Fic: A Bridge to Being (2/3)
Title: A Bridge to Being (2/3)
Author:sorenne
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean/Castiel
Warnings/Spoilers: Major spoilers for 7x02, but veers off about 180 degrees from there.
Word Count: 2845
Summary: The angel, Castiel has ceased to exist. At least, that’s what he tells Dean when they meet in Dean’s dream. He should have known that a Winchester wouldn’t be phased by a technicality.
Notes: Part 1 found here
Dean tossed and turned for half the night, one part of his brain resolutely telling him to do the right thing and go to sleep, while the other insisted that he stay the fuck awake. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out which option was more sensible. On one hand, falling asleep would mean seeing Cas again and putting phase two of Sammy’s plan into action. And that would have been just peachy if that plan didn’t involve him getting “physical” with Cas.
Not that kind of physical, of course. Sam had hooted with laughter for what seemed like hours after Dean had drawn the wrong conclusion. But goddammit, what else was he supposed to think his had brother meant? Sam had called it wishful thinking. But that was as far from the truth as you can get; a couple of million light-years away from the truth, actually.
“So not going there. Don’t want to sleep with Cas at all,” Dean muttered sleepily, his face half-buried in a pillow. So what if he routinely caught himself staring at the angel’s eyes at inappropriate moments? So what if his heart practically stopped and did a backflip when he realized that there may be a way to bring him back?
“Fuck,” Dean said with feeling, punching the pillow half-heartedly.
All you need to do is hold onto him for a while. The longer you keep touching him, the stronger the connection will be. Just keep your hand on his arm and keep your manly dignity. Sam had finally managed to get out something useful between his fits of uncontrollable laughter. Dean might have been angrier if he wasn’t so relieved at seeing Sammy more or less relaxed. If the thought of Dean pining after an angel made his brother laugh, then Dean wouldn’t begrudge him that.
Mostly because it might have been just a tiny bit true.
Right.
Back to his options then. Sleep and rescue Cas or keep his eyes open and admit to being a coward.
Dean Winchester slept.
********
They were standing on a roof of what must have been a freakishly tall skyscraper, because Dean couldn’t see any other building for miles and miles. He couldn’t see the sun either, though there was certainly light emitting from somewhere. The roof was bathed in pale red incandescence. Bird-shaped shadows flitted across the concrete beneath Dean’s feet, but when he looked up, the sky above him was empty of wildlife.
Castiel stood a few feet away from him, his feet planted on the very edge of the roof. Despite the vulnerable position, the angel looked absolutely immovable - as stiff and immobile as the skyscraper itself.
Still, Dean didn’t appreciate that sort of nonsense.
“Cas, get away from there, will you? I know you can fly and all, but you’re making me nervous,” Dean muttered, shuffling a few steps in his direction and very resolutely not looking over the concrete brink.
Cas turned his head toward the hunter, crimson light sliding over his face like silk. His expression was as blank as it had been in the early days of their acquaintance, but his eyes appeared all the more intense under the red glare.
“You should not be here, Dean.” The words sounded as if they had been ripped from Castiel’s throat. Dean almost rocked back on his heels, caught off-guard by the raw tone. He stared at the angel in shock, trying to reconcile broken voice with impassive expression. “Leave now. It is best.”
“I can’t just leave, Cas. I- This is my dream too. Besides, I need to talk to you,” Dean floundered.
The angel shook his hand like he was trying to shake something loose. He closed his eyes for a moment, facial muscles taut. Dean could see his jaw tightening, as if he was clamping down on something. When the angel opened his eyes again, only to see Dean staring straight back at him, disappointment flashed across his face.
“Please,” Cas rasped.
The words cracked his expressionless façade right in two and Dean was suddenly looking at a broken angel. Primal, unfiltered anguish rolled off him in waves.
“Please,” Castiel repeated, his words directed not at Dean, but straight up at the sky. “I know I deserve this. I do. But do not make me endure his presence. I cannot bear it.”
“Well, thanks for that, Cas,” Dean muttered, feeling inexplicably hurt.
Castiel continued as he hadn’t heard him, “Anything else. Anything at all. Even the tortures of Hell.” The angel’s voice had lowered considerably and there was now a tremble in it that Dean could not possibly stand to hear.
He crossed the space between them in three quick strides, coming up to lay his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. He expected the stiff set of the other man’s shoulders, maybe even an involuntary tremor of muscle. He had not expected Cas to flinch away as if Dean had burned him.
The angel pivoted away from him, wild eyes meeting Dean’s for a heartbeat before one foot met with empty air. He wobbled and Dean instinctively threw out a hand to steady him, fingers curling around the front of his trench coat and pulling him away from the edge.
With Dean’s hand still clutching rumpled, yellow fabric, the two men stood almost nose to nose. Dean could feel the angel’s body pressed up against his and, dammit, Cas was shaking. Actually, full out shaking. Somehow, Dean didn’t think that was due to his almost-fall. But, before Dean could do anything else, Cas brought two palms up to Dean’s chest...
…and shoved the hunter violently, sending him sprawling across the roof at least five feet away. One moment, Dean felt his head make contact with the concrete. The next, he was staring up at a yellowing, motel-room ceiling, with no crimson sky in sight.
********
For the next five nights, their encounters were much the same - brief and silent. Dean would see the angel standing at some remote spot - a hilltop, a reef, and most notably, in a giant nest on the side of a mountain - and try to approach him. But whenever Dean so much as brushed his hand against the other man, Castiel would start and push him away. Then, Dean would awake, progressively more and more frustrated each time.
********
It was cold. Not just should-have-worn-a-hat cold, but fingers-falling-off-from-frostbite cold. Dean couldn’t remember ever experiencing such a strong feeling in a dream. Then again, he was pretty sure he’d never dreamt about an iceberg.
The night sky enveloped them - a chiffon robe of airy darkness swishing in the breeze. The dark was studded with stars, glinting brighter than Dean had ever seen. The ice beneath Dean’s feet seemed to be saturated with the night, sucking in the starlight instead of reflecting it.
Castiel was standing atop the massive chunk of ice, watching a group of penguins toddle around some distance away. The angel was somehow managing to keep his footing, whereas Dean was afraid to move a muscle for fear of slipping. Because he didn’t want to break his neck tumbling head over heels onto freaking ice, the hunter stayed put, forgoing the familiar routine of trying to get a hold on Cas.
Dean could only see the other man’s face in profile, but it was more than enough for him to notice the tight lines around the angel’s mouth and the faint frown creasing his forehead. They stood in silence for several minutes, both men seemingly tired of dancing the same old dance.
Finally, Dean couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Cas, why won’t you let me touch you? It’s supposed to help. Sam said it can help bring you back, if you’d just let me try it.”
Dean was met with a wall of silence that was somehow colder than all the ice surrounding them.
“This is cruel.” Castiel’s voice was as flat as it had been during their second dream-world encounter. As much as Dean didn’t miss the anguished, panic-stricken tone, he didn’t see this change as much of an improvement. “I will not be toyed with like this. You are not the real Dean Winchester. You are only a vision sent to torment me. I know I will never have the company of Dean again and your false touch pains me. It serves only to remind me of what I can never have.”
This must be what getting hit upside the head with a potato sack feels like. Dean opened his mouth to reply, closed it, and realized he had no idea what to say to that. Hesitantly, he took a step toward the angel, momentarily forgetting what it was that he was walking on. His foot slipped against the ice and he found himself falling backward.
Of course, can’t have a dream end without me falling on my head, he thought ruefully. A half-second later, he realized that there was a distinct lack of head-cracking-against-ice. A hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, while another grasped his shoulder in a painfully tight grip.
He looked into Castiel’s eyes and saw his own surprise mirrored there. He half-expected the angel to let go then and there, but the grip on his shoulder didn’t weaken. Instead, the hand on his short tugged him forward and Dean straightened slowly, planting his feet far enough apart to keep him balanced. With his back no longer awkwardly arched, the two men were once again standing face to face. Dean could feel Castiel’s warm breath puffing out, ghosting across his cheek. Since when did the angel need to breath?
“Cas,” Dean began carefully, bracing himself against Castiel’s eventual knee-jerk reaction of shoving him away. "Does it feel like I’m not the real Dean?”
The angel’s expression tightened and shattered, a well-spring of pain and grief bubbling to the surface. His eyes were pleading with Dean now- asking him to walk away as much as they were demanding that he stay.
“I- I do not know. You-“ Cas broke off, his hand clenching tighter around Dean’s shoulder.
And damn it, Cas had pulled Dean out of Hell, he’d stood between him and a host of archangels, he’d taken Sammy under his wing -both literally and figuratively - and he’d done his best to make sure that Dean would never have to become Michael’s mindless zombie. Now the angel - his angel - was confused and scared and Dean wasn’t doing a damn thing about it.
“Cas, listen to me. I’m real and I’m here and I’ll get you out. I swear, okay?” Dean murmured soothingly, his lips centimeters away from Castiel’s. “Please, believe me, Cas.”
It was the last few words that seemed to do it for Cas. The beginnings of an uncertain smile flitted across the angel’s lips and he inclined his head in a nod. As he released his hold on Dean and took a step back, the hunter thought he saw a flicker of something in those blue eyes - something uncomfortably like resignation. But when the angel looked back up at him, there was nothing but warmth in those sapphire depths.
“Alright, Dean. I am glad that you are here,” the angel said gravely. “I imagine we have a lot to discuss.”
Dean didn’t particularly relish the prospect of discussing the whole God-Leviathan debacle and he didn’t imagine that Cas was looking forward to it either. So instead, he clapped a hand on the angel’s shoulder and said cheerfully, “Hey, no worries. We can do the serious discussion bit later. How about we do something fun while we’re here?”
“Fun? I do not believe we can find anything you would term ‘fun’ on an iceberg, Dean,” Cas replied.
“Really?” Dean countered. “What do you think fun means to me, then?”
“There are no women, nor beer here. And I do not believe there is pie,” the answered, voice all grave seriousness. But Dean would be damned I he imagined the smile playing across the angel’s lips.
“There are stars though. I bet you know more about constellations than Sammy does. You can point some out to me,” the hunter suggested.
“If this is your dream, Dean, I do not think your mind has the capability to construct constellations with which you are not familiar.”
“Well, damn. We’ll just have to make some up then,” Dean retorted, the beginnings of a grin spreading across his face. He lowered himself to the ground gingerly, bracing his weight on his hands, so as not to slide down the iceberg and into freezing water. Dean was pretty sure that were this a real icerberg, he would have been swimming with the fishes about fifteen minutes ago. Cas sat down next to him, seeming to be much more at ease on the slippery surface.
His grin never wavering, Dean threw his head back and stared hard at the black sky. Hesitantly, Castiel followed suit. After about a minute of thoughtful silence, Dean pointed in the general direction of a star cluster, “Those seven there look like a flamingo.”
Castiel’s brow furrowed. “I do not see it.”
“Come on, Cas. It’s so obvious. That’s the neck and there’s the wing,” Dean huffed out, waving his finger arbitrarily at the sky. “You try one.”
After another full minute of scrutinizing the stars, Cas offered hesitantly, “That cluster resembles a group of fireflies.”
Dean swiveled his head to look at the angel, trying to ascertain if he was being serious or not. Of course, that proved to be completely impossible. Unbidden, a laugh bubbled from his throat, and he rolled with it, laughing until he didn’t think he could ever stop. All the while, Cas looked at him with the familiar expression of patient -albeit confused - indulgence.
********
Dean didn’t know how to measure time in a dream, but it seemed to him that he and Cas stayed on that iceberg for hours. When Dean’s neck had started to cramp, he flopped down on the ice, no longer feeling the cold. Even though Cas made it pretty clear that he followed Dean’s example only to humor him, Dean was pretty sure that Cas just didn’t want to admit that he was tired of craning his neck to.
They lay on the glassy surface shoulder to shoulder, pointing out made-up constellations with all the aplomb of astronomy professors. Eventually, the angel got better at seeing shapes in the stars and began coming up with better names for the constellations than “a group of insects,” “snowflakes” and “those corn products that you eat with milk.”
When it seemed like every star within their line of sight had been assigned to a constellation, Dean turned his head to look at Castiel, only to see the angel looking right back at him. It was quite possibly the most awkward situation Dean had ever found himself in - lying next to an angel on an iceberg, their noses practically pressed together.
It was also among the happiest.
Dean was sure he could see electricity crackling between. He was also sure that if a giant whale appeared from beneath them to swallow the icerberg, he wouldn’t be able to stop staring into Castiel’s eyes.
Still, there was only so much tension-building a Winchester could take. So, Dean cleared his throat and broke the silence, “Hey, Cas, you feeling any different? More solid maybe?”
The angel appeared to think for a moment before replying, “No, Dean. I feel as I have felt for as long as I have been trapped in this state. Perhaps the process Sam spoke of takes longer to establish.” Or perhaps it doesn’t work at all, hung unspoken between them.
At that, Dean felt a fierce urge to prove the angel wrong. Because damn it, he could save his angel just like Cas had saved him. He didn’t want to hear the resignation in Cas’s voice ever again.
“Cas,” he murmured. “Maybe we should try something different.”
Not waiting for a reply, Dean shifted his body closer. He lifted his cheek from the icy floor, closing the remaining gap between them, and pressed his lips to the angel’s. Cas huffed out a surprised breath right into Dean’s mouth and the hunter marveled at how warm it felt. He didn’t push anything, just kept his parted lips there, sharing breath with the angel. It wasn’t quite a kiss. Somehow, it was so much more.
After what seemed like hours, but must have only been a few seconds, Dean pulled back to look Cas in the eyes.
“Told you I was real,” he said playfully, mirth dancing in his eyes.
Cas smiled back at him. A strange smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Just then, Dean began to feel the press of itchy sheets under his back. There was a pillow beneath his head instead of hard ice.
Just as the dream-world began to fade away, Dean heard the angel say distinctly, “Not real at all.”
The last thing he saw before coming awake were Castiel’s eyes - sapphire, bottomless, and breathtakingly sad.
TBC
>>Part 3
Author:sorenne
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean/Castiel
Warnings/Spoilers: Major spoilers for 7x02, but veers off about 180 degrees from there.
Word Count: 2845
Summary: The angel, Castiel has ceased to exist. At least, that’s what he tells Dean when they meet in Dean’s dream. He should have known that a Winchester wouldn’t be phased by a technicality.
Notes: Part 1 found here
Dean tossed and turned for half the night, one part of his brain resolutely telling him to do the right thing and go to sleep, while the other insisted that he stay the fuck awake. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out which option was more sensible. On one hand, falling asleep would mean seeing Cas again and putting phase two of Sammy’s plan into action. And that would have been just peachy if that plan didn’t involve him getting “physical” with Cas.
Not that kind of physical, of course. Sam had hooted with laughter for what seemed like hours after Dean had drawn the wrong conclusion. But goddammit, what else was he supposed to think his had brother meant? Sam had called it wishful thinking. But that was as far from the truth as you can get; a couple of million light-years away from the truth, actually.
“So not going there. Don’t want to sleep with Cas at all,” Dean muttered sleepily, his face half-buried in a pillow. So what if he routinely caught himself staring at the angel’s eyes at inappropriate moments? So what if his heart practically stopped and did a backflip when he realized that there may be a way to bring him back?
“Fuck,” Dean said with feeling, punching the pillow half-heartedly.
All you need to do is hold onto him for a while. The longer you keep touching him, the stronger the connection will be. Just keep your hand on his arm and keep your manly dignity. Sam had finally managed to get out something useful between his fits of uncontrollable laughter. Dean might have been angrier if he wasn’t so relieved at seeing Sammy more or less relaxed. If the thought of Dean pining after an angel made his brother laugh, then Dean wouldn’t begrudge him that.
Mostly because it might have been just a tiny bit true.
Right.
Back to his options then. Sleep and rescue Cas or keep his eyes open and admit to being a coward.
Dean Winchester slept.
********
They were standing on a roof of what must have been a freakishly tall skyscraper, because Dean couldn’t see any other building for miles and miles. He couldn’t see the sun either, though there was certainly light emitting from somewhere. The roof was bathed in pale red incandescence. Bird-shaped shadows flitted across the concrete beneath Dean’s feet, but when he looked up, the sky above him was empty of wildlife.
Castiel stood a few feet away from him, his feet planted on the very edge of the roof. Despite the vulnerable position, the angel looked absolutely immovable - as stiff and immobile as the skyscraper itself.
Still, Dean didn’t appreciate that sort of nonsense.
“Cas, get away from there, will you? I know you can fly and all, but you’re making me nervous,” Dean muttered, shuffling a few steps in his direction and very resolutely not looking over the concrete brink.
Cas turned his head toward the hunter, crimson light sliding over his face like silk. His expression was as blank as it had been in the early days of their acquaintance, but his eyes appeared all the more intense under the red glare.
“You should not be here, Dean.” The words sounded as if they had been ripped from Castiel’s throat. Dean almost rocked back on his heels, caught off-guard by the raw tone. He stared at the angel in shock, trying to reconcile broken voice with impassive expression. “Leave now. It is best.”
“I can’t just leave, Cas. I- This is my dream too. Besides, I need to talk to you,” Dean floundered.
The angel shook his hand like he was trying to shake something loose. He closed his eyes for a moment, facial muscles taut. Dean could see his jaw tightening, as if he was clamping down on something. When the angel opened his eyes again, only to see Dean staring straight back at him, disappointment flashed across his face.
“Please,” Cas rasped.
The words cracked his expressionless façade right in two and Dean was suddenly looking at a broken angel. Primal, unfiltered anguish rolled off him in waves.
“Please,” Castiel repeated, his words directed not at Dean, but straight up at the sky. “I know I deserve this. I do. But do not make me endure his presence. I cannot bear it.”
“Well, thanks for that, Cas,” Dean muttered, feeling inexplicably hurt.
Castiel continued as he hadn’t heard him, “Anything else. Anything at all. Even the tortures of Hell.” The angel’s voice had lowered considerably and there was now a tremble in it that Dean could not possibly stand to hear.
He crossed the space between them in three quick strides, coming up to lay his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. He expected the stiff set of the other man’s shoulders, maybe even an involuntary tremor of muscle. He had not expected Cas to flinch away as if Dean had burned him.
The angel pivoted away from him, wild eyes meeting Dean’s for a heartbeat before one foot met with empty air. He wobbled and Dean instinctively threw out a hand to steady him, fingers curling around the front of his trench coat and pulling him away from the edge.
With Dean’s hand still clutching rumpled, yellow fabric, the two men stood almost nose to nose. Dean could feel the angel’s body pressed up against his and, dammit, Cas was shaking. Actually, full out shaking. Somehow, Dean didn’t think that was due to his almost-fall. But, before Dean could do anything else, Cas brought two palms up to Dean’s chest...
…and shoved the hunter violently, sending him sprawling across the roof at least five feet away. One moment, Dean felt his head make contact with the concrete. The next, he was staring up at a yellowing, motel-room ceiling, with no crimson sky in sight.
********
For the next five nights, their encounters were much the same - brief and silent. Dean would see the angel standing at some remote spot - a hilltop, a reef, and most notably, in a giant nest on the side of a mountain - and try to approach him. But whenever Dean so much as brushed his hand against the other man, Castiel would start and push him away. Then, Dean would awake, progressively more and more frustrated each time.
********
It was cold. Not just should-have-worn-a-hat cold, but fingers-falling-off-from-frostbite cold. Dean couldn’t remember ever experiencing such a strong feeling in a dream. Then again, he was pretty sure he’d never dreamt about an iceberg.
The night sky enveloped them - a chiffon robe of airy darkness swishing in the breeze. The dark was studded with stars, glinting brighter than Dean had ever seen. The ice beneath Dean’s feet seemed to be saturated with the night, sucking in the starlight instead of reflecting it.
Castiel was standing atop the massive chunk of ice, watching a group of penguins toddle around some distance away. The angel was somehow managing to keep his footing, whereas Dean was afraid to move a muscle for fear of slipping. Because he didn’t want to break his neck tumbling head over heels onto freaking ice, the hunter stayed put, forgoing the familiar routine of trying to get a hold on Cas.
Dean could only see the other man’s face in profile, but it was more than enough for him to notice the tight lines around the angel’s mouth and the faint frown creasing his forehead. They stood in silence for several minutes, both men seemingly tired of dancing the same old dance.
Finally, Dean couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Cas, why won’t you let me touch you? It’s supposed to help. Sam said it can help bring you back, if you’d just let me try it.”
Dean was met with a wall of silence that was somehow colder than all the ice surrounding them.
“This is cruel.” Castiel’s voice was as flat as it had been during their second dream-world encounter. As much as Dean didn’t miss the anguished, panic-stricken tone, he didn’t see this change as much of an improvement. “I will not be toyed with like this. You are not the real Dean Winchester. You are only a vision sent to torment me. I know I will never have the company of Dean again and your false touch pains me. It serves only to remind me of what I can never have.”
This must be what getting hit upside the head with a potato sack feels like. Dean opened his mouth to reply, closed it, and realized he had no idea what to say to that. Hesitantly, he took a step toward the angel, momentarily forgetting what it was that he was walking on. His foot slipped against the ice and he found himself falling backward.
Of course, can’t have a dream end without me falling on my head, he thought ruefully. A half-second later, he realized that there was a distinct lack of head-cracking-against-ice. A hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, while another grasped his shoulder in a painfully tight grip.
He looked into Castiel’s eyes and saw his own surprise mirrored there. He half-expected the angel to let go then and there, but the grip on his shoulder didn’t weaken. Instead, the hand on his short tugged him forward and Dean straightened slowly, planting his feet far enough apart to keep him balanced. With his back no longer awkwardly arched, the two men were once again standing face to face. Dean could feel Castiel’s warm breath puffing out, ghosting across his cheek. Since when did the angel need to breath?
“Cas,” Dean began carefully, bracing himself against Castiel’s eventual knee-jerk reaction of shoving him away. "Does it feel like I’m not the real Dean?”
The angel’s expression tightened and shattered, a well-spring of pain and grief bubbling to the surface. His eyes were pleading with Dean now- asking him to walk away as much as they were demanding that he stay.
“I- I do not know. You-“ Cas broke off, his hand clenching tighter around Dean’s shoulder.
And damn it, Cas had pulled Dean out of Hell, he’d stood between him and a host of archangels, he’d taken Sammy under his wing -both literally and figuratively - and he’d done his best to make sure that Dean would never have to become Michael’s mindless zombie. Now the angel - his angel - was confused and scared and Dean wasn’t doing a damn thing about it.
“Cas, listen to me. I’m real and I’m here and I’ll get you out. I swear, okay?” Dean murmured soothingly, his lips centimeters away from Castiel’s. “Please, believe me, Cas.”
It was the last few words that seemed to do it for Cas. The beginnings of an uncertain smile flitted across the angel’s lips and he inclined his head in a nod. As he released his hold on Dean and took a step back, the hunter thought he saw a flicker of something in those blue eyes - something uncomfortably like resignation. But when the angel looked back up at him, there was nothing but warmth in those sapphire depths.
“Alright, Dean. I am glad that you are here,” the angel said gravely. “I imagine we have a lot to discuss.”
Dean didn’t particularly relish the prospect of discussing the whole God-Leviathan debacle and he didn’t imagine that Cas was looking forward to it either. So instead, he clapped a hand on the angel’s shoulder and said cheerfully, “Hey, no worries. We can do the serious discussion bit later. How about we do something fun while we’re here?”
“Fun? I do not believe we can find anything you would term ‘fun’ on an iceberg, Dean,” Cas replied.
“Really?” Dean countered. “What do you think fun means to me, then?”
“There are no women, nor beer here. And I do not believe there is pie,” the answered, voice all grave seriousness. But Dean would be damned I he imagined the smile playing across the angel’s lips.
“There are stars though. I bet you know more about constellations than Sammy does. You can point some out to me,” the hunter suggested.
“If this is your dream, Dean, I do not think your mind has the capability to construct constellations with which you are not familiar.”
“Well, damn. We’ll just have to make some up then,” Dean retorted, the beginnings of a grin spreading across his face. He lowered himself to the ground gingerly, bracing his weight on his hands, so as not to slide down the iceberg and into freezing water. Dean was pretty sure that were this a real icerberg, he would have been swimming with the fishes about fifteen minutes ago. Cas sat down next to him, seeming to be much more at ease on the slippery surface.
His grin never wavering, Dean threw his head back and stared hard at the black sky. Hesitantly, Castiel followed suit. After about a minute of thoughtful silence, Dean pointed in the general direction of a star cluster, “Those seven there look like a flamingo.”
Castiel’s brow furrowed. “I do not see it.”
“Come on, Cas. It’s so obvious. That’s the neck and there’s the wing,” Dean huffed out, waving his finger arbitrarily at the sky. “You try one.”
After another full minute of scrutinizing the stars, Cas offered hesitantly, “That cluster resembles a group of fireflies.”
Dean swiveled his head to look at the angel, trying to ascertain if he was being serious or not. Of course, that proved to be completely impossible. Unbidden, a laugh bubbled from his throat, and he rolled with it, laughing until he didn’t think he could ever stop. All the while, Cas looked at him with the familiar expression of patient -albeit confused - indulgence.
********
Dean didn’t know how to measure time in a dream, but it seemed to him that he and Cas stayed on that iceberg for hours. When Dean’s neck had started to cramp, he flopped down on the ice, no longer feeling the cold. Even though Cas made it pretty clear that he followed Dean’s example only to humor him, Dean was pretty sure that Cas just didn’t want to admit that he was tired of craning his neck to.
They lay on the glassy surface shoulder to shoulder, pointing out made-up constellations with all the aplomb of astronomy professors. Eventually, the angel got better at seeing shapes in the stars and began coming up with better names for the constellations than “a group of insects,” “snowflakes” and “those corn products that you eat with milk.”
When it seemed like every star within their line of sight had been assigned to a constellation, Dean turned his head to look at Castiel, only to see the angel looking right back at him. It was quite possibly the most awkward situation Dean had ever found himself in - lying next to an angel on an iceberg, their noses practically pressed together.
It was also among the happiest.
Dean was sure he could see electricity crackling between. He was also sure that if a giant whale appeared from beneath them to swallow the icerberg, he wouldn’t be able to stop staring into Castiel’s eyes.
Still, there was only so much tension-building a Winchester could take. So, Dean cleared his throat and broke the silence, “Hey, Cas, you feeling any different? More solid maybe?”
The angel appeared to think for a moment before replying, “No, Dean. I feel as I have felt for as long as I have been trapped in this state. Perhaps the process Sam spoke of takes longer to establish.” Or perhaps it doesn’t work at all, hung unspoken between them.
At that, Dean felt a fierce urge to prove the angel wrong. Because damn it, he could save his angel just like Cas had saved him. He didn’t want to hear the resignation in Cas’s voice ever again.
“Cas,” he murmured. “Maybe we should try something different.”
Not waiting for a reply, Dean shifted his body closer. He lifted his cheek from the icy floor, closing the remaining gap between them, and pressed his lips to the angel’s. Cas huffed out a surprised breath right into Dean’s mouth and the hunter marveled at how warm it felt. He didn’t push anything, just kept his parted lips there, sharing breath with the angel. It wasn’t quite a kiss. Somehow, it was so much more.
After what seemed like hours, but must have only been a few seconds, Dean pulled back to look Cas in the eyes.
“Told you I was real,” he said playfully, mirth dancing in his eyes.
Cas smiled back at him. A strange smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Just then, Dean began to feel the press of itchy sheets under his back. There was a pillow beneath his head instead of hard ice.
Just as the dream-world began to fade away, Dean heard the angel say distinctly, “Not real at all.”
The last thing he saw before coming awake were Castiel’s eyes - sapphire, bottomless, and breathtakingly sad.
TBC
>>Part 3