He dreamt of the quiet hush of the confession box, the scent of burnt out candles and Dean's fighting to get the words out once again. "There's things, people, feelings that I want to experience differently, some maybe even for the first time."
As Dean tripped over his words, the Priest was silent. Dean snuck a look at the silhouette across the wall, it loomed dark and still. He could hear slow deep breathing and Dean's curled his hands up because he's worried about what kind of judgment was to come. Then the silence is broken by a long familiar sigh and all the hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up.
"So you're ready to go deeper with me, Dean?"
Dean's pretty much shaking in his seat by now. He's arms are crossed over his chest, he's biting his lips, this version of the recurring nightmare was worse than all the others. It used to be John Winchester, looking back at him, face full of skepticism, telling Dean he wasn't the committing kind. Occasionally, it had been demons or ghouls or ghosts, turning black hollow eyes on him, full of scorn. Once, it was Sam, laughing kindly at his early mid-life crisis.
Yet, because it was one of those dreams where you are keenly aware that you were dreaming, Dean forced himself to slide back the partition between them. May as well face yet another insecurity his inner psyche has to offer. The priest was all dressed in black, an ivory priest's collar at his throat, his hands folded in his lap, gently grasping a long strand of rosary beads. Despite the outfit though, the dark hair and light blue eyes were shockingly familiar.
"Hi Dean," Castiel didn't look confused, or hesitant or mean. He was smiling shyly, accepting and full of excited hope. "You've no idea how long I've waited for you, how much longer I was willing to wait and now I think I can't wait another fraction of a second to be with you."
Dean felt his heart tumult in his chest, it's beating faster than it does in the midst of a hunt, it's loud as a freaking thunderstorm in his ears. Cas is reaching his hand through the window, caressing skittish fingers along Dean's jaw. His hand felt rough and warm and real as hell. And Dean is utterly, wordlessly, senselessly terrified. Dean closed his eyes tight and thought "Wake up, wake up!"
"Dean, wake up, hey," Sam was looking at him and not the road, his brow furrowed with concern. "You all okay, Dean? Bad dream?"
Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up in the passenger seat. "I'm all right Sam, you watch the road as you drive, please."
"Was it the mark Dean," Sam just wouldn't let it drop. "Is it bothering you? You were kind of groaning man."
"Yeah, the mark," Dean grunted. "How long till Venice Beach?"
"A couple more hours," Sam reported. "Hey you remember what I said, about how you can tell me anything, you going to act on that some day soon? Like now, by telling me exactly what you were feeling from the mark?"
"Maybe someday," Dean told Sam. "What I'm feeling at the moment, it's all a bit muddled up okay. But I appreciate the sentiment Sam. So you'll know when I know, when there is something to tell."
Sam was happy with that. The old Dean would have told him to mind his own business, brushed off Sam's gesture with exasperating stoicism. But since Dean had been a demon, since the mark sunk its claws into him, since human Cas started driving around after them, Dean was different. Sam grinned, he was fucking proud of his big brother, at how he was handling all the changes. No more racing off to the crossroads, dashing down into hell or making apocalyptic sacrifices, mature Dean was on a quest for renewal. He'd even suggested this job to Sam when it was way out of their usual territory.
With a grin, Sam rolled his window all the way down and let the balmy summer breeze fill the interior of the Impala with the scent of the ocean. Outside, palm trees swayed and a sea of lights opened up in front of them.
"L.A. baby," Sam winked.
"What do you say Sammy boy, we check ourselves into somewhere with a pool," Dean couldn't help but share his brother's excitement. It made him feel a bit like a dick, all those years, making Sam live that bleak cyclical life of doom and gloom, when all these new things were just around the corner. The sense of regret only last a moment though, Dean was no longer the sort of man to stew about past lapses, what's the point of dwelling when the future was right now.
"And I wanna try one of those shrimp cocktails," Dean added.
"You realise that's essentially a salad," Sam was looking goggle eyed at him.
"Yeah, so what," Dean shrugged, a tiny smile creeping around at the corner of his lips.
"So, since when do you approve of lettuce and shrimp together," Sam laughed. "And I don't think you've eaten an avocado ever in your life."
"There's a first time for everything," Dean said, raising his eyes to Sam's. "Maybe I'll love it. Maybe shrimp and avocado were meant to be and it will be the best thing I ever put in my mouth in my entire life, period."
"Okay Dean, I get it, your new culinary adventures are awesome," Sam accelerated the car smoothly. "No need to write a fanfic about it."
"Don't remind me," Dean mumbled. "Were we ever that intense when we were teenagers? Those high school girls ... wow, give me a Kang worm to the mouth any day."
"Who would you rather be trapped in a room with, Marie the slasher or Claire I-Hate-You-All Novak?" Sam asked.
"Like I said," Dean was laughing too now. "Just Kang worm me in the mouth."
"I'll tell Marie next time we Skype," Sam said casually, ignoring Dean's sudden incredulous glare. "She'd love that."
"You are keeping in touch? With THEM?!" Dean was flabbergasted.
"They are really helpful, they know our lives, which they call 'canon', inside and out," Sam explained. "It's amazing the amount of lore, monster info, tiny minutiae they call recall off the top of their heads. Plus, Marie reblogs every sassy cat .gif ever made. It's entertaining after a long day."
"Right," Dean looked even less impressed than he sounded. "You realise she's got the hots for you?"
"Only fictional Sam. She thinks I'm just some weird old guy obsessed with her fandom. And apparently, even weird old guys are welcome in fandom, long as I don't start a shipping war."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "We're not talking about pirates right now are we Sam?"
Sam just shook his head and chuckled.
"Don't, Sam," Dean was almost pleading now. "Just don't say it, don't say the word."
"Say what?" Sam teased, eyes crinkling. "Oh, don't say 'destiel'?"
Dean rolled over in the passenger seat and stopped talking to Sam. But this time, he didn't tell Sam to shut up. He sat there and listened to Sam say 'destiel' in all kinds of crazy ways a couple more times. When Sam didn't get any more reaction out of Dean, he stopped and put some music on.
Sam was playing an old cassette he'd unearthed from the back of the glovebox, the one from back when Dean was a teenager and thought Madonna was the hottest woman alive. And of course, because this was Dean Winchester's life and God liked to toy with his feelings just a little more than all his other creatures, the classic pop tune that started reverberating through the Impala's speakers sang "I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through, didn't know how lost I was, till I found you."
When Sam started belting out the chorus, Dean buried his head in his hands. This was worse than the dream he had.
"Oh hang on, I know who will enjoy this," Sam said, speed dialing on his mobile with his free hand.
"Sam, how's Dean?"
Dean felt all the air in his lungs gust out.
"Ask him yourself. You're on speaker, Cas," Sam said cheerfully.
"Dean, are you okay?" Castiel was asking, his voice loaded with worry.
"I'm fine, Cas," why was it so hard just to say the angel's name? Oh right, the dream. "Um, you?"
"I am fine also, Dean."
There was an awkward silence that lasted about ten seconds but felt like about ten years.
"That's enough you too," Sam was turning the Madonna song up high. "Hey Cas, I found a song you might like, it's one of Dean's old favourites."
"If Dean likes it, I'm sure I will too," came Castiel's completely serious reply.
Dean sunk lower in his seat, why hadn't he noticed it before, with comments like that no wonder he was having those sorts of dreams about Cas. Would it really be that ungentlemanly to just blame his inner fanatsies on Cas, with his good looks, steadfast loyalty and mesmerising voice. Yeah it would, said a little voice inside Dean, it's name was honesty. So Dean just sat there, deeply exploring his inner-self as Cas' voice boomed over the cell.
"Somehow you made me feel, all shiney and new. Oh, like a virgin, touched for the very first time ... like a virgin, with your heart, next to mine."
His new life was a fucking dream, thought Dean darkly.
The end.
This story is a part of a series. In the next part: "Just Like A Prayer" There's a lion faced figure stalking Venice Beach. All the victims look like Dean. Cas sings some more. Sam ships destiel.