Dean was in Hell. Again. It was an invasive theme that often consumed the mortal's dreams, and, while Castiel longed to rid his charge of the pain, he knew that choice would have to be Dean's. Until then, the angel would do everything in his power to ease his hunter's pain. Castiel would take up position near his hazel-eyed hunter, occasionally stroking Dean's sweat dappled brow. Yet somehow, without fail, the angel would wind up covering his charge with an outstretched wing, letting the love, safety, and warmth he held for the human soak into Dean's subconscious, giving what Castiel could only hope was a small respite from the constant nightmare.
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