THE ELEVENTH HOUR [Castiel x F!Reader]

4

You lay in a field, tall trees surrounding you as far as you can see. It's warm, you love it. The sun on your face almost feels real. The grass around you blooms tiny white flowers everywhere, you pick some, twirling them in your fingers. It's so beautiful, you wonder if this place exists in the real world.

"How'd you find this place?" You ask, turning your head to look at Dean. He's always watching you, laying beside you with a gentle grin.

"Drove past, knew you'd like it," he admits, reaching his hand out to grab yours.

"I think it's perfect," you tell him, turning on your side and pressing your lips to the back of his hand, "Is it real?"

Dean looks at you for a moment, a flash of concern written on his face, "What do you mean?"

"Does this place exist in real life?" You wonder, looking around, "I wonder if I've seen it once and remembered it. Maybe that's why my brain put it in this dream."

He shakes his head, "No."

"Oh," you mutter, "that's okay."

It makes you realise how much your dreams have changed since Dean died. At first, you couldn't tell they were dreams. You'd wake up, expecting to find Dean alive and well beside you in the mornings. It really fucked with your head in the beginning. But now, you look forward to however many hours of sleep you can get, knowing you'll be seeing Dean - no matter how fake it is.

You know that it's your brain, giving you whatever closure and peace that it can. Dean smiles at you, gazing into your eyes for a long time before his smile begins to falter, "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Yeah," you answer, throwing a tiny flower away, "I've been fine. Missing you."

"Fine?"

"You don't need to bring the outside world into here," you ignore the question altogether, laying down on your back and staring up into the blue sky, "I know I'm asleep, I know I'm dreaming of Dean but really I'm just talking to myself. I know that soon I'll wake up. And nothing will ever be as perfect as this. It's self-preservation, I know. Let me believe it for a while. Please."

Dean places a hand on your cheek, you can't feel it like you used to in your early dreams, "As you wish."

You wish your brain didn't create so many flaws in your dreams. This could almost convince you it's real, but; first of all, Dean doesn't speak so proper; and second of all, in real life, he doesn't love you. Not like this. Not like you love him. He has no idea you're in love with him, and that you have been for the past year.

"Will these dreams end? You said you'll miss it." You ask him, your eyes fluttering over his features.

"Eventually," Dean just nods, his lips pressed into a sad smile, "one day, you'll be okay."

You shake your head at him, smiling sweetly, "I don't think so. And I don't know if I want them to end."

"I know," he admits honestly, "but you'll always have them to remember. As will I."
He sits up.

"I guess it's part of grieving, right?" You add, letting out a deep sigh, "Moving on. Acceptance. Saying goodbye, eventually. It feels like it's been a lifetime without you, Dean," you confess to him, sitting up too, "I don't know how much I can take without seeing you."

He looks like he's in pain for a moment, tilting his head at you as if he's about to speak. Before you can, you wake up with a gasp, sitting up in bed. Your room is dark but you can almost make out the sun rising from behind the curtains. Suddenly, your phone rings from across the room. Bobby. It's probably him. Shit. It's been a few days since you've talked, you think. God. Everything's a haze right now. You're not sure what day it is. You try to stand, but your legs are heavy. Ah, fuck. There's this immense pressure in your head, holding you down. Your right temple feels as though someone's pressing their fingers deep into it. Shutting your eyes, you groan in pain, laying back down onto your bed.

This time when you sleep, you don't dream of anything. It's just a deep, black, nothing.