"I told you to find the blues, not to make out with them." Instead of sounding pissed, the Moon is tired and if he had a head, he would be shaking it. "That was quite the unexpected turn of events."
"I didn't ask for your opinion." Dean has chosen to lying on his back on a large lilypad in the middle of a sea of books. He isn't sure why, but there's something absolutely comforting about lying on what should be impossible. He raises a hand to the sky and expands his fingers. The sky changes for the sunny blue that he wanted it to be, to a full starry sky.
The Moon shrinks and floats down to Dean. "Why are you doing this, raspberry compass? How have you learned?"
"It was a suggestion." Dean holds his hands up to grab the Moon. It's cool and stony in his hands and the sensation gives Dean a shock of empowerment. He's holding the Moon and he can feel the Moon.
The Moon shakes his entirety in what should have resembled a head shake, but instead resembled an Moon-earthquake. "It's the Blues. He likes you. And I know you dig him deep, tea bag."
"What? I shouldn't dig people deep, that's kind of morbid." Dean lets the Moon go and instead decides to turn his sea of books into an actual ocean, bioluminescent in its glow and reflective of the cosmos above. "I'm not really into the whole idea of burying someone."
"Your sarcasm goes unappreciated by many, Mr. Anderson." The Moon's voice is deep and weary. And Dean realises that there's much that he could be learning from the Moon about his weird dreams and his sleeping problems and his feels for Castiel.
"Everyone loves my sarcasm; I'm adorable." Dean winks at the Moon. Promptly after, his expression goes serious. "Tell me, Luna, what's up with my dreams?"
Silence. Dean turns his eyes away from the cosmos and looks at Luna. Its eyes are large and scared and totally out of character.
After an awkward amount of time, it speaks again. "You are experiencing dreams as you should experience them. A reality without being corporeal. An existence without the consequences. And answers to unasked questions. For the primordial existence of your personal omega. To define your altruism with vague borders of the perception of borderline morality."
Dean blinks. This is still his brain, right? So how did this come out of him? He opens his mouth to speak, but the stars rain down from the sky in beautiful dewdrops. A mini Sol is created out of the multitude of stars and floats right in front of Dean's face.
"Hello, my love. It is time for you to urinate."
Dean's eyes shoot open and he stares at his wall. And then realises, that god damn, he really has to pee. On his way out of his room, he glances at his clock. 6:12. Not too bad, all things considered. He'd be up in an hour anyways.
Dean sits down in his mechanical engineering class and pulls out his notebook. A girl sits next to him, pretty, smart, sarcastic, and definitely a burger short of a happy meal. She looks at his notes and shakes her head.
"Your notes are so messy. How can you stand to look at them again?" She opens her notebook to reveal her perfect type-like handwriting.
"Effie, no one has handwriting like you. Sorry I'm not perfect."
"I like that you aren't perfect. You're way more fascinating this way." She hesitates as though she's going to say more. Her grey eyes flicker over Dean's face as he waits for her to speak. "Are you…" She trails off and shakes her head. "Never mind."
"No, that's not allowed." This is one of Dean's biggest pet peeves; people starting sentences after intense scrutiny and then not following through. "You have to tell me now."
Effie blinks and nods at Dean. "I just wasn't sure if you're the president of the Lucid Dreaming club. But then I realised that you couldn't possibly be because you would have told me. Because we're friends and that's what friends do. Friends tell friends exciting news. Like when I told you 'bout my special lady friend. And you wouldn't forget for five weeks to tell me. Or that yesterday you kissed your co-president."
Dean pales and looks at Effie in a whole new light. Because, honestly, could she have gotten anymore passive-aggressive? The answer is yes. The entire speech could have been communicated through sticky notes throughout class. When did his kiss with Cas become common knowledge?
Effie seems to notice the discomfort that she's placed on Dean and her expression softens. "I'm sorry. I won't tell anyone. I just happened to be walking into the auditorium yesterday and there you were. And then I saw the sign that said 'Lucid Dreaming' and that your name was under it. And there was this super hot redhead told me that you're the president that Castiel is your co-president." She shuts her mouth and then fiddles around with her pencil.
Like many OCD scientifically-minded people, Effie starts to ramble and then forget what she was talking about initially and then shuts down. She starts shaking her head and clenching and unclenching her fists. "I'm sorry. I just...want to join the club…"
"Okay." Dean manages. He had met Effie back in his Freshman year during his first Calculus class, so he knows her well. But at the same time, he had never really told her that he digs not only the chicks, but the dudes as well. And she was handling that piece of news rather well.
She stops playing with her pencil and looks at Dean with wide, hopeful eyes. "Thank you." She forces out, but it's genuine and he knows that. Upon meeting her, he knew that bravioso behaviour covered up her anxiety of apologies and of gratitude. But she's kind and understanding and straight-forward.
Dean nods. "Don't worry about it. Besides, one of the ladies in the club left, so we need you to balance everything out again."
"I'm fine with being your balance, Mr. Winchester." Effie ducks her head and holds her coffee mug close to her chest as their professor walks in.
Since the kiss, Castiel hasn't been able to think of much more. Of course, he knows that he should be worrying about his Analytics of Space Travel exam, but he just can't get up the motivation to study. All he can think about is the softness of Dean's lips.
He shakes his head just once. When had his blood been replaced by tree sap? Perhaps it had been quite a long time since his relationship with Balthazar. And maybe it'd been even longer since Meg. And maybe the lack of having an intimate partner is starting to do things to him that he would otherwise never do.
But Dean is different and Castiel can tell that. He didn't need to have weird dreams to tell him that. And he didn't need to know Dean's dreams explicitly to know that he feels similarly.
The anomalous situation of premonitious dreams should be an extraneous factor chalked up to coincidence. But how often do dreams predict events yet to come? And how frequently are they correct? Certainly not as often as they are with Dean and Castiel.
Castiel stares out of the window. Night has fallen and stars have begun to make the attempt of shining their light upon the earth in a feeble attempt to infiltrate the luminous pollution of urban buildings and of light. They remain as pinpricks of possibly dead light, the remnants of ghosts in the void.
It's time for sleep, he knows. But the thought of sleep at this moment seems impossible. Maybe he would just wait until daylight.
Gabriel sits on the roof of the Astronomy building. Not because he's a future astronomer, or even in the sciences. It's just the tallest building on campus and it's got easy access to the roof. For all of his grandeur, Gabriel is sky-obsessed. He's got the name of an angel after all.
Unlike his cousin, Gabriel doesn't get weird dreams. In all honesty, he doesn't dream at all. He closes his eyes and six hours later, they open again and he's well-rested. Doesn't get more boring than that.
But it's when he's awake that he gets to dreaming. When the city is asleep, and the lights are down, and no one knows where to find him. This is when he can let his mind wander to Kali and to his own personal alternate universes. The manipulation of his daydreams is easy and it's expected. Everything works out exactly as he wants. Everything is where he wants it to be and he can do everything he wants to do.
Yet, as the nights grow colder on the roof of the Astronomy building, a sweater comes to be not enough for the brisk evenings. And soon, Gabriel knows that lying out on the top of this building will be impossible once the winter hits. One more month until December. One more month until the snow begins its descent over New York.
Before the Lucid Dreaming club, before Dean Winchester, before being dragged in by his cousin, dreaming had never really mattered to Gabriel. Whether it happened or not, it had been fine. But now, he's bothered by the fact that there's nothing in there while he rests his head. Nothing to go on. No epiphanies that strike him randomly while he sleeps. Just darkness. Death training. That's what his sleep feels like. Minimal brain activity and basic bodily functions. And that's all.
Gabriel pulls his sweater tighter around himself and makes his mind wander. Away from New York, away from everybody he knows and everywhere he's been. He wants to go far away where no one knows his name. Somewhere that isn't Boston. Because damn that song. He closes his eyes and lets his thoughts drift.
A/N: I am a despicable human being. How dare I call myself a writer. Oh man. I'm so sorry everybody. Since declaring my major, I've just been so swamped with chem and math classes. I write this when I have the time. And when I'm stressed. I also don't really know what happens in Cas' dreams… Also, this may not seem like it, but it's a pretty important chapter. Also, sorry, no smooching in this one. Next one, I promise, will have a bit more than just one single kiss… -Pyxie xx