A/N: Week Two of the Destiel Facebook Bingo Prompts, "Scared of the Dark fic". A "shitty first draft" as some would call it.
The Empty was nothing other than one's own eternal Darkness.
It was the grave you couldn't dig yourself out of. Options were limited to "sleep" or "suffer", the latter of which apparently never should've been an option at all. Your own face continually reminded you of your faults and your failures. There was no forgive, and there was no forget.
Definitely no forget.
If the memories weren't enough, the nightmares brought on by his newly human status acted as a consistent reminder.
The Bunker's unexpected power outage was definitely NOT helping.
When the lights had blinked out, the gentle usually unacknowledged hum of electronics fading out to complete and utter silence, Cas shot awake, daring not even to breathe. It wasn't as if he was unaware of his surroundings, but the facts meant little in comparison to the near overpowering feeling of fear settling in to the pit of his stomach.
He resisted the irrational urge to hide beneath the covers, though barely, instead deciding the closet made for a much more practical hideout, though from what, he wasn't sure. The problem was getting there.
He shifted away the blankets, but kept a tight hold on his pillow, moving into a shaky stance, feet sinking slightly into the mattress. Cas sucked in a half breath, as much as he could manage at the moment, and leapt in the direction of his closet. As far as landings go, it wasn't the smoothest, but once there he only had to fling the door open, plop himself and his pillow down, and slam the door shut.
Not a minute after, the whirl of the Bunker's ventilation system, refrigerators, fans, warding.. everything flickered back into life. A gentle glow came through the crack in the closet's door, and Castiel let out a silent sigh of relief, though he made no move to leave the small space. He would've been content to spend the remainder of the night there, but of course, the fates had a different plan.
Footsteps tracked down the hall, stopping in front of his room. Once again, Cas held his breath. The door creaked open, there were a few more shuffled footsteps, then Dean's voice.
"Cas?"
The breath he was holding released, louder than anticipated it seemed, as the footsteps made their way over to the closet. Dean opened the door gentler than Cas had previously, but with no less haste.
"Dude, what are you doing in there?" Green eyes roamed across Castiel's form, displaying confusion at the pillow, narrowing into a questioning concern.
Cas, unsurprisingly, dodged Dean's question with one of his own, his voice coming out weaker than he liked.
"Why did the power go off? Has something happened?"
"Something is up with the generator, Sam's looking into it now. Other than that, no." For a moment they continued to just stare at each other, until eventually, Dean held out his hand. "Coming out of there any time soon?"
Another moment of staring.
Castiel wanted to shake his head no, say he was just fine right where he was, thanks. But it was Dean, hand still extended toward Cas, looking as if he'd picked up a thing or two about "puppy eyes" from the younger Winchester. And, honestly, when had Cas truly been able to deny Dean anything?
With a resigned sigh he took the offered hand, allowing the hunter to pull him to his feet and out of his makeshift sanctuary. He reluctantly let go of the hand, but kept the pillow held tight as he made his way back to bed. It was a good thing, too, because the second the ex-angel's ass made contact with the sheets, the inky blackness and impossible silence returned.
And for Castiel, everything began to cycle through again.
His body tensed up, breathing suspended. The poor pillow found itself once again squashed in a death-grip as the barely dissipated fear clawed back up into Castiel's being. This time even the closet seemed too far, the distance too much of a risk. He was just beginning to consider taking refuge under his mess of blankets, when a hand once again found his. Suddenly he was being pulled forward, the panic swelling until his forehead made contact with a warm chest, and an arm was slung carefully around him.
Dean, his brain helpfully informed him. Not a pissed Cosmic Entity, just Dean.
Cas let out a ragged breath, sucking it back in roughly soon after. He cheeks flushed at being held in what was clearly a more intimate position than Dean would ever normally allow, but he couldn't find it in himself to move away, instead, offering up two words.
"I'm sorry."
Dean shifted, and for a terrifying moment Cas thought he had done something wrong, that he was about to again find himself alone to the dark and to his thoughts. But their hands remained linked, and the elder Winchester pulled him right along with him until they both we're lying down, Dean wrapped around Cas in a way that couldn't help but make him feel safe.
"Nothing to be sorry for, Cas. Get some sleep."
Cas barely gave a slight nod in response, already beginning to drift off as the last remnants of the night's fear began to leave him. As he was lulled to sleep by the hunter's heartbeat, surrounded by his warmth, Cas could've sworn he'd felt a gentle kiss placed atop his head.
The power returning did not wake the ex-angel, but neither did any nightmares. And that was just the way they'd prefer to have it.