A/N: So, I don't know what came over me. This started out as me wanted to write a fluffy one-shot of Destiel to break up my writer's block. It turned into something... not fluffy. At least, not in the way my fics usually are. I think it's because I just re-watched the finale with a friend who hadn't seen it yet, and I was struck with the tragedy of it all. Anyways, it's pretty short, and it's a one-shot. If you like, please pleeeeeeeease review. If you don't like, just, maybe... review anyways? I'd appreciate any kind of feedback, honestly. I love you all and I'll be writing a proper, warm-and-fuzzy story in a few months, I swear!
"Mnuh," Dean mumbled groggily into his pillow, eyes squeezed shut.
"Dean, get up."
Dean kicked in the general direction of Sam's voice, but didn't connect with a body part. Dang.
"Dean, if you don't get up I will pick you up and carry you over my shoulder."
"Like t'see you try," Dean grunted, clenching the hilt of the knife under his pillow. Not that he would use it on Sam, of course. Much.
"Well." Sam's voice was suspiciously unconcerned. "I brought help."
What? The gears started turning in Dean's semi-conscious mind. He squinted his eyes open, barely, just barely, and craned his neck …
Sam stood smugly with his arms crossed. Before Dean could demand what the son of a bitch was smirking about, two cool fingers pressed to his forehead and he was instantly sucked into whirling black abyss.
When he blinked, he was lying on the floor of Bobby's spare room, cold and half-naked and utterly disoriented. He glared fiercely at the stupid goddamn angel that was responsible for robbing him of his warm bed. "Cas," he growled.
Cas didn't meet Dean's glower, gazing instead out of the window. "It's an important day for your brother, Dean."
Dean rested his head on the soft carpeting that had seen better days, and sighed. "Look, I know, I know. I just wanted five more minutes, alright? Is that so much to ask?"
Cas turned his head then, peering at Dean curiously. "I'm surprised that you're not more enthusiastic."
Dean pushed himself up from the floor with a grunt and into a sitting position. "I'm enthusiastic. Hell, I can barely contain myself. Not every day your little brother graduates."
Cas waited for the unspoken caveat.
"… But, I just feel like…" He ran a hand through his hair. "After this, it's law school. Then what? He goes to work for a firm? I'm proud of him. I'm damn proud of him. But sometimes… I wish…" He shook his head, flung his hand forward in a gesture of dismissal. "Forget it. I don't even know what I'm saying." He got up from the floor, feeling naked once again even though he was in a shirt and boxer briefs.
"You shouldn't worry so much about the future," Cas said, something… off… in his tone. Like he knew something Dean didn't. Something bad. "Relish this moment."
And in the blink of an eye, Dean was standing behind Cas, his fingers curling over that tan, trenchcoated shoulder. It was solid like nothing else was. Like nothing else ever could be.
He had a realization, one of those moments of disappointing logic.
"Cas," he uttered, "this is a dream, isn't it?"
Cas didn't respond, stiff and unyielding beneath Dean's grip.
"Sam is dead."
Cas's head bowed.
The pit of Dean's stomach clenched tight and twisted.
Then he slid his hand over to the place where Cas's neck met his collar, strangely warm and intriguing. "But you…."
"I'm real," Cas muttered. "I don't know why I came here. Your subconscious would have created a fair facsimile of me in my absence."
Dean's fingertips roamed cautiously into the soft black hairs at the nape of his neck. "Have I had this dream before?"
"Not this particular one." Cas shivered and stepped forward, pulling away from Dean's touch. "But many like it."
"I don't remember," Dean muttered, arm slowly coming back to rest at his side.
He didn't know what was coming over him. Lucid dreaming was surreal and weird– he felt like he could make choices, like he was in control of the situation, but these urges kept overcoming him and he acted without thinking. His logic circuits twisted in strange directions and strange connections, and he kept trying to figure out what he was supposed to do here and all he could come up with was that he needed to get dressed, and he needed Cas.
Someone pounded on the door. "Hurry up in there!" Sam called. "I need visual confirmation! You better be wearing a button-up, Dean!"
Not real Sam, though. Dream Sam could wait.
Dean was in front of Cas, between him and the window, tilting his chin up, pressing his hand to one real cheek. "Cas," he murmured, "you can leave if you want, but…" He slid his thumb along that lip, that perfect bottom lip. His heart beat in his chest, hard and fast, and everything was new and not one bit daunting.
Cas, on the other hand, had anxiety shining bright in his eyes, his breathing shallow and quick. "Dean," he whispered. "Don't remember this dream."
Dean chuckled. Cas was weird sometimes. "Why not?" He licked his lips, leaned in close enough for the tips of their noses to touch.
"Because," Cas breathed, "you'll hate me for this." And he leaned forward just a hair and their lips met, soft and warm and tingling.
Dean kissed Cas, dragged him close and kissed him hard and hot and frantic like he'd kissed him so many times before because he'd lied and he did remember all those other dreams and yeah, in waking life he did hate Cas a little bit for it but for some reason whenever he went to sleep he ended up here, in this place, with his mouth on Cas's and their bodies pressed close together. No matter where the dream started, they always ended up here.
He didn't know why Cas kept coming back. He didn't know why he did. But he always knew what came next.
"Tell me where you are," Cas panted, shoving Dean against a wall and kissing, gasping along his cheekbone. "I want to see you."
Sam pounded on the door. Neither noticed.
Dean knew what he had to say. The only answer that would keep him sane. The only answer that his new life could allow. The only answer that he ever gave. He was unable to suppress a moan at Cas's ministrations, and goddamn if it didn't make things ten times harder. With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes.