Dean Winchester has a horrific nightmare and seeks the comfort he needs.

Dean woke with a start on the bunker couch, his heart pounding and his lungs gratefully expanding at the sudden gasp of air he engulfed. His hazel eyes flashed open to the dark living room, and the hunter was hit with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and despair as he relived the horrors of his dreams.

It had been years since he had been trapped down in Hell, and less years since Sammy was caged down there. Less than a year ago, he'd been forced to turn into a Demon after being stabbed to death by a traitor angel, and last month he'd almost died in the conflict between God and the Darkness. Sam had only just come back to the world of the living a few days ago. Quite possibly one of the only positives of the last decade or so was the resurrection of their mother, Mary Winchester, as a thank-you gift from God's sister for helping her make up with her brother.

Gotta love sibling relationships.

The oldest Winchester sibling ran a violently trembling hand through his hair as he sat up slightly. He could just barely make out the sleeping outline of Sammy on the other couch, chest rising and falling peacefully with each breath he took. He wasn't currently being plagued by nightmares, and for that Dean was eternally grateful.

No matter how hard he tried, Dean could not shake the feeling that his nightmare had given him. Everything horrible that had happened to him in his life so far had been forced upon him to relive, in vivid, Technicolor high-definition.

But that was not all.

The mind is a funny thing. Intelligent and cruel, it loves to think up and depict the worst possible situations for their occupant to stew over. For Dean Winchester, this included the horrifically graphic death of his favorite angel, Castiel.

Dean pulled his knees up to his chest as he stared unblinkingly into the dark room, lip bleeding from how hard he was gnawing on it. His dream felt, so, so real- that he wasn't even sure that Cas was even alive right now. No- that was stupid, of course he was alive… wasn't he?

"Cas?" a tremulous whisper broke free from Dean's chapped lips, resonating quietly in the night. As soon as it had, he felt stupid. Castiel probably had a million and one important things that he'd rather be doing than answer a stupid, worried call from the man who had the biggest crush on him. Right?

Wrong. A flutter of wings came from Dean's right side, and he jumped half a mile from where he was curled up, heart racing in a blind panic while his hand groped for the angel blade that Cas had given him for protection. Dean's frantic motions only stopped when he made eye contact with the piercing, brilliant blue eyes of the Seraphim.

"Dean?" The angel's voice, low and husky, came out as a whisper. "You called me."

"Yes," Dean hated how his voice was still trembling. He was a grown-ass man, in his mid-thirties, and he was getting all worked up and panicky over a nightmare.

The beautiful blue eyes narrowed, and Castiel silently came closer to Dean, taking him in with seasoned eyes. Dean felt as naked as the day he was born under the angel's gaze, and he closed his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"No," The entire word came out cracked and distorted, hitching funnily at the end and ending with an angry sniffle from the hunter, who swiped furiously at his watery eyes.

Fucking allergies.

The angel in a trenchcoat came closer, and sat down on the couch by Dean's toes. It was a comforting weight that eased some of the hunter's fears, and his heartbeat skipped a beat at the realization of how close Castiel was to him. "Dean. What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head, knowing that he would be unable to form words without breaking down and sobbing like a ten-year-old girl. Castiel looked like he understood, and laid a comforting hand on his bare foot. "Nightmares?"

"Mm," Was all that Dean could manage, biting his lip and looking up at the ceiling determinedly. When he'd gotten a little bit more control over himself, he looked back over at Castiel to see the angel obviously debating over saying or doing something. "What?"

"Would… should I give you a hug?" Cas' words were stilted and awkward, but obviously genuine. It was if he'd just known that Dean was too proud to admit that he needed the comfort, but wanted to make sure that the hunter knew he was available if he wanted it.

It just about broke Dean's heart, and he slowly nodded, watching as Castiel scooted closer and carefully put his arms around him. Dean sat stiffly in the angel's embrace for a moment, embarrassed that this was actually a thing that was happening, but slowly began to relax, taking a deep breath.

The scent of something warm and clean enveloped his senses, and he just knew that what he was smelling was Castiel. Dean gingerly unwrapped his arms from around his knees and retaliated the hug, wrapping his arms around the angel's middle from inside of his trenchcoat. Suddenly, he could smell Cas a lot stronger, and Dean's heart stuttered traitorously.

Of course, Castiel picked up on it. "Dean, why are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid!"

"I can feel your heart racing and skipping beats," The angel's voice rumbled in his chest, making Dean's heart do just that. "Are you afraid… of me?"

Dean shook his head, a bright red blush working its way up his neck and into the pores of his face. "No! God, Cas, no. I'm not afraid of you."

It was silent for a moment, and then the angel seemed to finally understand. "Oh! Oh."

Dean waited for the angel to push him away in disgust, but was pleasantly surprised when the angel's arms tightened around him, pulling him even closer. This action caused Dean to lose his grip on his side of the couch, and with a small gasp of shock the hunter fell forward onto Castiel.

The angel, unprepared to support Dean's full weight, fell onto his back, flat on the couch with a whoosh of air. Suddenly lying on top of Cas' entire body, Dean stared down at Castiel with a wide expression.

His blue eyes did not break contact with Dean's hazel ones when he spoke, his words innocent and plaintive as a child telling the truth, "I quite like you as well, you know."

With that, Castiel carefully looped a hand behind Dean's head, pulling him closer until their noses touched. He paused, waiting to see if the hunter would pull away. Dean took that as his cue, and bridged the rest of the distance to press his lips to the angel's slightly open ones. The sensation of Cas' soft, warm lips moving against his own was so jaw-dropping that Dean felt as if his heart would stop completely.

Their kiss was tastful, and ended far too soon for his liking, but Dean was suddenly too exhausted to do much more than press a kiss to Castiel's chin before resting his head on the angel's chest. He could hear Cas' slowing heartbeat, and closed his eyes with a smile, keeping his arms wrapped around the inside of his trenchcoat.

Castiel watched as Dean Winchester- the Righteous Man, the one he'd raised from Perdition personally, stopper of more apocalypses than he could count- fell asleep on his chest. In that moment, he was glad that he did not have to sleep, and could study everything about the man he loved's face. He had 31 microscopic freckles scattered about his nose and face, and eyelashes so long most girls would be jealous. Dean Winchester was absolutely perfect.

That was how Sam Winchester found them in the morning when he woke up- Castiel, fully dressed, lying on the couch with his eyes closed and his brother, Dean, wrapped tightly in his arms atop his chest. For the first time in a long while, Dean looked at peace.