Chapter 12
Kevin lifted his head to watch Dean as the hunter approached the testimony box. He walked in front of his friend and offered him a reassuring smile.
"D-Dean?" Kevin croaked. Dean didn't answer, but instead found his seat and looked out, to examine the crowd.
"Now, begin at the beginning," Gadreel said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."
Dean took a deep breath and looked over to where Kevin still stood, as still as stone.
"The Knave is innocent," Dean declared and gasps could be heard throughout the garden trial.
"How can you be so sure," Gadreel demanded, stunned.
"Because, this is a dream, and all in my crazy head," Dean said, "so how can anyone be convicted of anything when nothing really exists here."
"I can see your point," Metatron said with a nod, "you would have to be half crazy to dream me up." Dean couldn't argue with him there.
"So if all of this is in your head," Gadreel offered, "then this is all your fault. Should you not be blamed for everything?"
"He's right!" Metatron declared, "Why didn't i see it sooner? Free the Knave and bring me the hunter's head!"
"Run, Dean!" Castiel's voice whispered in his ear and Dean did not hesitate. He got to his feet and vaulted over the testimony box. He ran back through the garden towards where the books laid abandoned in haphazard piles.
"Off with his head!" Metatron screamed from behind him, and Dean skidded past then doubled back to where the vent still sat open. He climbed inside.
"Off with his head!" Metatron's voice seemed to boom from all around him and Dean scampered out of the vent into the large room he originally entered. He glanced back through the vent and saw many forms lumbering towards him. Dean pressed the pressure plate on the floor and the metal door slammed shut.
Scrambling to his feet, Dean ran to the door at the other end of the hall, half expecting it to be locked; hoping it wasn't, Dean turned the knob and threw it open into sunlight.
Dean sat up in his bed with a loud gasp. His heart was racing, he was covered in sweat, and his mouth tasted like two week old dirty socks.
"Dean!" Sam said from the other bed, "are you okay?"
"Sam!" Dean said and he stumbled out of his bed to wrap arms around his brother.
"Where was I?" Dean asked.
"No where! I mean you were just laying there sleeping." Dean pulled away and looked at his brother.
"How long was I out?" Dean asked.
"An hour? Maybe two?" Sam offered, "Dean, are you okay?" Dean sat back on his bed and let out a long sigh. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he shook his head.
"I need a drink," he muttered.
"Whiskey?" Sam offered.
"No!" Dean said a little too loudly. "Uh...no. water, please. Thank you, Sam." Sam looked at his brother, puzzled, but got up and took a plastic cup into the bathroom to fill with the faucet.
"I just had the strangest dream, Sam," Dean called after him. "I can't remember most of it now. But something with Cas's head floating around and Bobby...I don't know. I must have some crazy imagination."
"Well," Sam said as he returned from the bathroom, "Lewis Carroll once wrote 'Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality'." He handed the cup of water to Dean and returned to his bed.
"Who?" Dean asked, wrinkling his nose at the name.
"Lewis Carroll? He wrote Alice in Wonderland."
"That's pretty lame, Sam," Dean said and gulped down his cup of water. It tasted worse than his mouth did. Laying back down in his bed, he folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.
"I'm just saying that maybe it's good to have strange dreams sometimes," Sam grumbled.
"Pretty lame," Dean repeated, and shortly there after, his eyes drifted shut, and he fell back asleep.
