Sometimes Sam dreamed of Dean being dragged off to hell. Sometimes he dreamed of himself.
Lilith. Child's eyes and pert lips, dainty fingertips becoming claws and pulling at him, weighing Sam down, drowning him in fire. Was it worse than dreaming of the savagery of hellhounds? Was it easier to dream of human blood staining the streets or demon blood staining one's own bones?
The dreams dragged him in, although it wasn't Sam he was supposed to be watching. Castiel found himself locked in mindspace night after night, watching from a distance as Sam struggled and cried out. He dared not make his presence known, so he bore silent witnesses to the atrocities perpetrated by a mind at war with itself.
He wasn't able to connect spiritually with Sam. That was blasphemy, it was treason. It would be noticed.
But his body was that of a man. There would be no trace of his physical proximity.
Castiel made up his mind. One night, he shed his coat and climbed into bed beside the dreaming Sam. And when those thin lips parted to shout, Castiel covered them with his own.
Sam groaned, dream interrupted, and rolled over, settling half his weight onto Castiel's frame. He murmured something and pulled him close, still sleeping. His neck arched thin and yearning in the dim light. Inviting more kisses.
Castiel obliged, dotting presses of pursed mouth against the skin of Sam's neck, letting his human body's instincts guide him and marveling at the reactions each touch brought.
Somewhere in the middle of it all Sam awoke. His eyes fluttered open, and he brought hands up to caress Castiel's jaw.
"You've been in my dreams," he murmured.
Castiel wasn't sure if that was just an acknowledgment of his previous presence, or a confession of something more. "Yes."
"Dean's in the other bed."
A strange thing for him to say. But it was strange that he hadn't flown to his feet, called for help, made a scene. "I know."
Sam half-smiled, an expression beautiful and mysterious as the moon. "Can you be quiet?" he asked.
Castiel's eyes went wide. Sam waited patiently, still smiling, until he found the presence of mind to nod.
Then warm lips engulfed his and arms pulled him down, not into hellfire but into a warm world where bad dreams were banished.
Lilith. Child's eyes and pert lips, dainty fingertips becoming claws and pulling at him, weighing Sam down, drowning him in fire. Was it worse than dreaming of the savagery of hellhounds? Was it easier to dream of human blood staining the streets or demon blood staining one's own bones?
The dreams dragged him in, although it wasn't Sam he was supposed to be watching. Castiel found himself locked in mindspace night after night, watching from a distance as Sam struggled and cried out. He dared not make his presence known, so he bore silent witnesses to the atrocities perpetrated by a mind at war with itself.
He wasn't able to connect spiritually with Sam. That was blasphemy, it was treason. It would be noticed.
But his body was that of a man. There would be no trace of his physical proximity.
Castiel made up his mind. One night, he shed his coat and climbed into bed beside the dreaming Sam. And when those thin lips parted to shout, Castiel covered them with his own.
Sam groaned, dream interrupted, and rolled over, settling half his weight onto Castiel's frame. He murmured something and pulled him close, still sleeping. His neck arched thin and yearning in the dim light. Inviting more kisses.
Castiel obliged, dotting presses of pursed mouth against the skin of Sam's neck, letting his human body's instincts guide him and marveling at the reactions each touch brought.
Somewhere in the middle of it all Sam awoke. His eyes fluttered open, and he brought hands up to caress Castiel's jaw.
"You've been in my dreams," he murmured.
Castiel wasn't sure if that was just an acknowledgment of his previous presence, or a confession of something more. "Yes."
"Dean's in the other bed."
A strange thing for him to say. But it was strange that he hadn't flown to his feet, called for help, made a scene. "I know."
Sam half-smiled, an expression beautiful and mysterious as the moon. "Can you be quiet?" he asked.
Castiel's eyes went wide. Sam waited patiently, still smiling, until he found the presence of mind to nod.
Then warm lips engulfed his and arms pulled him down, not into hellfire but into a warm world where bad dreams were banished.
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