Disclaimer: All concepts and characters, which the exception of Ryan, belong to Kevin Williams and the WB network. They are used here for non-profit entertainment.

Rating: R (Sex, mature themes)

Spoiler: Basic show concepts

Dream Walker:

Dawson's Discovery

Something weird was going on here, and he thought he knew what.

He tiptoed downstairs, thanking God that his mother had begun to rely heavily on sleeping pills since the divorce, and slid out the back door. The trees behind his house, towering maples and several grand dogwoods, created a sort of grotto in the middle of the yard. Not private enough to make out in, but enough that he felt he could talk to supernatural beings there without too great a risk of anyone noticing.

"Okay, Ryan," he called, crossing his arms. "I know you're the one behind this, you may as well show yourself."

From above and behind him came the soft rattle of leaves brushing together, then the creak of a branch and a thud as something hit the ground. By the time Dawson turned, Ryan was already leaning leisurely against the maple's trunk.

Dawson had always been a little jealous of Ryan's beauty, and seeing him standing there, all ethereal and ghostly in the moonlight with his silver-water complexion of shadow-black hair, brought the bitter taste back into his mouth. Dammit, no wonder he never got dates. Ryan got all of them.

"Why do I get the feeling you had a hand in Joey's weird nocturnal disturbance just now?"

Ryan smiled smugly. "Because I'm the king of nocturnal disturbances. And to add one small comment, I don't think she considered it a disturbance as much as a pleasant, although unexpected, experience."

"What did you put in her head?" Dawson demanded. He knew about Ryan's imagination, about how huge and weird and deep it could be.

Ryan shrugged and didn't respond. The way he was staring at Dawson made him think he was considering what to say next, whether or not he should lie.

Finally, he just shrugged again and said, "I had very little to do with what went into Joey's head."

Dawson blinked. "What does that mean? I thought you were responsible for both of us. Did she get assigned to somebody else?"

"No, I just decided to enlist some help, and he had other ideas about where to take Joey's fantasies...."

"He?" Dawson asked. "You're letting some weird pervert direct Joey's dreams?"

"I didn't realize you considered Pacey a weird pervert," Ryan replied.

Dawson began to sputter. "Wh...wh....what are you talking about?"

"I let Joey direct one of Pacey's dreams, so it only seemed fair to give him a shot at hers. I was trying to be fair, something you've always encouraged me to do more often."

He was beginning to remember why he hated Ryan; the guy was always right, and he was always so damn smug about it. "So Pacey got create a dream for Joey, and he made it dirty? Figures."

"Actually," Ryan began, "it was an interesting mix of sadistic mental pseudo-torture and mother's love turned obscene. I couldn't be more please-"

"Spare me the details." Dawson took a few steps to the right, stopped, took a few to the left, stopped, then gave in and began pacing.

"I'm actually rather grateful that you woke her up when you did," Ryan mentioned. "If things had gone any further-"

"You mean, if she had...." He coughed discreetly, and Ryan rolled his eyes as if this modesty was wretchedly immature.

"It doesn't look very good on my record," he finished. "It's considered a cheap tactic, and not very creative."

But Dawson was worried about other things. "What did Joey make Pacey's dream like?"

"She tied him up in a sex chamber and did a strip tease for him. In the middle of it she began to rot. I think all three of us were surprised when he began lamenting his undying love for her."

The truth is harsh, Dawson thought. And it usually sucks. He stopped pacing and confronted the facts. Pacey and Joey had a thing. She hadn't dumped Dawson for her art, she'd dumped him because she had a case of the warm fuzzies for his best friend.

He began having some very ungenerous thoughts about Pacey just then.

"I want a chance," Dawson told Ryan.

Ryan was continuing to lean against the tree trunk, now with a nail file in one hand, and he sighed lazily. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"Ryan," Dawson warned, "I've done some weird stuff for you over the years."

"And I've given you some delightfully physical dreams, which also don't look great on my record."

"You owe me this."

"How do you figure that?"

Dawson chewed his lip. "Remember last year, when you messed up your schedule for Abby and she needed to stay up all night or else her dream wouldn't coincide with Jen's, and they wouldn't go to the mall because they thought they were going to meet their soulmates?"

Ryan shrugged. "Vaguely."

"Well, I was the one who kept her up all night. I went over there with four movies and a case of Mountain Dew, and I flirted with her until dawn. We both went to school without any sleep."

Ryan scowled. "I wondered what happened to your schedule. All right, I suppose I owe you something. Fine, one dream with Joey, but you can't tell Pacey. If you hadn't pulled the plug on Joey's dream, I would have, and I had to tell him there was a time limit so that he wouldn't demand a second round."

"A time limit?" Dawson asked. "Why would there be a time limit on dreams?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but while I enjoy the boy's subconscious manipulative skills, I don't think he's the sharpest knife in the drawer."

Although Dawson and Ryan had participated in an on-again, off-again sort-of-work relationship for several years, Dawson had never before seen his office. "Want something to drink?" Ryan asked, as he slid behind the oriental desk with marble and mother-of-pearl inlay and slender, arched legs like those of a newborn foal.

Maroon silk hung from the walls and across the ceiling, giving the room and close, secretive feel. There was an over-stuffed fainting sofa with an unusually wide seat, and a number of dainty vases. Those cute miniature trees Dawson couldn't remember the name of had their own raised garden in the corner, complete with park benches and an undersized lake.

"Wow," Dawson said. "Do you bring your dates here or what?"

"I'm the director of Oriental Influence. It's important that my office fit the part."

Simultaneously, Dawson noticed two things. First, that there was a lot of Chinese in Ryan's face if you looked closely. The beautiful, thick black hair, the fathomless eyes, the deft hands. Second, that Ryan was a lot older than he first appeared.

"You're lucky you're not working with Shar, the director of Animal Influence. Now, what do you want in this dream?"

He flipped on a lap top computer, which Dawson noticed was also set with mother-of-pearl. Weird world this guy lived in.

"A wedding. The most beautiful wedding you've ever seen, the most romantic spectacle ever witnessed by Hollywood or man."

Ryan tapped at his computer, then shook his head. "We may have a problem."

"A problem?"

"Remember when I said I let Pacey take over Joey's dream? Well, I can't just boot him. He has a certain amount of control over her for the rest of the night."

"Huh?" Dawson cried. "How does that work?"

"Don't kill the messenger," Ryan said dourly. "You'll still get your wedding. Just with two paths leading to two different alters."

"So Joey might not even marry me? She might pick him?"

"That's the long and the short of it." He tapped again. "Yeah, that's the only thing Pacey will agree to."

Dawson felt a wave of anger wash over him. "Why doesn't she want me? Why doesn't anybody ever want me?"

Ryan was busy typing. "I've reserved the chapel for two a.m. Do you want to pick the art decoration, or should I?"

"Jen dumped me, Joey dumped me. Just once, I'd like to hear somebody say, Gosh, Dawson is the one I really want to be with. Not out of pity or anything, but just because they really want me. Because I ignite something inside them, and make them feel like doors are opening all around."

He stopped, and Ryan sighed again. "Are you finished?"

"I guess," Dawson said miserably.

"Good." Ryan started to turn back to his computer and then paused. "Look, Dawson, I don't mean to be insensitive, but we don't have time for this. Pacey is already back in REM, and if I don't nab him soon he'll sink too deep. Now pull yourself together and let's get this show on the road. I'm already losing points for hokiness, I don't need melodrama added to the list."

They headed through the halls of what appeared to be a movie studio, and Dawson began cooling off and feeling a little more in his element. This was just another fantasy factory, with all the equipment he was used to.

"Hey," he cried, stopping, "is that Spielberg?"

"Shh!" Ryan grabbed his arm and jerked him away from the door. "He's here on loan, and we only get him for a couple of days."

The wedding chapel was beautiful. It had a high ceiling painted with stars and long curving walls, and small metal holsters held tapered candles to the ends of each pew. Already, a dozen people were bustling around, carrying flowers, tuning the giant pipe organ, throwing white silk over everything.

"Shit," Ryan muttered, glancing at his watch. "I am so behind. Debbie, have you got the stage?"

A petite woman whose elfin face was marred by a brutal snarl plugged her chain saw into a spare extension chord and revved it up. "On it now, boss," she said, before driving the teeth into the center of the stage.

"You just had to have two alters, didn't you?" Ryan asked, rolling his eyes.

"Boss?"

A good-looking guy wearing an olive Armani suit--had to be gay, Dawson decided immediately--walked over with a clip board. "Do you have a preference concerning costume?"

"Traditional," Dawson interjected immediately. "And completely romantic. Lots of lace and gauze, and a long train."

"Boss?" the guy asked, glancing at Ryan.

"Whatever he says, Brett, I don't care. But make it quick, we've got less than half an hour."

Brett let out a little yelp, like a cat dropped in cold water, and flipped open a huge fashion book he had carried under his arm. "Okay, we've got six basic options...."

Dawson picked out a long satin dress with a train that ran twenty feet down, and a veil that was woven with flowers. Brett helped him select pearl jewelry--"Use gold chains, silver only goes with green and black"--and crewel-wrought slippers.

By the time he was done, the casting director was demanding to know who to use as bride's maids. "Grab some zombies," Ryan called, as he helped half a dozen huge men push the two halves of the alter apart.

Dawson glanced around, amazed at how quickly the church was changing. An old lady was warming up the keys of the organ, four really handsome guys were arranging themselves as best men, and a page was taping copies of the ceremony to each alter.

"We couldn't even get Spielberg for a few minutes?" Dawson was unable to resist asking. "Just to help with to vows?"

"You've already pushed me beyond my normal limitations," Ryan snapped. "Here, make yourself useful."

He shoved a quill-pen and thick leather binder into Dawson's hands and stalked off, shouting, "God dammit, no! Why would I order a hippo for this scene?"

Dawson sat down in the front pew and flipped the blinder open. The first half of the book was filled to the margins with Chinese characters.

"I should have known," he murmured, trailing off as he saw the cover of the book.

It read in a lazer-printed but legible signature, "Jennifer Linly."

Dawson gawked. "Make yourself useful," Ryan had said. Did that mean....

He shrugged to himself. Might as well give it a shot, even if he couldn't do it in fancy Chinese characters.

After considering for several minutes, he wrote:

She more floated than walked through the desert, her feet limp, toes barely brushing the sultry surface of the sandy desert. The long red dress floated out behind her on the evening zephir. In the distance, a sun the color of freshly kissed lips sank beneath the jagged mountains.

Dawson stopped. Crap, he hadn't meant to write that last part. Well, maybe he could just scratch it out or something.

As he lowered the quill pen to the page, Ryan shook his shoulder roughly. "Come on," he said. "We're about to start."

Who will Joey choose? How

will Dawson and Pacey's friendship

survive, either way? Has

Dawson totally screwed up Jen's

nocturnal adventure? Find out