"And then he just left?" Castiel asked calmly, though Sam could see concern in his bright blue eyes under scrunched eyebrows. "Did he say where he was going?"
Sam had not gone out running as planned. He thought it best to stay at the bunker, keep a watchful eye on Dean, because, frankly, this behavior scared the shit out of him. He'd never seen his brother so emotionally shredded, so unable to keep himself composed. Sure, he'd seen anger, rage, possession, but then he'd just go back to being tough, stoic Dean again. He posted up on the couch with a book on the geological history of Kansas as it pertained to laylines and waited, listened. It wasn't longer than an hour before the music abruptly ended and Dean stormed out of his room, throwing his jacket on, keys in hand.
"Dean, man, where are you-"
"Out. Need to clear my head."
And then he was gone.
Sam paced through the main floor of the bunker, running his long fingers through his hair anxiously. He didn't have a car, couldn't pursue. Could Dean be in danger? If this was some sort of spell, or curse, perhaps he could research it. But he'd need help. He clasped his hands together. "Cas, if you can hear me, I could really use your help with something. It's Dean. He's-"
And with a whoosh and a flutter, Castiel was there right in front of him, only a few feet away. His dark hair was in its normal state of perpetual bed-head. He was stubbly, and looked tired. His tan trench coat hung heavily over his rumpled, charcoal suit, and his brow was furrowed.
"He just said he was going out, Cas. Out to 'clear his head', whatever that means. I'm worried it's a curse. I was thinking I could start with the Reinhold text and you could help me by looking through the Witches' Annuals for something-"
Castiel cut him off. "Sam, I do not think this is a curse."
Sam cocked his head slightly. "Wait, is there something you know that I don't?"
"Well, Sam, I am not a doctor, but-"
"Cas, you aren't even a human," Sam ribbed lightly.
Castiel's eyes narrowed, "Sam, are you asking me for help? Or to be the butt of a joke?"
"Fuck, sorry Cas," Sam quickly apologized. "I am just nervous and frankly freaked out. Just a bad Winchester defense mechanism. "
"Of which I am intimately acquainted," Castiel added dryly. "As I was saying, I am not a doctor, but I can tell you that Dean is processing some emotions, emotions he has not allowed himself to sit with and analyze."
"What do you mean?" asked Sam. "Emotions about what?"
"Sam, can you recall any extended period of time over the last ten years where neither you nor Dean were in mortal peril?" Castiel stepped closer to Sam, and his voice lowered. "Where you did not hurt people, intentionally or unintentionally? Where your choices did not result in the loss of those close to you? Where the fate of your world did not rest either directly or tangentially on your shoulders?"
Sam crossed one arm across his torso to grasp the other and looked away from Castiel's icy gaze. "What are you saying, Cas? Do you think Dean is having a mental breakdown?"
"I do not think that, Sam. I know that."
"Is this some sort of angelic intuition?" Sam asked. He looked back up to Castiel, whose expression had softened and saddened.
"Partly. I have a bond with Dean, and in times of severe distress I can sense his… mental disquiet. Two weeks ago he had a... I believe they are called 'night terrors'." Castiel persed his lips and exhaled through his nose. Sam could tell he was trying to find the right words.
"So, you could hear his nightmares? Is that what you are saying, Cas?" Sam tried to not let worry creep into his voice.
"Not just hear. See. I was in his nightmare," Castiel cast his eyes down. His voice softened to a husky whisper. "I could feel that he needed help. I had to help. But… one cannot just will their way into another person's dreams. Not without their consent." Castiel brought his hand up and ran it through his hair absently and looked down. "I forced myself in."
Sam shook his head, struggling to take it all in. "So… did you mind-rape my brother? Is that what you're telling me?"
"I do not know, Sam." Castiel looked up at Sam, eyes wet. Sam was reeling, he'd never seen Castiel look sorrowful before. " He was in such pain, and I thought… I thought if I could see what was happening that I could stop it." Castiel's voice ended on a hard edge.
Sam took a step toward his friend and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "What did you see, Cas? What did you do?"
"I saw horrors, Sam." Castiel blinked hard. "I saw Dean hurt, maim, and murder. I saw him enjoy it. I saw him hating himself, hurting himself. I saw him crying and screaming in mental anguish." He leaned into Sam's hand on his shoulder. "I cannot take a full form in his dream, not without his consent. All I am is a shadowy presence, but I can muster up enough corporeality near the end to wake him. I can say a few words." Castiel turned a half step away from Sam and Sam let his hand drop. "It's possible my presence has gone unnoticed."
Sam struggled to find language. He was gobsmacked. His brother wasn't possessed, or cursed, or magicked in any way. He was sad. Fucking depressed. He was melting down.
"Is that why you look like shit, Cas?" Sam asked incredulously. "Late night patrols guarding Dean from his own inner demons?"
Castiel looked straight at Sam, into Sam. "Your brother needs to talk about his feelings."
Sam replied, "Cas, you know that isn't how Dean works. He's incapable. If he could talk about his feelings, do you think…" Sam trailed off.
"Do I think what, Sam?" Castiel replied softly, head tilted slightly.
"Do you think you'd need to ask his permission for anything?" Sam exclaimed. "If he could just be honest about how he feels? About how he feels about you?! I mean, shit, Cas! You watch him while he sleeps! You rescue him from his own mind monsters!" Sam was worked up, nearly hopping in frustration. "You take care of him and have always taken care of him and he can't even articulate what that means to him!" Sam slowed himself, paused, and took a deep breath. "Cas," he said somberly, "how can we expect him to open up about these inner demons he hates when he can't even acknowledge the angel he loves?"
Castiel went silent. Sam's eyes widened and he continued, "Goddammit, Cas, not you, too!"
"Do not blaspheme, Sam," said Castiel coldly, slowly.
"So, you don't care about Dean?" Sam spat. Suddenly, the air crackled with ozone, and the room darkened. Two large shadows spread behind Castiel, as his blue eyes glowed fiercely.
Then a deep, gravelly voice echoed through the room, the bunker, possibly the entire state.
"DO NOT QUESTION MY LOVE FOR DEAN WINCHESTER."