Saerian held up his hand and lit a cigarette. Men about to be executed were generally permitted a last cigarette, right?
Dean just glared. He was glad he was still more or less himself, but figured that had a lot to do with this being a dream. His dream. "It's good to know you're afraid of something."
Saerian arched a dark eyebrow and took a long drag. "You just turned into an archangel, Dean. Not just an archangel, either."
Dean wondered... if he hurt Saerian in the dream, did he hurt him in real life? Was that how this worked? Ohhh. He could hope, and he could try.
He put his hand out, face a grimace, and touched Saerian's chest. He'd seen Cas do this a thousand times--and most of the time, it worked. Dean just wasn't sure if Saerian was above the pay grade where it would.