REALLY REAL

Tag for KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON, 12.01

Dean Winchester actually existed, his life seemed a novelty to anyone else. But Dean was Dean. He lived every half-second, every whole second, every minute, hour, day, month, year, decade. With the "unfortunate" addition of his forty years in hell Dean had lived seventy-eight years.

He has lived the good, the bad, the sweet, the bitter. He's felt every emotion; happiness—all encompassing misery. He's felt every wound, he has waited and watched each and every one heal and slowly disappear, or, leave a scar as an unwanted reminder.

He has been a child, a teenager, a young adult, a discontented miserable person. He's figuring out what his happiness is. He and Sam are making a good home in the bunker. His happiness grows all the time, slowly Dean is changing from that miserable person and into Sam's brother, hunter, Cas' dearest friend...'a good man crying to be heard.'

And Dean is learning to let that man out.

Seventy-eight is a long time to be alive. A lot of things change, he hardly recognizes the past or present Dean as himself. But something's never change. Dean has always been his mother's son. Every month, often several times, he sees her, he dreams of her.

It's not like the dream of his father, and himself, and Sam driving the impala. That dream is ethereal and heaven-like; Dean knows it isn't his reality, he knows the dream is a treat in and of itself and he goes on with life grateful for that little glimpse of a happiness that just barely slipped through his fingertips. This dream, of the long absent mother is something so different; real, tangible.

It's always the same. Just before him, she wavers in the light. So life like, smiling a little. Calm and steadfastness radiating from her just like Dean remembers. He's always uncertain, hand trembling towards the coveted form...he never quite reaches her.

In the dream a cool breeze drifts over his face, her hair catches it, the golden strands lifting in the stirring air...his fingers are so close, he can almost, always only almost, skim the pads of his appendages over the silky material covering her.

Then everything changes. He wakes. The same question on his lips, every time the same question left hoarse in the empty room or unspoken in his mouth. His body springs from the mattress, eyes staring wide into darkness, hand trembling, outstretched, still searching for what he lost seventy-four long years ago.

And he already knows the answer to the foolish question.

"Are you really real?"

No.

Never.

Seventy-four long, long...oh so long years the question is the same, the answer is the same.

The crushing reality, and cold loneliness is always the same. Didn't change from four to eight, didn't change from ten to twenty. Would never change.

You don't outgrow pain.

First rule to growing up Dean Winchester.

He always wonders what her answer would be if the dream didn't end. Would she lie to him so he has a little comfort? Would she be cold and blaming, 'why didn't you save me?' (Got to love that Dean Winchester guilt.) But most of all he dreams of her touch.

He remembers from so long ago when her hand would ghost through his hair, soft, thin fingers drift down his cheek. And he knows if he didn't wake that is how the dream would end. He closes his eyes, can almost feel the object of his deepest desire...what he needs.

He opens his eyes, she's gone, her dreamy presence and touch is gone...but the peace that fills him every time is worth the pain of that bitter disappointment. He can go on now...he can go on for her, he can fight her fight, he can be strong until the next dream.

It doesn't feel like a dream when he's wandering through the woods after Chuck and Amara leave. Dean just wants home to Sammy and Cas. Celebrate all of their 'aliveness' drink a few beers over pizza, send himself off to bed with a tall shot of their finest whiskey and sleep for a month.

Knows it's going to take ages to soothe Sam's trauma, doesn't know how his brother did it...let him go. Because he knows just how impossible it was for him. He smiles thinking of nights spent watching bad TV and making fun of it. He and Sam are definitely in line for vacation and he thinks now that they've averted the apocalypse AGAIN they're going to jump ahead and just take what's theirs.

He'll buy Sam as many books as he wants to read on the beach, even if they are lore. Just as long as it's Sammy and Dean on the beach together. He himself will be bathing in the sun, sleeping in it's warmth, but hey, Sam could keep guard if he wanted.

He reaches for his phone wanting to relieve his brother's heavy heart. Wants to tell him of his plans, hear that all-dimples smile over the phone. Wants to hear that voice say 'Dean' in a that hushed over husky tone Sam can't control when he's emotional. Wants to pick fun at him for all his chick flick 'iness'.

But he can't find reception, he's lost, and then he hears an eerily familiar voice that wraps him up warm and safe inside.

When had this become a dream? He thinks.

He breaks through the trees and there she stands. Just like the dream. Night wind playing in the beautiful blond curls, eyes bluer than his wildest dreams. This vivid dream, gets him ever time. He feels his throat growing tight as he draws near her.

Hand reaches out, shaking to touch her. She looks unsure, her eyes soft as ever though.

The question. It's inevitable, he can't even stop it tumbling from his lips.

"Are you, really...real?"

And he braces himself to wake, to be thrust into chilled reality again. But he doesn't wake. Instead the breeze floats over them again and then she touches him.

She touches him.

And he knows his going to wake up now, because her hand is warm where he painfully twists his own. He doesn't care, her foot is warm and strong pressing in the back of his neck. This too good to be true he has never felt her, never ever felt her in the dreams.

And she speaks.

She speaks, same voice as ever, a littler harder as she demands answers to her questions, but still rolling over Dean in warm waves of happiness. His mouth spills words out, but he just stares at her in disbelief. He rises back to his feet and she's there in front of him. So life like, so perfect.

And then she tilts that beloved head to the side and she touches him hesitantly. He's waiting to wake up, but when he doesn't he's holding his breath for her to ghost fingers through his hair and down his cheek. But instead arms that his grown form have never felt are wrapped around him. His cheek is pressed against hers, so soft, so warm.

Eyes opened wide...he's awake. He doesn't close them in fear it will break the spell. She's warm and alive and soft against him. She's on her tiptoes leaning into him, honest to God, Dean Winchester's Mom is holding him. Or more like he's holding her.

"Hey mom."

She's really real.

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