The first time it happened it was terrifying.
He had gone to sleep that night, head ringing from too much whiskey and arms sore from a hunt, on a lumpy motel mattress.
But even the alcohol couldn't account for what happened.
There was a strange lurch in his gut, like the feeling Dean got when the Impala dove down a steep road too fast. Yet that wasn't enough to wake him from the pounding, pulsing hangover that hammered at his skull.
No, it was the sharp rocks digging into his spine and the wind that filled his nose with fine grit and dirt that eventually roused him from his stupor.
Spluttering awake, Dean swiped a hand over his eyes, groggily taking in his surroundings.
There was no need to panic, because the red dusty landscape that stretched on and over the horizon was just a side-affect of the alcohol poisoning. Or maybe he had just cracked from all the crazy baggage that came with being a Hunter.
Dean sat in the predawn desert for five minutes, blankly staring out at the red rocks and bony fingers of vegetation that eased out from the barren soil.
In a flurry Dean stood up, gripped his greasy hair and shouted from the pits of his lungs; "shit!"
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."
He started pacing, green eyes wide with terror as his gaze found nothing but the same nondescript landscape.
The place looked like Mars; a dark ruby desert bathed in shadow. There was no sign of human life, only a small prickly lizard that stopped to gaze at him, beady black eyes judgmental as it watched the silly human pace in silly little circles.
Stamping his foot in the direction of the lizard, Dean glared down at it until the lizard found the sense of mind to scurry away lest it find itself skewered on the end of Dean's pocket knife.
Giving up on pacing, Dean wiped his palms down his jeans as he thought of a plan.
What did someone usually do when they found themselves on Mars? Or somewhere that looked like Mars?
Walk; walk until he found something or someone that could help him. That's all he could do.
Bare feet pattered over the ochre dirt as Dean walked towards the horizon. Eventually a large 'rock' came into focus, it was the same orange as the ground only much larger. As the minutes passed Dean was nearly at its base, his orange stained feet finally finding a road where a large green sign declared in dirtied white writing; "Uluru, the Red Center."
He had always wanted to come here and see the sun rise over Uluru. An Australian Hunter at the Roadhouse had regaled Dean one summer's afternoon about how beautiful it was.
The sun began to rise, the curve of the orb peeking over the top of Uluru.
Pinks and lilacs cascaded down the ripples in the rock, coloured light that flowed down to the desert floor. Clouds glinted like rubbed gold overhead, showering the landscape with golden flakes. It was over in a moment, and soon the sun hung overhead and heat began to warp the landscape.
"Hello Dean."
Startled, Dean turned to look at Castiel who stood at his side.
It was laughably odd to see Castiel's black shoes covered in Australian dirt, his trench coat framed by withered Gum Trees.
"How'd you know I was here…? How am I here?"
Nudging a rock with the tip of his shoe, Castiel shrugged, "Sam prayed to me when he saw you were gone, he was worried when you weren't picking up your phone. As to how you got here…I believe that the mark I left on your arm has retained some of my energy. It seems it's given you the ability to travel like an angel."
Dean gaped. And it wasn't often that Dean Winchester gaped. Only on two occasions had it happened before; the first was when Sam floored him when he was only nine years old, the second was when he had been expecting a busty Asian beauty and not a hung hunk.
"Why'd I end up here?" Dean asked, eyes wide with the thought that he could have woken up in the Pacific Ocean or high above the clouds.
Castiel stared at Dean, taking in the Hunter's sun kissed countenance and freckles. "Perhaps the Grace is reacting to places you want to see, as you can't control this power it is reacting in the only way it knows how. The Grace will not put you in harms way Dean, it wouldn't hurt its host."
Hot wind swept over them, carrying the earthy smell of sand and grit.
Nodding his head as though this was all perfectly normal, Dean raised his hand, lips pouted as he asked the more important question. "How long is this going to last?"
Wrinkles appeared at the corners of Castiel's eyes as he thought about the question, "a few more days at the most."
"And…" Dean began, arms sweeping out in an arc to indicate the vast empty expanse around them, "how am I supposed to get back to my motel, Doctor Who?"
Reaching out Castiel laid the tips of two cool fingers against Dean's forehead and he felt that odd lurching sensation again.
As soon as Dean appeared in the motel Castiel was gone and Sam was there, concern radiating off him as he gripped Dean's shoulder in a vice, as though to convince himself Dean was really there.
"Dean, what the hell?"
Sighing, Dean looked down at his feet, disbelief still warring in him as he stared down at the red soil caking his toes. "It's a really weird story Sammy."
0…0…0…0
It happened again, the next morning.
Only this time there were crumbling white stone buildings framing a bright blue sky.
Sitting up Dean looked around, taking in the ancient street he woke up in. This wasn't his first time waking up in a gutter, but waking in a thousand year old city was a first.
Dean remained calm this time 'round. Sam had said Dean should appreciate the opportunity given to him; a hint of jealousy in his voice.
Running his fingers over the smooth stone Dean pushed himself to his feet and walked into the nearest building. Yellow tape zigzagged like snakes around walls and rooms, barring entry. A few hammers were laid on the ground along with other reconstruction implements.
The place was deserted, only the sounds of insects trilling broke the silence.
Stepping into an adjoining room Dean whistled in appreciation as he saw a fresco. The figure looked almost angelic, he wore a crown of faded green leaves and was clothed in fine eggshell blue robes. In the figure's right hand was a delicate spear and in the other was a shield that displayed an age worn crack.
Sam had warned him severely that if he woke up somewhere that had valuables nearby, under no circumstances was he to touch anything.
Tucking his hands into his pockets, Dean's fingers played with the soft lint and smooth paperclips in his tracksuit pants before temptation could overrule him.
Walking out of the building, Dean strolled around the structures, soaking up the melancholy atmosphere. Hundreds of people had lived here, and now the place was empty and hollowed out.
Suddenly, Dean came face to face with a crouched figure. They were huddled in what looked like an old courtyard. Their hands were raised above their head in a futile attempt to protect herself from Vesuvius' wrath. She was a ghost in this place. Doomed to stay at the sight of their death forever, frozen in plaster of Paris.
"I will never understand why humans like coming to Pompeii." Castiel murmured as he appeared at Dean's side in a flurry of invisible wings.
Dean shrugged, "people are fascinated."
Castiel kneeled before the entombed figure, fingers hovering inches from the crusted surface.
Dropping his hand, Castiel looked away, azure eyes transfixed on the cobblestones.
"Uriel did this. He received an order to destroy this place."
Dean knelt next to Castiel, shoulder brushing against Castiel's in a gesture of support.
"You're not one of those mindless soldiers anymore Cas, you make your own choices now."
Castiel looked at him, blue eyes a window to the pain that had transpired in the ancient city.
"But I let it happen, and all of these people died horribly because of it."
Laying a hand on Castiel's warm thigh Dean let his lips tug into a smile. "And isn't it great you're not heartless anymore Cas?"
Castiel mimicked Dean's smile, a hand touching Dean's as he took them back to a small motel in America.
"Yes it is."
0…0…0…0
The soft sound of waves lapping against sand woke Dean. He let his eyes stay closed as he basked in the tropical heat that was wrapped around him like a blanket.
Flicking his eyes open, a contented sigh slipped from Dean's lips as he watched the green palm leaves sway gently overhead.
Standing up, Dean made the short trip down to the crystalline water, his eyes squinting as the undulations of water caught the sun. The air was filled with the sharp smell of salt and the water warmly caressed his aching feet.
He stood with the water around his ankles for a long time. White birds flew lazily over the ocean as time crawled by.
The water was soon disturbed as Castiel joined Dean, shoes discarded on the white sand. Castiel's hand slipped into Dean's, pale fingers threading through the Hunter's. They stood hand in hand watching the ocean.
They were alone. Far from everyone else in their own slice of Eden.
Dean didn't care where they were. All he wanted was some peace in his life. And this, right here, was as close as he was ever going to get.
As the salty water soaked his skin he was reminded of all the scars, all the pain, blood and betrayal. They were all a part of him, and he could never let them go.
Castiel squeezed his hand, as though sensing his thoughts.
Turning, Dean cupped Castiel's cheeks, thumb running over his prickly stubble. Castiel leaned forward, pressing past the gentle hands to press a kiss to Dean's chapped lips.
But there was no reason that this moment couldn't become a part of him as well.