The air reeked of red.
He couldn't see. Stumbled. Blind.
The color of screams exploded to his left, piercing his heart.
Red as Monday.
"You do not look happy."
Castiel stood over him when he opened his eyes, expression filled with concern. Dean rolled over to face the other wall.
Two fingers pressed gently against his temple, and the claws around his heart loosened their grip. Dean shut his eyes and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. He did not move until he knew he was alone.
Goddamned angel.
Drowning in blue.
Crushing, building, burning.
Not a drop of air to drink.
Blue as Tuesday.
Two fingers, twice.
Two fingers on the right temple, two fingers on the left.
Dean woke, gasping violently.
Blue eyes were inches from his face, and Dean threw the angel from him.
"Dammit, Cas, don't do that!"
Castiel stood as if nothing had happened.
"You can sleep now, Dean."
And he could.
Fire seared yellow.
Peeling away his skin, stroke by stroke-
"Dean."
He woke with a start to find Castiel pressing two fingers to his temple again. For once, he did not fight. The flames were still licking at his arms, but the pressure of Castiel's fingers kept him anchored in reality. Closing his eyes, he relaxed into the touch, slipping quietly into a dreamless sleep.
He saw two suns on Wednesday.
Emptiness.
Dust.
Colors of apathy.
When he woke, he was starved of emotion. His heart was caving in, imploding. He gasped for the shattering pain, the quiet indifference. His body was a black hole, empty, lifeless, broken.
Warm fingers on his temple.
Warm air in his ear.
"Dean, do not be afraid."
He found himself reaching for the hand, clutching Castiel's wrist with desperation.
"Don't you leave tonight. You hear me?"
A short silence.
"I never do."
Dean nodded, and his grip relaxed on Castiel's wrist as he fell to dreams of relief.
The angel was silent as he felt the colors of Thursday.