Sometimes, Dean Winchester has nightmares.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, heart pounding so fast he worries it'll burst right out of his chest and he has to frantically wipe his palms against his sheets because they are so damn sweaty. His only comfort is the fact that he's on a memory foam mattress, one that remembers him, because at one in the morning that's all Dean can let himself think about.

Sometimes, the nightmares aren't about anything in specific. Just looming monsters, or nasty shadows, or maybe he's being chased and while Dean never knows what's chasing him he's always so terrified. He can't stop running in these nightmares, or he wishes he couldn't but in the end Dean always stops and he turns and— he wakes up.

He hates not knowing what happens next.

Sometimes, however, he knows exactly what's happening. Because Dean's in hell, torturing and being tortured and it's endless, because in these dreams there is no Castiel to save him. Or maybe Dean's in purgatory, and he's doing his best to kill but then he meets Benny and he trusts him, except in these dreams he's just like everyone else and he kills Dean without remorse.

He hates how natural the coldness in the eyes of his deceased friend looks.

Sometimes, and these are the nightmares that Dean particularly hates, everything is okay. Everything is normal. And he's happy. Confused, sure, but happy. And then he turns around and he stares at Castiel— and he should feel sick, staring at the mangled body and the bloody trench coat, but god he feels... good, and that terrifies Dean more than monsters or running or memories ever could.

He hates being pleased, when it's the gruesome death of his best friend that makes him so happy. (And maybe he hates himself a little bit too, because somehow he knows that in these dreams he's the one who killed Castiel, and that sickens him.)

But then Dean's awake. And he's breathing heavily, and his nails had dug into his skin as he slept so his hands are just stinging as they bled out, but he can't bring himself to care because at least he's awake.

Sometimes, Castiel is standing over him when he wakes up. It terrifies him at first, but then Dean makes a sarcastic joke about personal space even though the last thing he wants is for Castiel to step away from him.

Sometimes, he asks him why he's there. Dean never understands it. He doesn't get why Castiel is standing in front of his bed, why he's staring down at him, why there's worry in his eyes. Castiel doesn't ever answer. Or maybe Dean just can't remember him answering, because there was once he could have sworn that Cas actually laughed, that he told him he would always be there regardless of whether or not Dean could see him. But then maybe he was wrong, because another time he could recall him saying something about how he called out for him in his sleep, which was so very wrong because Dean Winchester did not talk in his sleep, nightmares be damned.

He hates not knowing what really happened.

Sometimes, this is how his nightmares start. There's worry and jokes and he feels like he's awake and then someone's just behind Castiel but before Dean can open his mouth to warn him, he's dead. His skin is peeling away from his face, and everything is bloody. But it's not blood, it's black goo, and he's not really Castiel, and there goes Dean's heart.

He hates how horrified he is, when he wakes up from these dreams and there's Castiel with his tan trench coat and his blue eyes staring down at him as he wonders if this was really just another nightmare; a cruel joke played by his own imagination.

Sometimes, when he's awake — when he knows he's awake, because it's bright outside and he never has nightmares in which it's bright outside — Dean wonders if he should summon Castiel, if he should ask him why he's always there.

He hates himself for always chickening out.

And so he continues on, having nightmare after nightmare and always — always — waking up to Castiel there, even if he doesn't actually see the angel each time. Dean can sense his presence, and it's weird in ways that the hunter cannot fathom but it's comforting to be able to feel him there, because it's not something he can do in his nightmares. And thank god it's not something he can do in his nightmares, because if it was — if Dean could feel Castiel, if he could seek out what was bound to be his dead corpse with ease — he might just die a little bit on the inside.

Sometimes, Sam questions him. He asks about the tossing and the turning, the moans and the groans. Dean never gives him the time of day. But then Sam asks more and more questions — are you having nightmares? are you okay? can i help you? what can i do? are you sure nothing's wrong? — and he gets so irrevocably sick of it that he rears back and just pummels his fist into his younger brother's face.

He hates how much he enjoys it.

Sometimes, though, Dean just stops being sorry for a second. Stops hating everything he does. And in these seconds, rare as they are, he's relieved. Because it sucks. It sucks that the only thoughts that go through his mind at least once every day is 'what nightmare will await me tonight?' and 'i wonder how castiel will die this time, unless it's not about cas in which case i wonder how i'll die'.

He hates the fact that he has nightmares to begin with.

Sometimes — and god it's these moments that make Dean want to kill everyone in his general vicinity — Sam asks him one other question. Just one more, one that's so very different from the other ones. 'Dean,' he'll say, sounding worried, 'is that gunpowder on your lip?'

He hates the fact that yes, it is.

Because sometimes Dean wants nothing more than to push the barrel of his gun — of any gun, really — into his forehead so hard it leaves a small circle, or put it just inside his mouth (barely inside, maybe, but it's enough that his lips completely enclose the barrel), and just pull the trigger.

He hates the fact that this makes him a coward. He hates that he has faced so many horrible creatures — Azazel, Lilith, Metatron, Lucifer, Dick, and hundreds of thousand of others — and yet he still has moments in which he wishes he was dead. He hates himself for wanting to end his own life, when he knows damn well that the deceased would want nothing more than to be alive again.

He hates the fact that he'd be perfectly fine, if it weren't for his nightmares. Because Dean would be. If he didn't suffer every single night, if he didn't have to run from monsters or watch as Castiel repeatedly died, he'd be just fine.

Sometimes, he notices that his nightmares are usually centered around Castiel. Not his brother, not his family, but Castiel. He hates how he once wished that it was Sam, not Cas, that he had to watch die. And sometimes he wonders why it's not Sam in the first place, because he's his little brother, and surely he'd care more about his death than Cas'.

But it's because of his nightmares that he believes that Castiel dying is just that; a nightmare. So when Sam approaches him, tentative and oh so very sad, and tells him that Cas was dead, he laughs. Because no, he may feel awake, but he isn't. He can't be. Because Castiel doesn't die in real life. Only in his dreams, in his nightmares. And who cares, if it's sunny outside? His nightmares have just adapted, he tells himself, to make him more frightened.

But he can't sense Castiel anymore.

So when Dean finally realizes that yes, his best friend — his guardian angel — is dead, he doesn't quite understand what he's supposed to do. Because he can't have a funeral for an angel, when it wasn't really the angel's body he'd be burying. And he can't visit him in heaven nor hell, because that's not where angels go when they die. Nor do they go to purgatory, because that's where monsters go, and maybe they're winged dicks but they're not monsters. (Well, yes, they are, but apparently not in God's eyes.)

Sometimes, he likes to pretend that Castiel's still there when he wakes up at one in the morning. But then again, he also likes to pretend that it's a nightmare that always wakes him up, instead of the cold hard truth that hey, the guy who literally dragged your sorry ass out of hell is dead.

Sometimes, Dean hates sometimes.

[And sometimes, Sam hates the fact that his big brother was only dead because of a certain stupid fucking angel with stupid fucking pretty blue eyes and a stupid fucking tan trench coat that wouldn't have looked half as good on anyone else.]

For those who didn't quite catch on, Dean ended his own life. And, surprisingly enough, he stayed dead. Which... whoops. However! That last bit in the brackets can either happen... or not happen. It all depends on what you want. So if, in your mind, Dean doesn't get so low that he sees no other way out, you're not necessarily wrong. But please do tell me what you choose! I'd actually like to know which is more popular; him dead or him not dead.

That said, suicide is not a joke. If you ever feel like there's even a chance you might go that route, please talk to someone. I don't care if it's someone from a hotline, a family member, a teacher, or even me... just talk to someone.