DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me. They belong to full time genius Mr. Eric Kripke. Though I could have struck a deal with my mother, so she'd pay me for every review I get, I did not, thereby striking out any possibility of earning anything. This story leaves me where I started, broke and dreamy.
A/N: Thank you guys with the clever names of 'Guest' for reviewing, I went around with my laptop, showing my mom and dad, and being very noisy in general. For those of you that want to kill me, I want to kill me too. I had Finals, so I couldn't update. In fact, I asked my Dad to hide my laptop.
Chapter 3
Silent Reflections
He wakes up to Dean sweating. Dean's shirt, stained with blood from older fights, is soaked through. He was probably having a nightmare, of Lucifer taking Sam, Azazel taking John, Meg taking Cas, of Ruby, of Bobby, Cas couldn't pick.
These days, it was easier to guess reasons for Dean's good dreams, becase there were so few left to choose from.
He shakes himself out of his midnight reverie, and then shakes Dean awake. Even in their room, even in the dark, even in the dark, Cas sees the moon in Dean's green eyes. But Dean's eyes overshadow the moon, they overshadow everything.
"Dean. Wake up. Get a grip, come on." Cas whispers, wiping the thin film of sweat from Dean's face. From long experience, Cas'd learned that there were certain things he could do to make Dean feel safe, if not forever, for maybe just a few seconds. To make him feel wanted, sheild him form nightmares that shouldn't threaten him anymore, but still do.
Dean squirms for a second, fighting against Cas' hands wound around his waist, resisting.
"Shh. Shh. Hey. Look at me, it's fine, your fine. Sam's fine." Cas whispers, trying to get through to Dean. At that moment, Dean turns around to face Cas, and the blue of Cas's eyes washes over Dean, like a cool, soothing ocean wave. They were worried, shining with concern. So different, yet so similar to the ones in Dean's nightmare. The ones that were seconds away from having the light leeched out of them. The ones that were locked onto Dean's eyes, still shining with faith, even if Dean failed to protect him. Failed to save him. Failed to do anything but stand there, watching Cas die.
He hears Cas whispering reassurances, words that were as permanent as their breath in the midnight air. He hears Cas tell him that nothing's wrong, that Sam's safe. But it feels wrong. Dean's unsettled, worried and when he sees Cas' trusting gaze, he can't stand it.
"Yeah, but you weren't Cas. You weren't. You were dying. It was killing you, and I was just standing there, watching you die. You died, because I couldn't stop it." His whispers start growing more and more furitive, more deperate, and start breaking as he hisses them out, trying to hold on.
Then Cas thought he heard Dean say, "You died because of me."
"Hey, I'm alright. I'm okay-" Cas says, but Dean cuts him off.
"You hated me, Cas. You wanted to kill me-"
"Hey. I'm still here and in love with you, okay? I'm okay, Dean."
"Hmm. Yeah." Dean breathes out, burrowing into Cas' arms, letting the warmth wash over him. The unsettling fear is still there, nestled in the bottom of his stomach, but it's icy clench over his heart loosened as Cas' hand in his tightened.
The next morning, Dean, unusually, wakesup first. He wishes he could say that last night's interruption was a distant memory, but it is still far too real. Cas' terror struck eyes, begging Dean to do something other than stand there and watch haunted Dean, with every breath he heard Cas take. Sometime in the night, he'd turned away from Cas and had scudded to the edge of the bed. But Cas was right behind him – ready to jump off any cliff, clenching Dean's hand.
Dean smiles to himself, a tiny smirk, as he closes Cas' mouth. He may have been a badass angel of the Lord, happy to smite any threat, he may know more than forty languages and enough history to create a whole new bunker, he may be awesome in bed, out bed, aesome in general, but he still breathes with his mouth open. It'd pop open in the funniest way, but somehow he never snored.
Almost laughing out, Dean brushes the messy bed hair off Cas' face, making it messier (which is actually intended), smoothing out the wrinkles, burrowing his face in Cas' soft hair, letting it tickle his nose, when Cas' eyes pop open. Even after three years, Cas' eyes blow him away and Dean wonders for the millionth time how this is possible. Him, Cas, love, any of it, all of it. Cas thinks he doesn't know, but Dean does. Dean knows he's saved Cas in more ways than he can count, he knows that in three years, he's loved Cas more than anything else in three millenia, but he just doesn't know how.
