He wakes up with a start. It has been a good dream. A very good dream. He is trying very hard to hold on to that dream. It has wild hair and ocean blue eyes. The kind of blue that you see and want to dip your toes in. The purity of it. He sees it. He sees all of it. There is something so happy about the dream that Dean wants to hold on to it.
He looks towards the alarm clock besides his bed and it reads 3 am. Well, there is so much time left for the first day of rest of two whole miserable years. He wonders if he could go back to sleep, will he see the same dream, for once in god forsaken miserable life be happy, although he knows it could be worse.
He has a kid brother who looks up to him and maybe, maybe, these two years won't be that bad. At least not horrible. He knows he has some decent chance at future, even if it is not bright. It is going to be okay. It IS going to be okay, he mumbles as sleep envelopes him once more.
There is a fury of green all around him; he sees it in non obvious ways. There are green fields around him, he is wearing green. It is overwhelming to say the least. Castiel wants out of the dream. Have you ever been in a dream where it seemed that you were struck and no matter how much you wanted to get out of it but you felt paralyzed? It seems like a happy dream, but he doesn't feel happy particularly.
Slowly the dream turns, becomes milder, better. Maybe it is his own anxiety over school that is making way through his subconscious, he wonders, as the dream continues. The green slowly fades, to more subtle undertones, and it soothes him, the green duvet he finds himself in the dream.
He wakes up, almost in a slow- passive way. He looks at his clock, which reads 3am, he wonders if he could go back to sleep. He is too anxious. Too wound down. So he gets up, goes to the table across his bedroom, and switches on the table lamp, takes his drawing pad out and starts sketching that feeling he had the end of the dream. He never goes back to sleep.