Chapter 4

The colours of the setting sun reflected on the parts of the lake that were not already covered by a thin layer of mist. Oranges bled into reds and pinks with purple gradually chasing them behind the mountains. In the distance a warbler and a mockingbird sang their evening melodies, as if calling to each other. Once in a while, a lone loon chimed in. Dean pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. The wool was rough and smelled of campfires. In the brasero next to his adirondack chair, the wood shifted and the wood crackled.

"Pretty amazing that there are no mosquitos around," he remarked.

On his left, wrap in his own blanket, Castiel nodded.

"A perfect night." He smiled at Dean. "Should we go back in? We still have the pie waiting for us."

The Winchester looked at the lake, now completely covered with mist. In the sky, a few stars had appeared.

"Let's wait just a little more."

The angel nodded

Once the sky had turned completely dark and the only light remaining was that of he stars, the two men got up, put out the fire, and headed for the cabin wearing their blankets like capes. Castiel, who walked a few steps behind, suddenly ran up to Dean and pulled the blanket over his head before taking lead.

"Last one in gets no pie!" he yelled, as he ran.

"You're cheating!" laughed Dean as he fixed his blanket and watched the angel run ahead of him without looking back.

He paused for a moment and looked straight up. The milky way was visible. What a gorgeous night, he thought.

When he got to the cabin, Cas had put the pie in the oven to warm it up and set plates on the kitchen island. Dean hopped and sat on the counter. He surveyed the spacious living room and dining room, the high ceiling supported by dark wooden beams, and the floor to ceiling windows. A truly great space. Cas came to lean against the counter next to him.

"What should we watch tonight?" he asked.

He was so close Dean could smell him. A mix of mint and pine.

"We can just turn on the oldies channel. I feel like a black and white classic, what do you say?"

Cas smiled.

"Sounds good"

They'd turned off all the lights and settled on the couch with the pie. Cas had finished his slice and set this plate on the coffee table. Dean was still working on his third slice. On the screen, Casablanca flashed in black and white. The Winchester was taking his last bite when he felt a cushion being set in his lap. He looked down just in time to see Cas comfortably settle down his head, shifting that way and this to make sure he could see the screen. All the while, Dean kept his elbows up, fork in one hand, plate in the other. Once the angel had finally stopped fidgeting, Dean set his cutlery down on the table, purposefully squeezing his companion's head between his chest and the cushion. Muffled laughter escaped Cas as he weakly fought back. Dean finally relented and leaned back. On the screen Rick talked to Ilsa. Dean wrapped his arm around Cas' shoulder and with his other hand, he carded through his soft hair. The angel sighed.

Dean would have been hard pressed to say how long they'd spent on the couch but the movie had ended. Or at least he thought so, for the tv screen was off. He looked around. Where was he? He didn't recognise the place. His heart almost stopped when he saw Cas' head in his lap. He shook his friend.

"Cas!"

The angel stirred and propped himself on his elbow. He craned his neck at Dean.

"What?"

Dean's brow furrowed.

"You were asleep? What the hell, Cas! You don't sleep!"

He got up, bringing his hands to his head.

"What is this place?"

Cas sat up.

"Dean. Calm down."

The man backed away.

"Why were you sleeping in my lap? What is this place?"

"Dean, please."

Cas stood up. Dean back away farther, knocking the television down. Before he could say anything, a angel blade emerged from the angels chest. Blinding light exploded out of his eyes and mouth.

Dean gasped awake. He jumped to his feet. He was back in his room. A knock on the door startled him.

"Dean?" came Sam's voice. "Everything alright?"

"I heard a crash. You sure you're ok?"

Dean looked around; it seemed like his hand had gotten tangled with the cord of his desk lamp and he'd knocked it to the floor.

"All good. I'm fine."

"You su.."

"Go to bed, Sammy," replied Dean curtly.

He listened. Sam lingered at the door for a moment but soon he heard his steps fading in the hallway and the sound of his bedroom door close.

Dean sat on his bed and sighed. He looked at the blue liquid on his desk. He could have knocked it over with the lamp. He needed to put it away in a safer container. Whatever it was, it was allowing to get in touch in Cas. He actually didn't care what this thing was; what mattered was that it worked. He decided that he needed to get better at controlling his emotions in whatever plane it took him to. If this was angel heaven or whatever place angels went to when they died, he needed to be able to make Cas realise where he was. Hopefully, that would be the first step to finding a solution to get him back.

That night, he slept a dreamless sleep but woke up feeling groggy and feverish. He had to reason with himself not to drink some of the blue liquid again. There was around half a quart left and he knew that he would need to conserve as much of it as possible to maximize his "trips." After grabbing a black coffee, he headed for the library. He would first look into lucid dreaming; hopefully he would pick up some tricks that would help him pierce through.

When Sam walked in, he was surprised to find his brother surrounded by piles of dusty books. Dean didn't notice him, focused as he was over a tattered journal, jotting down notes in a small notebook.

"Did you find a case?" he asked.

The older Winchestered looked up, his head moving slowly. His face was red and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

"What?" he asked, his tongue thick.

Sam frowned.

"Did you eh… smoke something?"

Dean grimaced.

"Why would you think that?"

"You eyes, are pretty bloodshot, Dean. Are you sure you're…"

Suddenly, he shot up, his sluggishness replaced with swiftness.

"I'm fine. Stop asking. There's a lot of dust on those books, my eyes got itchy; I must have scratched them. What's up? Going somewhere?"

He pointed Sam's jacket.

"Ah, uhm, yeah. I was going to take Jack out. He could use a change of scenery…" and so could you, he added, mentally.

"Good. Well I'm staying here. See you later."

With that, he sat back down and pored over his book again. Sam sighed. He had to be patient. Dean would eventually talk. Hopefully.