Title: I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night
Author: hola-mishamigos
Rating: NC-17 / M (for later chapters)
Warnings: M/M, sex, language, mentions of hell/torture
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, mentions of Sam/Ruby 2.0
Timeframe: seasons 4 - 5
multi-chaptered fic.
work-in-progress.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters. copyright of CW & Kripke and all other rightful owners.
Summary: Castiel visited Dean in his dreams every night. Dean would never admit it, but it was the only thing that kept him going and the only reason he got out of bed in the morning with something to look forward to.
a/n: This is a re-written version of the original chapter I posted when I first began this story. There are minor changes but they don't affect the overall plot of the story.
~d~ signifies that the beginning of a scene set in a dream (aka, set in Dean's subconscious) ~r~ signifies the end of dream and return to 'reality'.
Chapter 1 – Poker faces and an angry moose
Castiel visited him in his dreams.
Sometimes he was right there, leaning against the hood of the impala with two beers in his hand. The first few dreams he looked awkward, out of place. But after the 5th or 6th time, Cas leaning on the hood of the impala was as normal as Sam or Bobby doing it.
Other times, it wasn't a physical presence. He'd dream of dad or childhood memories with Sammy – Castiel wasn't there physically but Dean knew, when he woke up, that the angel had influenced his dream; a soothing and calming presence in the background.
They didn't talk about it, ever, and Sam didn't know… no one knew, expect him and Cas.
On the dreams when the angel was there physically, they'd share beer after beer (well, Dean was the one doing most of the drinking) and they'd talk – but never about Lilith or the apocalypse. Cars, music, sports, human life… basically things Castiel knew little about and Dean would teach him. Sometimes they didn't talk, just sat in companionable silence admiring whatever scenery Cas had created for that particular dream.
The truth is that it was peaceful, it was good. Dean needed this but he would never admit it. This was the remedy for the nightmares he had before the angel started intervening… it was like glue for his broken soul.
Before, Dean couldn't sleep properly - or at all really. He'd walk around tired, unfocused, making sloppy mistakes. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was losing his appetite. Sam was too caught up in whatever toxic thing he had going on with Ruby to pay proper attention.
Dean had told his brother he didn't remember Hell, but that was a big load of crap and every night, every single night, it would haunt him. Sometimes he'd cry when he woke up - but no one would ever know about that - most times though, he'd run into the toilet throwing up whatever cheap fast-food was left in his stomach from the previous night. He'd spend nights hugging the toilet instead of his pillow.
That's how Castiel found him one night, about a month after his 'resurrection'. Dean was kneeling over the toilet in the crappy bathroom, in the crappy room, from the crappy motel, in that crappy town he couldn't even remember the name of.
That time he'd forgotten to grab his necklace before emptying his stomach, meaning it was covered in vomit and, as a direct consequence, so was his t-shirt. But he was too physically and emotionally exhausted to care at that moment, so he stayed kneeling, after flushing the toilet, clutching his sweaty forehead in his hands.
You can imagine his surprise when, out of nowhere, there was an angel standing right besides the toilet, trench coat and all - the fluttering of wings barely enough warning for the angel's sudden appearance.
"Jesus Cas! Don't jump up on me like that, dude! A little warning next time!"
The hunter walked around Cas and over to the sink, splashing water on his face and rinsing his mouth.
"Dean."
His name was all he got in return, along with a short nod, before the angel came up behind him and reached around to turn off the tap. Dean was momentarily too confused, and quite frankly too tired, to realize what was happening until it was too late. Cas did his little 'two finger sleep mojo' before he had time to protest and the last thing he remembers is collapsing into the angel's arms before slipping into unconsciousness.
The next morning he woke up shirtless in his bed, Sam sitting in the small dining table typing away on his computer. Dean looked around, disoriented at first, and found his t-shirt folded neatly on the bedside table with the necklace placed on top – the t-shirt cleaned and smelling like generic fabric softener.
That was the first time the angel interfered with his sleeping and from that night onwards Cas would be there to give him a new dream every time his own dreams turned sour. Dean never woke up in the middle of the night again and he was back to his A-Game… all thanks to Castiel and his 'divine intervention'.
More often than not, Cas would just give him a good memory or some miscellaneous peaceful event to dream of. It was only when his nightmares turned particularly violent, or had the potential of waking him up for the night, that the angel would come to him personally - giving him his baby to sit on, a beer to drink, a fantastic scenery to look at and someone to talk to if he wanted… which he did, on most occasions, because Castiel was entertaining as fuck when he was confused and that happened a lot when they talked.
~d~
"But why would you continue to play if you know that, most likely, you don't possess the better selection of cards?"
"…it's bluffing Cas! You want the other people to think that you have the best cards so that they fold!"
"But why do you insist on calling it 'football' if you use your upper limbs to perform in 97% of the game?"
"I'm not su-"
"And why do you call it a 'ball' when, technically, it is not actually spherical but rather oval in shape?"
"But I fail to see the problem in driving a 'Toyota' automobile. Is it not a reliable car?"
"That's really not the point Cas… it's like… 5 out of 6 of their cars are ugly, dude."
"I don't…understand. Why is the physical appearance of an automobile of such importance? Shouldn't safety be the main concern? Humans are notorious for having automobile accide-"
"First of all - stop saying 'automobile', dude. It's a freaking 'CAR'. Second – this isn't even worth talking about if you don't think that…if you don't… APPRECIATE the 'physical appearance' of cars, Cas. That's like saying you don't appreciate the physical appearance of women…"
"But… I'm not sure what your meaning is, Dean…"
~r~
It suffices to say that the angel had a lot to learn.
Weeks went by before Sam started noticing that something was different. To his credit, Dean and Cas really never spoke about it – not even IN the dreams. They just went about their conversation as if it was some heavenly perfect reality…. and not actually the fact that Castiel was fighting to keep Dean's soul, and sanity, intact.
Eventually, though, the cat had to get out of the proverbial bag.
Which brings us to when Dean was just taking a nap one day, and Cas 'showed up' in his already violent nightmare – just before the Alastair in his twisted dream handed him a serrated knife with a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
~d~
Everything blurred and morphed around him until Hell was gone and he was sitting on the hood of the impala, as per usual, overlooking what could only be the Grand Canyon. Castiel, of course, stood by his side.
It took a few minutes for Dean to catch his breath and slow his heartbeat down enough to notice that Cas was standing stiffly, looking rather uncomfortable… plus, there were no beers; this time the angel had 'business' to discuss.
Dean might, just might, have been a little disappointed.
"You should really speak to your brother, Dean. We know what he's doing with the demon you call 'Ruby' and we don't like it. Sam has had many 'second chances' in the past, it needs to stop." Castiel finally said.
Dean snorted, because really, what else could he do?
"Well you can tell 'we' that I've tried… don't you think I've tried to talk to him, Castiel?"
Both men, technically the freaking angel and the man, sighed in frustration.
There was no way to have a humorous and 'light' conversation about his little brother doing 'the dance with no pants' with a demon – not to mention him ALSO (well, especially) going all 'Edward Cullen' on her and sucking blood.
Gross, man. Just gross.
Eventually, Dean spoke again.
"Well, not to sound like a douche bag but perhaps a little 'angelic advice and/or divine intervention' is what he needs… MaybeYOU should speak to him. Sammy was always the one who believed in angels and God. I never did until…well, until you showed up." He said, gesturing towards Cas, arms waving around as if to imitate an aura surrounding the angel.
Meanwhile Castiel was looking at Dean with his head inclined in that trademark way that made the hunter feel as if Cas thought he was some rare, fascinating endangered species – when in fact, the angel was the fascinating and rare one among the two.
It made the hairs in the back of Dean's neck stand up… but in a good way. Something he would never tell a living a soul.
"Perhaps you're right," the angel finally said. "…Dean… what is a 'douche bag'? I've heard the term before but the meaning is still unclear."
Dean chuckled, he couldn't help it.
"Just…it's an insult kinda like… 'dick'. I suppose that's an easy, simple way to put it… Anyway, where are you right now? I mean… in reality?"
"It doesn't matter…" Cas answered as he began walking away. "I'll be in your motel room shortly after you wake up."
~r~
And just like that he was awake, lying in the hard sofa that smelt like old people and tobacco.
He must have looked startled when he woke up because he could hear Sam chuckling from his spot on what the motel saw fit to call a 'dinning table' -when it actually looked like it might have once been part of a bathroom or kitchen counter…ick.
"And he's back, ladies and gentleman!" Sam said, while he lowered the screen of his laptop. "Listen I'm gonna take a shower, you okay?"
His brother only managed to untangle his freakishly long legs from underneath the table/counter before Dean jumped off the couch and told him to stop.
"Oh don't, hang on! Cas should be here any mi-"
The fluttering of wings was shortly followed by Castiel standing right there, so close to Dean that their shoulders were actually touching and for a second, a split-second, he could have sworn he felt a wing brush his shoulder just before the angel appeared.
Dean had learned to disregard anything he knew about personal space when he was around Cas – the angel really liked to stand close to him (another thing that made the hairs in the back of Dean's neck stand up… also in a good way). Castiel went on to give his 'greeting' seemingly unaware of his close proximity to Dean.
"Sam… Dean." A short nod.
But angelic proximity aside, Dean had other things to worry about… because Sammy isn't dumb. Sammy went to law school. He should have been more careful.
"Wait a minute… how did you know Castiel was coming?"
Sam literally had what Dean called his 'suspicious bitch-face' on; looking between his brother and Cas like one of them stole his lunch money and he had to guess which.
The truth is, Dean actually had this moment of panic where he thought Castiel might just blurt everything out. It's not like they had approached the subject of whether or not they would tell Sam or Bobby. As mentioned before, they didn't approach the subject at all. It was just something that happened between them, it had no label, no name.
One thing was certain though, he absolutely needed it and he didn't want Sam to find out. He didn't want anyone to find out. Not just yet. This was his and Cas's. He didn't want anyone to ruin this… whatever 'this' was.
"I…uh… I heard the wings. Didn't you?"
And the Oscar for crappiest excuse goes to…
Cas kept his face emotionless. If he had an opinion on the hunter's shitty excuse he didn't letting it show.
Dean made a mental note to tell the angel that he had a good poker face, but then again, Castiel still didn't understand what the purpose of a poker face was so...
"Sam I'd like to speak with you, please." Cas said, before Sam could continue to question Dean's newly found 'sixth sense' for predicting divine arrivals in motel rooms.
Thank God for this angel (…literally).
His brother nodded and followed Castiel out of the room, even though he never dropped his 'suspicious bitch-face'.
Cas left without saying anything to Dean, but it was okay – he knew he would probably see the angel tonight in his dream. Judging by that nap, his subconscious was definitely unstable and possibly violent today.
Sam stomped back inside like an angry moose with his 'I-don't-have-words-for-my-feelings-right-now bitch-face' on, so whatever Castiel told him must not have been pleasant. He doesn't speak to Dean for the rest of the day, burying himself in research, probably about seals… or how to kill angels in a painful way.
Dean was content though. His secret was still a 'secret', his nightmares suffered the wrath of Castiel every night and every morning he woke up with a 'dream and good rest' high.
However, he kept expecting to wake up one morning and realize he had too much dream the previous night… and that would probably happen the next morning. He had a feeling Castiel was going to 'approach the subject' and he was finally going to have to realize that normal people don't have angels meddling with their dreams every night – they needed to talk about it.
a/n: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Feedback (whether good or bad) and suggestions (for P.O.V's, plot etc) are more than welcome. I'll do my best to answer all reviews/messages.