No, this story won't go on forever :-) I recently reread everything I've written - gosh, it's long and tiring. I've realized how much mess I've made. Anyway, I don't know how many chapters there'll be till the end, but the last one will be out next week.

Dean woke up perspiring. There was cold sweat on his forehead but he felt hot. The bad dream was only partly responsible for this sensation. It was still dark; he couldn't see anything. He still hoped to be able to go back to sleep easily. Just turn the pillow to the other side . . . Nah, that won't work. The bed was rejecting him. He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the darkness and finally being able to identify the objects in the room. He thought that since he is already awake, he could go to the bathroom. But . . . it wasn't that easy. He tried to stand up, but he had to sit down again. "Stupid gravity," Dean mumbled. He gave it another try but the world had just turned around. His hand jumped on his forehead. It was unusually hot. Fever? Please no, he begged, but he knew that it was too late for wishing. The symptoms were coming to life. Dean had to lie down again. He lay in motionless position on his back with his eyes closed for five straight minutes. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't see much for his eyes didn't feel comfortable in the dark anymore. They had been closed for too long. Dean let out a deep sigh. "I'm okay, I'm okay," he spoke silently, as if those were words with magical powers. "I'll be fine," he said at last and, determined, he sat up once again. He went even further; he stood up and completely left the bed. Ignoring the signs that were telling him what he was doing was stupid and he should return to bed, he walked briskly into the bathroom. He lit the light in there and stayed right behind the door. For unknown reason he was standing on the tiled floor, not doing anything. Waiting for someone? Hardly. But it may have appeared that way. Then, abruptly, he pulled his boxers all the way down. It was too hot to wear anything. On the right, there was a shower enclosure. The glass door was open. He stepped in and let the water pour.

Somehow he successfully managed to get back in bed afterwards. For a moment, he thought he might pass out, but that didn't happen. Now that was an achievement.

He felt more comfortable after the shower, but it still could be better. Lying in bed seemed like a right step to take. If only sleep came soon. And the morning . . . In the morning everything would be fine, wouldn't it?

"Dean?"

Dean ignored the voice that was calling his name.

"Dean."

He turned his head to see. "Cassie?" He couldn't hide his surprise. "What are you doing here?"

She sat on the bed next to him. He was lying; he liked that she was right above him and that he didn't have to put much effort into preventing his body from letting him down. As long as there was nowhere to fall, he couldn't fall. At least in theory.

Cassie smiled at him and stroked his cheek. Then she leaned to kiss the same spot.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated his question. But that question wasn't indicating he wanted her gone, which he didn't either, but he should've. The voice in which he spoke didn't sound like him at all. It was enchanted, as if a result of seeing an angel.

"I'm not here."

"But I see you," Dean objected.

"This is a dream."

That sentence provided a key. He was free to escape. Dean woke up. And although he took a shower not that long ago, he was all sweaty again.

Dean's heavy breathing woke Roman up. "Bad dream?" he mumbled. He was only half-aware of the reality.

"Why?" Dean asked, but his question was not referring to Roman's. And he shouted, "Why can't I stop thinking about her?" He thought he did everything to make things right. He let her go, didn't he? Did he? Would he never see her again or what? Dean was confused, clearly.

"Can you shut up?" Roman replied. "Just sleep, okay?" That was a friendly advice. But if there was to be another round of shouting, Roman would reconsider the friendly approach.

"I can't sleep. I'm confused, scared, and feverish." Again he checked the temperature by placing his right hand on his forehead. Still much hotter than normally.

"You feel all right?" Roman's attention was on the rise.

"No," Dean replied shortly, sharply.

Roman worryingly looked at him. He even left the warm bed to go to his friend. Like a caring mother would, Roman, too, checked if Dean really was feverish. His hand after touching Dean's face became covered in sweat. "That's not good."

"But she was there."

"Where?"

"In my dream."

"Who?"

"She," Dean whispered.

Roman ignored the confusing conversation that was far from explaining something. He massaged the side of his face. The situation was calling for him to solve it.

Dean didn't care for Roman's Superman role in the situation. He turned to the other side – away from Roman – and closed his eyes. He had one hand underneath the pillow, the other on top of it, next to his murmuring mouth. "She looked like an angel. Somebody made a mistake." He curled up into a fetal position. "I belong in hell. How did I get to heaven?"

"You're on Earth," Roman cleared the facts for him. "And here are no angels."

Abruptly, Dean decided to pause the falling asleep process and sat up, looking fiercely at Roman. He came back to senses. "Screw you, Ro." And uttered to himself, "I can fantasize." Roman didn't have the chance to hear it loud enough to understand.

"Are you in pain?"

"Agonizing pain," replied Dean. "But I don't care about that." Suddenly the health issues were secondary. He kept returning to the dream. "Why was she here? I didn't call her."

"Who?" Roman almost shouted. If Dean was to continue talking bullshit, at least he could explain who was behind it.

"She."

"There are over three billions of this she. Could you be maybe more specific?"

But Dean couldn't, or didn't want to. "She keeps coming back. She won't leave me alone."

Although still far from certain what they were talking about, Roman offered his opinion. "Maybe you won't leave her alone." A sudden clearance struck. "Is this about Cassie?"

Not surprised by the question, Dean said, "It shouldn't be."

"Then stop thinking about her."

"That's not easy," Dean whispered, being ashamed of it.

"Gosh, is that why you're sick? You spend so much time thinking about her –"

"I don't."

Roman continued after being gently interrupted, "That you caused yourself this state. You are totally exhausted. Look, you know I'm not absolutely against your hanging out with her – as long as nothing happens – but you're not able to handle it."

Dean surrendered. "I'm not."

"Once you feel guilty because of what you're doing to Renee and in next moment you feel guilty because of what you're doing to her. You like it this way?" Roman sounded like an angry parent posing that question. It wouldn't be strange if he continued, saying You young man better clean this mess up.

"No."

"Gosh, Dean, it was simple. Why do you have to complicate it for everyone?"

"I . . ." He fell silent.

"Just keep living by the rules for once."

But Dean was already ignoring him. Moreover, he was pushing him out of his bed. Then he turned to the other side again, whispering, "I'm sorry."

He got a response. "I'm sorry." That voice didn't belong to Roman. It was Cassie again. Lying opposite him.

"Why can't I forget about you?"

"The guilt won't let you," the illusion of her explained.

"Do something. Do something that will make me hate you. Fight with me. Give me a justification for our break up."

"We don't have to end things that way. So what if we just smile at each other and say goodbye?"

"It doesn't work that way. It won't help me forget you," Dean reasoned.

"Okay." She smiled. She took his hand into hers. "Then fill your head with other things. With other people. Why don't you think about Renee instead?" she suggested. She didn't seem bothered talking about Dean's current girlfriend; but then again, she wasn't real.

"I do."

"Not enough. Why don't you do something special? Don't you love her?"

"I'm not gonna propose to her, if that's what you mean."

"No. Take her somewhere."

"Where? I take her on dates all the time." He didn't understand; although Cassie was just an imagination created by his brain.

"Be more creative. Come up with something bigger than a dinner or a movie. Or sex," she said, teasing him.

"And that'll get you out of my head?"

"If not that, then . . . family," she said happily.

"So we're back at the marriage topic?"

"And kids. Don't forget kids," she chuckled.

Dean asked," What do you know about it?"

"Just as much as you do; that you think about future. Hey," she realized something, "isn't that why you were dreaming about the wedding that one time? And why you attended Josh's wedding?"

"You guessed right. It's not."

"You want explanation. There you have it." She kept teasing him. She was really enthusiastic about his possible getting married. "You can't stop thinking about wedding. Your wedding. Maybe that's why you feel guilty. You don't like that we broke up, and just a couple of months later you would ask the girl – that maybe wouldn't even be your girlfriend if it wasn't for me – to become you wife. But what do I know?"

"Nothing, that's what."

For a moment they both stayed quiet. Then Cassie asked him, "Would you feel better if you had my permission?"

"Permission for what?" Roman's voice interrupted.

"What?" Dean asked. The dream was over and Cassie was gone.

"You were talking in your sleep. Or, hallucinating. Did you see her again?"

"Yep," Dean admitted. "Did you hear the conversation?"

"Some of it. Look, I wasn't listening intentionally, okay?"

Dean understandingly nodded. "I'm sorry I woke you up again."

"You can wake me up anytime. I'm here for you, I hope you know that."

Dean nodded again. Then, when Roman left, he mumbled to himself – or to Cassie who he knew he would see again as soon as he'd fall asleep, "I just want an excuse to move on . . . other than Renee."