Destiel One-Shots

Cursed Dreams

Nightmares, swearing, fluff, established Destiel

It was at least midnight when Dean started shaking. It wasn't very frantic, yet it still pulled Castiel from his calm state to his beloved, concern spreading through him with a chill. He sat up carefully so as not to disturb the Winchester, glancing over at his sleeping form. 

At first glance, it would look as though he wasn't moving at all but as you looked more carefully you could see the sheets around him quiver ever so slightly.

Suspecting that Dean was simply replaying their last hunt over in his head, the angel simply wrapped his arms around him in an attempt to calm the hunter. By 12:30, the shaking grew in force and a layer of sweat began to cover Dean's body.

It should be expected that he would have nightmares, considering all that he had been through but this time something was off. It didn't seem like an average nightmare of reliving one of the many chases that took place while hunting a monster. 

This was different. The only nightmares that were somewhat similar to this were Dean's memories of Hell but they would not last this long, ending briefly.

Noticing all of these signs, Castiel rose once more but this time he slowly made his way out of bed and crossed the room to the side his hunter was facing. Dean's face was scrunched up into a frown and his chest was rising and falling at a faster rate than that of peaceful sleep.

Maybe...if he was careful, he could enter his mind and help resolve the nightmare. Dean would just shove it down and call it nothing if Castiel awoke him now.

The angel placed his hand tentatively upon his forehead, focusing on Dean's thoughts until he had immersed himself into his mind. 

Immediately, he felt a colossal amount of fear and anger. And once he opened his eyes it only got worse.

He was in the bar that Dean had imagined while Michael had been possessing him, still showing himself using Dean as his vessel. And this time, he had conjured a version of Castiel and begun to beat him onto the counter that Dean was standing behind.

All he could do was stand there, unmoving but straining to do so, an expression of anger masking fear.

"You know Dean, I thought you would have tried to help him by now." The archangel taunted, still holding 'him' against the counter. 

"That you would have done something to stop me, but you haven't. And here I thought you loved him. He obviously loves you, isn't that right, Castiel?"

Michael lifted the dream version of himself to Dean, showing him what had been done. The man looked away, suddenly finding the other side of the barroom more interesting.

"Please, stop." He whispered in the most wrecked voice Castiel had ever heard.

This needed to stop. Now.

The angel made his way over to his hunter, jumping over the bar and not acknowledging 'Michael'.

"Cas?"

"Dean, this isn't real. This isn't anything but a bad-" He was suddenly pulled back over the counter, the archangel grabbing him by the collar and throwing him against the stacked chairs on the other side of the room.

"So this is the real one." Michael acknowledged, the other Castiel disappearing like a mirage, his focus now entirely on the one before him.

"You knew deep down, the other one wasn't really him, didn't you?" He realized, stopping in his tracks. 

"Well," He turned back to Dean.

"So much for that."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean bellowed from where he still stood behind the bar.