In Loving Memory, Frank Warren

Chapter 23: Dean's Nightmare

A strange noise woke Frank. He stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling wondering why the old ache in his heart had returned. Pressing his palm against his chest, he used his other arm to push himself up to sit. Listening carefully he heard the sound again, a pained whimper.

The ache in his chest deepened. He knew this sound, knew it intimately. It was the sound of losing everything, of utter loneliness, of having your whole world ripped away. Reaching up, Frank covered his mouth with one hand as he listened. After the next whimper he knew the noises did not come from him. Which made it worse.

Alarmed, Frank fumbled next to the bed until he located the hotel lamp switch. Yellow light flooded the room revealing Dean's body curled into a tight ball. Another pained whimper, louder and longer, erupted from the human ball. Heartache severe enough to make breathing difficult, Frank leaned over his love.

Dean's face twisted in pain and loss, his mouth a contorted grimace moving in silent pleas. Grabbing Dean by the shoulder Frank shook while shouting his name, desperate to yank his love from the grips of nightmare.

Both green eyes flew open, fixed on Frank. A sharp inhale as those eyes stared in noncomprehension. In the next eye-blink, a head thrust against Frank's shoulder and two arms clutched him until breathing became difficult.

"It was a bad dream," Frank soothed, holding and rocking his love, his Dean. "It's all right."

Dean's head twisted rapidly from side to side, a silent scream of 'no'.

"Just a bad dream," Frank tried again while stroking a hand down Dean's back. "Everything is all right."

Sitting up, tears streaming down his cheeks, Dean's eyes met Frank's. Those green pools were still filled with a horrible loss, the kind you did not 'get over'.

"No more therapy," Dean panted through the tears.

"B-but you wanted me to go," Frank protested while a deep portion of his mind howled in triumph. "I'm making progress. I remember John now."

"No." Dean's hands gripping his arms shook with emotion. "You're not going back alone. Never."

"What happened in your dream?" Frank asked, gentling his voice. "Did Miss Taylor turn into a werewolf or something?"

"Or something," Dean panted, grabbing him in a suffocating embrace. "You can't go."

"What happened?" Frank asked again, rubbing Dean's back with both hands. "I turned into the werewolf?"

Dean's head shook again.

"Vampire?" Frank guessed. "Yeti?"

A strained chuckle broke over his shoulder. "Big foot? Only you would go there."

"So I was a Yeti." Frank grabbed at the item Dean reacted to. "What happened? Did I stomp your best suit? Oh, I bet I ate your new tie. Or those new cufflinks."

"Cufflinks?" Dean's crushing hold relaxed, his fear distracted. "I don't have new cufflinks."

"Sure you do," Frank replied, "you just haven't opened them yet." He reached down to tug up the hotel sheet in order to wipe down Dean's cheeks. "Do you want them now or after the sun comes up?"

"You're messing with me," Dean accused.

"Let go of me for thirty seconds and I can prove it," Frank offered. "But I have to leave the bed. I know, I know, your plan was to keep me chained here all weekend. Sorry."

"How do you do that?" Dean whispered, trailing the fingers of his right hand down Frank's cheek. "How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?"