Chapter 3: An Unwanted Passenger

Dean bolted upright, gasping for air. Hands on each shoulder steadied him, and at first he struggled, until a familiar, reassuring voice gradually filtered through the roaring in his ears.

"Easy, Dean, you're okay."

His vision focused to meet Sam's concerned eyes. Dean forced himself to take a breath. Sam was safe. It hadn't been real. The hellhounds weren't after him. They were safe.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked, standing to his right.

"Yeah…" Dean cleared his throat when his voice came out slightly shaky. "I'm good." He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed. He'd be glad to get out of this place.

"What happened?" Sam asked. "Cas said you were having a nightmare, but I thought djinn were supposed to trap you in a pleasant dream."

Dean rubbed his arm where the bitch had infused her poison; the blue handprint was gone. "Yeah, so we can call this bastard off-shoot a fear djinn. Feeds on fear while sticking you in your worst nightmare. Way out is to let go and face it."

His brother's brows lifted. "Wow, okay." Sam didn't ask what Dean's greatest fear had been, for which he was grateful. He didn't like showing weakness, and it was bad enough Cas had seen him in the midst of a panic attack, had to practically hold Dean's hand. And the hellhounds hadn't even been real.

Dean noticed Cas was still staring at him with that unwavering, penetrating gaze. He hated the feeling that the angel could see right through him, down to the deepest, darkest parts he tried to bury under sex and alcohol.

"Cas, stop staring," he griped, and rolled his shoulders as though to slough off the discomfort. At least Cas wasn't like Sam, wouldn't pressure Dean into talking about what he'd just experienced. He'd rather forget the whole thing.

Castiel finally looked away, scanning the room, and Dean nodded to Sam. "Let's get out of here."

They passed the djinn's body on their way out, sightless eyes staring at the wall. Good riddance.

Dean breathed deeply of the night air once they stepped outside. At the sight of the Impala in one piece, he almost broke into a run to embrace the hood and kiss her. The image of his baby broken and smashed around that tree would probably haunt him more than the hounds would. Still, he didn't even speed on the drive back to the motel.

Dean could feel his brother's gaze studying him carefully, and was getting ready to snap at him when Sam finally twisted around to face Cas in the backseat. He'd better not ask the angel what Castiel had seen in Dean's dream…and Cas had better not answer. Except what Sam actually said put all those self-absorbed thoughts from Dean's mind.

"Cas, um, what happened with the djinn? You tried to smite it, right? But nothing happened?"

Dean shot a startled glance at the angel through the rearview mirror. Cas's mouth was pressed in a grim line, and he looked away to gaze out the window. Dean lifted his brows at Sam in a question. Apparently he'd missed some stuff while he'd been in dreamland.

Sam shrugged his brows—he had a clue, but wanted Cas to confirm it. Only Cas remained silent.

"So, no smiting mojo?" Dean asked carefully.

It was a long moment before Castiel responded, and his voice was so low Dean barely heard him. "No."

He and Sam exchanged a concerned look. Another thing to add to the "Powers-Cas-no-longer-had" list. This "slowly falling" shit just kept throwing crap at the angel. Cas already thought he was useless, that he was only important to Dean and Sam as a weapon against Lucifer. Which was not true. Dean thought they'd finally gotten through to him about that too, and now here was another shitty reminder that Cas wasn't what he used to be.

Dean plastered on a grin. "Well, you two obviously didn't need it, since the bitch is dead."

Cas didn't say anything. The guy could brood as well as Dean, which was something the hunter understood well, so he fell silent for the rest of the drive.

When they arrived back at the motel, Cas, surprisingly, didn't flap off. He didn't often stay the night, as he seemed to sense that it was awkward for Sam and Dean. At least, it had been the first couple times, but they'd gotten used to it. Besides, Cas was the third member of their family; just because he didn't sleep didn't mean the Winchesters were going to kick him out at night. Especially after how long it'd taken to convince the angel they wanted him around.

"You parkin' it here for the night, Cas?" Dean asked.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Parking what?"

He held back a smirk. "Yourself, Cas. You staying?"

"Yes…if that's alright." He frowned, glancing around the room almost self-consciously.

"'Course it is," Dean replied casually. "Watch some TV if you want, just keep the volume down." He grabbed the remote off the nightstand and tossed it to the angel, who snapped his hand up to catch it a second before it struck him in the face. See, the guy still had angel reflexes.

When Sam finished in the bathroom, Dean took his turn. Though irrational, he wanted to shower off the memory of that djinn's touch and the stink of fear her poison had left on him. Sam was already conked out when Dean re-emerged to stagger toward the second bed. He plopped face first on top of the covers with a tired moan. Waving his hand around until it knocked against the light switch, he flipped the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. If Cas had turned on the television, he didn't even notice as he was quickly dragged into sleep.

Castiel sat at the dinette table, shrouded in shadows. Moonlight seeped through the motel blinds, bathing the space in front of him in a soft incandescence. The silence was deafening. It was in the quiet, isolated moments like these where Castiel felt the pang of loss more poignantly. He missed the musical choir of angel voices that used to always be with him, an orchestra of his brothers and sisters. Now he was cut off. Alone.

He could have turned on the television to fill the void. In fact, that was one of the things he'd come to appreciate about the plastic box, and some of the moving pictures it held were fascinating. But he had more important things to watch tonight. Namely, his charge's dreams.

Castiel had sensed something strange in the nightmare the djinn had trapped Dean in, another presence. It had been faint, almost as though lurking on the edge of the hunter's mind. But it had been there. And it didn't belong.

So until Castiel could figure out what it was—and if it would return—he had no intention of leaving the Winchesters.

In that, he was not completely alone. Beyond his understanding, Sam and Dean had taken him in. It didn't make sense—he was an angel, a fallen one at that. His own family had orders to kill him on sight, and yet he'd found sanctuary…and a new home…with the Winchesters. And that's what Sam and Dean had called him—family. Brother.

They could never understand the depths of what that declaration meant to him, one who had lived centuries surrounded by siblings. Yet, the Winchesters' definition of the concept went far beyond anything the angels ever had for each other—loyalty, forgiveness, unconditional love. That was what two human boys had given Castiel that he had never in his long existence had before.

Not even from his father… His hand slipped into his coat pocket to finger Dean's amulet. With each failed lead in his search for God, Castiel felt his drive lessening. Why was his father hiding? What could possibly be keeping him away?

Castiel had been a good soldier; he'd followed his father's commands. And when he'd rebelled and been destroyed, God had resurrected him. But had it been out of love and forgiveness? Or was it punishment? Would Castiel be forced to watch the fruits of his disobedience, to watch the world end and the Winchester brothers he cared so deeply for destroy each other?

He curled his fist around the amulet. He would not nurse such thoughts tonight, not when there was work to be done. And as long as there was evil to fight, Castiel had his mission: protect the Winchesters.

His shoulders stiffened at a small grunt that sounded from the far bed. A moment later, the figure shifted, followed by another distressed sound. Castiel rose silently and went to stand over Dean. The hunter's eyes were squeezed tight, head turning side to side in search of an escape he'd never find.

Castiel wished he could erase Dean's nightmares of Hell for good. He cocked his head, brow furrowing. There it was again, that whisper…

Reaching out, he pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead. A shadow flitted across his mind's eye. Cas frowned; he was afraid of that. He closed his eyes and entered Dean's sleep.

Castiel blinked as he found himself in a large, concrete room. Black, greasy unguent splattered the floor and walls, along with varying shades of blood, from bright fresh spatter, to dried rusted splotches. Trays lined the side walls, all bearing soiled torture devices—knives, hooks, serrated blades, and other ghastly accoutrements.

In the back corner, strapped to a rack, lay Dean. Blood, mixed with sweat and tears, poured down his face and exposed chest in diluted, pinkish streams. Alastair stood over him, tutting about Dean's refusal to scream. The demon inserted a meathook between the hunter's ribs and twisted. Dean gritted his teeth against a cry of pain.

Castiel clenched a fist. It wasn't enough that the demon was dead; he still haunted Dean. And whether the nightmare was him under or holding the knife, the horror was the same. Castiel flicked his wrist, and the Alastair apparition vanished in a wisp of smoke.

A quiet sob wracked Dean's body, and Castiel's heart constricted when he wasn't able to fully banish the dream. Another thing he was no longer good for. He couldn't smite demons in the real world, nor, it seemed, could he when they were mere figments. At least he'd been able to give Dean a respite from the torture.

Now, there was the other issue…

Castiel turned slowly in a circle, scanning the darkened corners of the dungeon. The edges undulated and ebbed, as though the shadows were living, breathing entities, but they were just phantoms lining the border of Dean's mind.

However, there was something alive moving among them. Castiel saw a flash of amber eyes with slitted pupils, creeping low to the ground. A paw stepped between shadows before melting into them once more. Castiel couldn't make out the creature's shape, or determine what it was, but he had no intention of letting it stay long enough to find out.

"Leave," he commanded.

With a chittering sound, the creature scurried to the corner. A glint of metallic along its back flashed as it darted underneath a cart of bloodied knives.

Castiel took a threatening step toward it, letting loose a subtle wave of grace. It flared in the dark dungeon, filling it with the glow of a radiant star, and the creature turned with a hiss, vanishing before Castiel could get a good look at it. The effect of his grace had also wiped some of the nightmare away, so that the rack, torture implements, and blood was gone. Dean now sat in a heap on the cold, stone floor.

Castiel swayed slightly. He hadn't even used that much grace, yet he felt tired. At least the creature was gone. But would it stay away?

He turned to leave when a small voice rose from the huddled hunter.

"Cas?"

"Rest, Dean," he said. With one last push of grace that perhaps he shouldn't have used, Castiel replaced the dingy chamber with a lake and small wooden dock. An amber haze tinted the tranquil dream, and Dean's features smoothed as Cas slipped out.

If possible, Dean felt even more groggy when he finally woke the next morning. His eyelids slowly pried open, and a moan escaped his lips before he could stop it. Ugh, no fair getting a hangover when he hadn't even binged on alcohol the night before.

Shapeless smudges blurred his vision, and it took several blinks before they coalesced into Sam sitting on the bed across from him, arms folded across his lap as he watched Dean wake. Jeez, now Sam was picking up Cas's bad habits.

"Hey, you okay?" his brother asked with a trace of concern.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean sat up, noting that Sam was not only already dressed, but looking wide awake. In fact, the light seeping through the curtains was a tad too bright. He glanced at the bedside clock. The hell, it was almost 9:00am.

"Why'd you let me sleep so long?" he growled.

Sam frowned. "Cas said you needed it. And I thought that after the djinn attack, maybe you did."

Dean flicked his gaze toward the angel, who was sitting at the dinette table as though he hadn't moved at all since last night. "I don't need coddling," he groused, and rubbed his face vigorously to get the blood flowing. What he needed was coffee. Pushing to his feet, he went to pour a cup from the pot Sam had already made.

"You pointed out to me once that humans require a certain amount of sleep," Cas said.

"Four hours." Dean held up the equivalent number of fingers to emphasize his point. "Sleeping in is a luxury we don't need to be wasting our time on."

"Well, I disagree. Especially since we have a problem."

Dean suppressed a groan. Of course they did. "Cas, if there's a problem, then sleeping late is the last thing I should be doing."

"Since the issue relates to your dreams, I say the opposite."

Dean's brows shot up. "Excuse me?" What the hell did Cas mean his dreams were a problem? Had Dean been talking in his sleep? Oh shit, were the nightmares getting bad enough that Cas and Sam noticed? Was that why they were tiptoeing around him this morning?

Except, he didn't remember having the usual nightmares last night. Or, he had started down that road, but it hadn't gotten very far…his sleep had been almost downright restful, in terms of the dreams. He still felt like crap though.

"There was something else in the hospital besides the djinn," Castiel explained. "And it seems to have fixated on Dean."

He stiffened. "What are you talking about? That was a clean kill and there were no signs of anything else."

"No signs of anything on the physical plane," Cas said. "A strange creature was in your dreams last night. I chased it away, but I'm afraid it will return."

A shiver ran down Dean's spine, and he took a long drag of bitter coffee to hide it. "You dream stalking me again, Cas?"

Castiel tilted his head. "I was watching for the creature. I'd sensed it in the djinn's nightmare and was afraid it would follow you. Which it has."

"So what is it and what does it want?" Sam spoke up, looking as worried as Dean felt.

"I don't know; I didn't get a good look at it."

Dean took another gulp of coffee. Nightmares were bad enough, but now he had some weird monster poking around in his head? "Maybe you scared it off for good."

Cas glanced away briefly, consternation flickering across his face. "I doubt that."

"Okay." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Can you give us anything else to go on so we can research this thing, figure out how to keep it away?"

Castiel's brow furrowed, gaze drifting down in thought. "I saw what might be described as feline features."

Sam surged off the bed and grabbed his laptop. Settling at the table across from Cas, he started the computer up. "Dean, give Cas dad's journal; maybe he'll find something."

"Yeah, okay." He tried to keep a lid on how unnerved he felt. First he'd gotten poisoned by a djinn that forced him to live his greatest fear, and now he'd picked up some kind of nightmare monster like a tick? Just awesome.

Dean handed John's journal to Cas, and then retrieved their second laptop so he could help Sam scour the Internet for dream creature listings. Unfortunately, his initial search brought up way too many results. Dream interpretations, spirit guides, various forms of nightmares…the list went on. This would take a while.

He probably shouldn't have settled on the bed with the computer in his lap, but there wasn't room at the table. After getting through only two entries, Dean's vision started to blur, and his eyelids grew heavy. He jerked his head up with a start, blinking rapidly to clear the brain fog. But the computer screen blurred again, and his chin started dropping toward his chest.

In the next moment, Dean was standing in an all-too-familiar forest with the sound of hellhounds baying in the distance.

Crap, not this again.

At least Sam wasn't there this time.

A rustle of leaves sounded behind him, and he whirled. Two amber eyes, hunkered close to the ground, watched him with eerie intensity. That wasn't a hellhound…

Wait, Dean had a vague recollection of seeing those eyes before, in the djinn's dream. So a monster really was stalking his mind. Fantastic.

Okay, well, he'd beat the dream once before; he just had to do it again. Let go and face his fear.

A howl made his blood run cold. Easier said than done, and Cas wasn't there to have his back this time. Dean took several deep breaths. He could do this.

Dried underbrush crinkled to his right, and he whipped his head toward the sound. Steaming breath puffed in the air from an invisible source, followed by a snarl. The nerve endings in Dean's brain fired with panic, urging him to run, but he refused to let some creepy dream parasite get the better of him.

He watched the leaves on the ground flutter and the soil depress in the shape of a paw print as the hound stalked closer.

It's not real. It can't hurt you.

The beast growled, wafting hot, putrid breath into Dean's face. His fists clenched so hard his fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of his palms. Come on… He was facing his fear; why wasn't it working?

The hellhound barked, and Dean instinctively recoiled a second before a swish disturbed the air. Two claws grazed down his arm with a rending of fabric and tissue. He cried out and scrabbled back, clutching his arm against the searing pain. Blood welled up between his fingers.

Okay, screw that. Obviously, facing his fear wasn't going to work this time.

The hound gnashed its teeth. Dean aimed a kick at where the hot breaths were billowing, and his boot collided with a jaw. The dog's fangs clacked together and it let out a wounded yelp.

Dean turned and ran.