When Dean got to town, he still hadn't figured out where to go. It was still early morning. The bars weren't open. In fact, the only thing that was open was the diner.
Maybe some bacon and eggs would clear my head , thought Dean. And some ham. And pie.
He got out of the car and pushed at the door of the restaurant. Nothing. Door wouldn't budge. He pushed again, harder. Still nothing. Am I too early? he thought. He shoved harder, kicked the door in frustration and turned around to walk back to the Impala.
"Aaagh!" he hollered in exasperation, just as an elderly couple pushed open the door from the inside, eying him warily as their shuffled toward their Lincoln Continental.
Dean tried to compose himself as he pulled open the door to the restaurant and walked in. He grabbed a copy of Auto Trader from the rack in the vestibule. Not that he'd ever give away his Baby, he just liked looking at other people's inferior Impalas with a smug sense of satisfaction.
He knew he looked terrible as he walked in and took a seat in a two person booth near the bathroom. Patrons who had heard the ruckus outside watched him slide down into his seat, and he could see their judgemental stares from his peripheral vision.
"Fuck 'em'," muttered Dean to himself, shaky hands struggling to turn the pages of the menu.
"Ahem," cleared the throat of the waitress who stood before him, pad and pencil in hand.
Fuck, how long had she been standing there? thought Dean in a panic. "Uh, yeah, so… bacon and eggs. And a side of ham. Also, a slice of apple pie," he said, eyes cast down and the table.
"You want toast with that, honey?" asked the waitress sympathetically. Dean glanced over and noticed that she was new. She was a gorgeous, androgynous 20-something, with an angular brunette bob. She was solidly built but graceful, looking out of place in her pastel polyester uniform and apron. She was not Dean's usual type, but still beautiful, and she reminded him of someone, but in his daze he couldn't quite recall who. At any rate, she was being nice to him, despite the fact that he was clearly not ok. She gave Dean a tiny smile, and said softly, "you look like you could use some coffee."
"Yeah," Dean replied gratefully. "Coffee would be good."
The waitress came back with the coffee, which Dean took black and drank quickly despite it being very hot. He slammed the mug back down and waited for the refill, his body now coursing with stimulants after his his trip to the store. He began to feel spiders crawling up his spine and through his nerve endings. He blinked his wide eyes. Good, this is good , he thought to himself. He could do this. Just gotta stay up, keep busy until I can figure out what to do next .
The waitress came back with his food, and a refill of coffee. He looked up and saw pity in her eyes. "Um, thanks, uh…" Dean's eyes found her name tag. "Charlene."
"No problem, hun," she said softly and then turned and walked away.
Dean looked down at the bounty before him, the smell stimulating his appetite despite all of the caffeine coursing through his veins. He grabbed his fork and knife, preparing to dig in and was suddenly hit with a blinding, flashing pain in his head, causing him to suck in air and drop his fork and knife. He brought his hands up to his face and pressed heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to push back the pain. Suddenly, the pain subsided, and he looked down at his food. Eggs, bacon, pie. Ham. He looked closer at the ham, something was wrong.
"Oh God," he murmured. The ham wasn't ham. It looked like skin. Like a piece of pale white, flayed skin. He could make out what looked like the upper half of a Princess Leia tattoo.
"Char-charlie…?" he rasped. He shook his head back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to erase what he'd just seen. He opened his eyes again , and everything was as it was before. Ham. Pie. Normal.
Dean could feel the tears in his eyes, stinging his already overworked tear ducts. The guilt crashed over him like a storm surge, flooding him. He reached in his wallet and pulled out a $10, no, better make it a $20 , he thought. He slammed it on the table and practically ran out of the restaurant. He made it back to the Impala and slumped against the trunk, heaving panicked breaths, tears uncontrollable. Wow, those folks sure are getting a show today , Dean thought bitterly, struggling to regain control of his heart. His blood whooshed through his ears and he didn't hear the crackle of static and flutter of feathers from around the side of the restaurant, and didn't notice the crunch of gravel underfoot as Castiel and Sam approached Dean from either side of the Impala. They came up to him in near unison, each placing a hand on Dean's shoulders. His response was electric. He shot up and back and fell backwards on the gravel, scooting in reverse on his hands, wild-eyed and terrified.
"STAY AWAY! STAY BACK!" he screamed, voice cracking with terror. He tried to scramble to his feet but his legs couldn't seem to stay under him. Instead, he brought his knees up to his chin, wrapping his leather-clad arms around his shaking body, and sobbed. "Please, you gotta help me," he choked. "Something's wrong with me."
Sam and Castiel looked at one another and Sam saw genuine anguish in Castiel's eyes. Castiel's lips were parted slightly, and with a sigh he took two steps forward and knelt down next to his panicking friend.
"Don't-stop-Cas-" Dean stuttered as Castiel reached out toward him.
I am sorry, Dean," Castiel said sadly, and then he touched the side of Dean's head, causing him to immediately slump to the ground.
"Jesus, Cas," mumbled Sam. "What did you do to him?"
"He was… I believe 'unhinged' is an appropriately descriptive term," replied Castiel as he continued to kneel by his friend. "He's unconscious now."
"Is he… can he dream? Is this the best idea, putting him to sleep?" Sam looked worried.
Castiel looked up toward Sam with a thoughtful look. "I do not sense he is dreaming, but it is imperative that we get him back to the bunker immediately. We can come back for the car."
Sam nodded, and knelt down next to his brother. Castiel took both brothers by the hand and with a whoosh they found themselves back in the bunker, tingling with static, Dean on the floor in the main room, Sam and Castiel kneeling on either side.
"Help me move him to the couch," Castiel asked, not that he needed it. Sam knew the angel was shockingly strong but it did help Sam to feel useful. They laid Dean lengthwise, and propped his head up with a couple of pillows.
Sam stood and ran both hands through his long, chestnut brown hair. "Okay, can we wake him now?" Castiel nodded and placed his hand on the side of Dean's face.
Dean bolted upright, gasping for air. His eyes flew around the room until they met his brother's, who knelt down next to him and clasped both of Dean's hands in his. "Breathe, Dean. Breathe. It's okay," he tried to reassure his brother, but Castiel could see fear in Sam's face, too.
"Where the hell, what…" Dean trailed off. Then he whimpered, "what happened?"
"Castiel knocked you out, "Sam explained. "You were having a panic attack or something. You left this morning and I called Cas for help. When we found you, you were going berserk." Sam looked up at Castiel, whose eyes had fired up behind an otherwise cool expression. "Cas, you gotta tell'm what you told me."
Castiel's eyes flared as he tilted his head slightly in a way that Sam knew meant, how much ?
"You have been having night terrors, Dean," said Castiel, flatly. He did not want to let his feelings… complicate the mission.
"No shit, ya think?" spat a red-eyed, exhausted Dean.
Castiel could not help but to look hurt. He did hurt, badly, both for Dean and for himself. Dean got into the situation to begin with because of a gendered need for stoicism and a learned penchant for repression, as well as a unhealthy dose of toxic masculinity. Human emotions were relatively new for Castiel. His main models for exhibiting said emotions were Dean and Sam. He knew how he felt, but did not know how to wear it. He was not a soldier of Heaven anymore, he was a civilian.
"Dean," he sadly replied, blue eyes pale under a furrowed brow, "have you been remembering your dreams?"
Dean rubbed his eyes with the back of one of his hands and then looked up at his angel friend, "Sorry, Cas. I'm sorry. Yeah." He yawned and shook his head. "Remembering 'em does not quite fucking capture it. I'm reliving them. Seeing things."
"Do you remember waking up from your dreams?" Castiel asked, taking a step forward toward Dean as Sam stood and stepped back.
Dean paused a moment, then said, "Yeah, Cas. I remember a black shadow reaching out to me." Dean swallowed hard. "The shadow spoke to me, telling me it was going to be okay."
"That was Cas!" Sam exclaimed excitedly. Castiel whipped his head toward Sam, eyes like daggers that subdued his enthusiasm effectively.
"Wait, you were in my head, man?" Dean said incredulously. Castiel's face fell. He knew at that moment he had crossed a line that no one warned him about. He had hurt his friend.
"I am sorry, Dean," Castiel said, his gravelly voice soft, yielding. "I just wanted to help. I thought that if I… I could wake you up…" He trailed off.
Dean could tell he had said something wrong. Castiel just told him that he had fucking saved him in his sleep, stopped him from doing the most depraved things, from tearing himself apart. And here he was now, in person, doing the exact same thing.
"Cas," he broke in earnestly, "you saved me." Castiel's face changed, softened. "Please don't be sorry." He made eye contact with the angel, green eyes pooling into blue, breath soft and rapid, lips barely parted. For a moment he forgot about his brother standing off to the side, forgot that he was the scum of the earth unworthy of love or trust. He forgot to be strong. Locked in Castiel's gaze he felt… adoration.
Sam cleared his throat, and both Dean and Castiel blinked a few times, and Castiel started in again.
"Dean, you saw me as a shadow, a shade. I could not corporealize in your mind because I…" Castiel trailed off.
"You what, Cas?" probed Dean.
"I did not have your permission to be there in the first place. I was surprised I could get in at all. I could sense your suffering. I knew you would not want to talk about your dreams. I did not know what else to do so I… forced my way in." Castiel's eyes were downcast, full of shame. "I think that, if you could find a way to trust me, I could go back in and help you more effectively."
"Cas, it's okay," Dean said. "You were trying to help. You did help."
Sam chimed in. "Yeah, Cas, things would have gotten a lot worse a lot faster had you not stepped in." He had his hands clasped behind his back, trying to look casual but secretly roiling inside, agog at the fact that his brother was actually talking about his feelings for the first time in, well, ever.
"So then, what's next?" asked Dean.
Castiel spoke plainly, confidently, feeling self-possession after having his guilt lifted by Dean's appreciation. "I need your permission to join you in your dream. If I am there, I can help you deal with your… demons. I can remind you who you are, and where you are, and WHAT you are."
"And what exactly am I, Cas?" Dean inquired, his deep voice soft and and finally calm.
Without a beat, Castiel replied, "You are the human man I raised from Perdition with whom I share a profound bond. You are my friend."
Dean smiled, green eyes shining through puffy, red rims. "Okay then, Dreamboat Annie, how do we do this?"