Disclaimer: I, alas, do not own the awesome series of supernatural.

A/N: This is a fic featuring Dean and his blue-eyed angel, Castiel. Not too good on summary, so I'll let you discover the mystery that is Supernatural. Reviews are more than welcome. A happy author = lots of reviews; A prolific author = happy author + well-placed constructive criticism.

Wings of Faith

He could hear screams, pained and terrified. Voices all mingled together in a chorus symphony that cried out in despair, of loss, and remorse. Images of people being strung out on the rack, their insides glistening and open to him. Each soul would beg for mercy, but he continued to pierce his victim with a hot pot sticker or anything that would induce pain. Each victim he tortured, he felt a part of him break. For a timeless eternity, he tortured anyone on the rack to prevent himself being in their place. He stopped, however, when a familiar person appeared before him; his black hair tousled in a messy way and bright blue eyes that looked straight at him, as if into his soul.

"Dean,"

Dean startled awake, gasping for air as if he was suffocating. A hand lightly touched his shoulder and his body flinched, although he knew what that hand belonged to, or rather who it belonged to.

"Dean? Is everything all right?" The deep voice murmured quietly and the hand slipped from his shoulder. Surprisingly Dean already missed the warmth the hand emanated.

"Yeah...just..." The elder winchester got up shakily from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

His hands trembled slightly and he hurriedly washed his face, feeling the cold water ran off his face. He looked up in the mirror but instead of seeing his own reflection, he saw images of his nightmare in hell. The description of hell as the seven pits with fire and tortured souls as its main denizens were quite the understatement for him.

"Your dreams of Hell serve not as a punishment but a reminder of what could happen on earth, for everyone, not just you," Castiel stated as to comfort the man who was prophesied to stop the Apocalypse.

"Well, jeez Cas, if I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it," Dean snapped, much to his chagrin, especially upon seeing Cas' eyes widen briefly then harden.

"Cas, I'm sorry... it's just..." Dean stopped, not wanting to bring in another chick flick moment. He turned to the angel behind him and just smiled, letting his actions speak. It seemed to be enough to mollify the angel, who just shrugged his shoulders.

"Anyways, what's up?"

"As of now, I have had no luck in finding my Father," Castiel started and his eyes lowered in disappointment.

Dean could almost see the frustration and the despair come off Cas' body in waves and he found himself unable to say anything, let alone sorry for Cas' discovery. There was an uncomfortable silence followed by stolen glances as each one dared enough to look at the opposite person but was not bold enough to say anything.

Sam spared them a lengthy period of awkwardness by barging into Dean's room, sweaty and panting as if he had ran a mile or two.

"Dean! Cas! Bobby needs us!"