Dean had no trouble dreaming after that night, though he wasn't necessarily getting more sleep. His dreams now all started the same; Dean would be standing alone in the asylum, chanting words he did not understand. His incantation would soon enough be interrupted by the angel, a dream interpretation not the real one. The scene would stop with a sharp flash from the angel's eyes, and a painful shock of electricity, before plunging into the second half of the dream. This part was not nearly as coherent. Flashes of fire, ice and a shower of sparks would fight for dominance in his mind. Images of a kind smile with just a hint of white teeth Dean could never place, laughter and warm rain would disperse the more violent pictures. There was nothing Dean could ever follow, and no single image would stay long enough for Dean to properly associate it with anything.
He would often wake up more exhausted than when he went to sleep. The idea of carrying out his new mission, on top of keeping a wary eye on Sam, did little to encourage him to fall out of bed either. But, he would always inevitably find the energy to haul his ass downstairs and get to work.
The day after the dream encounter with Cas, Dean had dragged Sam to the asylum to rifle through the discarded remnants of the ritual to open purgatory. But of course, it would have been far too easy for the book to actually be where Cas said it would. The brothers scoured that place top to bottom, but there wasn't even the slightest trace of paper let alone a book, Sam whining like a little bitch the whole time. Though, in his defense Dean hadn't been to clear on why they were searching for the book in the first place. He just thought the less that was on Sam's plate right now, the better.
But if the noticeable lack of reading material wasn't suspicious enough, the shortage of any kind of supernatural activity really put the brothers on edge.
"Dean," Sam interjected as Dean decided to search the fateful room for roughly the fourth time that day, "There is nothing here. Less than nothing. It's actually a little strange how much nothing there is."
Dean sighed in frustration, ignoring the urge to give Crowley's dissecting table a powerful kick. "Yeah I know Sammy."
"Maybe we should go back and investigate this more tomorrow? I mean we've been here for hours, I don't think we're going to pick up a trail."
Dean spared a look t his brother and mentally kicked himself. It didn't take a genius to see the barely concealed pain on his face. He had thought plunging headfirst into a new assignment might distract Sam from whatever horror he saw every time he closed his eyes, but it was obvious that all it did was wear him down even more. He swallowed down his own desire to keep searching every inch of the building and instead nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah, Sammy, you're right. We should probably get some rest. Clear our heads and attack this tomorrow."
They headed back to Bobby's pickup, because Dean had been too focused on research and watching his brother to even attempt to start putting his baby back together again, and drove home in relative silence. That is, until Sam's curiosity started to get the better of him.
"So…explain again why we're looking for this book."
The sudden sound of his brother's voice dragged Dean out of his own thoughts, and he glanced to the passenger side to find Sam looking at him with confusion.
"I told you, to stop the walking Pandora's Box of souls from doing God knows what, no pun intended, to humanity." He responded gruffly, averting his gaze back to the black asphalt in front of him.
"How do you know it will work?" Sam pressed, leaning closer, "You seem pretty sure it will."
Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened. For some reason he was becoming increasingly uneasy with the idea of Sam finding out about his and Cas' dream rendezvous. "I just do okay? It's simple logic. If there was a spell to get the souls into the dumbass, there's gotta be a way to reverse it in there right?"
Sam's gaze flickered to Dean's white knuckles to his set jaw and bit down his next question. He knew when it was dangerous to push his brother, and anyway, he was sure he'd figure out what was going on eventually.
That was the first night Dean had the dream, hunched over a pile of books in Bobby's study, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a pencil in the other. And when he woke up, the only thing that could disperse the cloud of confusion in his head wad to get under the hood of the Impala.
The preliminary fixes were almost done by the time Bobby found him out there, attacking the underside of the car with such determination that one would think his life depended on it.
"Dean" Bobby called, walking up to where the hunter's boots stuck out from under the Impala. When he wasn't answered, Bobby pulled the rolling board out with his foot, only to be met with a pair of very annoyed green eyes.
"Sam told me the amount of zip you found."
Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, why did you find anything useful?"
"No, but-"
"Then let me get back to-"
"Shut up, son. He also told me you're hiding something."
That made Dean go quiet for a second. He gulped, something that Bobby didn't miss, and averted his eyes. "Yeah, well dude's got the PowerPoint of Hell playing in his head right now so he's not the most reliable of sources." He tried to push himself back under the car but Bobby caught the board with his foot.
"Don't give e that crap, Dean. What the hell is going on with you?"
Dean sat up and ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "Cas…uh…he dream-called me."
"He what?"
"He told e that we have to find this book again, so we can…" Dean looked away again, swallowing hard, "..so we can stop him. Kill him."
"And Cas told you this?"
"Yes."
"Love me or I will destroy you, Cas."
Dean glared up at Bobby. "No. Yes. I don't know. It's the souls, they're holding him prisoner or something, controlling him."
"And you really trust him?" Bobby folded his arms and shook his head, "Because I'm really trying to see your logic here, Dean. How do you know it's not really some spell to blow us all up or something?"
"I just know, okay? It was the real Cas, not the jacked up on souls…thing that we saw in the asylum. I can tell the difference, I'm not stupid, Bobby."
"I never said you were."
"Then trust me, I'm dealing with this."
Bobby did not bring up the dream stalking, as he affectionately thought of it, again.
Another week went by. Dean went back and searched the asylum twice, and came up short both times. Once it finally clicked with him he wasn't going to find anything there, he decided to investigate his only other witness; Crowley.
The only problem was the King of Hell had never been easy to find, and now it seemed downright impossible. So, since Dean finally had his baby up and running, Dean and Sam hit the road to investigate some potential demon infestations. It was a long shot, but it was all they had.
They were in a generic motel off the beaten path in Ohio when Dean found himself praying again.
"Cas…I know you're busy being held captive and all…but if you could pull another dream stunt like you did last time that would be really appreciated." A particularly loud grown from Sam's bed made hi crack one eye open. He studied his brother, making sure it was nothing worse than normal, well normal as of lately, and continued his 'prayer'. "It's just that we can't find your stupid book, and I don't think they sell it at your friendly neighborhood Barnes & Noble…so if you have any clues, they'd be really appreciated."
As Dean expected, there was no immediate answer. So, he kicked off his shoes and settled onto the bed, trying his bed to ignore the scattered grunts and screams coming from his left. It seemed like he lay there for hours, staring at the back of his eyelids, begging sleep to wash over him. Before too long, he found himself sitting on a wooden bench in a small park. He was so surprised not to find himself back in the asylum, like every other night, that it almost slipped his notice that this was a perfect replica of the park where Castiel first admitted his doubts. It was where Dean first started to trust him.
He felt him before he heard him. His presence lately, even in dreamland, was tangible to Dean. His complaint halted on his tongue when he looked over at the angel. This time, to say Cas was battered would be an understatement. His usual hunch was exaggerated, bruises covered what Dean could see of his skin, and a nasty red cut ran from the top of the right side of his face face to his cheekbone, stopping only for the tired blue eye. His trenchcoat was even more tattered and dirty than usual and tears that looked like claws had been ripping at him covered the suit underneath.
"Cas what happened to you?"
The angel shifted uncomfortably under the hunter's gaze. "That is not of import. Have you found the book?"
Dean resisted the urge to reach up and trace the angry scar on the angel's face and instead shook his head. "No, we figured either Crowley has it or…"
"Or I do." Cas smiled bitterly as he finished Dean's thought.
"The Castiel-shaped soul machine, not you." Dean corrected feebly. "Any ideas? It's kinda hard playing Elmer Fudd to your Looney Toons when I don't know whether to go after Bugs or Daffy."
Cas' eyes crinkled in confusion, head tilted, "I…don't understand that reference."
Dean wouldn't be able to understand why, but that simple, familiar act made him throw his arms around the angel, who grunted in surprise, and hug him as if it was the last thing he would ever do.
"Dean…I appreciate this sign of affection…but given my current state…" The barely contained pain in the angel's voice made the hunter jump back, clearing his throat uncomfortably.
"Right…sorry, man…I just…I guess I miss you. Tell anyone and I'll kill you." Dean laughed humorlessly at his own joke, but it caused Cas to grin slightly.
"I…miss you too, Dean."
"What is going on with you?" Dean said quickly changing the subject as he took in the angel's appearance once more.
"I've been fighting off the souls. It…slows them down at least. They are preoccupied with killing my brothers right now, so they will not miss my presence for a while." Cas broke off suddenly, glaring angrily at the ground.
"It's not you, Cas." Dean read the guilt all to easily on his friend's face, and laid a hand gingerly on his shoulder, careful not to hurt him again.
Cas shot him a look that said he was full of shit. "You do not have to baby me, Dean. It is my fault. You told me not to do it, but I was so blinded by my own certainty."
"You thought you were doing the right thing." If someone had told Dean that he would actually be comforting Cas three weeks ago, he would have laughed. And then tested them for possession most likely. But, seeing Cas beating himself up, when the Purgatory soul brigade was doing such a good job of that already, was unbearable for him.
Castiel looked at the hand on his shoulder, then turned his intense stare to Dean's face. A moment of heated silence and Dean looked at the ground, removed his hand, placing it awkwardly in his lap and cleared his throat again.
Another moment of silence was broken by that familiar gravelly voice, weighted with guilt and sorrow."…I do not have the book, nor do I know its current whereabouts. But I would agree that Crowley is your best lead. Hurry, Dean. My brothers and sisters are being driven into hiding, and who knows what I will be capable of with no opposition."
Before Dean could respond, he felt an empty space beside him. Sure enough, when he looked, Castiel has disappeared.
"Friggin angels."
A/N
Thanks for the input everyone! I know this fic seems kinda dark right now but I promise there will be lighter notes! I just hope I'm staying true to the characters and the show as possible :)
