A/N: My friend sylvarstar requested page 450, as well as a Destiel theme. The theme shamed the entire series, really XD 450 was silky - a spirit/ghost that tends to clean house for the occupants and likes to kill those who are poor workers. Enjoy!

The idea was that sleep would bring Castiel back to normal. His intention was to rest for a bit and wake up refreshed. That was normal for humans, right? They would go to sleep at night and awake in the morning feeling ready to start a new day.

Castiel must have been doing it wrong.

For the third time that week, the angel woke groggy and looked around him. It took him a few moments to gather where he was. It was a familiar place by now, being the room he'd set up in whenever he returned to Earth. He turned onto his side, looking over at the clock and barely making out that it was mid-afternoon. Two days after he had fallen asleep. With a deep sigh, he rolled back into the sheets and curled them tighter up to his neck.

There were many rooms in the Men of Letters' bunker. Castiel could have chosen any one of them to sleep in. Any single one of them without any importance could have worked. All he needed was a bed, in reality. But he had chosen this specific room for a reason – Dean's room. The room that he finally had for his own after a lifetime of constantly moving place-to-place.

The pillows still smelt like Dean. He had a very distinct scent that was nothing but sweat, grease, and cheap soap. It was…comforting in ways Castiel just couldn't explain. He buried his nose in the pillowcase and took in a deep breath. Sam had never questioned his choice on the selection – on some level he must have understood. All Castiel wanted was to be closer to the man. He was the angel's tie to humanity. It was hard to ignore or explain the lost feeling being without him produced.

"Hey, you're awake." Sam's voice was gentle as he came in the room. In the past, he had gone down his fair share of bad paths. The demon blood addiction, killing Lilith to free Lucifer, every mistake he had made when soulless, scratching at his mental walls until they broke. But there was no denying that he was kind, especially to those he cared for. The evidence of just that was written plainly in his features. He was carrying an old-fashioned tray, a glass of water, steaming bowl of soup, and buttered toast carefully arranged atop it. "Hungry?"

Castiel shook his head slowly back and forth. Now was not one of the times where the part of him that was becoming human craved to be fed endlessly. It did, however, scream at him to go back to sleep. His muscles ached, his skin felt like it didn't belong, and he had a terrible headache. "I am fine," he croaked out, closing his eyes once more. "Just having a hard time recovering…."

"So you're just going to sleep all day, then?"

The voice was back. This time Castiel didn't jump. This time…he didn't feel like he was in danger. It didn't feel as real as last time. It was less of a hallucination as it was…a dream….

Very slowly, Castiel turned his head out of the pillow. His eyes met the stunning green of the man they had been so desperate to find. This time, there was no demonic face beneath Dean's own. It was clear and human and all him. It was beautiful. He sat up quickly then, pulling himself out of the bed and over to the where the man stood in front of the closet. He wasn't thinking about motives or repercussions or right and wrong. He definitely wasn't worrying over Dean being fully dressed while he was only in a white undershirt and a pair of briefs.

Dean. That was all he was thinking about. Dean in front of him with his beautiful eyes, strong jaw-line, and quirky smile. Dean being human once again.

The kiss from this dream was nothing like the one from the hallucination. It was wasn't pungent with the acrid taste of sulfur. The stress of Dean's hands on his hips didn't feel like it could crush bone. His back didn't bend impossibly against the corner of the wall when he was gently pushed into it. It was...softer and careful, but in a way that said they cared about this more than anything.

Neither time was bad, but this one was definitely better.

"Sam has a case," Dean muttered against Castiel's lips, causing him to groan at how normal it was. He would give anything for normal again. "We're leaving in a few minutes. I…I only came to say goodbye…. Ugh, wish I could fuck you before…." The man pulled away with a short sigh, resting their foreheads together.

"Do it." Castiel raised his brow, surprising himself with the forwardness of his words. "I'm sure Sam would understand."

Dean snorted, stepping back and giving Castiel a long stare. "Right... Because that would be the best way for Sam to find out I've gone Brokeback." He crossed his arms, defensive like they'd had this conversation before. "'Sorry, Sammy. Had to fuck the ex-angel before we took off. You understand, right?'"

"I didn't-"

"I know," Dean said on a heavy breath out through his nose. "You didn't understand the reference." He took a few steps towards the door to leave, reaching out to grip Castiel's shoulder for a moment. "One of these days...when things are slow, we're going to have a marathon. We won't start with that, though. Should start with Star Trek. The classics, not the remakes. Definitely not the remakes..."

Somewhere deep inside, Castiel's lucid self was aware that he had understood the reference. That he knew every single plot point of the movies Dean had mentioned. But in this dream reality, he for some reason blocked that out. Maybe because the man looked so excited to share his favorite entertainment with someone he cared for.

Chuckling to himself, Dean left then. And Castiel found that he couldn't keep his eyes from following him until he could no longer hear the footsteps. It was then that he felt the deep pit in his stomach begin to reopen. The one that he had grown to be familiar with by now. The one that he felt every time Dean Winchester was out of his sight. It was something he knew very well after the fruitless months spent searching for him.

As he dressed, the reality of his current dream weighed heavily upon him. The fact that this is exactly how he dreamed a relationship with Dean Winchester would be unfortunately said quite a bit about him. It said that his time as a human had affected him possibly too much. It had opened his eyes to the fact that not only did he have feelings towards the man, but that he had also lost his faith somewhere along the way. He once had almost a childlike trust in the will of God. He used to believe that his Father had a plan for everything and everyone. That he was out there looking out for his angels and his beloved creations, desiring nothing but success for those who obeyed him.

But Castiel now realized that he had been naïve. God was gone. He was either dead or had given up on this world and fled for a new one. He didn't care about the happiness of his humans and he most certainly had no hand in the dealings of the angels any longer. They were all left to their own devices now.

Dean Winchester had once been seen by the angels as God's hand-chosen Righteous Man. The one who would lead them all to success in the apocalypse. He was Michael's vessel and the dutiful soldier. But that was before many of the angels decided to take prophecy into their own hands. And from there…from that moment when Castiel decided to betray everything he knew to save this man, everything changed. At that point, his main motive was to do anything he could to protect this man.

It wasn't like Castiel could just pinpoint one single thing Dean had done to win him over. He couldn't just name one quality or one moment that had caused him to change. The main fact was that this man was different from every other out there. And it was only within the last year – his time spent wandering without grace, humanlike – that the angel had begun to understand just what that meant. It meant love in a way that differed so much from how he felt for anyone else.

There was more meaning to it than just that, though. It also meant fear of discovery, a desire that often crippled him, and his need to make hasty decisions almost based solely on how they would affect Dean. Once coupled with everything else he had experienced since, it ended up being quite a lot to handle at once. And that was why he kept it a secret.

But not in this world. This plane of reality that only existed in his own mind. Castiel had dreamt of Dean a few times before he had taken Theo's grace. And he found the man was now the center of his dreams once again as that stolen grace faded away. As he essentially 'died' and became human once again. It wasn't such a bad side effect.

And this wasn't a bad dream. Yes, a secret relationship that most likely included nothing but iniquity might not have been his first choice. But, when it came down to it, it was just a dream. Anything at all was tolerable where he could find it.

In order to keep the dream flowing smooth, like real life, Castiel made mental notes as he walked through the bunker. He had woken not in Dean's room as he had fallen asleep in, but in another of the many unoccupied bedrooms. This, of course, made sense with Dean being here and human. Though it gave him little comfort, nonetheless, admittedly.

He was also, for the purposes of this dream, human. Dean had mentioned him being an ex-angel. His grace had faded out. Or...maybe this was set before he had stolen Theo's. But timeline was not of import. He wouldn't be 'here' long enough for it to matter.

The last thing he noted was his relationship with Dean. It was...undoubtedly sexual. Their kiss minutes ago was not that of a random whim. It was perfected over countless nights of shared desire. Even though this was a dream, it left him hungering for more. It was, after all, his dream. He could control what happened, he was sure. And if he wanted to kiss Dean again, why shouldn't he?

With this thought the forefront of all the others, Castiel waited for the hours alone to pass in the dream. Thankfully, they rolled by quickly – almost like it was a scene of a movie running on fast-forward. In what seemed like no time at all, he was folding himself beneath the sheets of his bed, once again. He hoped that when he 'woke' in the dream again, the Winchesters would have returned. That he could find Dean again and hold him tightly with the intention of never letting go. That he could curl up in his strong arms and beg to be protected for a change. That he could hide out in this dream reality, stealing unreasonably passionate kisses and ignored the real world that lacked all of these beautiful things.

Finally, hours later, Castiel felt the pressure of someone sliding under the covers behind him. The body pressed close to his own, whispering a soft 'shh' noise as he opened his mouth to speak the man's name. "It's just me, Cas..."

There wasn't anything 'just' about Dean's presence. His weight against Castiel's back was absolute security. "Tell me about the case," the angel said, his breath shaking as Dean ran his fingers lightly over the spot on Castiel's back where his wings would normally protrude from.

"Really?" Dean laughed. Oh Father, Castiel missed that snark-filled laugh. "Alright...well, uh, we didn't go far - just a couple cities over. There were strange killings reported at this...swanky hotel. Like...stabbed through the heart with a broom strange. Witnesses mentioned pale women with rustling clothes walking around. Sounded like a routine haunting. Salt and burn, no big deal. Right?"

This was so normal, the way Dean spoke without fear or hesitation in his tone, that it almost felt like they had gone back in time. Back before they had met. Before angels and demons vied for Dean's soul. Before the world changed by their hands. It was a side Castiel had never seen, but now realized he longed to. A satisfied gleam to his eyes, he turned over in the man's arm and gently touched his chest. Just gazing into his eyes and listening to the beautiful man speak his carefree words.

"Well, we were right on the haunting part. EMF spikes all over the place. Not just in the rooms of the deaths, though. We checked several rooms that had guests checked in and...they all were positive. Also, those who had died were all hired for housekeeping. Every single staff member of that team was dead. And still every guest we spoke with said that they had awoken to a clean and spotless room.

"Turns out we were dealing with a silky. It's a ghost, but...a specific one. One we'd never come across. Don't know if Dad did, either. There was no mention of one in his journal. Anyway, apparently silkies are...a benevolent type of spirit? They tidy up houses while the occupants are asleep. But they also tend to kill those who are lazy workers. Turns out...the housekeeping crew liked to take too many breaks. Did their jobs half-assed. So it was lights out for them.

"We found out that the silky legend hails from Scotland or...somewhere European. I don't know, Sam did the research. Located a woman who had died rather violently by her controlling jerk of a husband back when there was a house on that land instead of a hotel. Found her bones, did the usual routine and bam! - end of case."

It did seem easy. Almost too easy when compared to everything the Winchesters had endured through the years. But there was just one thing that bugged Castiel. A question that had come to play on a loop in his mind through his time alone - "Why didn't you take me with?"

"C'mon, Cas," Dean pleaded. The way he said it caused Castiel to cringe - he had heard this question too many times before. "Your grace - your stolen grace - is smoking out fast. You can use any chance at shut-eye you can get. You know that..."

This dream was just a mirror of Castiel's current life. Some happy form of reality where Metatron hadn't stabbed Dean. Where Castiel had been able to save the man before it came to his death. Where his disposal of the angel tablet hadn't come a moment too late. If he was guessing correctly, it was his life modified to accommodate the actions he wished he could have taken instead of what really happened. And yet he was still losing his angelic state of being at a rapid pace.

"I know," he said on a strangled breath. "I do know."

The room was dark, but Castiel could just barely make out the small wince to Dean's features as he sat up a bit. No doubt he had picked up on the fear in the angel's voice. They knew each other well enough to see past words and tone inflections to the feelings underneath. "Hey, hey, we've talked about this." The man's calloused hands ran tenderly through Castiel's hair, thumbs curving over his cheeks. "It's not something you have to be scared about. You'll be human again, but nothing will change. Sure, you'll have to eat and shit and patch yourself up when you bleed. Things you're doing already now as you're fading. No more flying and just zapping yourself to wherever you want to go. But…you can ride shotgun anytime you want…." He chuckled softly, leaning in with his purely Dean-scented, sweet breath and pressed his lips to the other's forehead. "You don't have to worry, Cas…."

In that moment, Castiel had no reason not to trust Dean. His words were kind and his voice was soft. He obviously cared and right then…that meant everything. Overcome with an intense amount of emotion, the likes of which an angel wouldn't be used to, Castiel practically dove further into Dean's arms. He crushed their lips together, pinning the man down against the pillows.

"Whoa, slow down, cowboy!" Dean chuckled, his hands instinctively slipping beneath Castiel's waistband to settle upon his hips. "I mean, it's sexy as hell when you take charge but…." His words were cut short as the angel's teeth sunk into his neck. Hips rolling up, his fingers dug into Castiel's upper back.

"I wish you could feel my wings," Castiel groaned, missing the pleasure those strong hand would have brought if massaging his feathers. "I wish you could have seen them. Dean…I wish things were different…."

The way his angel said the words brought about an intense change in Dean. He frowned, gently easing Castiel's deep blue eyes to meet his. "What is with you tonight, man?" His lips were sinfully swollen, contrasting the tears glazing his doe-like gaze. "You're mopey as crap."

Dean was, by no means, a master of emotions. He wouldn't know how to handle a crying angel in any reality. That didn't mean his words weren't enraging, however. "What is with me?!" Castiel boomed, his harsh timbre enveloping the room. The sheer volume of it caused Dean to rapidly sit up, dislodging the angel from his lap while he motioned for him to be quiet. "What's 'with me' is that you're not real, Dean! You're not real!"

"What are you talking about?! Of course I'm real!" Dean gripped Castiel's upper arms and shook him violently. Trying to knock some sense into him. "Look at me, Cas! I'm fucking real. Live and in the flesh – right in front of your face. Look at me."

Castiel couldn't. He closed his eyes tight, not wanting to see any more of this. He was ready to be back home. Ready for the real world again. This dream was too far from everything he knew. It was too perfect. "I just want to be awake now," Castiel muttered.

He was to the point where neither sleep nor wakefulness appealed to him. Right now he didn't want to be asleep. But one he was awake, he knew he wouldn't like that, either. Nothing felt comfortable anymore. Nothing felt safe. Dean here was too nice and too beautiful. Dean in his current life was nowhere to be found and turning into a monster.

After what seemed like ages of trying to block out Dean's begging and soft pleading and angry slapping, Castiel finally awoke. The dream ended abruptly, jerking the angel back to the real world and all of his problems. Wrenching him into a violent fit. Clutching desperately at his wings and pulling away handfuls of dying feathers. Tears streaming down his face and wetting the front of his sleep shirt. Throwing the constricting covers away, wanting to escape the feeling of being constricted.

The hallucination had left Castiel drained. The dream, rejuvenated with a purpose. He needed to find Dean. Needed to be able to see him and touch him and fix him before he lost his grace. There was absolutely no telling what would happen once he did and he needed this to be done before it was too late. For real, this time.

He was tired of these fake images. Dean manifesting as a murderous, soulless demon just as Castiel feared. Dean being a fantasy of everything Castiel wished for. He just…needed the real thing.

And he was tired of waiting around for it.