***ALEX***

"When I said 'see you in my dreams,' I didn't mean it literally."

I turn to look at Fionna as she lies next to me on some unfamiliar bed. The sheets are purple and paisley-patterned, so I suspect they must be hers. Whether at home, or at Castledown, I'm not sure...but then, the thought of where or when we are in this dream flies out the window when I see that she's wearing what looks like a black sports bra.

Anything else she may or may not be wearing, I can't see - because it's obscured by either the sheets or my wing. My right wing is draped over her like an extra blanket. It's actually a pretty common visual device in Heavenly movies and/or TV shows, used to show when a couple has just had sex and they're trying to keep a woman's breasts out of view. The Hellish or Earthen equivalent is to simply pull the sheets higher up over a woman than for a man - which then begs the question, why does the sheet appear to be L-shaped?

And speaking of questions being begged... "Did we just...you know...?"

"I don't think so," Fionna says. "Even though you're not supposed to remember the start of a dream, if we were bumping uglies, I'm sure I'd remember." I feel her fingers stroke the underside of my wing - there aren't too many nerve endings there, but those that are, they're particularly sensitive. Not as sensitive as those in my sides, though. When she touches me there, I start to shiver, despite the warmth - not only in her hands, but also the room in general. Yeah, it must be her dream - she prefers warm weather, unlike me.

"Maybe we can bump our uglies now?" I say huskily, my tone hopeful.

"Not when you abuse the expression like that, no," Fionna chuckles. She does, however, reach over my wing and run her fingers over my spine, between the wing joints. She must remember, based on one of our first shared dreams, that it's an erogenous zone for angels.

For demons, too, she thinks to me. Here, I'll prove it to you. She rolls out from under my wing and lies on her stomach. Now I can see that, like me, she's wearing only underwear. I try not to let my eyes linger too long on her ass, and instead focus on her upper back, where the non-working stubs of her wings cover her shoulder blades. My fingers play with the Velcro on her bra for a second, but then move on to touch her skin. I feel the bumps of tiny bones in those little wings of hers, then I find my way to her spine. As I touch her, I see her skin grow increasingly flushed - something I decide to help along by kissing her wings, as well as the back of her neck.

To my disappointment, though, she pushes away from me before I can really stray into dangerous territory. "Nope," she says, sitting up on the edge of the bed, grabbing a shirt from somewhere near her feet, and putting it on. "I'd rather have my first time be outside of a dream."

"Ouch," I groan, pouting up at her even though her back is turned. "You're gonna give me the bluest balls I've ever had."

"Baby." Fionna turns around and gives me a contemptuous smirk, then bends down to pull on her pants as slowly as possible.

"There's a fine line between teasing and torture," I say, nodding at her legs, which she's taking great pains to show off.

"Haha, you'll live."

I turn away from her and look down at my pile of clothes on the floor. Oddly enough, they resemble my Balthazar uniform pretty closely, but they're not an exact match. For instance, the dress shirt is light blue instead of white. There's a subtly different school logo stitched on the chest of the jacket. That sort of thing. Looking more closely at the jacket, I can see that the logo says "WPA." And then, half-buried under the jacket and slacks, lies what appears to be a fake cast.

"Are we going to some Space-Con thing or something?" I ask, nudging some of these items with my toes. "'Cause it looks like I'm supposed to be cosplaying as Ben from Wayward Pines."

"I have a lot of cosplaying dreams," Fionna says. "I guess this time, I'm supposed to be Skye."

"Agents of SHIELD Skye?" I turn around just in time to see her put on a black vest over a purple shirt. "Holy shit, you're right. You're the spitting image of her."

"Aww, you're just saying that," Fionna snickers. "Now get dressed, Feathers. We have a flight to catch."

"What, to Reno?" I ask, putting my white undershirt on.

She shakes her head. "No, this isn't Space-Con. This is the big daddy of all cons. San Diego Comic-Con, baby!"

"Oh my God, YES!" I do a fist-pump, and even find myself hovering as my wings flap in excitement. "I've always wanted to go there!"

"Only in your dreams, huh?"

"You could be right."

"I thought I was right," Fionna laughs.

"Hey, that's my line, you know." I retract my wings tightly before putting on my dress shirt. "So how come you're not gonna go as Vanellope Von Schweetz? I thought that was your favorite cosplay."

"Oh yeah," she says, strapping a messenger bag over her shoulder. "Well, Vanellope's gotta grow up sometime. And besides, she's more significant to my past than to my present."

"That sounds really sad," I say, belting my pants into place. I then put on my tie and my shoes, and finally my jacket.

"It's okay," Fionna says, unclasping her bag and sticking a small laptop into it. "Ask me about it again sometime. I never did get to tell you the whole story, did I?"

"'Cause our dreams keep getting interrupted," I say. The last thing I need to put on is the fake cast - which slips onto my arm surprisingly well. Did I have it custom-made or something?

"Let's just say," Fionna says, cracking a smile at my questioning thoughts, "it was custom-made. Only the best for a first-time cosplayer, am I right?"

"I did say I always wanted to go to Comic-Con," I say, holding out my free, un-casted arm like we're going to prom. As Fionna links her arm with mine, I add, "I just never imagined I'd go as anyone other than myself."

"But you gotta admit, cosplay's hella cool."

We head out the door and into a hotel hallway. As I hit the elevator button, I say, "You know what? You're right. This is hella cool."

"Are you just saying that 'cause I got you into it?"

"Well, maybe if you'd made me cosplay as a less awesome character, like Joffrey or Edward or Augustus Waters-" I stop as Fionna snaps her fingers. "Wait...no, no, no! Just 'cause it's your dream doesn't mean you can-"

"I'm not changing you," Fionna says, reaching up and ruffling my hair. "But the look on your face, Feathers...that was pure gold!"

I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm sure my uniform shirt is on the point of tearing as my chest - and wings - are still heaving from my moment of shock and terror. "Thank God."

"Yeah," Fionna laughs. "'Cause even though I can make you or me change into whatever cosplay I want - it being a dream and all" - she demonstrates this by changing her natural dark hair to blonde with blue tips, then back again - "it's more fun watching you change yourself."

We emerge from the elevator, walk through the lobby, and then stop right outside the front door. Seconds later, a taxi arrives. When we climb into it, the driver angles his mirror and asks, "Let me guess, guys - SFO?"

Fionna and I gape at the driver, recognizing not only his voice, but his face as well. "S-Steve?" I finally say. "Holy shit, is that you?"

He turns around and grins at us. "Guess you guys really missed me, didn't you? Making me a projection of your subconscious like that."

"Does that mean you're gonna attack us or something?" Fionna asks, sounding more than a bit apprehensive. "I've seen Inception, you know. I don't wanna spend an infinity in Limbo 'cause of you."

"Only in Inception do awesome dreams turn into nightmares like that," Steve says, putting the taxi in drive and steering it back onto the street.

"Don't be so sure," I mutter under my breath.

"So, you guys gonna fly down to Comic-Con?" Steve asks

"If the dream lets us," Fionna says, gazing out the window. "Huh - we're this close to the airport already?" she asks, looking at a road sign pointing to SFO. "How did I dream that up? I've never been to this part of the Bay Area - just the city." She grabs my hand and points out the window. "Feathers, you're from around here - where exactly are we?"

I look out the window myself. "We're in, uh, San Castiel," I say. "It's right next to SFO. But this is the Hellish version of town," I add, gesturing at the distinctive blood-red sky above us.

"Does that make any real difference?" Fionna asks. She shifts closer to me and lays her hand on my knee.

"Ehh, not really." I tilt my head so the side of it is leaning against hers a little bit.

I'd kiss you again right now, she thinks, but I'd rather not make Steve crash the cab.

Good thinking, I say, taking her hand and pressing her knuckles with my thumb, one by one. It was bad enough watching him die once.

Don't remind me.

We look over at Steve once again. He whistles a happy tune under his breath - something by OneRepublic, I think. "Hey, don't mind me," he says, catching sight of our concerned faces. "I'm just the driver." He steers the taxi onto the freeway - we're only about a mile from the airport now. "You guys gonna meet some cool people at Comic-Con?" he asks, still firmly set in small-talk mode. "I heard the cast of Civil War was gonna be there doing a panel or something."

"I dunno about that," Fionna says, redoubling her sweet smile, "but I know a couple friends are supposed to come with us. They're gonna meet us at the airport."

"Really?" I ask. "This is the first I'm hearing of this."

"Yeah, we're gonna be going with my friend Ashleigh," Fionna says. "Oh, oh, and Gabe. I roped him in too!"

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Don't tell me he's sharing this dream with us."

"I...uh, I don't think so," she says, scratching her head in confusion. "Maybe not? I dunno. I've never been sure how this whole dream-sharing thing works."

"Maybe it only works for us 'cause we're soulmates or something?" I ask, half-jokingly.

"Again, don't ask me," Fionna says. "I don't have enough parapsychology degrees to know anything about how this works."

Steve drives us onto the offramp for SFO, which then climbs into an overpass. "Is that normal for you guys?" he asks, changing lanes so he can take us to the departure terminal. "Parapsychology and the afterlife? I thought you were a different kind of nerd." He chuckles at his own joke, if it can be described as a joke.

"Do you..." Fionna stops and clears her throat. "Do you remember, you know...dying?"

"Dying? What?" Steve scoffs. "I dunno what you guys are smoking, but can you leave me some for when I'm off duty?" He pulls up to the curb and says, "You guys must really be on something, 'cause you're flying down to Comic-Con and you've got no luggage."

"Trust me," Fionna says, handing Steve money for the ride, "we got this covered."

"If you say so." Steve rolls down the passenger window and waves to us. "Have fun, guys!"

"Thanks," I say, waving back at him. As soon as he drives on and picks up a new fare, I say to Fionna, "Okay, was that hella weird or what?"

"Well, we're in the Prime 'Verse," she says, tapping her chin in thought, "and I guess...you know, a lot of my dreams are in the Prime 'Verse, and they're basically as if I've never died."

"How do you know?" I ask as we cross through the automatic doors into the terminal.

"'Cause a lot of times, you're in my dreams, but we're not sharing the dream," she says, stepping onto that moving walkway thing, the one that looks like a flat escalator. "I know 'cause I ask you what it was like to see me die, and you're all, 'Huh? Wha...?'"

"Do I really talk like that in your dreams?" I ask. "With that ridiculously deep voice?"

"No, no, no," Fionna chuckles. "That's just my impression of you. Lousy, isn't it?"

I play with some loose strands of her hair. "That's okay. I can't do a good impression of you. Or any other female, really."

"You sure about that?" she asks, tilting her head quizzically. "Gabe always used to tell me you could do some killer impressions."

"Of guys, though," I say. "Johnny Depp, Andrew Garfield, Gordon Ramsay, James Spader-"

"Okay, okay," Fionna laughs. "I get it, Feathers. But no impression artist's skill set is complete without a good Joan Rivers."

I try to scratch my head, but since I've got my free hand in Fionna's hair, it's my cast-covered hand that I put up to my head. Maybe if I detached it right now, cast and all, it would make a good back scratcher, but head-scratching? Forget it. Out of the question. And this train of thought almost distracts me from what I intend to ask: "I dunno about Joan Rivers, but is Lorraine Bracco acceptable?"

Before Fionna can answer, we're greeted with considerable enthusiasm by our fellow cosplaying travelers - Gabe, wearing a red wig and Hogwarts robes (Ron Weasley being his character of choice, I guess), and Fionna's friend Ashleigh, who I remember from the last shared dream. I half-expect her to be dressed in Hiro Hamada armor, but instead, she's wearing a Demyx wig and black Organization XIII cloak.

"Why Demyx?" I ask her with a smirk after she hugs me hello. (I guess the dream-version of Ashleigh knows me as well as she does Fionna.) "Don't you think he's a little shithead who loves to make your life unbearable?"

Ashleigh mock-gasps, then blasts my face with her air elemental. "Never, ever insult my son like that!" she cries.

"Your son?" Gabe snickers. "Since when?"

Fionna grins as she plays with the strings on Ashleigh's enormous Demyx sitar. "She's officially adopted the bastard."

"See, Fionna gets it," Ashleigh laughs, leading the way to the waiting area for our flight. "She gets that I'm a piece of trash with nothing better to do than adopt adorable little fictional assholes."

"As long as that list of fictional assholes doesn't include Daemon Black, it's cool with me," Gabe says, taking his seat on my right. Fionna sits to my left, with Ashleigh on her other side.

"Whoever that is," Ashleigh says.

"You're so better off not knowing," Fionna laughs.

I stand up and stretch my arms. It takes a hell of a lot of effort to prevent my wings from trying to stretch as well. "I'm gonna go grab some grub before we take off. You guys want anything?"

"Why don't we all get something?" Ashleigh asks. "There's a pretzel stand over that way." She looks around the waiting area, then finds a random guy and asks him to watch her sitar for a moment. "Can't carry it and a pretzel at the same time, can I?" she laughs.

As we walk over to the pretzel stand, Gabe starts looking really worried, for some reason. "H-Hey, Alex, look out," he says, his voice rising slightly on the last two words.

"What?" I ask blankly. "Is there-"

"Look out!" Gabe cries, louder this time. Then he jumps on me. The girls cry out in protest and surprise - and then, unexpectedly, the dream ends, and I find myself sprawled on the floor on the top-floor landing of the condo, with Gabe still on top of me. For real, not just in the dream.

He pushes himself off quickly and asks in a harsh whisper, "Are you awake yet?"

I look around wildly, completely unsure of what just happened. Then it dawns on me. "Oh my God," I whisper, horror-struck. "Was I-"

"Sleepwalking? Yeah, you were, and you scared the shit out of me," Gabe says. "Look, you almost fell down the stairs!"

I follow his gaze and see that he's telling the truth. My head is inches from the edge of the top step. If Gabe hadn't stopped me when he had...he's right, I would have fallen a long way down.

"That's so weird, though," he says, looking over at the door to the girls' room. I hear no sound from the other side, so I assume Fionna and Gideon are fast asleep in spite of the noise we're making. "When was the last time you did that?"

I look away from Gabe as I mutter, "I dunno. Years?" Of course, it's more like months, but I thought I'd gotten over that brief outbreak of sleepwalking from last fall. And Gabe never knew about it then, so I see no need to trouble him with it now.

I don't think he buys the lie - he's always been very good at figuring out when I'm trying to bullshit him, and vice versa. However, he also senses that I don't want to talk about it, so he shrugs, gets to his feet, and says, "All right. Let's go back to bed."

I make the mistake of getting in front of Gabe as we go back into our room. He takes the opportunity to viciously Gibbs-slap me upside the head. "Do that again," he growls, "and I'll hit you somewhere more sensitive. Anywhere you'll get the point - you, Alex, are not allowed to die. Not now."

"Love you too, bro," I say, rubbing the back of my head tenderly.

"I know, you cheeky bastard."

I get back under the covers, turn away from Gabe, and smile to myself. At least he's not totally mad at me - not if he's still able to use his preferred nickname for me.

Of course, I'm very lucky that he woke up when he did.

Still, though, did he really have to get so pissed? It's not like I was trying to kill myself or anything.

e