I shuffled across the room with a heavy heart, crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep, aching in the knowledge that I’d most likely wake in a world that my friend no longer inhabited.
That was the first night that he ever came to me in a dream.
“Would you like to say your goodbyes now, Abigail?” a male voice inquired from the foot of my bed.
A deep male voice—rousing me from sleep in the middle of the night—probably should’ve terrified me, but it didn’t because this man’s voice was a familiar comfort.
I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, which was pointless since I was obviously still dreaming. There at the foot of my bed, stood my favorite television angel, dressed in a button-down shirt, crooked necktie, and that iconic trench coat of his. He was beautiful, flawless bone structure, stylishly mussed-up hair, and piercing blue eyes that looked far too wise to belong to this man at the peak of physical perfection.
I blinked my eyes a few times to reboot my senses, but he still stood there waiting for an answer. “Castiel?” I muttered in a groggy whisper, “Am I dreaming?”
He smiled at me with more compassion than I’d ever witnessed in any human set of eyes. “Yes. You are, but that doesn’t make this any less real.”
“I’ve lost my mind,” I muttered as my eyes filled with tears. “My best friend is dying and I’m sitting on my bed, talking to a fictional angel.”
His brilliant blue eyes brimmed with sorrow as he shook his head. “You are talking to a real angel. I chose this form because the fictional angel is a comfort to you.”
I blinked my eyes a few more times, expecting him to be gone each time my eyelids lifted. “What?”
His apologetic frown did nothing to detract from his beauty. “There isn’t much time to explain, Abigail. Danny is not long for this world, and I know how much he means to you. His mother is wrong to deny you the opportunity to say goodbye.”
“How would we get there?” I muttered, ignoring the way my heart ached at the angel’s words. If I focused on that pain, I would fall apart, this dream would morph into something nightmarish, and I’d lose this imaginary chance to see my friend one last time. “I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to leave the house with strange men who slip into my bedroom in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not a man,” he whispered as he touched a hand to my foot.
The instant he touched me, my room melted away and I found myself sitting on Danny’s hospital bed.
My eyes filled with tears at the sight of all the tubes and wires connected to my friend’s brittle body. I looked up and felt comforted by the angel’s presence.
“He can hear you,” the angel standing beside the bed whispered.
“Danny,” I croaked as I slid closer to him, “it’s me, Abigail.”