Destiel ficlet - Dreams Unremembered
Title: Dreams Unremembered
Author: Fireness
Rating: T/PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Slash, Dean/Cas
Spoilers: Up to the end of Season 6
Warnings: None?
Word Count: 900 exactly
Summary: Dean often wondered what normal people dream about.
Dean often wondered what normal people dream about.
He could not imagine what it must be like to have such vague dreams you cannot even remember them after you wake up. His dreams have always been so vivid, ever since he was a young child and used to dream about his mother’s death. What was it like to have such an average life that your worst nightmare was of a spider crawling across your face or you’re naked in front of a large audience? Nightmares so trivial that all you have to do is turn over and fall back asleep in order to forget about them.
Normally, he thought that sort of life would be boring. He was never cut out for a white picket fence and a nine-to-five job. He knew that long before Zachariah came along and shoved the message directly in his face. Dean Winchester was not normal, would never live a normal life, and for the most part he was okay with that. But sometimes…sometimes when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat from a nightmare so intensely real because he had experienced in once and was now reliving it over and over again in his sleep…he just wanted a normal life with normal dreams. Not ones in which he was ripped to shreds by Hellhounds or beaten to death by Sammy, or where he had to witness his brother being stabbed, possessed, drinking demon blood, or was unemotionally hunting down Bobby.
Sammy knew facts about dreams. For instance, women were more likely than men to dream about their teeth falling out. Or how Aristotle was the first to write down treatises on the nature of the soul in regards to dreams. He took comfort in knowing details; whether or not knowing helped diminish the impact of the dream, Dean didn’t ask him. That’s just how Sammy was. He liked tangible things like dates, statistics, and books. Dean, though…Dean knew the emotions about dreams. He knew that a dream about his mother’s death was the sort of thing that would spur him to find their next hunt quickly because saving someone else’s mother somehow made up for Mary’s death. He knew that a nightmare involving Bobby would result in Dean giving him a call to see what was new, or that one featuring Sammy would cause Dean to watch his brother a little bit closer.
For most of his life, Dean always remembered his dreams. Even if it was something stupid like the time in High School when he dreamed about Taylor Singleton, the head cheerleader, going down on him. Things started changing, however, when he was resurrected from Hell. Sometimes he would wake up drenched in sweat and hard as a rock with no idea what had gotten him into such a state. He worried that he was dreaming about being back in Hell and it was the torture that was getting him off. He worried that temporary death had affected him worse than they all thought. He worried that his was losing his mind. But he remembered his Hell-dreams vividly enough and they made him feel sick rather than turned on. He still knew how to do his job, and for the most part his memory was intact. It was just that sometimes he couldn’t remember his dreams, and wasn’t that what he had always wanted?
And it’s not like he drew a complete blank when trying to recall what pictures his subconscious mind had been creating. When he strained really hard, Dean could remember the feel of big, soft hands stroking his sides, chapped lips against his collar bone. He thought there was something oddly familiar about it all, but the harder he tried to recall, the quicker the dream slipped from his grasp. The pattern of maddeningly erotic dreams followed by temporary amnesia was so consistent, he wondered if there were some outside force dictating what he could and could not recollect. But that idea seemed so ridiculous, he always dismissed it as soon as he thought it, and five minutes later would forget he had even had an inkling of an idea. And soon, after quickly jacking off or covering up the sheets so Sammy wouldn’t see (depending on just how involved the dream had gotten) he would forget he had even had a dream.
The thing is, it’s easy to realize when you are remembering something more often. It’s harder to establish a pattern when you are forgetting things instead. So Dean didn’t make the connection that his dream-related memory lapses started when he returned from Hell and ended shortly after one fateful Superman reference. He failed to notice that he stopped forgetting his dreams during his year with Lisa. To be fair, he had more important things to worry about than a missed dream or two.
But he never remembered that one time Castiel had come to him in a dream. He didn’t make the connection that Angels were capable of coming and going in a human’s subconscious mind at will. He forgot that they could make a person forget as much or as little as they desired.
He never remembered that no matter the setting or progression of the dreams, the one constant factor was a ubiquitous tan overcoat that had been through more than any garment should have been able to withstand.
Author: Fireness
Rating: T/PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Slash, Dean/Cas
Spoilers: Up to the end of Season 6
Warnings: None?
Word Count: 900 exactly
Summary: Dean often wondered what normal people dream about.
Dean often wondered what normal people dream about.
He could not imagine what it must be like to have such vague dreams you cannot even remember them after you wake up. His dreams have always been so vivid, ever since he was a young child and used to dream about his mother’s death. What was it like to have such an average life that your worst nightmare was of a spider crawling across your face or you’re naked in front of a large audience? Nightmares so trivial that all you have to do is turn over and fall back asleep in order to forget about them.
Normally, he thought that sort of life would be boring. He was never cut out for a white picket fence and a nine-to-five job. He knew that long before Zachariah came along and shoved the message directly in his face. Dean Winchester was not normal, would never live a normal life, and for the most part he was okay with that. But sometimes…sometimes when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat from a nightmare so intensely real because he had experienced in once and was now reliving it over and over again in his sleep…he just wanted a normal life with normal dreams. Not ones in which he was ripped to shreds by Hellhounds or beaten to death by Sammy, or where he had to witness his brother being stabbed, possessed, drinking demon blood, or was unemotionally hunting down Bobby.
Sammy knew facts about dreams. For instance, women were more likely than men to dream about their teeth falling out. Or how Aristotle was the first to write down treatises on the nature of the soul in regards to dreams. He took comfort in knowing details; whether or not knowing helped diminish the impact of the dream, Dean didn’t ask him. That’s just how Sammy was. He liked tangible things like dates, statistics, and books. Dean, though…Dean knew the emotions about dreams. He knew that a dream about his mother’s death was the sort of thing that would spur him to find their next hunt quickly because saving someone else’s mother somehow made up for Mary’s death. He knew that a nightmare involving Bobby would result in Dean giving him a call to see what was new, or that one featuring Sammy would cause Dean to watch his brother a little bit closer.
For most of his life, Dean always remembered his dreams. Even if it was something stupid like the time in High School when he dreamed about Taylor Singleton, the head cheerleader, going down on him. Things started changing, however, when he was resurrected from Hell. Sometimes he would wake up drenched in sweat and hard as a rock with no idea what had gotten him into such a state. He worried that he was dreaming about being back in Hell and it was the torture that was getting him off. He worried that temporary death had affected him worse than they all thought. He worried that his was losing his mind. But he remembered his Hell-dreams vividly enough and they made him feel sick rather than turned on. He still knew how to do his job, and for the most part his memory was intact. It was just that sometimes he couldn’t remember his dreams, and wasn’t that what he had always wanted?
And it’s not like he drew a complete blank when trying to recall what pictures his subconscious mind had been creating. When he strained really hard, Dean could remember the feel of big, soft hands stroking his sides, chapped lips against his collar bone. He thought there was something oddly familiar about it all, but the harder he tried to recall, the quicker the dream slipped from his grasp. The pattern of maddeningly erotic dreams followed by temporary amnesia was so consistent, he wondered if there were some outside force dictating what he could and could not recollect. But that idea seemed so ridiculous, he always dismissed it as soon as he thought it, and five minutes later would forget he had even had an inkling of an idea. And soon, after quickly jacking off or covering up the sheets so Sammy wouldn’t see (depending on just how involved the dream had gotten) he would forget he had even had a dream.
The thing is, it’s easy to realize when you are remembering something more often. It’s harder to establish a pattern when you are forgetting things instead. So Dean didn’t make the connection that his dream-related memory lapses started when he returned from Hell and ended shortly after one fateful Superman reference. He failed to notice that he stopped forgetting his dreams during his year with Lisa. To be fair, he had more important things to worry about than a missed dream or two.
But he never remembered that one time Castiel had come to him in a dream. He didn’t make the connection that Angels were capable of coming and going in a human’s subconscious mind at will. He forgot that they could make a person forget as much or as little as they desired.
He never remembered that no matter the setting or progression of the dreams, the one constant factor was a ubiquitous tan overcoat that had been through more than any garment should have been able to withstand.