A/N: Very short drabble. If you can, have The Scientist by Coldplay playing as you read. Enjoy! Reviews/ConCrit are always wonderful c:
It's that dream again. The pier. The vast, beautiful lake. The surreal softglow. But Dean isn't sitting in the chair, fishing and smiling. He's standing back about ten feet, looking at the spot where the chair would be.
And a man is standing in its place.
Dean's had this dream countless times. He's never moved though. Just watched. Listened as wind whistled across the water's surface. Waited for the man to make the first move.
But now, for some reason, Dean is tired of waiting, so he walks forward. And he keeps going until he's right behind him. And there is silence. The man's trench coat picks up slightly in the wind and brushes Dean's leg, and it makes him want to cry.
Because it isn't real. It's just a goddamn dream. And the man in front of him is dead.
I'm so sorry.
Dean doesn't say it out loud, but he seems to hear it just the same. The man turns, and Dean swears he can feel feathers brush across his face.
"It's okay, Dean," he says, and his voice is like a punch to the ribs. His eyes. His nose. His mouth. His everything. Just the way he remembers it.
But it's not real.
Dean doesn't realize he's crying until there's a thumb on his left cheek, wiping away a tear. And just that touch hurts so much. They stand like that for a moment, the wind whispering the sweet nothings that they refuse to say.
He can't take this anymore. He looks the man right in the eye, sorrowful.
Take me back to the start.
A small smile seems to play on the man's lips. A sad smile. But he understand what he means.
"As you wish."
He pulls his hand back from Dean's cheek and places his middle and index finger against Dean's forehead.
Castiel takes them back to the start.
Dean doesn't wake the next morning, but his heart still beats. He is alive. Asleep. And happy.