Like A Virgin / Like A Prayer (destiel fanfic)

Like A Virgin

He dreamt of the quiet hush of the confession box, the scent of burnt out candles and Dean's fighting to get the words out once again. "There's things, people, feelings that I want to experience differently, some maybe even for the first time."

As Dean tripped over his words, the Priest was silent. Dean snuck a look at the silhouette across the wall, it loomed dark and still. He could hear slow deep breathing and Dean's curled his hands up because he's worried about what kind of judgment was to come. Then the silence is broken by a long familiar sigh and all the hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up.

"So you're ready to go deeper with me, Dean?"

Dean's pretty much shaking in his seat by now. He's arms are crossed over his chest, he's biting his lips, this version of the recurring nightmare was worse than all the others. It used to be John Winchester, looking back at him, face full of skepticism, telling Dean he wasn't the committing kind. Occasionally, it had been demons or ghouls or ghosts, turning black hollow eyes on him, full of scorn. Once, it was Sam, laughing kindly at his early mid-life crisis.

Yet, because it was one of those dreams where you are keenly aware that you were dreaming, Dean forced himself to slide back the partition between them. May as well face yet another insecurity his inner psyche has to offer. The priest was all dressed in black, an ivory priest's collar at his throat, his hands folded in his lap, gently grasping a long strand of rosary beads. Despite the outfit though, the dark hair and light blue eyes were shockingly familiar.

"Hi Dean," Castiel didn't look confused, or hesitant or mean. He was smiling shyly, accepting and full of excited hope. "You've no idea how long I've waited for you, how much longer I was willing to wait and now I think I can't wait another fraction of a second to be with you."

Dean felt his heart tumult in his chest, it's beating faster than it does in the midst of a hunt, it's loud as a freaking thunderstorm in his ears. Cas is reaching his hand through the window, caressing skittish fingers along Dean's jaw. His hand felt rough and warm and real as hell. And Dean is utterly, wordlessly, senselessly terrified. Dean closed his eyes tight and thought "Wake up, wake up!"

"Dean, wake up, hey," Sam was looking at him and not the road, his brow furrowed with concern. "You all okay, Dean? Bad dream?"

Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up in the passenger seat. "I'm all right Sam, you watch the road as you drive, please."

"Was it the mark Dean," Sam just wouldn't let it drop. "Is it bothering you? You were kind of groaning man."

"Yeah, the mark," Dean grunted. "How long till Venice Beach?"

"A couple more hours," Sam reported. "Hey you remember what I said, about how you can tell me anything, you going to act on that some day soon? Like now, by telling me exactly what you were feeling from the mark?"

"Maybe someday," Dean told Sam. "What I'm feeling at the moment, it's all a bit muddled up okay. But I appreciate the sentiment Sam. So you'll know when I know, when there is something to tell."

Sam was happy with that. The old Dean would have told him to mind his own business, brushed off Sam's gesture with exasperating stoicism. But since Dean had been a demon, since the mark sunk its claws into him, since human Cas started driving around after them, Dean was different. Sam grinned, he was fucking proud of his big brother, at how he was handling all the changes. No more racing off to the crossroads, dashing down into hell or making apocalyptic sacrifices, mature Dean was on a quest for renewal. He'd even suggested this job to Sam when it was way out of their usual territory.

With a grin, Sam rolled his window all the way down and let the balmy summer breeze fill the interior of the Impala with the scent of the ocean. Outside, palm trees swayed and a sea of lights opened up in front of them.