They were but minutes away from crossing the Indiana/Illinois border when the tug Dean felt in his chest, like an elastic band stretched too tight, finally reached the snapping point. Sam, who had fallen into a much needed deep slumber, jerked suddenly awake as the Impala shimmied into a U-turn that left black curls like the shadow of angel wings on the pavement.
"Dean?" he said. "What the hell?"
Dean just shook his head and pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal. He didn't speak a word until they were pulling back into the parking lot of the Northern Indiana State Hospital. "Wait here," was all he said then, as he slammed the car door.
"I don't understand," he said now, peering through a little window at the white-clad figure quietly sitting on the hospital bed. "If Lucifer's tormenting him, why is he smiling? Why isn't he fighting back?"
"Why should he?" Meg replied and – damn! – if that wasn't sympathy in her voice.
Just what I need, Dean thought furiously. Pity from a demon.
"Luci's made him an offer he can't refuse," Meg said. "He's given him the one thing he's always wanted: you."
"No..." Dean pressed his face closer to the cold glass, struggling with himself not to fling open the door, march over to Castiel... and what? Shake the angel from his dream? Wrap him in his arms and never let him go?
You had your chance, Dean, a little voice niggled in his brain. You had your chance to grab hold of that dream and make it real. How does it feel to be locked out of your own fantasy? On the outside looking in?
"It isn't real," he whispered.
"But it could be." Meg smirked. "If you'd just man up and stop pushing Clarence away."
Dean's heated glare could have melted icebergs but, as he turned his gaze back to Castiel, the look softened. Anger faded away as the hardened core in his heart was replaced with something he hadn't felt in a very long time: hope.
Maybe it isn't too late...
Dean's hand was on the doorknob before he realized his body was in motion.
Quick strides carried him across the dimly lit room, until he stood before the angel – his angel! Only slightly trembling hands reached out to gather surprisingly soft hands in a tender grasp.
Castiel's vacant stare slowly focused on their entwined fingers; travelled even more slowly up Dean's arms, up his neck and chin to finally lock on his eyes.
"Dean?" he breathed.
Dean's lips met the angel's in reply, bridging the gap between fantasy and reality. And, oh! It was a hundred times better than he had ever dared to dream: the taste of Cas a thousand times sweeter than homemade apple pie; the arms that wrapped around him giving him the home he'd never known.
"Dean," Castiel repeated as their lips reluctantly parted, the need to breathe temporarily overcoming their need for each other. There was no question behind the utterance of the hunter's name this time, just deep-seated contentment that displayed itself as a smile that lit up the room.
Dean felt an answering smile spread across his face.
And, suddenly, he was sure. Sure that whatever tomorrow might bring, whatever hell on earth the Leviathans had planned, they were better off facing the danger together. They'd build a future one day at a time. And they'd begin and end every one of those days just like this: with a kiss that rocked his world.