A/N;
Hey guys! So this one is two parts, full of actual plot, and long af. Not a whole lot of fluff. Also, I'm kind of running out of ideas so comment any Destiel moments you would enjoy reading because I'll pretty much write anything Destiel! Thanks for putting up with this bs, hope you enjoy the story!
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The feeling of eerily soft sheets surrounded Dean, startling him awake despite the welcoming warmth. He jolted awake, sitting up in bed, a feeling of something being off nagging at him immediately.
Motel sheets are never this good of quality...
Looking around, he could see that he was in a bedroom, one that looked like it had come straight out of a furniture magazine. The walls were ash grey with patterned white curtains, the carpet a deep blue, matching the color of the comforter he had found himself under. Morning light flooded through the room, giving it a warm, hearty feeling. With a puzzled expression on his face, he took in the room and his new surroundings, nothing close to the cheap motel he had crashed at last night.
As he came to, shaking the last of the sleep away, he began to recognize the sound of breathing, and not that of his own. Finally looking down into the bed, he could see that there was a figure curled up against him, face hidden in the sheets.
"What the hell?" he jolted out of bed, throwing the covers to the side, both off of him and the other person. He backed away, searching anywhere in the room for a weapon through the fear racing through him. "What's going on?" He yelled to the awakening figure.
I didn't get that drunk last night, his mind raced. I didn't get drunk at all.
"Dean?" the figure in the bed questioned, suddenly all too familiar. A worried expression streaked across Cas' face as he climbed out of bed. "Dean, what's wrong?"
"What the..." Dean started, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. "What happened, Cas?" He asked, frantic. He took in Cas' casual sweatpants and t-shirt, thankful that he had at least something on. There was no way in hell, heaven, or purgatory Dean could've gotten drunk enough to sleep with his best friend.
Cas paused, trying to read Dean's expression. After a moment, it seemed as if he came to a conclusion, sighing and walking around the bed to Dean's side. "What was it?" he asked, standing in front of Dean and crossing his unusually bare arms. "You know you can tell me." he said, his blue eyes softening.
"Cas, what..." Dean started, utterly confused at Cas' trench coat-less look and odd expression. Why was he looking at Dean like that? "What are you talking about? Seriously, what the hell is going on?"
"Dean." Cas said, authoritatively yet softly. "Was it it me, Sam, or Arianne?"
"What..."
"In your nightmare."
Dean stopped. This wasn't...this wasn't Cas. This wasn't the angel he knew. He didn't respond, unsure of what to do. Cas didn't know about Dean's nightmares. Cas didn't wear AC/DC t-shirts, let alone change out of his trench coat. Was it a shifter? A ghoul? And who the hell was Arianne?
Where was Cas?
After Dean showed no sign of response, nothing other than staring there, dumbfounded, Cas sighed again. Eyes still tired with sleep, he walked around Dean and swung open the door, walking through it.
Unsure of what else to do, Dean followed warily, abandoning his hunt for a weapon. He found that the door led to an equally unfamiliar hallway, sleek with dark wood floors and framed pictures hanging from the walls. Walking over to a decorative table, he picked up one of the pictures.
