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Strictly speaking, Dean has a lot of weird nightmares. Far more than his fair share. And his life is constantly a bizarre real life nightmare so forgive him if he figures out a way to fucking tell the two of them apart.
For entirely too long when things get freakishly intense and he suspects he might be dreaming Dean's go to move involves hacking off a finger or two to wake himself up. It’s nothing important, just a pinky here or there, but obviously it’s a high-risk, high-reward scenario. If he ever assumes he’s in the midst of a liquor fueled bad dream and it turns out he’s wrong, well, fortunately it hasn’t happened yet. And, sure, losing a pinky in real life would suck, but in dreamland it’s always worth it. Anything to stop the madness.
For a while that works just fine, but then Dean comes up with a solution that’s a million times better.
Cas turns up in a dream while everything is going to shit and Dean really wants to wake up like fucking yesterday but for some reason slicing into himself has lost its appeal after so many times. And Cas is there, hovering close-by, making some observation that only Cas would notice and instead of reaching for his knife Dean reaches for that stupid trenchcoat, hauling Cas in close and planting one on him.
He’s got enough memories of kissing that it’s awesome. Almost feels real, and Cas is fucking kissing back so it’s automatically turning his nightmare into a wet dream. Now when Dean wakes up he's half hard and able to drop off again relatively easily. Which is a helluva lot better than waking up screaming and sweating so he’ll take it.
That becomes his new normal way to deal with nightmares and it’s easily the best thing his dream self ever came up with. Maybe even the best thing he’s ever come up with period.
It continues that way for a while and even fuels a few regular dreams where he gets to do more than just kiss those scowling lips.
So when Dean and Sam are stuck in a fucking barn and a ghost who he thought they’d taken care of three times already decides to throw pitch forks and shovels and fucking chainsaws at them, well, Dean starts to suspect that this particular brand of nasty undead bitch is just too over the top to be real life. That feeling increases tenfold when Cas just stolls in the barn door, striding towards the tractor they’re taking cover behind with fury in his eyes.
Cas can’t just pop in and out of Dean’s life like a celestial jack-in-the-box anymore and there’s no reason coming to mind why Cas would suddenly be here, so Dean instantly feels a flutter of happiness. Maybe this suckfest is just another fucking nightmare he can put to rest. It would explain the increasing dread he’s been feeling over one little ghost and how she’s been able to be all over town. Without thinking twice Dean grabs at the lapels of Cas’ coat reeling him in close for what’s sure to be the main event of this doomed dream.
Dean’s subconscious is on fire tonight. Cas smells so fucking good, feels solid and hard (no, not like that--well, not yet anyway) in Dean’s arms. He even tastes good. And the kiss. The kiss feels so much more real than normal, but it’s different too, Cas is somehow more stiff and it takes him longer than normal to kiss back.
But he does, eventually, and that’s all that matters. Cas wraps his arms around Dean and Dean leans into him because now it’s time for the good fucking dream stuff to begin. But then Sam yells, and that’s, well, not usual.
“WATCH OUT!!!”
Irritated at the interruption, Dean turns to look and the last thing he sees is a goddamn horse shoe flying straight at his face.
He wakes up in bed. Which okay. A pretty standard place to wake up. Instead of a hard-on he has a head ache. And Cas is still there, sitting on the edge of the bed and fussing over him.
“Whaa…?” Dean says softly not even sure the words make it out of his mouth, because he always wakes up in bed but Cas is never there.
But then Cas is looking concerned and petting at his hair and generally making a big deal out of nothing.
“Dean, are you all right?”
Dean pushes into a sitting position but it’s too quick. His head spins and Cas steadies him.
“It’s okay, you’re all right, Dean. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
“‘M not worried.” Dean manages to mumble and Cas only looks more concerned.
“You got hit in the head pretty hard. I was able to fix your concussion but you might not be at 100% still. With my powers the way they are… Well, anyway, I hope it was enough that it doesn't hurt. There shouldn’t be a scar. Oh, and we found the hex bag.”
Dean blinks at him. Confused. “Wasn’t it a ghost?”
As soon as the question leaves his mouth he remembers. Yes, it absolutely was a ghost. A regular she-demon, but if Cas is talking about a witch, then the whole ghost thing must have been a fucking nightmare after all. And thank Zeus (yup, not God, not anymore, he gets plenty of credit already that he doesn’t deserve) for that because Dean distinctly remembers kissing Cas recently and it, weirdly, feels a lot more real than when he normally wakes up, more vivid maybe, like a memory instead of just a quickly fading dream that leaves him feeling good.
Cas is talking but Dean is looking at his lips. Again. Shut up. And Dean is only half listening partly because of the staring and partly because he recently got clobbered over the head, thank you very much. Bits and pieces of it still seep through though and abruptly Dean realizes that Cas is talking about both . A ghost and a witch. Working together. Well, the witch had to be running things but that’s hardly important because Dean is still focused on Cas’ lips and, oh dear Poseidon, they’re fucking distracting. So much so that Dean is only now realizing he totally failed to notice that Cas stopped talking. When did that even happen? And how long has Dean just been staring without responding.
“Umm….”
Cas squints at Dean’s contribution, looking uneasy. And who can blame him. Dean tries to make his brain work, he really really does but then he notices Cas’ hair and it’s a bit more … well, fluffy than usual. Dean’s pretty sure he may have been responsible for that which… oh no. Now Cas is looking sad and guilty, of all things.
“I’m sorry about what happened, Dean. When you kissed me, I didn’t realize you’d been hexed. I shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean asks but it comes out a little hysterical and what even is that?
“...No?”
“Cas, you didn’t. I didn’t --are you telling me that I, that I did? Wait. So, did I, did we really just full-on make-out in front of Sam and a ghost trying to kill me and it wasn’t another Nightmare on Elm Street scenario or whatever?”
“It wasn’t a nightmare, Dean.” Cas hesitates, all miserable and guilty looking again and Dean hates it. “But yes, you, I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend to upset you, but I thought, admittedly it was a little strange, the situation, yes, but I did think you knew, that you were aware of what was happening. Sam and I didn’t realize about the hex bag until afterwards. I didn’t know that you were under the influence of witches. And I apologize.”
“You weren’t the nightmare, dumbass,” Dean says, stern, because he can’t stand that look on Cas’ face. “I thought I was having one and….” Oh, shit, how does he explain this? Sorry, I just imagine sticking my tongue down your throat anytime things get tough in dreamland. Sure, that sounds legit. “Uh, that’s how I make them stop,” Dean finishes lamely, trying not to cringe.
Cas tilts his head at this new information, wanting to make sense of it.
“So, when you have a bad dream, you do something… unbelievable to test your reality?”
“Yep.”
“I see. Well, still, I shouldn’t have responded. I should have realized something was wrong,” Cas says and Dean hesitates, but then plunges recklessly forward because Cas did kiss him back and if this conversation doesn’t go well, he’ll just pretend he doesn’t remember it ever happening. He did suffer a blow to the head recently after all.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Cas turns his head to glare at a nearby lamp and after a moment looks back at Dean.
“That’s not of import.”
“Cas, c’mon. Tell me”
“I liked that you kissed me.”
“See, was that so hard?” Dean scoffs, mainly to buy himself some time to deal with this landmine of new information.
He needs the perfect response. Needs to play his cards right if he wants to--oh fuck--those lips, why did he look at his lips again?
Cas wets them just to taunt him, the bastard, like Dean’ll be dumb enough to take the bait. And oh no, he is that dumb, he really is.
Dean leans forward, grabbing at Cas again so he can kiss him for a second time today, but without the worst audience ever watching for a change.
Cas gets with the program pretty damn quick and it’s fucking awesome. Dean’s a genius. And a great kisser, and Cas, he’s doing a bang up job too. Somehow better than Dream Cas by a long shot.
Dean smiles against Cas, kind of chuckles into his mouth a little bit.
“What?” Cas asks and damn his lips look even better flushed.
“I’m just so happy I’m awake.”
“Actually,” Cas says, mock serious, “I’ve been meaning to tell you--”
“Don’t even joke about that, you asshole.”
“Of course not, Dean.”
And Dean can’t stay mad, because Cas is kissing him again.