Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

27 | Castiel x Reader [Requested]

This took forever to write and I'm still not completely happy with it... But, I hope you guys enjoy it!!

Warning - Talks about depression and anxiety, but doesn't go into to much detail.

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It's Always Been You

Insomnia.

A human condition characterized as a sleeping disorder that makes it practically impossible for one to fall asleep or even stay asleep. It also happened to be the one torturous disease that has plagued your body for the entirety of your adult life. From sunrise to sunset, you fought an endless battle against the subtle cry of sleep, that left your (E/C) eyes bloodshot and your skin pale by morning.

As much as you tried to remember, you couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment your permanent state of alertness had awoken. However, you did quickly come to the realization that this wasn't going to be a fight that was easily won with the help of sleeping pills or the occasional visit from Dean Winchester. No, this condition was here to stay, and it came with two friends by the names of anxiety and depression.

Defeated by your inability to shut off your buzzing brain, you quit your tossing and turning, and remain still on your back. With this new position, the soft moonlight cascaded across your face, making your frown deepen a little. In your many nights of continuous boredom, you had come custom to the patterns of the moon. You could tell the time just by the shadows that danced so elegantly upon your floor. It was a skill that was practically useless, but it often provided you with some entertainment when television just didn't seem right.

After stealing a quick look at your alarm clock that was resting on the bedside table, you were able to confirm your prediction that it was indeed midnight. With a huff of frustration escaping your lips, you restored your gaze to the ceiling fan. You watched as it spun around at an agonizing pace, providing just the right amount of cool air to regulate the temperature of your body. Although you had already come to terms with the reality that you weren't going to drift off into dreamland any time soon, the tsunami-like wave of depression still hit you like a ton of brick, causing an exasperated tear to leak from your eye. This had been your seventh night without proper rest and the thought of having to suffer another night alone stirred mixed emotions within your heart.

Anxiety came next. With one, came the other. It never broke that pattern. The fear of isolation suppressing your body against the mattress, your skin prickling with painful bumps, and your fingers clamped shut around the edges of your comforter. The attack had begun, even earlier than the night before. Your usually trigger nowhere in sight or even in earshot. It just came without warning, making you feel faint and hot.

With a struggled breath, you awaited for the feeling to pass. It took a few minutes to control your shaking frame, but once you were able to relax again, your stare focused back on the ceiling. You didn't understand it, but the fan had become your anchor, allowing your vision to become clear and the black spots to disappear from view. The room finally stopped spinning, marking the end of your episode. Your skin was still laced with goosebumps and your mind continued to race with questions, but your heart was no longer pounding against your ribcage in a painful rhythm.

The worst part, however, was the silence that followed. Within its eeriness it gave you time to think; an activity you wished you had lesser time for. Thinking, in general, was nerve-racking, but thinking of him was dangerous.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the image of his soft green eyes flashed behind the security of your eyelids. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, as the memory of his tender gaze turning vacant with pure lust appeared in your mind. Dean had this gift of snatching the vulnerability out of women; a tactic you knew all too well.