Author's Note: This particular story came to me from Dean's perspective first. And then Castiel had to butt in and offer his opinion. Therefore, I give you two versions of the same story, each in different points of view. Enjoy. :)
Version one
Dean felt his heart pound against his ribs. His feet weren't going fast enough, even though they barely touched the ground as he ran. He ignored the pain of his body. He needed to get to the house at the end of this darkened road.
Somehow, he knew Cas was beyond those walls, and something was being done to him. Dean wasn't sure what felt worse; the fear of not knowing what was happening, or the hopelessness of not being able to get there fast enough.
The broken front door seemed to stay where it was, no matter how fast he ran. It was just out of reach and not coming any closer.
"Cas!" Dean called out.
As long as Dean could see him - even a glimpse of him in the doorway - to make sure he was alright, then it would ease his mind. But he didn't show. He didn't reply. And it only made Dean ache to get to the house even more.
There was a giggle from inside the house. It was a familiar sound. Anger flooded Dean's veins. Not her, he thought, don't let her be in there with him. He had reach deep down to find the strength to fight his way to finally reach the door. It felt like trying to wade through quicksand; everything moving in slow motion.
But he made it. Dean burst through the broken door, instantly scanning the room. Meg was standing by the far wall, blood all over her and the angel blade she was holding. She was still giggling, eyes black. As much as Dean would have loved to send her straight back to hell, Cas was more important.
"Cas! Where are you?!" Dean shouted, his lungs and heart aching.
Meg smiled as she stepped to the side. Behind her, Castiel lay on the floor. His entire chest was covered in blood and he head was turned away. Dean instantly ran to him. He knelt down and grabbed his shoulders, hoisting him up.
Dean's eyes grew wide. Meg hadn't just stabbed him. The bitch had completely cut out his heart – a gaping hole was left in the middle of his chest. The air caught in Dean's throat. He glanced up to yell at Meg, but she was gone. Dean was left holding Cas's body. Alone.
With his heart still racing, Dean grabbed Cas's face and turned it forward.
"Cas!" he shouted, shaking him, "Cas!"
Cas's mouth had fallen open and his skin was cold. Dean looked into his half open eyes, hoping there would be some tiny trace of Cas left in there. But they were vacant. The deep blue Dean was so fond of seeing was gone. Only gray emptiness remained.
"No," Dean said, hugging Cas's cold body tightly, "No. Please...No."
Anger, guilt and grief draped over him. He had lost so many things that he loved, and he did not want to add Cas to that list. His arms tightened around Cas's shoulders as Meg came to mind. The demons he'd tortured before had been on vacation compared to what he was planning to do to her.
Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. He was pulled away from the house as his eyes flew open. Thinking Meg was back, Dean scrambled to get the knife out of his pocket. He grabbed a fist full of fabric as he shoved her against the wall.
Wide blue eyes were staring back at him.
"Dean," Cas said, hands up, "It's okay."
Dean blinked several times. Cas was there, alive. Dean could feel Cas's heart beat under his hand as it gripped the front of his shirt. And his eyes were blue again. The most perfect blue there ever was.
Dean panted as he dropped the knife and glanced around. He was in the motel room from earlier. He faintly remembered falling asleep. It was a dream? It was all just a damn dream? He looked back to Cas in front of him. He seemed worried and a bit confused.
The sting of loss crawled it's way back into Dean's chest as he stared into those blue eyes. Still gripping Cas's shirt, he yanked him forward to wrap him into a violent hug. Cas was warm, and his hair smelled of night air. He's not dead, Dean reminded himself, trying to take calming breaths of Cas's scent, He's still here.
"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asked quietly, a hint of concern in his voice.
Dean pulled away to look, once again, at the deep pools of Cas's eyes.
"Yeah," Dean forced a smile, "Just a bad dream."
Version Two
Castiel watched, through the diner window, a couple arguing. The man and woman shouted at each other in such a destructive way, it made him ponder human interaction. If one person loves another, why would they allow themselves to talk to them in such a way?
As he stood in the dark wondering this, he heard Dean's voice as clear as a church bell.
"Cas!"
Dean sounded so...afraid. Castiel did not hesitate. He flew from the very spot he was standing in to Dean's location. He was instantly in Dean's motel room. Dean, himself, was laying on the bed, curled up on one side facing away from him.
It was odd. Dean didn't look like he was in any immediate danger. Had he truly called his name? Or had he imagined it? Cas gulped.
"Hello, Dean," he said quietly.
Dean didn't respond. His body jerked a little, but he didn't even roll over to look at him. Was Dean angry with him? Like those people in the diner?
"Cas," Dean mumbled, "Where are you?"
"I'm right here, Dean," Castiel answered instantly, hearing urgency in Dean's voice.
But again, Dean did not respond. Wondering what was truly wrong, Cas rounded the bed. Upon seeing Dean's closed eyes, he realized he was talking in his sleep. But, from observing him in the past, Castiel knew this was not how Dean normally slept. He was usually still and peaceful. Now, he was curled on his side, hands balled into fists, teeth clenched together, his face tight with discomfort.
"Cas," Dean called again, "Cas."
Castiel knelt down beside the bed, peering closely at Dean. He knew it wasn't wise to wake someone from their sleep. But why was Dean calling for him? It made Castiel incredibly curious as to what was taking place in Dean's mind.
Castiel continued to watch Dean's expressions. He was nearly gasping for air, looking as if he wanted to sob. Castiel did not like seeing Dean this way; appearing to be in such pain.
"No," Dean groaned, "No. Please...no,"
Dean's saddened, begging voice was too much. Castiel very carefully gripped Dean's arm and gave him a firm shake.
Dean's eyes suddenly flew open. Castiel backed away as he saw Dean reach for his pocket. In a fast motion, Dean grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. Castiel raised his hands in shock as Dean held a knife to his throat. Dean looked angered and...fearful.
"Dean," Castiel said, attempting to be comforting, "It's okay."
Castiel watched as Dean became aware. His green eyes were staring into his own; almost searching. He slowly dropped the knife, but did not let go of Castile's clothes. He looked around the room, as if remembering where he was.
When his eyes returned to Castiel's, he could see a small sadness tint his face. In a swift motion, Dean yanked him forward to wrap his arms tightly around him. Castiel blinked, feeling Dean's body pressed against his own. He was breathing deliberately, trying to take soothing breaths. Castiel was worried that whatever he had dreamed had effected him.
"Are you alright, Dean?" Castiel asked.
Dean pulled back to look at him again. Had Dean ever looked into his eyes this much? What was he seeing there that he did not see before? Dean forced a smile.
"Yeah," he said, green eyes nearly unblinking, "just a bad dream."