Dean ran a hand up through his hair - sending it spiking, sticky with blood. There was no part of him that wasn’t currently at least streaked in it, and he was just grateful that this time his wounds had sealed up. “So, dream-stalking is better than... texting? Board messages?” His tone wasn’t irritable, even though the words sounded like it should be - it was almost amused; he wasn’t actually all that bothered, really. Sure, he’d have rathered not have anyone see these dreams, but it could have been worse. “You angels are weird.”
>"I wish you could remember me. The way I remember you I mean. I could help you remember that, if you wanted I mean, we're in your dream. I could share those memories."
For a moment, Dean wasn’t entirely sure what she meant. She could get rid of the whole amnesia thing? Why hadn’t she said something before, then? Not that he wanted everything back - as frustrating as it was not knowing what had happened, constant little differences in Sam and in the world that he was supposed to have seen change, he also knew that a lot of what happened had been crap. Sam had acted like him not knowing might have been easier on him - and, hell, at this point Dean was willing to do a whole lot of things that maybe weren’t the best, but they made things easier.
>"It would be a nicer dream than this one"
...and then he got what she was saying, what she was really saying, and he looked up at her in confusion. “...what?” It didn’t seem to make any sense, really - why would an angel want to give him back a specific part of his memory, a memory he didn’t actually need and would be really freakin’ awkward...? Something didn’t sit right with Dean about this. He didn’t think the angel was, like, in love with him or anything, so why was she trying to put something like that back in his head? Having a memory of another woman wasn’t exactly something he could avoid - he’d been with way too many, for that, after all - but getting one back that he didn’t remember would be like creating a new one all over again, and that would be... uncomfortably like screwing around behind Jules’ back.
He didn’t say any of that, of course - instead, he just sort of laughed, leaning back on his hands (blood-slick floor under his palms, his blood, others’ blood, he didn’t know what was what anymore). “I swear, that’s like the most awkward thing anyone’s asked of me. Well, lately... Doesn’t beat the time some chick tried to pick me and Sam up at the same time, ‘couple years back, but it’s close. Why?”