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Companion to Impulses.

Persistence

He lies awake, eyes closed, half wishing for sleep to come, half begging it would not.

Sleep would have been nice, but the dreams that would accompany it would be torture. They were always torture, even when they shouldn't have been.

It's been almost two years since he returned from hell, since he was rescued from forty years in the pit. He still has dreams about it though, the torture he was put through, the torture he inflicted.

It the beginning it was bad. When he finally was blessed with sleep, it was only a matter of moments before he was awakened, screaming, drenched in sweat, hardly able to breathe.

For a long time, it didn't get better. The dreams continued to haunt him, ever persistant. Over time, he got better at hiding it from Sammy. His brother had thought he was better, when in truth, he was far from it.

Only just recently did the dreams start to wane. He was no longer being tortured in his dreamed, not in a traditional sense. In a way, the new dreams were worse.

Because he was happy. He wasn't running around, miserable, hunting with Sam. Evil didn't exist to be hunted. The world was at peace, Dean was at peace.

The only part of the dreams that hurt, was waking up.

Lying awake in the hotel room, he knows his angel is in the otherwise empty room, knows he's watching silently.

How dean wished that would would break the silence, tell hime the words he so desperately needed to hear.

I love you.