***
At first there was nothing but darkness, but as he stepped back he realised it is just the colour of the walls. Deep blue marble highlighted with grey swirls, as though God had be smoking the day he made this particular rock.
He took another step back and turned to his right. He found himself in an impossibly long hallway of infinite doors. Some wood, some metal, some stone. Some looked like the slightest breeze would knock them down, others made you fearful of what could possibly be behind a door with so many locks.
Dean picked a direction and walked. He walked for what seemed like an eternity and was eventually rewarded with a corner. The hallway was much the same as the last one except only one side was lined with doors. The other half was consumed by enormous stained glass windows, each depicted – in more colours than Dean could name – a different sombre character.
Dean walked, awestruck by the sheer magnificence of the coloured glass mosaics. He paused in front of one. There are very few colours used in it; mostly varying shades of black and grey. Dean stared at the window, at the stained glass portrait of a pale woman dressed in black. The image triggered a memory that never existed, Dean couldn't explain why but he knew he had seen her before.
"Can I help you, sir?" a voice asked.
Dean's thoughts dissipated as he turned from the window to face a large stone archway. Beneath it stood a tall, fussy looking man. He seemed even taller than Sam, if such a thing was possible, but this being a dream Dean was of the opinion that anything was possible. The man stared accusingly at Dean over his antique spectacles.
"What?" Dean asked, unable to get over the weirdness surrounding him.
The man sighed and muttered something about "youths" and "manners".
"What are you doing here?" he asked pointedly.
"I don't... I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Dean asked, hoping for answers.
"Of course you are. You're in the Dreaming. You can't be in the Dreaming if you aren't."
"Right..." How about answers that make sense...
"You really shouldn't be in here though. I doubt the Master would approve. What is your name?"
"Ah... Dean. Dean Winchester."
"Ah!" replies the man, brightening somewhat, "I've read some of your work. A little heavy on the pornography for my tastes, but still..."
"What the hell are you talking about? Who the hell are you?" Dean asked, his patience wearing thin.
"I do apologise... I am Lucien, the Librarian." He said dramatically, gesturing behind him at a room of impossible proportions that housed a forest of bookshelves.
"Whoa," Dean muttered as he stepped into the room, straining his neck in an attempt to see the top of the first book shelf, "...Sam would love this."
"That would be one Samuel Winchester, yes?" Lucien asked, although Dean felt that he already knew the answer. Dean took a few steps further into the giant library, fully aware that Lucien was following him around, in true custodian style, to ensure that he didn't touch anything. "I must say I loved his piece, "My brother, My hero". Very moving. I'm sure he would have received an "A" for it, had he only been able to hand it in..."
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked again, hoping for a sane reply.
"This is the Library of the Dreaming. Here, every book that was never written is stored. I was referring to your brother's 3rd grade creative writing assignment. He thought up a wonderful story, but as your father relocated you both soon after the assignment was given Sam never bothered to write it down... so it's kept here."
Dean looks at the librarian with disbelief, snorting, "Sam wrote a book?"
"No." Lucien replied testily, "You're not the smartest dreamer, are you?" Ignoring Dean's death stare Lucien repeated himself, "This is the Library of the Dreaming. All the stories that were ever thought of, ever dreamt of, all those fleeting ideas get stored here before they are lost forever. Sometimes I lend them out to other residents of the Dreaming as most of them are quite enjoyable. Yours aren't to everyone's taste... although Merv's a big fan of yours... I'm not sure whether you should take that as compliment or not." He mused.
"Dude, you must have me confused with someone else..." Dean replied, trying to find a thread of sanity, "I've never written a story in my life – not even for an English assignment."
Lucien smiled smugly and wandered off through the shelving, Dean followed. Eventually Lucien paused in front of a shelf, no different to any other and waited. Dean stared at him, wondering what he could possibly be waiting for when a ladder came skimming along the shelving, stopping directly in front of the librarian. Lucien climbed the ladder, oblivious to Dean's uneasiness, before carefully removing what appeared to be a comic book from the suffocating embrace of its leather-bound companions. Lucien stepped down from the ladder, straightened his pinstriped jacket before he reverently passed the comic book to Dean.
Dean stared at Lucien for a moment, trying to read the strange man's face to determine whether he believed all the crazy things he said. Dean glanced down at the book in his hands and turned it over; staring slack jawed at its glossy cover.
"'Dean Winchester and the Vampiric Bisexual Playboy Bunnies'," Lucien said, reciting the title for him, "'He loves them. He leaves them. In pieces.' Not the catchiest title in the world, but still..."
"Bu-bu-but..." Dean stammered, flicking through the pages, gawking at the illustrations, "But I never wrote this... I mean, yeah, I thought about it... but..."
"Just because you didn't write it down," revealed Lucien, carefully prying the comic from Dean's numb fingers, "Doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
Dean wanted to ask more questions but the sound of birds' wings interrupted his thoughts. He glanced upwards and spied a raven flying straight towards him. He resisted the urge to flinch, finding solace in the knowledge that this was a dream and nothing bad could happen to him. The bird pulled up at the last moment, perching itself on the ladder next to Lucien.
"Hello Matthew." Lucien said, apparently addressing the bird as put the comic book back on the shelf.
"Hiya Luce. How's it hanging?" the bird replied.
"Whoa... talking bird." Dean muttered.
"Just fine thankyou Matthew." Lucien noticed Dean's shock and tried to put him at ease, "Dean, this is Matthew, the Master's raven. Matthew, this is Dean Winchester, a dreamer who got lost."
"I know who he is." Matthew retorted, "Boss has me keepin' an eye on him and his brother."
"What?" Dean asked, his confusion overwhelming him.
"Oh really?" replies Lucien, "This is the one he was talking about?" he asked rhetorically. He gives Dean a sad look, "You poor man. I wouldn't want to trade lives with you for all the world."
"What the hell is going on? What are you talking about? And why is a talking bird stalking me and Sam?!" Dean shouted.
"Not stalking," Matthew replied, trying to defend himself, "Just watching. Boss asked me to. But your brother went off the radar, and you came here, so no point in staying out in the real world. Thought I'd come back here and wait for the boss to return."
"What are you talking about? Where's Sam?" Dean shouted at the bird.
"Dunno." Matthew shrugged, or at least the ornithological equivalent of shrugging, "One minute he was there, same as you... the next he wasn't. Either he's got friends in weird places, or he really doesn't wanna be found."
Dean started to back away from Lucien and Matthew, heading for the exit.
"How do I get out of here? Where's the fucking exit?" Dean shouted, panic gripping him tight.
"Calm down buddy. You'll get out when you wake up." Matthew replied, as if it was the simplest concept on earth.
"I gotta find Sam. SAMMY!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the cavernous darkness.
"Oi! fuckwit!" Matthew cawed over the echo, "He's not here! Stop freaking out about it!"
"Shut up you stupid bird!" Dean spat back, "I gotta find Sam. SAM!!!"
Dean ran from the library, its creepy custodian, and the foulmouthed raven, and back down the marble hallway. He turned the corner and began running back the way he thought he came. Up ahead a door, previously thought to be locked, opened of its own accord. Dean didn't stop to think about what was on the other side of the door, blinding running over the threshold and into darkness.
The door slammed shut.
