And it's time for a new update! I apologize for how long it took, but I won't list talk too much about it up here. SO, thanks to Akayuki Novak(That he is, and as for Sammy…), lindsayd16(Thank you! Dean's backstory is certainly...interesting to say the least), fictionfairytalesfantasy4921( Maybe not quite, although it's nice to hear theories ^_^), DeerTopus C. Von ZenHousen(Thanks for the music suggestions, you definitely have a point), Allison(Sorry that it wasn't soon, but here it is. Thank You!), FandomTiger( Thank you, glad you're enjoying it!), and Air Guitar Pixie(Questionable stains, eh? Sounds lovely. As for Dean, I wouldn't necessarily say he was possessed… And as for Dean and Castiel on the island, let's just say I have plans for that lovely little spot. Besides, it's my duty as a writer to cause some sort of emotional reaction, whether it be happy or sad; although it seems I have been leaning a bit toward the latter xP And that chapter was definitely my favorite one to write so far!)

"Cas," Dean tried to call out, but he was only met with the water's repetitive noises. He watched with a slight horror as the figure seemed to be still, and Dean desperately swam closer.

Finally reaching Castiel, Dean grabbed the former sailor's face. His eyelids were shut as he stayed on the water's surface, floating. Relief washed over Dean though as he felt the familiar throb of a pulse on the former sailor.

Coming to the conclusion that Castiel must have landed on his head when he fell, Dean cursed as he grabbed hold onto the collar of his coat, "Frickin' concussions man," he muttered in between strokes.

Tugging Castiel along, Dean was exhausted once he managed to reach the shore of the familiar island. Breathing heavily, Dean pulled both himself and Castiel away from the water before he collapsed onto the beach next to the former sailor.

"We're okay, pretty boy." He whispered to the unconscious man before he too drifted off into the comforting, thoughtless void.

Castiel's breath was slow and peaceful as he tried to get closer to the feeling of warmth that was nearby. His mind felt foggy and thick, yet he found the heat comforting. Little waves of serenity seemed to flow from it, he could hear them lazily washing against the shore.

Feelings don't make sounds, he heard something mumble in the back of his head. Dazed and confused, Castiel's eyes fluttered open. With tired eyelids the former sailor found himself staring at a scenery of vibrant, clear blue waves rolling onto white sandy beach.

Admiring the view for only a moment though, because the end to his slumber brought about a harrowing headache. Castiel cringed, although he was being pulled back into reality thanks to his head.

It was then that he felt a slow rising and falling that his head rested on. Castiel's eyes grew wide, bringing him completely out of the comfort of rest as he realized what his head was laying on.

Castiel sprang back, jerking his head up unwisely. His actions were followed by an even greater throbbing headache. He gazed at what his head had been resting on, which was the slow rise and fall of Dean Winchester's chest.

Red began to seep into his face, something Castiel found himself doing more and more in the pirate's presence.

Natural instinct, Castiel reasoned despite his embarrassment, it's common to seek out a sense of warmth and comfort when you're sleeping, or injured.

Despite the logic though, the former sailor almost felt disappointed at his excuse. Glancing at Dean again, Castiel found his eyes drawn to the pirate's face. The many freckles that were speckled around the Dean's face, how peaceful he looked as he slept.

Castiel frowned as he felt as something strange seemed to bloom in his stomach, and he shook his head to try and clear it away. It was different, a feeling that Castiel couldn't quite identify; which was uncommon for the former sailor.

Drawn out of his alien emotions, Castiel watched as Dean's brow furrowed in his sleep, his mouth forming a thin line. Barely, the former sailor observed as Dean's mouth opened slightly, and began spewing sounds from his mouth.

Scooting closer, Castiel leaned forward, trying to make out any of the gibberish that the pirate was uttering.

But it was just a constant stream of words, until Dean seemed to give the smallest sound that Castiel couldn't decide if he had just imagined the noise.

It sounded like the pirate had whimpered.

Castiel held his breath as he listened closely, and only a moment passed before the same, small whimper that he had heard previously was uttered again.

"Dean," Castiel spoke up cautiously, deciding he should try to wake him up. But Dean did not stir, instead his face seemed to contort as if he was in pain.

"Dean," Castiel repeated louder, unable to do anything else as the pirate released another whimper that had been louder than those before it.

"Dean!" The former sailor shouted, hoping that finally Dean would stir, would open up those green eyes and taken away from whatever nightmare that he was experiencing.

But Dean did not stir. There was no sign that he had even been affected by the former sailor's voice. Rather than wake up, Dean's eyes were shut as he continued to wince and whimper.

Castiel growled with determination, trying to find his feet. But as the former sailor made a move to stand, his vision swam with an onslaught of black spots. Unsteadily, Castiel sank back down onto his knees. He had been so focused on Dean that he'd been able to block out the majority of his own problem, but now his enemy had regained strength in its pause and attacked Castiel's conscious.

"Dammit," Castiel muttered before he fell back, barely able to recognize the action as his eyes rolled back and he was swamped by a cover of black that was as empty as oblivion itself.

Green eyes that were wide with fear looked straight forward as Dean sprinted. His legs carried him stride after stride as he raced along, searching for an escape. He was surrounded by dark, suffocating walls as he traveled through the hall. His own paintings, his creations, screaming at him as he quickly passed them by.

Swirling black smoke chased the pirate, reaching out with dark tendrils to try and envelop him in its toxic grasp.

No matter how hard he ran though the poisonous form and its master grew closer and closer. Desperately, Dean dragged his gaze around his environment, and it was then that he caught sight of the door.

Fear raced through his veins, cold that almost brought about shivers which chilled him; knowing what was held behind that door.

But one glance behind his back and Dean decided his decision. Flinging himself at the door, Dean tried not to read the words that declared the room which waited for him as he entered.

Eyes only flicking towards the sign a moment before he pulled the door open, Dean tried to take a deep breath as he read the perfect, black letters that sat neatly on a plaque.

Art Studio.

Despite the small trembling that was spreading across all over Dean, the sight of the name caused Dean to lower his eyelids as he muttered in irritation, "Dick."

The pirate turned and closed the door behind him, glimpsing the familiar beast that claimed the box as its domain.

A small sigh of relief escaped Dean's lips once he was safely behind the door, though his comfort was only for a moment before he turned to face what was so lovingly titled, "Art Studio".

Ivory walls surrounded him, their alabaster color causing Dean to frown. The color itself reminded himself of the man who wore frosted fabric that could never be stained.

Dean shuddered, forcing away hideous memories that he didn't want to add on to his current burden.

Sitting in front of him a couple meters was a chair, which chose to place itself in front of a canvas.

Hesitating, Dean stared at the wooden chair before taking cautious steps towards it.

Standing in front of it, he couldn't take his eyes off of the chair as the pirate contemplated whether or not to sit down.

Looking for reassurance, Dean cast his eyes about the room. Yet the only answer he received was pure silence from the walls. Pursing his lips, Dean nodded to himself.

"What the hell," Dean finally decided before glancing back at the exit, "It's not like I'm going back there anytime soon."

Before he could change his mind, Dean slumped down into the chair, tense to see what would happen next. After a few moments had passed and nothing of a serious or dangerous matter came about, Dean relaxed slightly.

Curiously, Dean stared at the canvas that waited to be filled in. It gave off an odd presence, yet the pirate couldn't quite place how it settled with him. Beginning to feel uneasy, Dean was about to get up from the chair when suddenly colors began to blossom on the white surface of the canvas.

Catching his breath, Dean watched as dark shades of green filled the majority of the paper, while brown sprouted about in varying places. Soon Dean began to recognize what was being painted, although he didn't recognize the area specifically.

A last few details were added before the picture ended, the image of forestry complete. At first Dean simply stared in awe, his eyes taking in the explicit care and detail that the canvas had magically created.

Gradually Dean lifted his hand up, and slowly reached out to touch the image with trembling fingers.

His hand reached the paper.

Out of nowhere light enveloped the entire room once Dean had made contact with the picture. Screwing his eyes shut, Dean was unable to even release a shout of surprise as he felt like he had been moved.

Disoriented, Dean tried to calm down before opening his eyes. Confused, he stared around where he now stood.

Surrounding him were thick, dark brown trunks that held vibrant green leaves high above. Bits of sunlight streamed through the cracks in the canopy, and if not for the sudden change of place, Dean would have thought it beautiful.

The strangest part to Dean though was the familiarity, he just couldn't quite place it.

But then it seemed to change, suddenly the pirate felt as if he was frozen, and he watched as his hand lifted up.

Yet Dean didn't raise his hand. His body began to move, panic swelling inside of him.

"What's going on?!" Dean tried to shout, but his voice failed to work.

There was a blur as something raced away in the corner of his eye. Dean, or Dean's body, gave chase, sprinting after the mysterious figure.

Unable to control his actions, Dean searched for any sign of help, or at least an explanation. His gaze trailed down to his hand, and it was then that Dean recognized that he was holding onto a weapon.

It was a strange object, the blade was a type of stone that was oddly-shaped and looked quite deadly; not to mention strange and intimidating. The handle seemed to be made of bone; Dean tried to convince himself that it was not from his own species.

Putting his attention back onto the blur, Dean began to see that it was not a creature, but a human. Picking up the pace, Dean's body surged forward to try and catch up.

Deja Vu overwhelmed the pirate, yet his mind seemed to hide the answer from him. His own conscious taunting him, shoving familiarity in his face while he couldn't figure it out. The sense of recognition came hand in hand with a feeling of dread, and this escalated Dean's frustration as he grew barely a foot apart from the running man.

Without warning, Dean's body reached out and jumped at the man, his free arm trying to wrap around the stranger's neck as they tumbled into a clearing.

The man managed to unlodge himself away from Dean's grip, and did his best to scurry across the clearing on his hands and knees.

But he couldn't escape Dean, or rather his body. Dean himself could feel the cold and calculating thoughts pressing down on him as he got to his feet and walked slowly over to the man.

The pleading that the stranger spewed from his mouth fell on deaf ears to Dean's body, but Dean watched through his own eyes as he began to attack the man.

After battering the man until he was extremely bloody and bruised, Dean's body dragged the victim over to a tree, throwing him against the trunk. No more fight left in the man, all that escaped him were small whimpers and the repeated prayer of "please please please please…"

"Where is he?" Dean asked, although his conscious was still trying to comprehend what was happening. By now Dean had figured with dread that this was a memory, but it was frustrating as well. Why was this happening? What happened here that was hidden to him?

Of course Dean had always known about the monster in his head, he had assumed that upon entering the room that it would show a different story.

But this was new, or old. This was something that Dean hadn't thought of, because there was no possibility of him ever conceiving that there would be more. The wall protected him, and he had always thought he at least knew the beast in which he restrained.

Yet here he was, caught off guard with something new; or old.

Drawing himself out of his thoughts, Dean turned his attention onto the man that lay against the tree. His body had crouched down to be more level with the stranger, intimidation and threat spoke from every part of his posture. Gripping the weapon tightly, Dean's body moved his strange blade closer to the man's throat.

"Where. Is. He?" Words that Dean had not intended to speak escaped from his mouth, and the stranger seemed to tremble more so than previously.

"I don't know, l don't know, I don't know," A cold smile that caused Dean to shudder inwardly was placed on Dean's face. Immediately Dean noticed how his body moved his arm behind him, and what followed was a dagger that became implanted in the man's thigh.

"Let's try again," Dean spoke with almost a tone of pleasure as he heard the victim's screams, "Where is he?"

The man whimpered, and Dean sighed before applying pressure down on the blade. Quickly the stranger paled and released a cry of pain.

"Last time I saw him going to the main island," the victim finally answered, Dean noticed the way he bit the bottom of his lip to try and hold back more cries of pain.

Dean's body nodded, pursing his lips before a thin smile came onto his face once more.

"Thank you," the pirate replied, and Dean watched as his arm with the strange stone weapon was brought back.

Swiftly and forcefully, Dean gave the stranger the companion of death. Once the blow had been dealt, Dean reclaimed his small dagger from the man's corpse, wiping the blood off on the victim's ragged trousers.

Standing back up, the pirate left the clearing, his body seemingly knowing exactly where it was going. It still felt strange, the way Dean could see through his own eyes, yet he felt so disconnected from the rest of himself.

As he walked through the woods, his feet quietly stalking across the undergrowth, Dean began to try and organize his thoughts.

Obviously he was,(or had) searching,(or searched) for someone. But once more his brain danced away from his reach, twisting away from his grasp so as to leave him to draw a blank.

What he noticed at once was how his body(or himself) had enjoyed torturing the stranger. If Dean would have guessed, he would have assumed this was while he was with Lucifer's crew.

But that doesn't fit, because Dean could recognize those dark feelings that had tormented him, the poisonous memories that plagued him most nights.

But this felt different, almost pure, despite his lack of knowledge. Obviously it was having an affect on himself, the way it seemed to touch his very soul. Even now, Dean could faintly identify what his body was feeling. It was if it was in a constant state of adrenaline, his whole body alert of his surroundings while almost a desire to find the next victim was flowing inside of him.

'So if it's not then yet, then what is it?" The pirate asked himself, frustrated as he fought to find an answer.

At first Dean didn't notice that his body had stopped moving, but then he brought himself out of his own thought process.

He was now standing in a smaller clearing, one that was a decent amount of distance away from the original clearing.

Inside the clearing near the center was another man. He was sitting down, a long and navy-blue coat in decent condition resting by his side. Despite the state of his coat, it was opposite the the state of the shirt and trousers that he wore; both were stained with all sorts of marks.

In his hands was what looked like a photo, and he stared at it with both love and forlorn evident in his gaze. A million ideas came across Dean's mind as he saw the man still staring at the piece of paper.

Suddenly the man seemed to realize that Dean had been standing there, and he looked up in surprise and greeting. Briskly the stranger folded the picture and slipped it in between the folds of his nice coat. Rising up, the man attempted to brush off some of the dirt that had collected on his black pants.

Looking back at Dean, the man smiled amicably before speaking with a strong accented voice.

"Well brother, how's the hunting?"

Once again I would like to apologize for how long it took to update this! School started for me and this first week has been rather time-consuming!Another reason I had taken so long was because I didn't know how I wanted to write this chapter and part of what it involves for Dean. But rest assured, I had a breakthrough and now I should be able to get the words flowing a lot faster.

Anyways, enough with the excuses! I hope you enjoyed and leave a review, follow, or favorite if you did!

-Tails