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Dean remembers the first time he had this dream. He remembers becoming lucid, suddenly aware of the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him as he stood amongst the crowd of strangers filling the expansive space of the ballroom. He was intimidated by the fancy clothes, heavy gowns and tailored suits, necks and arms decorated with expensive jewelry, but even more so by the elegantly carved masks adorning their faces with feathers and gems that concealed their identities. He had just stood there, frozen, as couples danced around him, wishing for a mask of his own to hide how vulnerable he had felt in that moment. Especially when everyone seemed to be looking at him, secret smiles playing on their lips.
Even now, as Dean becomes accustomed to the familiar arched ceiling and heavy white draperies, the strung pearls hanging from the chandeliers and the ornate, silver carvings that frame the wall, Dean can feel his pulse quicken and his heart beat in his chest. Except it's no longer fear that makes his blood run cold and palms sweat, but a feeling of excited anticipation that fills him with warmth and want. He wants to be here. It's been too long since his last visit.
He scans the room, eyes flitting across blurry faces. They're all unimportant and never recognizable. All except one.
It's kind of a game. Dean weaves through the crowd, pretending to search for the only person that matters when he's here, knowing he won't find him on his own. Still, people part for him, clearing the way - or they cut him off, and he's forced to turn around and find another route. Either way, he always ends up exactly where he needs to be. Like now.
Dean finds himself at the bottom of a few steps that ascend to a small platform, leading to an alcove in the walls. Long silver curtains that promise privacy for anyone wishing to occupy the space are drawn and tied, revealing a luxurious chaise lounge that two grown adults can comfortably sprawl out on. He knows from experience. The thought makes him blush.
Lost in his musings, he's caught off guard when an arm curls around his waist and pulls him back into a warm, solid chest. Dean's heart stutters for a moment before he melts into the embrace. Lips press to his neck, and his head lolls to the side to allow more access.
"Waiting for someone?" A gravelly voice whispers in his ear with a hint of teasing. Dean's usually sharp wit falters, leaving him speechless. The man behind him leaves a trail of kisses down his throat as his brain tries to string together a sentence.
"Longer than usual," Dean finally says. "I missed you." It comes out as a whisper.
"Apologies. I never meant to be away for so long. Unfortunately, my presence was required elsewhere," He pauses. "Dean. It's almost time."
Dean spins in Castiel's arms, grabs his shoulders and stares into his intense sapphire eyes, framed by an ebony masquerade mask. Sequins look like scales against his cheeks, outlined by silver trimming and black feathers that match the wings furled on his back.An angelic relic that keeps his dreams warded. No one can find them here in Dean's dreams as long as he wears it. Especially other angels.
His entire world stares back at him. He doesn't know when that happened, doesn't remember the moment he fell in love exactly, but he knows he has.
"Are you scared?" The angel asks with concern, cupping his cheek with a hand. Dean leans into the touch and Dean wonders if he's asking about his feelings towards the angel or the impending mission they have to go through with.
Both should terrify him. He fell in love with an angel across what seems like a lifetime of dreams, and within the month he'll be in Hell to fulfill his bargain for Sam's life. But Cas is here and he's promised Dean that he will save him. Cas will rebuild him, body and soul and then they'll finally be together.
"A little." Dean admits, knowing that Cas would see through his lies. He licks his lips and Cas's eyes follow the motion. "But I know you'll save me."
And then Castiel is kissing him, deep and passionate, and full of love. It feels like a promise.
"Of course, Dean." Cas affirms against his lips when they break apart. He sweeps Dean into his arms suddenly, and carries him up the steps. As always, the curtains untie themselves and close, hiding them from the rest of the party. It's just the two of them now, in their own semblance of privacy. Everything is muted, except for Dean's desire, which only grows.
Cas sets him down on the chaise. Soft touches become more insistent. Promises and declarations are sealed like deals with gentle kisses that become more passionate. Hands wander, mapping out bodies like they were discovering each other for the first time. Dean feels gratitude fill him. He's grateful that Castiel found him, had warned him. He's grateful Castiel appeared to him and convinced Dean he was worth saving, worth protecting. He's grateful for the profound bond they share, and these moments they're together. Soul mates. An Angel of the Lord and the Righteous Man.
When they are done making love, Castiel's wings curl around their bodies as they hold each other close. When Dean opens his eyes again, the dream has faded and Dean is lying in his bed, counting down the seconds until they're reunited.
When the Hell Hound comes for him, Dean doesn't fight it. He knows Cas will come for him.
The barn doors fly open and Dean thinks he's ready, until -
"Hello, Dean."
A man with short dark hair and piercing blue eyes stands before him, greeting him like an old friend. Except it's more like he's greeting an old lover, with the way he penetrates Dean with his imploring gaze and his voice is rough with emotion.
"Who the fuck are you?" He demands, trying to reassert himself. The man's eyes harden, and he stands tall and unwavering.
"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." He explains, as if that answers everything. Then he walks right into Dean's space, and even though Dean should do something - attack, back away, anything other than just stand there - he lets this man get up close and personal. His presence sends a vaguely familiar thrill through Dean that he tries to disregard. "You bear my mark. I love you Dean Winchester. Come back to me." Then he places his hand on Dean's shoulder, covering the hand print seared into Dean's flesh perfectly despite being unable to see it through his clothes. He cups Dean's cheek and leans in, dark ebony wings unfurling from his back and arching high. Before he can react, the man has his lips pressed against Dean's and it feels like coming home.
"Castiel," Dean whimpers, grabbing the angel by the ridiculous trench coat he's wearing. Much different than what he's used to seeing Cas in, but his angel still looks majestic and powerful. He stares at Cas with awe, resting his hand on the one that cups his cheek. "Cas. You saved me." Dean pulls back to look into Cas's softened eyes.
"Of course, Dean. I always will."