“All I’m saying is, if you’re going to use the dishes, then maybe you could wash a few dishes!”
“I wash dishes!”
“Running a little water over them and leaving them in the sink is not washing them, Sam!”
“Just because I don’t always wash my dishes the second I’m done eating–”
“The second you’re done eating?! Sam, do you see this bowl here? Little bits of lettuce and salad dressing and bacon bits? We both know it’s yours. You used this four days ago!”
Dean and Sam storm through the bunker kitchen, arms flailing, feet stomping.
“I’m just so sick of doing all the cleaning around here!” Dean shouts, slamming a pot into the sink.
“All the cleaning? All the cleaning? Really Dean? When was the last time you put away a book?”
Dean groans. “Help me out here, Cas. Tell him–” Dean looks around, brows furrowed. “Uh, Sam? Wasn’t Cas here?”
“Yeah.” Sam says. “He did it again.”
Dean sighs. “He really hates it when we fight.”
When Cas blinks back an hour later Dean is re-shelving books (in their proper places) and Sam is cleaning the kitchen. “Sorry Cas,” Sam says. “Dean’s in the library.”
Cas nods and turns to go. “For the record,” he says, “I like it better when the dishes are done right away, too. But I feel the far worse infraction is Dean waiting three weeks to do his laundry.”
Sam’s surprised laughter follows him down the hall.
Dean has the last three books in his arms when Cas walks into the library. He looks up, a concerned look on his face. “You okay, Cas?” He sets the books back on the table and meets Cas, searching his eyes.
“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “I just needed to…get away.”
“Where do you go?” Dean asks, suddenly curious. “When you get irritated or angry and you zap away, I mean. Do you have someplace special you like to go?”
Cas looks away. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you,” he mumbles.
Dean closes the rest of the space between them, putting his arms around Cas. “Well that settles it then. Now you have to show me. You can’t be all mysterious like that and just leave it.”
“You don’t like to fly,” Cas says evasively.
Dean kisses his forehead. “I like to do anything with you.”
“Alright,” Cas says, resigned. “Let’s go.”
Dean gasps.
“But this…this can’t be…” He runs his fingers through his hair, turns in place, stares at his surroundings in disbelief. This just isn’t possible.
He recognizes the place, of course. He had been here with Cas. He’d sat right here (only there was a chair then), looked across this lake, at these trees. He’d looked up into warm blue eyes, blue as the sky…
But this is impossible, because that had been a dream.
He turns to Cas. “Where are we, Cas? Because this…this was in my head.” His eyes widen as a thought strikes him. “Please tell me we are not in my head.”
Cas gazes at soft white clouds passing lazily overhead. “No, Dean. We are not in your head. This is real. We’re in Minnesota.”
Crouching on the dock, Dean splashes his hand in the water. “Wet. Cool.” he mutters, more to himself than to Cas. Louder, he says, “I still don’t understand. How can this be real?”
Cas sits next to Dean, who sits properly and scoots closer to Cas without much thought. Their feet dangle over the edge of the dock, their shoes about two inches above the clear water. “When I visited you in your dream, I knew right away you were dreaming of someplace you’d seen before. The setting was too clear, too detailed, to be anything else. Most dreams are, well, dreamy. The immediate area may seem normal but the edges are hazy. Your dream was sharp. It all felt real. You must have come here with your father, or maybe with Bobby, when you were a small child.”
Dean shakes his head; not denying anything, just trying to find a lost memory. “Definitely Bobby. Dad never took us fishing. His idea of a vacation was a nice, relaxing salt and burn. I don’t remember it, though.”
A splash makes Dean jump. “Just a fish,” Cas says, taking Dean’s hand and squeezing it gently.
Dean laughs. “I’m used to more perilous situations, I guess.” He looks at the trees surrounding the lake, noticing the lack of people or cabins or even other docks. “Cas, this place seems to be in the middle of nowhere. How did you ever find it?”
“I believe the expression is ‘like finding a needle in a haystack,’” Cas says drily. “It took over six months of searching. Finding a person is fairly simple; humans each resonate with minute differences. But to find a specific dock on a specific lake…I had to use my eyes. I had to fly to lake after lake. I had a good guess that you were in the United States, because I didn’t think you’d traveled out of the country as a child, and there was a bit of snow in your memory, so I started with the northern states…” Cas waves his hand as if to indicate it hadn’t been too bad.
Dean gapes at him. “Six months? You spent six months flying around looking for…this?” He slaps his free hand on the dock beside him and then rubs the back of his neck. “Cas, why?”
Cas looks at Dean with genuine surprise in his eyes. “I was here with you, Dean. You clearly felt peace here. I wanted that too.”
Dean leans forward and captures Cas’s lips with his own. After a moment he pulls away, breathless. “Did it work? Does this place bring you peace?”
“Always,” Cas says, a smile in his blue eyes. “But it’s better with you.”
supernatural hiatus creations || week seventeen |
sets orscenery – Dean’s dream dock
Published
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