PLEASE READ FIRST: Author's Note: I am sort of new to the Supernatural fandom. I started watching the show when it first aired and then I got away from it for a few seasons. I watched the most recent season Netflix has up, but that's it. So forgive me if I make a few mistakes in this. I am unsure of some things, like how long Cas has been Dean's gaurdian angel, etc. So please forgive me if I mess up. Also, I do not own Supernatural. Enjoy!
It was raining as he pulled the sheets up to his chin. Part of him liked storms, but he hated the thunder. He glanced across the room to see Sammy in his bed, tossing and turning. Sammy hated the storms, the thunder, the lightening. Dean rolled his eyes, biting back a hateful thought. The floorboards creaked slightly and Dean pulled the sheets up even more, pretending to be asleep, but leaving enough of a peek-hole in the sheets to see their dad, making his way to Sammy's bed.
"Sam," his dad's voice was rough; but still, the mattress creaked as he sat down, "Sam, it's just thunder."
"I'm scared," Sammy's little voice broke through the sound of rain on glass windows.
There was a sharp intake of breath, and Dean watched to see what their dad would say or do. Sammy shouldn't have been over there making so much noise. He was surely in for it now.
"Get some sleep," their dad's voice was gruff, but Dean saw him place a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Come morning, the sun will be shinin' again."
Sammy nodded, and Dean watched as their father stood up from the bed and pulled the sheets up over Sammy's shoulders, "Get some sleep."
Dean was confused. Why hadn't Dad yelled at him for makin' such a fuss? Surely Sammy knew by now not be such a sissy; especially about things as stupid as some damn thunder. But Dad hadn't yelled at him. He had even tucked him in. A second little voice broke through the sound of the rain.
"Dad? I'm sca..."
"Shut up, Dean. Go to bed."
Dean sunk further into the mattress, wishing he could melt into it and disappear. He knew better than to try. He fell asleep, listening to the thunder and hearing Sammy snoring lightly across the room.
During the night, the old, dusty blanket was pulled up over his shoulders and a soft voice whispered, "Sweet dreams, Dean."
Castiel made his way over to the couch. The blue glare of the television left turned on lit the room. He frowned as neared John, passed out on the couch. Castiel plucked the empty beer bottle from his hand and set it on the coffee table. He then lifted the lit cigarette from between John's fingers, and ashed it. He glanced back once more at the two boys, asleep in their beds, before leaving to wait for the next storm.