Dean stood, blinking furiously, trying to clear his vision. He turned his head left, then right, and felt panic rising from the pit of his stomach. All he could see was white, no matter what direction he looked. Am I blind? He brought his shaking hand up to his face and his breath caught; he could see his hand, his arm. His eyes tracked downwards and he could see he was wearing the same t-shirt and sweatpants he had fallen asleep in. His hands went to his neck for the amulet his brother had given him as a child, and he was hit with a wave of relief as his fingers found it. Where the hell am I?
He looked down at his feet and felt solid ground underneath, but all he could see was a white plane that stretched on forever in each direction, no horizon in sight. He gazed upward into even more infinite whiteness and was struck with the paralysis of agoraphobia. He had no points of reference, no way to orient himself. He started to walk in one direction, then jog, then run, but the lack of scenery remained constant. He wasn't even sure if he was running in a straight line.
"Get it together, Winchester," he said to himself, hoping the sound of his own voice would ground him. The vast, white void swallowed up his words; they had no surfaces off of which to reverberate.
Dean stopped in his tracks, realizing the futility of running towards nothing. He began turning in a circle as his panic intensified. Dizziness began to overtake him and he squatted down, taking a knee and pressing one hand into the perfectly white, unblemished ground. It was smooth without being slick, looking almost permeable despite having the hardness of granite. He squeezed his eyes close to block out the vast, open… nothing.
"Cas," he whispered, "can you hear me? I need help. I-"
Suddenly, Dean felt a crack of thunder behind him and the air tingled with ozone. He felt the strong grip of his angel's hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Dean reached around to grab Castiel's hand and the angel helped him scramble to his feet. When he stood he found he had no breath, no words. Castiel stood before him, dressed as he was when he climbed into bed with Dean,wearing nothing but white boxer shorts. This time, however, the bright light of Castiel's grace pulsed softly, shining into the vast whiteness that surrounded them. His huge black wings were folded behind him, but Dean could still see them sparkling and crackling rainbows that haloed Castiel's head, neck, and shoulders. His blue eyes burned softly and anchored Dean. He was breathtaking beyond compare, and it brought tears to Dean's eyes.
"Cas, what the fuck is happening?" cracked Dean's voice. "Where are we?"
"We are in your mind, Dean," was Castiel's throaty reply, soft with concern.
"What? How-"
"You are dreaming again, Dean. You asked me here, and I came." Castiel paused, light dimming slightly. "I will always come for you."
Castiel's voice soothed Dean. It always had, even when it was furious, bored, or challenging. It was only recently that Dean heard Castiel's voice imbued with the tone he was using now, something in between happiness and hunger, with an undercurrent of angelic grace that Dean could feel Castiel holding back. Dean focused on the bottom vibration, knowing that it was Castiel's true voice, and the fact that he was the only one who would ever get to hear it caused his body to flush.
The angel stepped toward him slowly, barefooted, softly biting the corner of his lower lip. His eyelashes fluttered nervously. Castiel desperately wanted nothing more than to scoop up his human and throw him to the ground underneath him, pressing him into the infinite whiteness and filling him with his grace and love, but he held back. The sheer effort of it caused his breaths to come out quick and shallow, and his skin flushed a rosy pink that matched Dean's.
Castiel cleared his throat. "Dean," he said softly, "this is a beautiful space."
Dean was having trouble concentrating, discerning the meaning of Castiel's words from the tones of his intentions. "I, uh… is it? It's scaring the hell out of me currently."
Castiel was an arm's length from Dean. "It is a blank slate, Dean," the angel purred. "It means you have banished your demons." Castiel couldn't help but to run his hand along the length of Dean's arm, starting at the knuckles and travelling up to the elbow where it rested. Dean shivered, and his flush deepened.
"So, what then? My demons are gone, and now there's nothing left?" Dean's face looked pinched, tinged with self-disappointment.
"Oh, Dean," Castiel said, the angelic tone deepening, "it is not your fault." He took another step toward Dean so that they were toe-to-toe, and he slid his hand from Dean's elbow under Dean's t-shirt and along his tricep. "Your demons are responsible for pushing everything else out, not you."
Dean felt weak, small, and barely coherent. Without external stimuli, the angel was literally everything. Dean casted his watery eyes down as he mumbled, "so, I'm nothing now?"
Castiel brought his free hand up to Dean's face and swiped a thumb under his eye, wiping away a tear. His tone deepened and softened, and Dean could feel it vibrate through his body like a soothing touch. "No, no… Dean, you are whatever you want to be."
"Wha-what do you mean?" asked Dean, shakily.
Castiel gently released Dean and took a step back. Dean couldn't help but whimper. "Dean," commanded the angel lovingly, "please hand me the cassette tape player."
Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Wait, what tape player?"
"The one sitting on the stool behind you," replied Castiel, a sly smile betraying his intentions. Dean whipped around and there, behind him, was a wooden stool. Resting on its seat was a black, battery operated audio cassette player.
"What in the hell…?" Dean stood, mouth agape.
"Dean," the angel feigned impatience with an outstretched hand, "the player?" Dean numbly grabbed the player and handed it to Castiel.
"And the tape, please?"
Dean blinked rapidly. "Tape?"
"Yes, Dean. The one in your pocket."
Dean dug into his sweat pants pocket, face screwed up in perplexity, and produced a white, plastic cassette. He held it out with two fingers, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed. Castiel leaned forward, lean muscles rolling just under the skin, and plucked the tape from Dean's hand. He slid it into the tape slot and pushed it closed. He then presented the whole player back to Dean with a huge, open-mouthed grin.
"Dean! You are doing excellent work!" Castiel said proudly.
"Uh, Cas? WHAT IS GOING ON!?" Dean was breathing hard, eyes glassy and darting from Castiel, to the tape player, then his hands, and finally back to Castiel. He threw his shaking hands out to his sides and made a wide-eyed face that communicated very clearly, help me out, man!
"Dean," soothed the angel, "just take the player."
"Fine!" Dean said anxiously as he snatched the player away.
Castiel took a step back toward Dean and smoothed his palm across Dean's tense back muscles. Dean recoiled a bit at first, but then relaxed into the gentle, reassuring touch.
"Dean, I want you to pick a song. It can be any song, but I suggest for the purposes of this exercise it be one you enjoy."
Dean closed his eyes for a second and then opened them. "Okay, angel, what next?"
"Press play."
Dean depressed the button, and suddenly the tiny speakers began to play, so surprising Dean that he dropped the player. Castiel's hand shot out and caught it just in time.
Leaves are falling all around,
It's time I was on my way,
Thanks to you I'm much obliged,
For such a pleasant stay,
But now it's time for me to go,
The autumn moon lights my way,
For now I smell the rain,
And with it pain,
And it's headed my way.
"R-ramble On?" stuttered Dean. "Cas, how did you do that?" he asked incredulously. Dean's mind was reeling. Castiel was using some serious magician mojo and the opacity of it was quite terrifying.
Ah, sometimes I grow so tired,
But I know I've got one thing I got to do.
"Dean," Castiel soothed, "You did that, not I. This is your mind, your place. You control everything here. I told you the tape player was there, and you believed me. I told you the tape was there, and you believed me again. You chose the song on the tape. It is all you, Dean."
Ramble on,
And now's the time, the time is now,
To sing my song,
I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl.
On my way,
I've been this way ten years to the day,
Ramble on,
Gotta find the queen of all my dreams.