Dean sat bolt upright, startled out of the dream he had been having.

It wasn't like his normal type of dream, which were mostly reliving hunts and fighting supernatural creatures. This one had been odd. He had been in a distorted version of a library, filled with miles of shelves packed with crumbling ancient tomes, and all around him there'd been a strange scratching sound. He had looked down at his hands: smaller, darker, and younger than he had now, and the left one had held a quill. Then the dream had shifted to a classroom, but one that seemed to be in some sort of castle, or old stone house. A tiny little man, a midget really, had called in a shrill voice, "Time!" and Dean's hands had begun to roll up the piece of parchment he'd been writing on. He had looked down in horror at the page, which instead of being covered with his handwriting, had somehow been completely blank.

Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes, willing himself back to his own reality. He wondered briefly if there was something haunting the motel they were staying in, him and his dad and his brother, something that would be able to plant memories from long ago into the minds of sleeping traveler. When just rubbing his eyes didn't seem to do any good in connecting him with his real life, Dean got up and went into the bathroom to splash his face. The chill of the water and the cool porcelain on his stomach as he leaned on the sink shooed away at least a few of the cobwebs in his mind. He went back to his bed where his brother Sam was still sleeping, and peered blearily at the clock.

It was 3:47.

Dammit, Dean cursed to himself, before slumping in defeat. It wouldn't do any good to go back to bed anyway, and risk waking his little brother up. Poor kid was worn these days, needed as much shut-eye as he could get. Sam wasn't hardened to the life yet, not like Dean was; kid wasn't even a teenager yet. Besides, their dad would be up soon enough.

Snatching up one of the lore books from the nightstand, Dean pulled on his jeans and padded over to the little table that divided the room from its attached kitchenette, pulling out the chair as silently as possible. Cautiously, without disturbing the salt lines on the sill, he twitched open the curtains a tiny crack, letting in just a bit more of the orange light from the parking lot. Leaning forward into the shaft of dim light, he cracked open the battered little book, squinting through the gloom at the carefully printed Latin on the page.

At the touch of a hand on his shoulder, Dean's hand whipped to the silver knife in his back pocket. "It's me, Dean," his father said, with a slight nod of approval. Dean visibly relaxed, moving his hand back up to the tabletop as his father pulled up the other caneback chair. His face wasn't as drawn and tense as usual; instead, he looked only a bit tired. It was a good mood day, it looked like. John glanced quickly down at the book, still laying open on the table, and gave Dean a more critical look. "I thought you had that memorized already."

Dean winced a bit, but held his father's gaze. "Just reinforcing it," he demurred, shutting the book and sliding it across the table. "Woke up, needed something to do. Figured it was quieter than cleaning the weapons," he shrugged.

John seemed to accept this, but leaned forward in his chair. "What woke you up?" he inquired, giving his son a piercing look.

Dean briefly considered blowing it off, but something told him his dad wouldn't let this one go. "Weird dream," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He paused for a moment to see if that would be enough, but his dad didn't make any move to change the topic.

Automatically, Dean sat up just a little bit straighter. "Do you know of any kind of ghost that can make people dream their old memories?" he asked, brows furrowed. "Like, the ghost's memories?"

John frowned harder, but shook his head. "Nothing in the lore about anything like that. Why?"

Dean gusted a sigh, slumping back in his chair. "That dream I had last night, Dad. It seemed like some kind of weird school dream, but like, in an old castle or something? Taking a test on parchment, for crying out loud. It has to be something from the past, right?"

His father's face, still puzzled, had unexpectedly softened a bit. "Tell me," he ventured, "did you see yourself in this dream? Like, from the outside?"

It was Dean's turn to frown in confusion. "No," he replied at once, "I just saw things from my own perspective."

John nodded absently, looking away over Dean's shoulder now. "Did you see...any part of yourself, then?"

"My hands," Dean said, "but not my hands, if you know what I mean. They looked different, but it was still me." He stopped, looking at his own hands, remembering the dream. "Oh," he said, turning his palms face up, then face down again. "That's weird. In the dream," he muttered, half to himself, "I was left-handed, like Sammy."

Dean glanced up at his father, just in time to see a sly half-grin flicker across the man's face, before he sobered again. "We'll double the precautions, son," John replied, "just in case. But I'm thinking your dream might mean something else."

"Like what?" Dean demanded.

John's eyes were frank as he stared across the table at his elder son. "Like your soulmate has reached puberty."

Dean scoffed before his dad's words sank in. "My what now?" he retorted, dumbfounded.

His dad's eyes crinkled in a rare, misty smile. "Your soulmate. The person you're supposed to be with," he answered, a wave of sadness capsizing the smile, "forever."

"Wait," Dean charged, standing up from his chair in alarm. "I thought that was just stupid stuff on TV. You mean to tell me I have a soulmate, and you never bothered to tell me?"

John's hand shot out, grabbing Dean's wrist and pulling him slowly back into his seat. "I didn't know you'd have one, for sure. I probably should have told you about this a long time ago," he admitted, "but you never seemed old enough to know." John shifted in his seat, restless, like he was looking to reach for something that wasn't there. "When both people are of age," he continued, "soulmates start to dream each others' dreams. When I was sixteen, I started having the strangest dreams...turns out, they were your mother's."

For a few moments, Dean just stared. He'd never heard his father talk about his mom this much in any one sitting - at least while he was sober. "How," he stammered, after the initial shock had mostly worn off, "how long was it before you knew?"

"Quite a few years," he said with a rueful smile. "Your mom was none too keen on sharing her dreams, not with just anyone. It took a while for me to win her over." John shot Dean a grin that might have been charming to some chick somewhere, if only it wasn't plastered all over his dad's face.

Dean just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, I get it," he snarked. "But seriously, Dad. How do I know if this is my soulmate, or just some freaky dream of my own?"

"You don't," John snapped, "not until you find them." His good mood was wearing off, and fast. He was starting to sound exasperated. "Treat it like any other hunt. Collect data until you can get an idea of the target. Find out what you're looking for, then start looking."

A flippant answer flashed through Dean's mind, and was on the tip of his tongue before he thought better of it. He was lucky to have gotten this much sensitive information out of his dad, period. Instead, he gave a curt nod. "Yessir," he replied automatically. "Watch my dreams, make note of any identifying marks, and keep a lookout."

John's eyes were hard-edged but proud. "That's my boy," he said, clapping Dean once again on the shoulder. The serious-Dad-face was on again, at full intensity. "You find this girl, son," he said. "Make me proud."

Author's note: This is my first attempt at writing a soulmate AU. I completely intended to write this as a one-shot, BUT TO NO AVAIL. This is pretty sincerely destined to be another longform fic. DAMMIT. I did not need another WIP right now. :(:(:(

The title comes from a poem entitled "Nightmare" by Conrad Potter Aiken.

Yes, this is a Hermione/Dean pairing. YES, I completely failed to have Hermione in this first chapter. YES I WILL DO IT RIGHT SOON I PROMISE.

ANYWAY. I'm always interested in your comments, questions, thoughts, and predictions. It's what I live for!