Pain is raging through your body. You try to fight the strong hands holding you down, to fight the gruesome destiny that awaits you if you don't free yourself in the next ten seconds - but you can't move.
"Listen to me, Corabael! You have to stop this madness!" you hear yourself plea.
The pain subsides a bit and you allow yourself to hope that your friend - your companion in peace and war, your fellow sufferer, your brother - rethought his decision. A cool hand caresses your face.
"I am sorry, (y/n).. But this might be our only way back home. Forgive us…" His finger tighten around your chin.
"Corabael, please…" you try again, but the pain returns with full force, stronger than before. White, hot agony floods your veins while your very essence of being is ripped apart…
A scream escapes your throat and you leap up, heart ponding violently and cold sweat making your shirt clinging to your skin. You need a second or two to realize that it was a dream, that you aren't back in the abandoned warehouse, that you are safe now. You are safe now. You are safe…
You have this nightmare every now and then, too often for your likes and it usually ends exactly at the same moment: The moment your beloved brother tears your inmost apart while ravishing your grace.
Oh Father, why… why do you torment me by letting me live through this again and again? What was my sin? Where did I fail you to deserve your punishment?
It's not like you need the dreams as reminders. How could you forget the pain of Corabael's treason and the anguish of being bereaved of your grace? You still don't know which hurt more…
And you surely didn't forget what happened after. You didn't forget how Metatron appeared and slaughtered Corabael and your… his friends. How he stood over you, stained with the blood of your former friends and family, your grace in his hands, and just sneered at you.
You hide your face in your hands, taking some deep breaths to calm down, and listen to the darkness of your room for any indication that you woke up your roommates. Everything remains silent and you let out a relieved sigh. You don't want to burden your comrades with your nightly terrors. They already have enough to handle; they don't need your sleeping problems on top of them. Anyway, you are an angel. Well, ex-angel, but still a warrior of heaven and you would rather die a thousand gruesome deaths than to admit that you have a weakness so silly and utterly human like simple nightmares.
Proud. One of the seven deathly sins. You chuckle. Have leniency, Father, It's not easy. Nothing is easy anymore.
God doesn't give you an answer. Not that you expected one, but the silence sends a stab through your heart nonetheless.
A glance at the clock on your nightstand tells you that it is half past four in the morning. With a sigh you swing your legs from the mattress and stand up. You don't want to go to sleep again and don't want to waste your time by moping about the past either, so you leave your room and head for the library with the intention to search for a way to kick Metatron's ass.
Halfway to the library you run into Castiel. He looks as lively as you, with dark circles beneath his eyes; he probably stayed up to find a possibility to get his and your grace back. This would be the first step in the fight against Metatron. "(Y/n), why aren't you resting?"
"I am rested. Sleep is a waste of time. I want to continue our research about a way back home," you tell him with a shrug.
He frowns and titles his head, looking at you intently. "You had a nightmare," he states. It's not even a question.
You puff up and open your mouth to gainsay everything, to defend your reputation vehemently, but your pride and shame crumble under his gentle gaze and instead you just admit: "Yes." Your shoulders slump and you avoid his eyes, fearing his judgement.
"Come." You look up, a little bit bewildered. "I want to try something," he says and begins to walk away, not bothering to specify what he wants to try.
You hesitate a second, before you sigh and follow him. Three minutes later you enter the kitchen and find Castiel rummaging through the fridge.
"Sit down," he says and points at the kitchen table, closing the fridge with a carton of milk in his hand.
"What are you doing?" you ask and let your sink down on one of the chairs.
He doesn't answer immediately, being busy filling some milk into a pot. "I have nightmares too, you know," he says and turns on the stove.
You shoot him an incredulous glance. "I find that hard to believe." Castel doesn't have nightmares. Not Cas. This is ridiculous. Haha. No, no, no.
"Not at all. Nightmares seem to be pretty common amongst humans. Sam and Dean suffer from them frequently. It's inconvenient, but nothing to be ashamed about."
"If you say so," you murmur, not really convinced. "What do you dream of?"
Cas lowers his head. "Heaven."
He doesn't get into detail. He doesn't need to.
"I dreamt of Corabael. The night when… when he…" You fall silent, not able to put the memory into words. Cas nods. He understands.
The both of you remain silent after that, caught up in your own thoughts and memories. After some minutes Cas fetches a mug and fills the milk into it, adding a spoon full of honey. "Here." He places the mug in front of you.
You stare at the mug, then at Cas. "What is this?"
"Warm milk with a spoon full of honey."
"Yeah, I see that. But what am I supposed to do with it?"
"Drink it. It should help."
"Help with what?"
"Nightmares."
You eye the cup. "How should honeyed milk help with nightmares?"
"Because it's made with a lot of love mixed with good memories. Nightmares loathe love and good memories." He chuckles. "That's what Dean told me when he made me cup of warm milk after I had a nightmare once. I think this is nonsense; He was drunk then. But it helps. Trust me."
You look at your fellow ex-angel. He gives you an encouraging smile, making your tiny human heart flutter. "I made sure to only think of the memories I'm fond of while making it."
You grab the mug and take a sip. The sweet warmth of the milk fills your mouth. The warmth travels down to your stomach and spreads through your whole body, making the tight knot in your belly dissolve.
"Whoa," you say in astonishment. "This is… good. Thanks, Cas."
A warm smile spreads on his face, and your heart makes this weird fluttery thing again. "You're welcome."
"Cas?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you awake? Did you have a nightmare? Shall I make you a warm milk with honey, too?"
"Thank you, (y/n), but that's not necessary. I just needed to use the toilet."
"Ah. I understand. Inconvenient, but better than a nightmare."
"Indeed."
You sit in peaceful silence. After some minutes Castiel makes himself a peanut butter sandwich with grape jelly and joins you at the table.
This is the picture Sam greets when he enters the kitchen an hour later, still half asleep. He stops in the door and looks at the scenery.
"Good morning, Sam," Cas greets him.
Sam doesn't answer. He just pulls his mobile phone out of his pocket and takes a picture of you two sitting at the table.
You frown. "Sam, what? No! Why would you… I don't get it! This is not adorable! How is this adorable? We're not even sleeping. Why would you take a photo of us sitting at the kitchen table?"
Cas isn't in the position to help you: He's munching on his third peanut-butter-grape-jelly-sandwich.
"Two angels in pyjamas," is all what Sam says.
"Yes, but-"
"Two Angels. In Pyjamas." Sam repeats and chuckles. "This is totally going on the fridge."
You cast Cas a confused glance, but he just shrugs.