The dreams haunt him, almost every night. They all start out the same; just him and Cas, sitting on that familiar dock, legs swinging in rhythm. Sometimes he has a fishing rod, though Cas never does. Dean wonders about that occasionally, once he's awake and rubbed the wetness from his eyes. He wonders, even in his dreams, why they can't just be allowed a moment of tranquility. It's so close to perfection, the two of them side by side, fishing, and yet. Castiel stares at him, raising his empty hands in defeat, and Dean doesn't know how to fix it.
Sometimes the dream shifts, and suddenly Castiel is bleeding black from the stumps where his hands were. Dean abandons the fishing rod and desperately tried to staunch the bleeding with his jacket, his hands, with anything, but it never works. Cas melts before him, his electric blue eyes staring helplessly into Dean's until the end.
Tonight, however, his dream doesn't turn into a nightmare.
They're on the dock again, the heat bearing down on them in heavy waves. It's inevitable that they strip and lie together, limbs intertwined as they make love. Sweeter than Dean had ever been able to give him in reality.
Afterward, they lie still, wrapped in each other's arms, Castiel's coat cocooning them in their own world.
Cas smiles at him, lazily, and reaches to brush his thumb across Dean's mouth, before kissing him softly. Dean moves one hand to cup Cas' head, threading his fingers through his messy hair. He closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together, and tries to hold on to the perfection of the moment.
He doesn't want to, but Dean wakes anyway, to the harsh sound of rain against the window.
He keeps his eyes closed for another moment, letting himself remember the dream. Letting himself remember the love in Cas' eyes that rips his heart out just as it makes it whole.
There aren't tears this time, for which Dean is grateful for. In fact, there's a light smile playing on his lips. He thinks of the trench-coat, packed deep in his bag, and he swears he can feel Cas' thumb where it swept across his mouth.
It's in moments like these that Dean lets himself hope. Everyone thinks Castiel is gone for good, but he's not convinced. The constant dreams have to mean something. Even if he's not sure what.
And so Dean opens his eyes and steadies himself for another day. This time, though, he doesn't shove his dream as far back as he can. He lets it linger in his head, and he finds it gives him a strange sense of peace.
Castiel isn't gone. They will find him, and they will fix him, come literal hell or high water. Dean's faced hell before and Castiel saved him.
It's his turn to do the saving. It's only a matter of time.