There is mild depictions of torture and Character Death (in-dreams only) within. Be warned.

When he sleeps, and how strange a sensation it is, he dreams. He dreams of Heaven and meadows, or the meadows are heaven; he doesn't know. He dreams of Hell and pulling Dean out, and Sam explains that you cannot feel things from a dream. Still Castiel wakes to fire on his skin and brimstone thick in the air. He dreams and dreams, fields and cities, people and objects. He walks down a narrow hall and the walls are closer, closer and he pushes his hands out in a desperate attempt to stop them from crushing him. He thinks he's taking his last breath when warmth washes over him. Something he hasn't felt, can barely remember, from when things were the way he sometimes dreams they are. He's pulled free and light washes over him and it's at the tip of his tongue, Father washed away on the wind when the light clears and demons surround him. Black eyes bore into him, clawed hands tear his flesh from the bone. He screams and curses, spits at them, but they don't relent and their laughter cuts him to pieces, too. Dean explains that it's a nightmare, a dream gone to the dark side, he says. He'll stay away from the nightmares, no more narrow halls. Subconscious doesn't work that way and he's sunning on a beach with Dean and Sam when that warmth surrounds him again. Painfully familiar and Castiel knew, always knew, when he felt it again it would be rejoice and his brothers would all be there. This isn't that dream; it is a nightmare, again. Long and narrow, a hall again. He wont be afraid this time, no. He runs full speed until he's barely squeezing himself through the walls. That warmth, a light he cannot describe growing stronger, closer... The insides of his vessel pour onto the floor as Alistair rips him open. There is no warmth and he. Doesn't. Understand. "Daddy isn't looking out for you," The demon lifts his chin with the blade of his knife. So sharp and hot it cuts straight into his throat. He can't scream out, can't deny what Alistair says; he just bleeds and he cannot die.

He jerks away sitting up so violently he nearly knocks both of his companions to the floor. They're awake in seconds, alert, looking for the enemy; Castiel wraps his arms around his stomach that isn't a hamburger mess in his lap.

"Cas are you okay?" "What happen?"

"Fine, nothing," He tries to brush it off, looks them in the eyes. They don't believe him, and they don't argue. They hold him Dean laying facing him, his hand runs up and down his side, soothing, but not enough. Sam wraps his arms around Cas, like steel bands, but soft skin. He's surrounded in a better warmth; a safe one. They want him to fall back to sleep, feel safe enough to get the rest his faster and faster failing body needs. He wont let himself though, he struggles and thinksthinksthinks and wont let his mind rest. They know he's awake and in turn they do not sleep either.

Castiel... He's alone in a dense wood, leaves rustle in the breeze and there is a symphony of sounds surrounding him. He's content and happy, he's sure Dean and Sam are meeting him here soon. Can feel it. Come home, Castiel... Suddenly it's there again. That warmth, that presence that can only be his Father. But he's had this dream before, a thousand times. He'll run to his Father, because even before he knew what sleep was, before he ever had his first dream; he dreamed of Him. Surrounded in something that was pure happiness, love. He wished and wanted it more than anything. Now fear grips him and paralyzes him and he'll never feel safe with that feeling again. Castiel... Impatient now but Castiel refuses to listen.

Until he doesn't have a choice. He's ripped from the woods and it feels like he's traveling straight up, higher, higher. And he knows without seeing, without hearing that he is going home and it's been such a long time. He can't help his heart soaring, finally home. And his brothers are all around and there are smiles and laughter. Joking, they've never joked around before. It's better than it was. They're patting him on the back, congratulating him and he has done such a good job. Smiling, laughing with his brothers, asking what he has done so well. Gabriel laughs, shaking his head and gestures to their feet. Confused Castiel looks down and he experiences for the first time the urge to vomit.

They are dead. All of them, every human he has come in contact with. Dean, Sam, Bobby, Jimmy... He doesn't know how he can even recognize them, distinguish between their bloodied mess of bodies. He looks at his brothers in horror, "Why?" he barely chokes the word out. "Why did you do this?" Why call him home, show him this. Why not let him stand in that wood for eternity waiting; never knowing would be better.

Michael shakes his head, and he's grinning, "You did this." Castiel tries to say, "No." but nothing leaves his open mouth. "We're so proud of you."

"No," he finally whispers. He falls to his knees and blood starts to soak into the material. And they are just standing on top of them. "No." He touches what he knows to be a part of one of his companions but he couldn't recognize or tell whom; can only feel them where they belong deep inside, and they are swiftly slipping away.

Gentle hands glide over his head, running fingers through his hair. "Be proud baby brother." He looks up and Lucifer is standing over him and he shouldn't be there and Castiel can feel the hate boiling inside him. "You've earned your wings." He's terrified to look, he knows what he'll see. It started with Lucifer, his pure wings charring, turning black. Once he fell it was no slow descent as others followed. Castiel doesn't have to look when he could already feel it, a sound like sandpaper as his shoulders shift together and he knows ash, from Hell itself, drifts down.

A sob rips from his body and he pulls viciously at his wings, blacken feathers fluttering around him and he ignores the searing pain as he pulls them out. He wont have them, has worked all these centuries to do the things his father would have wanted; things that kept him from turning like more and more of his brethren had. His brothers are surrounding him, laughing, still congratulating him as if Castiel was not on his knees violently plucking himself. Strong hands push at him, pull him away from his shoulders and force them to his sides.

"Cas, wake up," Dean urges and one of the masses that could have been a face move with the words. "Wake up, now, damn it." He's struggling against them and even though they lose purchase here and there he cannot move enough.

"C'mon, Castiel," Sam whispers and warm breath washes over his face. "C'mon, wake up." He's not Home any more and he never wants to go back.

His companions on either side of him trying to calm him down. Dean holding his arms at his sides and Sam soothing him; touching him any where he can. On his face, over his chest; over and over again he rubs his back. There are feathers every where and it wasn't just in a dream that Castiel was desperately trying to remove his sins. Unlike in his nightmare the feathers surrounding them are white, they are not charred and burned, not whisping away to smoke. When he tries to move his hand Dean lets him but stays hovering in case he decides to start mutilating himself again. He reaches behind and sighs when he feels silk and not sandpaper.

"It's going to be okay," Sam reassures.

"No," he croaks. "No, it's not." They were all dead and it's such a real possibility, Castiel cannot think of an alternative.

Dean strokes his cheek with his thumb and wipes away the tears that are streaking down his face. He can't believe he's crying. "Yes, it is," His voice is heavy with concern and Castiel knows he has been worrying them for some time; it isn't until right here that he sees how much. He grabs at Dean pulling him down on to his chest, Sam already slipped behind him. He just needs them to hold him. He'll tell them in the morning, finally. He'll explain the nightmares and he'll even tell them about his father. Now, though, he's going to lay here in their arms and not move; he needs to be surrounded by them. They continue their gentle massage of his body, their hands brushing over each other on occasion and finally Castiel catches a hand from each and they tangles their fingers together.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

I've maybe written three pieces in present tense, I hope this reads clear enough. Seriously, sometimes it just slips out.

This is my first entry for the hc_bingo on livejournal. Why, yes, I did sign-up for four different genre cards...expect much fic from me this fall.