deep in the thralls of his own nightmares, Dean's worry was devoted to the well being of others.
Castiel's resolve solidified and he moved silently along the bed, standing near the headboard. He stared down, wanting more than anything to banish the hellish memories that afflicted Dean with the lightest touch of his hand. He so desperately wanted to, direct orders be damned, but he was still afraid. Afraid of disobeying, afraid of breaking away from the path he'd followed so tirelessly. Following orders was all he knew. If the scratchings of uncertainty were going to open a bigger hole, he would deal with it when the time came. For now, he would start small. Allowing Dean to sleep unhindered through the night wasn't expressly forbidden, after all.
Extending his hand, Castiel's fingers hovered over the deep trenches winding across Dean's forehead. Awake, the human typically wore a carefully cheery mask, but in his sleep, every emotion, every bit of remembered pain was evident across his face. His jaw worked silently, teeth clenching and un-clenching through the fitful dream and Cas' hand drifted down, laying across the unshaved cheek without thinking.
Dean's hand wrapped painfully tight around Cas' wrist, yanking him down across the bed. His other hand was around Cas' neck even before he opened his eyes, and he rolled on top of the pinned angel. Lip raised in a defensive snarl, Dean blinked blearily down at him. "…Cas?"
"Dean." Cas' voice was strangled but as monotone as ever. "If you could remove the pressure from my airway, speaking won't be quite so difficult."
Quickly releasing his grip, Dean held both hands up. "Sorry. Christ, Cas. You really shouldn't creep on hunters in their sleep." He grumbled. Rolling off of Cas and leaning against the headboard, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake up thoroughly.
"Yes, I apologize. I was only checking on you." Castiel was by no means an expert on translating human emotion, but he knew Dean well enough by now to understand the vulnerability and discomfort he was feeling.
The faded Led Zeppelin shirt he wore was riding crookedly above his stomach and he tugged at it absently. "Where's Sam?"
"I-" Sitting up, Cas glanced around the room. He knew precisely where Sam was; four point six miles across town in an alley behind an abandoned carwash. There was no logical reason for him to keep this information from Dean. "I don't know. He wasn't in here and I didn't bother to look for him." The lie made him feel an odd mixture of guilt and relief. Relief at not having to see the pain on Dean's face if he were to tell him the truth.
"Hmm." Dean was distracted, barely hearing what Cas was saying. "Did you need something?"
Cas began picking up the fallen pillows, laying them carefully on the bed. "No. I checked in on you, and you were experiencing some… Distress in your sleep. I was attempting to deepen your rest when I accidentally woke you."
Dean looked over at him immediately, lips pulled down in a disgusted frown. "Like with angel mojo? Don't you cast your freaky-deaky sleep spells on me without permission!"
Castiel blinked at him, dark shadows pooling across his face. "I only wanted to help."
"You know that stuff skeeves me right out. Couple shots a whiskey is the only sleep aid I need, thanks."
Reaching out, Cas grabbed a nearly empty Crown Royal bottle from the bedside table and shook it curiously, the remaining few drops sloshing around the bottom. "It didn't appear to be helping much."
With raised eyebrows, Dean took the bottle and unscrewed the lid, tossing back the last mouthful. "Are you being a smart ass?"
"My ass has no significant intelligence, no."
Dean couldn't help but grin.
He looked so happy when he grinned. Sometimes Castiel recognized his modern colloquialisms, or was able to infer the meaning through context, yet still responded in an oblivious manner just so he could see him grin in that amused way. It was a very unangelic habit that left Cas questioning his own motivations.
"If you don't need anything, do you mind if I go back to sleep? I haven't caught any shut eye since Nevada."
"Of course. I apologize again for waking you."
He shrugged, caught momentarily in a powerful yawn. "'S fine. I was having a shitty dream, anyway."
Castiel grimaced inwardly and decided to try once more to help him. "There would be nothing 'freaky-deaky' about what I was planning on doing, you know. It would only keep you from dreaming for the night, nothing more."
Dean shook his head and grabbed the nearest pillow, pulling it tightly against his chest as he settled lower against the headboard. "Nah. Thanks, though."
Nodding, Cas moved to stand, only to be stopped by a soft tug on the corner of his overcoat. He looked questioningly back at Dean, who had finally laid his head down and allowed his eyes to flutter closed. One hand snaked around the pillow he held and grasped Cas' coat.
"You could…" Dean's quiet statement was punctuated by another yawn that he released his hold on Cas to cover with his hand. "You could stick around for a bit if you wanted, though." One eyelid cracked open, and a brilliant green eye peered at the angel, gauging his reaction. "Just until Sammy comes back from… Wherever. Like a lookout, y'know?"
"Would it help you sleep?"
"Better than a roofie."
"Alright." Cas sat back on the edge of the mattress, elbows across his thighs as he leaned forward quietly. He could feel Dean's consciousness slipping away and knew he wasn't entirely asleep when he turned in the bed, knees pressing softly against Cas' back. Humans felt security in physical touch and Cas didn't shift away from it.
Once he knew Dean had finally returned to REM sleep, Cas looked over his shoulder, examining his prone form and peaceful expression.
His brow was relaxed now and the smooth line of his jaw unworried. His eyes moved, but slowly, almost leisurely in comparison to his earlier distress. His full lips parted ever so slightly, moving as if he were in the middle of an entertaining conversation that Cas imagined himself on the other end of.
As he stared at Dean, Castiel felt an uncomfortable pull in his gut. Like rocks scraping against each other inside his stomach. Like his vessel was experiencing physical illness. It was a tangible feeling of determined realization.
When he looked at Dean Winchester, Castiel knew with painful certainty that he would fall from salvation for this damaged human.