Imagines

You emerged you naked body into the shower, letting the water hit your face, drain through your hair, and travel down your body.

Slowly, your legs grew tired from the weight on your shoulders, and within moments, you were sitting down in the stand up shower.

Your eyes began to close, resting your head back against the wall. Tears, blending with the water droplets, fell down your checks.

The bathroom door creaked as someone entered. You didn’t care to look, until they pushed the curtains open.

It was Dean, standing tall yet broken. His breaths were heavy, and his eyes a sore red.

Had this hunt really taken a toll on everyone? The boys seemed to treat it like just another Tuesday, brushing that little girl’s death off like just another casualty of war. But as you looked up at Dean, it was almost as if he had removed his armor and stood before you in human form- human pain.

He was fully clothed, but didn’t seem to bother him as he entered the tub and sat in front of you.

The two of you stayed still, looking down and not speaking. The world seemed to slow around you. You listened as the water hit your skin and splashed the tub, hearing each drop.

You voice cracked as you spoke. “Does… does it ever get easier?”

Sam looked up from his book and over to the angel (who, while Sam was doing important research for a case, was just staring off into the obis). Sam considered not answering his question, but he had to admit he was a little curious as to where Castiel was going with his inquiry.

“Well, I guess,” he said. “But it depends on the context. What does that have to do with the case at hand?”

“Actually a good deal,” Castiel answered. He turned his body to face Sam. “It’s proven that humans perform, both mentally and physically, better when they are well rested. Not only would it benefit you if you were to get a few extra hours, but it would benefit everyone if Dean got more hours of restful sleep.”

Sam huffed. “It’d be helpful if Dean was with us now, instead of drinking his way to sleep hours ago.”

“Dean is doing what he needs to in order to take care of himself,” Castiel said in defense. “But it’s not enough. He’s restless.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel’s face dropped ever so slightly. “Dean hasn’t been sleeping well recently, or much of all for that matter. Most of the time he’ll sit there with his eyes wide awake, and even after passing out, he’ll still cry.”

“Wow,” Sam said after gaining insight on Dean he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know. “How do you-”

“I watch you two sleep.” After seeing Sam’s face drop, Castiel quickly added, “For protection.”

“You stalk us,” Sam said.

“I like to think of it as keeping tabs.”

Sam shook his head, then closed his book and put it on the table. “Whatever you want to call it, my room is off limits from now on.” He stood up. “I think imma call it a night though. All this talk about sleep has-” he yawed, “you get the point.”

“Before you go to bed,” Castiel asked, “would you mind spending two minutes comforting Dean? I feel like mild cuddling would be beneficial.”

Sam raised his finger in rebuttal, but quickly decided he didn’t want to have that particular conversation with the angel. Lowering his finger with a sigh, Sam simply turned and began walking away. “I’ll leave that to you, Cas. Lemme know how it goes.”

Castiel had gotten much better at being able to identify and understand sarcasm, but Sam might have had a point. Although the brother’s connection was far greater than any other bond he had observed, there would be a certain awkwardness if Sam had been the one to aid Dean to sleep.

As they were not related, Castiel might have been a better option. Despite having no interest in cuddling, or even sleeping for that matter, Castiel had a slight cheer in his eyes as he made his way to Dean’s bedroom.The angel strode through the hallways with a purpose, his trench coat flowing behind him.

When he reached Dean’s bedroom, the shifting sheets became apparent from the other side of the door. Opening it, he saw Dean in distress upon the mess he had made of his bed. Sweat was dripping from his blood rushed head, and he was grasping the covers with his hands at both sides.

Castiel’s heart broke a little seeing Dean in so much pain that he couldn’t even find peace in his sleep. Castiel was bred with the purpose of constant battle, tiring days and nights without rest. But humans, they were fragile. With everything the boys had been through, Castiel was almost surprised they hadn’t already shattered.

Castiel examined Dean’s situation. Unlike the movie, where the girl was on her side and curled up, Dean laid on his back like a plank. It would be difficult to get him into a position where Castiel could hold him.

He instead decided on another approach.

Castiel walked slowly and calmly, trying not to awake Dean. He crawled onto the bed and to Dean’s left side. As he slid his right arm under Dean, almost to cradle the back of his neck, Castiel rested his head on Dean’s shoulder and placed his other arm on Dean’s chest.

Castiel noticed the smell and feeling of cold sweat on Dean’s entire body, but he didn’t mind it.

At first, Castiel got worried. Dean’s body didn’t change. It stayed tense, twitching uncontrollably at what Castiel assumed was a nightmare.

But then it happened.

As if instinct, Dean body relaxed and his left arm wrapped around Castiel. The way their bodies connected like puzzle pieces felt so natural to the angel. Within moments, Dean buried his face in Castiel’s mess of hair, and began to cry.

Castiel had seen Dean cry on several occasions, but not like this. Before, it was always a painful cry, either fueled by anger or loss, and powerful enough to break Dean. But this time was light. Not forced by any emotion, but rather as if a great weight had been lifted from Dean and he could finally feel safe enough giving in.

Dean’s breathing got smoother, his body temperature cooled, and his crying lessen until creasing. Before too long, he was in a deep rest.

Castiel’s original plan was to stay long enough to get Dean to sleep and then leave to continue research on their current case. But he no longer wanted to leave.

Of course, there was the small pride Castiel had from his plan actually succeeding, even with Sam’s doubt. But there’s was more of a comfort in Dean’s reaction. With Dean holding on to Castiel, lightly but certain, he would regret leaving.

On top of that, Castiel also felt relaxed from Dean’s hold. Always being caught up in a case or mission, Castiel rarely got a chance to simply rest. If the Winchesters got this privilege, why should he not?

Before to long, Castiel decided on staying with Dean for the night. He wouldn’t call it sleep, as angel were physically incapable of it, but as his eyes closed, Castiel mind was allowed this state of absolute blankness. His body melted into Dean’s, and he was at peace.

Obviously the conversation in the morning was awkward. At first, Dean was taken aback by waking up to the angel at his side, but as Castiel explained the previous night, Dean began to understand. And he even admitted to getting the best sleep he could remember in years.

Castiel was pleased with his efforts.

When Castiel and Dean entered the kitchen together that morning, with Dean wearing his embarrassed and frustrated ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ face, Sam, who was alreading sitting down eating his breakfast, shot wide eyes at the both of them.

Dean rushed to the refrigerator to grab his food.

Castiel had the mildest smirk on his face when he looked at Sam. The only words Castiel said were simply, “It went well,” in response to Sam's previous comment.

“Well, I’ve got another half hour before the bar closes and we’re not exactly packed.”

He looked around. Much like the last couple nights, the bar was quiet, Dean being the first and last in.

“I’ll answer your question, if you answer mine,” he finally said.

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Fair.”

“Why do you want to know? Countless men come in on the daily, all more than happy to have a beautiful woman such as yourself give two shits about their life. So why give any shits about mine?”

“Well, beauce you’re a mystery. Like I said, I can read most anyone like the open book they are. And they’re boring- all the same story. You’ve got something more, and I’m curious.”

He thought for a moment. “Fine, okay.” Dean tilted his head back, and took his shot, the sting a familiar comfort. “I work in a very dangerous occupation. A lot of people get hurt. It’s hard to do alone, so… well sometimes I need help. I got someone very important to me involved and…”

“They got hurt?” she asked.

He slowly nodded. “You can say that. And now… I don’t think I can forgive myself.”

“Well shit.” She turned, grabbing the Jack and two shot glasses.

“Aren’t you on the clock?”

She poured the dark liquor. “You’re an exception.”

They both grabbed the glass, maybe hoping for something a little stronger, but settling for anything to numb.

A little after the glasses landed back on the table, the girl looked back at Dean. “Ever consider a different occupation?”

“Not in my cards, sweetheart. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried, but it’s like this diseases I was born with. It’s the family business, and there’s not much family left to carry it on.”

“Lemme guess, they got hurt too?”

He nodded. “More like killed.”

“Well shit.”

“But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that everyone dies. Doesn’t matter much how.”

“No, not really,” she sighed, “but it does matter how you live, and dying young kinda puts a cease to that.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, until she finally said, “You know, I used to be in the business.”

“Different business,” Dean scoffed.

She tilted her head. “Hunting. You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”

He paused. “How did you-”

“I read people, remember?” She took a breath. “My family brought me into it too, and I thought it was over. I thought I had no other life… But look at me now. Been clean almost five years.”

She used ‘clean,’ as if hunting was some kind of drug one would get hooked on. Maybe she had a point.

“I’m glad,” he said, sorrow in his tone. “But I’ve tired. Don’t work for everyone.”

And silence took the room once more.

“I should probably get goin’,” Dean said. “I’ve got one more thing to do tonight.”

“Hey, I never caught your name.”

“Dean,” he said, setting enough cash on the table to pay for double his tab.

“Sammy,” she added. “Well, will I see you tomorrow, Dean?”

He closed his eyes, trying to hide his emotion. “No, Sammy, I don’t think so. I think it’s time I moved on.”

Sammy nodded. “Just remember, it’s not too late for you.”

But Dean didn’t reply. He just walked out.

~~~

The grass was still moist from the evening’s rain, and the crisp air send shivers down Dean’s spine. But he barely even noticed, his focus was set on walking forward and not collapsing onto the ground.

After what seemed like hours, Dean finally stood ahead in front of the headstone.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’m sorry I failed you.”

He fell to the ground, tears falling from his eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought you into this, I shouldn’t have. You could have had a life, and now… You had a chance, more of a chance than any other of us.”

He stared at the dates engraved in the stone. “It should have been me, god dammit it.” He spoke softly, regret flowing out of his mouth.

“I'm done,” Dean stated, “I'm getting out. I'm gonna go find Lisa, I'm gonna beg her to take me back, and I'm gonna live- just like you wanted…”