from here (and we're just leaving out the Toni Bevell garbage because season 12 was trash and i make the rules)
[ There was no other way to kill Amara. It had to be Dean, and after his arrangement with Lucifer, Castiel was in no position to convince Dean otherwise or to accompany him to certain death, though he tried. The sun is in the sky again, radiant and warming, but Castiel feels numb. He knows his place now is with Sam, to comfort and console him, but... If there's anything left of Dean, the ashes he had expected, or any sign at all left where his soul was expunged, Castiel has to find it. He accompanies Sam to the bunker, and then he leaves with a promise to return. He doesn't say why, and he's grateful when Sam doesn't ask. Retrieving his brother's ashes shouldn't be Sam's burden to bear.
He leaves the bunker's garage in his '78 Lincoln Continental and begins driving towards Lebanon's city proper. He'll get gas there, and then begin the investigation. There's no telling where exactly Dean's confrontation with Amara took place, but there were sure to be witnesses, and he's confident in his ability to track the location down.
As he's driving, he sees a man walking along side of the road. Castiel slows down. He's sure that he's mistaken, but as the man comes into view, Castiel clearly recognizes him. He stops the car in the middle of the road and immediately gets out, but he hesitates, full of doubt, as he stands on the driver's side. ]
Dean?
[ It seems too good to be true, impossible given Amara's immense power. But Dean, if this is him, has come back from death before. Castiel approaches him, cautious but overwhelmingly hopeful. ]
The sun is hot on his face, burning his skin, and he's glad he wakes up when he does.
No one really seems to care about the hobo sleeping on the bench, people walking by without really sparing him a second glance. He's grateful, he supposes, because if anyone had stopped and asked him anything, he isn't sure he could have answered.
Carefully, he pushes himself to sitting, rubbing his eyes, squinting into the bright light as he tries to get his bearings, pluck out a memory, something.
Anything.
His heart hammers in his chest, fear is a powerful thing, and to wake up and not know who you are is disorienting at best, terrifying at worst. He's disheveled, his hair a mess, sweat dripping down and leaving streaks on his dirty face.
Why is he here, what happened? He can't answer it, and a quick check of his pockets doesn't really reveal anything, either. No wallet, no identification.
Sitting here won't do anything, though - so he pulls himself to his feet, though he has to sit back down for a moment or two, his legs are wobbly, everything aches in the way it does when you sit or lay down too long. Slowly, then. Bit by bit, he'll ease to his feet, start walking, form a plan. Find out where he is, when he is.
The first couple he asks look at him like he's insane, they shake their heads and walk away. The second is an ancient old broad heading into a shop, and she pats his hand tells him he's in Lebanon, Kansas which...doesn't really help much but it's a start. When he asks her what year it is, she gives him a confused look, but eventually gives him the date.
That doesn't really help, either. When you don't know who you are or anything about yourself, what difference does the date make? It's like a blank slate in his brain, and he'd probably panic if it wasn't.
Not that he isn't panicking now. He has nowhere to go, no one to call, and no phone to do it if he wanted to. He's started to get worked up as he walks, which is when someone stops in the middle of the road (not dangerous, the town is miniscule, there's no traffic), and addresses him.
Or..he guesses they're talking to him. ]
You know me? [ He's afraid to be hopeful, but he can't help it. ]
[ There's no doubt, when Dean answers, that it's him. This isn't some angel or demon in Dean's skin; this is Dean, alive in front of him, and Castiel can't know how, but he's grateful for it, whoever is responsible. God was involved in this, Castiel thinks. Somehow, God must have saved Dean. Billie wouldn't have had enough power, and if Sam had made some sort of deal with Death or anyone else, surely he would have told Castiel after Dean was gone.
This is Dean, and Dean is alive. Castiel circles the car, and he comes just short of hugging Dean. He stops and stands a few steps in front of him, made numb again by the question. ]
Yes. I'm Castiel.
[ Of course he knows Dean. He's known Dean for years. They're close friends. They've been through so much together... and yet the way Dean looks at him now is with guarded confusion. He looks younger, somehow. He sounds younger. Unburdened. Castiel's stomach drops. ]
[ He's hesitant, watching the guy come closer. Nervous, that's a good word. ]
Castiel. [ He repeats the name, willing and hoping for it to mean something, but nothing really clicks in his mind. It's just...blank, brain wiped like a hard drive that was reformatted into something clean and new, uncorrupted, viruses removed.
Maybe it's better this way. ]
No, [ Dean says, guarded, but friendly enough, ] But if you know me, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could tell me who the hell I am, and why I'm in...
[ If someone had taken a knife and stabbed it directly into his chest, it would feel the same to Castiel as when Dean says "no," that he doesn't remember him. He tries not to let the disappointment show too strongly in his expression, though no doubt some of it gets through. He looks down and away before he's able to summon the strength again to look at Dean. His brows furrow at Dean's questions. ]
You've forgotten everything? Your brother Sam? Your home here, in the Men of Letter's bunker? Your 1967 Chevrolet Impala?
[ Not God, then. This is an accident of some kind. A result of the soul bomb, perhaps. At least Dean's soul appears intact, and his body, though his memory being absent despite it all is... confusing. And alarming. ]
I'd like to help you remember.
[ Castiel says, and without waiting for permission, he steps towards Dean, two fingers raised towards Dean's forehead. ]
[ He frowns, because the words coming out of the mans mouth make no sense whatsoever. He can assume they're all things related to him in some way, but it's just...
Dammit, he doesn't remember.
It's when Castiel reaches out that Dean flinches back, hands up in defense. ]
Whoa, whoa. What're you doin', buddy? [ As much of a relief as it is to have someone find him that knows him, it's another for them to just reach out and touch him like that. ]
[ That Dean doesn't remember the Men of Letters and his ancestry is the least of Castiel's concerns. He doesn't address it or attempt to explain.
Dean flinching away from his touch, however, necessitates explanation. To be fair to Dean, it's not an entirely unexpected reaction, though Castiel was hoping that without his memories of monster hunting and the issues brought about by a deceased mother and absent father, that Dean might be more trusting. It's somewhat reassuring that Dean's personality remains intact, frustrated though Castiel feels that he now has to hesitate and gain permission from Dean to do what seems to him to be the obvious solution. ]
I'm an angel. I'm going to attempt to restore your memory, if you'll let me touch you.
[ sldfsdjfh he jerks away again, batting Cas' hand down. ]
What the hell--no way, dude. What're you, nuts?
[ Like, balls to the wall nutjob. The palpable relief he'd felt at someone knowing his face is gone, replaced by rising panic that this rando is gonna gank him right here in the middle of this hellhole, Kansas. ]
Don't touch me. Just tell me who I am, and what the hell I'm doin' in the middle of this backwater town - please.
[ Dean is scared, he's in an unfamiliar place being approached by a stranger who is telling him of the existence of angels. It's a lot to take in, and Dean's anger is justified. However, if Dean would just let Castiel heal him, he would remember everything and there would no reason for fear or anger. That Dean slaps his hand away is a childish, frustrating waste of time, and Castiel leans back, chin raised, jaw tensed as he bites back the desire to scold him. He was terrified that Dean was dead, his soul obliterated, and yet here he stands, and Castiel isn't even allowed to hug him. He could easily overpower Dean and give him his memories back by force. He resists the urge, only just, because it's not what Dean would want for himself, or for anyone. ]
Your name is Dean Winchester. This "backwater town" is your home. You live with your brother Sam in an underground bunker five miles south of here, also in Lebanon. You were born in Lawrence, Kansas to your mother Mary Winchester, who died in your childhood home shortly after your brother was born. She was killed by a demon. You and your brother have hunted demons, and other monsters, ever since.
[ As Castiel rattles off the details of Dean's life, they sound impersonal. Even the circumstances of Mary's death is something every angel and very many others know. He needs to tell Dean something he has to believe implicitly, but all of the intimate details of Dean's life that Castiel has been privileged enough to learn over the last eight years could be fabricated. Everything important to Castiel, everything they've shared... Gone. He thinks of what remains, what Dean might've kept, even with his memories lost. He isn't optimistic that there's anything left, so he turns to what's tangible. ]
You have a tattoo of a pentacle just above your heart. It protects your body from demonic possession.
You're saying I live here? Here? In a bunker? You are nuts.
[ He looks around in disbelief (and maybe mild horror), because this is a small town, smaller than small. He doubts three hundred people even live here, and that's being generous.
The stranger is making Dean think he's (and the angel) some kind of conspiracy theory wingnut, because what sane person lives in a friggin' bunker in a place like this?
Dean Winchester, apparently. And a brother he doesn't remember, and...an angel?
He's shaking his head, holding up his hands to slow Castiel down, backing up a step. ]
Okay, Castiel-- just stop, stop stop stop. None of that--that's crazy. [ But even as he's protesting, his hand drifts to his tee, and he's tugging at the collar, pulling it away to look.
Sure enough, there's a tattoo, and that freaks him right the fuck out. ]
[ Castiel watches as Dean struggles to work through it with tired resignation and deep sadness. Dean doesn't need to suffer like this. If he would only trust Castiel enough to touch him for a moment... Castiel remains where he is with his hands fisted at his sides. ]
This isn't a dream.
[ He neglects to mention that he's been in Dean's dreams before. With as freaked out as Dean already is, it's unlikely to help their current situation. Pointing out that Dean's died before and been to the afterlife and returned on more than one occasion isn't likely to gain him any of Dean's trust at this point, either. But he does feel the need to mention his theory as to how Dean ended up this way. ]
The last time I saw you, you were on your way to fight a very powerful entity. I believe your memory was lost in the resulting explosion. You aren't dead, Dean. In fact, you're lucky to be alive.
Opposite, actually, because this all sounds a little too 50 First Dates for him. Like, cute movie, fun concept, but put into practice it's freaking him the hell out, because this guy knows him and Dean...
is clueless. ]
I'm sorry. [ He finally says, folding his arms, letting his eyes flick over Castiel, head to toe, trying to pull a memory up.
Nothing. Nada.
Not a damn thing except the guy cuts a fine figure, nice lips, pretty eyes. He doesn't know any better, so he doesn't bother to mask the appreciation. ]
[ It's a philosophical and ethical question deeper than Dean can remember to understand. Is he lucky to have had his traumas removed, and wiped to a clean slate, his painful memories gone but his fundamental personality and greater motor functions intact? Anyone who didn't know him would say that he is lucky, yes, and the ignorance of his trauma is a gift.
Castiel thinks otherwise. Dean is incredibly reliant on his family. They define him, and though his enemies (and even Dean himself) might call it a weakness, Castiel sees it for what it is. Dean's compassion, his love, is his strength. To be looked at as Dean is looking at him, with vacant attraction, infatuation rather than love, is heartbreaking. ]
Dean... Please. Let me heal you.
[ Castiel doesn't move to lift a hand again, unsure whether he'll be given permission or not and unwilling to force the issue a third time, out of respect for what he believes would be Dean's wishes. This is more of a punishment for Dean than Dean himself understands, and it's infinitely selfish of Castiel to feel as if he's the one being punished, but guiltily, he does. He should feel as if Dean's ignorance as a gift, also. He's wronged Dean in the past in ways that are unforgivable. They've hurt one another countless times. A fresh slate should be welcomed by both of them.
It isn't. Castiel doesn't deserve to be forgiven via ignorance, and Dean deserves to remember every grievance he's taken with his family, and through his infinite kindness, to offer them love anyway. He stands, burdened and useless, and waits for Dean's decision. ]
He doesn't like this. He doesn't like this at all. He's watching Castiel warily, keeping distance between them because the dude keeps reaching out to touch him and Dean isn't about that life right now, especially not from someone who claims to be an angel. It's awkward, he's uncomfortable and a little afraid. ]
Not here. [ He finally concedes, picking at invisible lint on his jacket. ] Not in the middle of the road. You said I was going to fight something? We're sitting ducks out here.
[ He drops his arms, sighs, drags a hand over his face, drops them again. ]
I'm gonna trust you to not be some creep. Take me to that bunker, I'll let you, uh. Touch me there. In a non-pervy way.
[ It's a compromise, which Castiel nods in agreement with, grateful for Dean's compliance. Leaving him alone here on the roadside is out of the question, now that he's found him. Sam would never forgive him. Castiel would also never forgive himself. ]
Thank you.
[ He doesn't chance explaining that the thing Dean was going to fight has been killed by Dean himself, or else there would be an all-encompassing darkness around them. If it's Dean's fear of being hunted that persuades him, Castiel isn't above using that assumption. With awkward reluctance, Castiel turns and gestures slightly back towards the road. ]
You'll have to ride in my car.
[ Even if he could fly them there, he doubts Dean would've allow it. If Dean insists on walking, Castiel will accompany him, but it will take them more than an hour, by his approximation. Driving would be significantly faster, which means returning Dean's memories to him than much more quickly. ]
We're friends, though you don't remember it. I respect your wishes, and I promise not to touch you again without your permission.
[ The mention of wings has Castiel looking away and down. The nickname is a barb. He doesn't answer. He looks up at the sky instead, and not for the first time, questions if this world wouldn't have been better if God hadn't revived him. Raphael was a student of Michael, self-righteous and unkind, but he was only an archangel. That line of thinking won't do them any good, though. Metatron was still in Heaven. So many things that Castiel hadn't expected were always bound to happen at one point or another. Free will is a bitch, just as God intended.
He walks to the driver side of his car, glad at least that Dean is compliant. Whether he allows Castiel to restore his memories or not, he'll be safer at the bunker, regardless. The compliment falls flat, though he doesn't explain to Dean why. Describing his body as a vessel and his true form as monstrous would only alarm Dean further. The phrasing, "I don't think I like" strikes him as strange, though, and Castiel feels the need to reassure Dean about himself. ]
You don't. You were similarly reticent when we first met.
[ Castiel slides into the driver's seat, pulls the keys from his pocket, and starts the ignition. The idea of driving Dean, rather than the other way around, may be the strangest symptom of Dean's memory loss yet. ]
[ Dean might know shit about himself or this so-called angel, but even he, in his amnesiac state, can tell when he's said something he shouldn't have. He's just not sure which part of what he said was the problem, so he hesitates to get in, watching Castiel's body language, the way he looks up, not at Dean, at the car then just gets in. ]
Good to know.
[ He gets in, settles into the passenger seat and folds his arms, looks over at the angel. ]
[ Castiel puts a hand on the back of Dean's seat, a gesture he'd learned from Dean, until he's maneuvered the car backwards and turned them around. There isn't any art to it. It's a slow and awkward K-turn, and Dean, if he had his memories, would be embarrassed to witness it. Maybe he will anyway. Castiel has no idea what Dean has retained and what he hasn't.
He's kept his kindness, of course, and his concern for someone he perceives as a stranger is touching, despite everything else about Dean's situation being difficult and frustrating. Castiel smiles softly as he looks over at him, then returns his eyes to the road as he drives them towards home. ]
Angels can be... touchy about their wings, these days. It's nothing you need to worry about.
[ That helps, at least, and as he watches Cas turn a three point into a ten point turn, he keeps his mouth closed and instead focuses on an apology, because that's probably what should come out of his mouth, right?
Right. ]
Sounds like something I need to worry about. We're friends, right? Don't need to piss off the only person who was lookin' for me.
[ Castiel considers it, but this won't be a terribly long car ride, and there is so, so much to explain. Years of mistakes, regrets, and pain... Dean deserves to hear it all, but Castiel isn't sure he's the one who deserves to tell Dean. It would be better if he remembered it himself, as he remembered, rather than through Castiel's lens of poor decision making and excuses. Though he wonders if that in itself is an excuse not to tell Dean. It's certainly easier for him to keep from Dean all the reasons he has to hate him. He doesn't explain how his wings came to be useless, perhaps cowardly, redirecting Dean's attention to what else he said, instead. ]
I was the only person looking for your ashes, to put them to rest. You have many friends besides me, Dean. And a brother who loves you.
He can't love me that much if he wasn't looking for ashes.
[ That's just a simple acknowledgment of truth, right? Castiel said it himself.
I was the only person looking for your ashes, to put them to rest.
It tells him volumes about their relationship, even if Castiel doesn't say it outright.
He looks out of the window, away from the so-called angel, trying to put what few thoughts he has together. It seems like so many, but in the grand scheme of things, it isn't, really. ]
[ If only Dean remembered how very much he loves his brother, and his brother the same, he'd realize what a horrible thing that is to say. They're lucky to have one another. For all their faults, Castiel's envied their relationship on so many occasions. Castiel's eyes leave the road briefly to look at Dean, then back. ]
That isn't true.
[ He could explain why, all the sacrifices Sam has made for him, but it isn't his place to defend Sam anymore than it is to defend himself. Dean will understand when his memories return, if not sooner. When he meets Sam, Castiel can't imagine Dean won't know it then, instantly, that he's loved. ]
[ It's an observation Castiel isn't wholly comfortable with Dean shining a light on. What he and Dean have is... complicated. Undefined. It's not ideal for Castiel, though Dean seemed content enough, and Castiel pretended he was content, as well. Of course he looked for Dean's ashes. As long as this unresolved feeling inside of him persists, he will never be able to let Dean go, not in life or death, for as long as he lives.
He can't tell Dean that any more now than he could when Dean had his memories, though. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. Eyes focused on the road, but distant, Castiel attempts to explain his actions in a way Dean, with or without his memories, should understand. ]
You and Sam are the only family I have. It was the least I could do. For both of you. We both care about you, Dean. Given the entity you were fighting and the amount of energy you needed to harness to destroy her, neither of us were sure there would even be ashes left to find. You shouldn't blame your brother for not driving endlessly around, hoping to stumble on some physical trace of what you once were when that trace might not even exist. He's grieving. We all grieve differently.
[ Castiel glances at Dean now, just quickly, as if to make sure he's still there, and that he hasn't vanished in the time Castiel's eyes have been on the road. It's a very real possibility. There's still no logical explanation for how the sun is in the sky and Dean is here, sitting beside him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spoilers for seasons 1-11 probably
[ There was no other way to kill Amara. It had to be Dean, and after his arrangement with Lucifer, Castiel was in no position to convince Dean otherwise or to accompany him to certain death, though he tried. The sun is in the sky again, radiant and warming, but Castiel feels numb. He knows his place now is with Sam, to comfort and console him, but... If there's anything left of Dean, the ashes he had expected, or any sign at all left where his soul was expunged, Castiel has to find it. He accompanies Sam to the bunker, and then he leaves with a promise to return. He doesn't say why, and he's grateful when Sam doesn't ask. Retrieving his brother's ashes shouldn't be Sam's burden to bear.
He leaves the bunker's garage in his '78 Lincoln Continental and begins driving towards Lebanon's city proper. He'll get gas there, and then begin the investigation. There's no telling where exactly Dean's confrontation with Amara took place, but there were sure to be witnesses, and he's confident in his ability to track the location down.
As he's driving, he sees a man walking along side of the road. Castiel slows down. He's sure that he's mistaken, but as the man comes into view, Castiel clearly recognizes him. He stops the car in the middle of the road and immediately gets out, but he hesitates, full of doubt, as he stands on the driver's side. ]
Dean?
[ It seems too good to be true, impossible given Amara's immense power. But Dean, if this is him, has come back from death before. Castiel approaches him, cautious but overwhelmingly hopeful. ]
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The sun is hot on his face, burning his skin, and he's glad he wakes up when he does.
No one really seems to care about the hobo sleeping on the bench, people walking by without really sparing him a second glance. He's grateful, he supposes, because if anyone had stopped and asked him anything, he isn't sure he could have answered.
Carefully, he pushes himself to sitting, rubbing his eyes, squinting into the bright light as he tries to get his bearings, pluck out a memory, something.
Anything.
His heart hammers in his chest, fear is a powerful thing, and to wake up and not know who you are is disorienting at best, terrifying at worst. He's disheveled, his hair a mess, sweat dripping down and leaving streaks on his dirty face.
Why is he here, what happened? He can't answer it, and a quick check of his pockets doesn't really reveal anything, either. No wallet, no identification.
Sitting here won't do anything, though - so he pulls himself to his feet, though he has to sit back down for a moment or two, his legs are wobbly, everything aches in the way it does when you sit or lay down too long. Slowly, then. Bit by bit, he'll ease to his feet, start walking, form a plan. Find out where he is, when he is.
The first couple he asks look at him like he's insane, they shake their heads and walk away. The second is an ancient old broad heading into a shop, and she pats his hand tells him he's in Lebanon, Kansas which...doesn't really help much but it's a start. When he asks her what year it is, she gives him a confused look, but eventually gives him the date.
That doesn't really help, either. When you don't know who you are or anything about yourself, what difference does the date make? It's like a blank slate in his brain, and he'd probably panic if it wasn't.
Not that he isn't panicking now. He has nowhere to go, no one to call, and no phone to do it if he wanted to. He's started to get worked up as he walks, which is when someone stops in the middle of the road (not dangerous, the town is miniscule, there's no traffic), and addresses him.
Or..he guesses they're talking to him. ]
You know me? [ He's afraid to be hopeful, but he can't help it. ]
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This is Dean, and Dean is alive. Castiel circles the car, and he comes just short of hugging Dean. He stops and stands a few steps in front of him, made numb again by the question. ]
Yes. I'm Castiel.
[ Of course he knows Dean. He's known Dean for years. They're close friends. They've been through so much together... and yet the way Dean looks at him now is with guarded confusion. He looks younger, somehow. He sounds younger. Unburdened. Castiel's stomach drops. ]
Do you know who I am?
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Castiel. [ He repeats the name, willing and hoping for it to mean something, but nothing really clicks in his mind. It's just...blank, brain wiped like a hard drive that was reformatted into something clean and new, uncorrupted, viruses removed.
Maybe it's better this way. ]
No, [ Dean says, guarded, but friendly enough, ] But if you know me, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could tell me who the hell I am, and why I'm in...
[ Where was he-- right. ]
Lebanon, Kansas.
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You've forgotten everything? Your brother Sam? Your home here, in the Men of Letter's bunker? Your 1967 Chevrolet Impala?
[ Not God, then. This is an accident of some kind. A result of the soul bomb, perhaps. At least Dean's soul appears intact, and his body, though his memory being absent despite it all is... confusing. And alarming. ]
I'd like to help you remember.
[ Castiel says, and without waiting for permission, he steps towards Dean, two fingers raised towards Dean's forehead. ]
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[ He frowns, because the words coming out of the mans mouth make no sense whatsoever. He can assume they're all things related to him in some way, but it's just...
Dammit, he doesn't remember.
It's when Castiel reaches out that Dean flinches back, hands up in defense. ]
Whoa, whoa. What're you doin', buddy? [ As much of a relief as it is to have someone find him that knows him, it's another for them to just reach out and touch him like that. ]
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Dean flinching away from his touch, however, necessitates explanation. To be fair to Dean, it's not an entirely unexpected reaction, though Castiel was hoping that without his memories of monster hunting and the issues brought about by a deceased mother and absent father, that Dean might be more trusting. It's somewhat reassuring that Dean's personality remains intact, frustrated though Castiel feels that he now has to hesitate and gain permission from Dean to do what seems to him to be the obvious solution. ]
I'm an angel. I'm going to attempt to restore your memory, if you'll let me touch you.
[ He reaches out again in a second attempt. ]
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What the hell--no way, dude. What're you, nuts?
[ Like, balls to the wall nutjob. The palpable relief he'd felt at someone knowing his face is gone, replaced by rising panic that this rando is gonna gank him right here in the middle of this hellhole, Kansas. ]
Don't touch me. Just tell me who I am, and what the hell I'm doin' in the middle of this backwater town - please.
no subject
Your name is Dean Winchester. This "backwater town" is your home. You live with your brother Sam in an underground bunker five miles south of here, also in Lebanon. You were born in Lawrence, Kansas to your mother Mary Winchester, who died in your childhood home shortly after your brother was born. She was killed by a demon. You and your brother have hunted demons, and other monsters, ever since.
[ As Castiel rattles off the details of Dean's life, they sound impersonal. Even the circumstances of Mary's death is something every angel and very many others know. He needs to tell Dean something he has to believe implicitly, but all of the intimate details of Dean's life that Castiel has been privileged enough to learn over the last eight years could be fabricated. Everything important to Castiel, everything they've shared... Gone. He thinks of what remains, what Dean might've kept, even with his memories lost. He isn't optimistic that there's anything left, so he turns to what's tangible. ]
You have a tattoo of a pentacle just above your heart. It protects your body from demonic possession.
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[ He looks around in disbelief (and maybe mild horror), because this is a small town, smaller than small. He doubts three hundred people even live here, and that's being generous.
The stranger is making Dean think he's (and the angel) some kind of conspiracy theory wingnut, because what sane person lives in a friggin' bunker in a place like this?
Dean Winchester, apparently. And a brother he doesn't remember, and...an angel?
He's shaking his head, holding up his hands to slow Castiel down, backing up a step. ]
Okay, Castiel-- just stop, stop stop stop. None of that--that's crazy. [ But even as he's protesting, his hand drifts to his tee, and he's tugging at the collar, pulling it away to look.
Sure enough, there's a tattoo, and that freaks him right the fuck out. ]
This is a dream. You're a dream.
[ A pause. ]
Am I dead?
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This isn't a dream.
[ He neglects to mention that he's been in Dean's dreams before. With as freaked out as Dean already is, it's unlikely to help their current situation. Pointing out that Dean's died before and been to the afterlife and returned on more than one occasion isn't likely to gain him any of Dean's trust at this point, either. But he does feel the need to mention his theory as to how Dean ended up this way. ]
The last time I saw you, you were on your way to fight a very powerful entity. I believe your memory was lost in the resulting explosion. You aren't dead, Dean. In fact, you're lucky to be alive.
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[ He doesn't really consider this lucky.
Like, at all.
Opposite, actually, because this all sounds a little too 50 First Dates for him. Like, cute movie, fun concept, but put into practice it's freaking him the hell out, because this guy knows him and Dean...
is clueless. ]
I'm sorry. [ He finally says, folding his arms, letting his eyes flick over Castiel, head to toe, trying to pull a memory up.
Nothing. Nada.
Not a damn thing except the guy cuts a fine figure, nice lips, pretty eyes. He doesn't know any better, so he doesn't bother to mask the appreciation. ]
I have no idea who you are.
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Castiel thinks otherwise. Dean is incredibly reliant on his family. They define him, and though his enemies (and even Dean himself) might call it a weakness, Castiel sees it for what it is. Dean's compassion, his love, is his strength. To be looked at as Dean is looking at him, with vacant attraction, infatuation rather than love, is heartbreaking. ]
Dean... Please. Let me heal you.
[ Castiel doesn't move to lift a hand again, unsure whether he'll be given permission or not and unwilling to force the issue a third time, out of respect for what he believes would be Dean's wishes. This is more of a punishment for Dean than Dean himself understands, and it's infinitely selfish of Castiel to feel as if he's the one being punished, but guiltily, he does. He should feel as if Dean's ignorance as a gift, also. He's wronged Dean in the past in ways that are unforgivable. They've hurt one another countless times. A fresh slate should be welcomed by both of them.
It isn't. Castiel doesn't deserve to be forgiven via ignorance, and Dean deserves to remember every grievance he's taken with his family, and through his infinite kindness, to offer them love anyway. He stands, burdened and useless, and waits for Dean's decision. ]
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He doesn't like this. He doesn't like this at all. He's watching Castiel warily, keeping distance between them because the dude keeps reaching out to touch him and Dean isn't about that life right now, especially not from someone who claims to be an angel. It's awkward, he's uncomfortable and a little afraid. ]
Not here. [ He finally concedes, picking at invisible lint on his jacket. ] Not in the middle of the road. You said I was going to fight something? We're sitting ducks out here.
[ He drops his arms, sighs, drags a hand over his face, drops them again. ]
I'm gonna trust you to not be some creep. Take me to that bunker, I'll let you, uh. Touch me there. In a non-pervy way.
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Thank you.
[ He doesn't chance explaining that the thing Dean was going to fight has been killed by Dean himself, or else there would be an all-encompassing darkness around them. If it's Dean's fear of being hunted that persuades him, Castiel isn't above using that assumption. With awkward reluctance, Castiel turns and gestures slightly back towards the road. ]
You'll have to ride in my car.
[ Even if he could fly them there, he doubts Dean would've allow it. If Dean insists on walking, Castiel will accompany him, but it will take them more than an hour, by his approximation. Driving would be significantly faster, which means returning Dean's memories to him than much more quickly. ]
We're friends, though you don't remember it. I respect your wishes, and I promise not to touch you again without your permission.
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[ Which would be cool and terrifying at the same time, but.
He starts to trudge his way over to the passenger door, pausing to look at him, tipping his head, resting a hand on the door as he opens it. ]
Thanks. You're hot and all, but I don't think I like people touching me when I don't know 'em.
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He walks to the driver side of his car, glad at least that Dean is compliant. Whether he allows Castiel to restore his memories or not, he'll be safer at the bunker, regardless. The compliment falls flat, though he doesn't explain to Dean why. Describing his body as a vessel and his true form as monstrous would only alarm Dean further. The phrasing, "I don't think I like" strikes him as strange, though, and Castiel feels the need to reassure Dean about himself. ]
You don't. You were similarly reticent when we first met.
[ Castiel slides into the driver's seat, pulls the keys from his pocket, and starts the ignition. The idea of driving Dean, rather than the other way around, may be the strangest symptom of Dean's memory loss yet. ]
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Good to know.
[ He gets in, settles into the passenger seat and folds his arms, looks over at the angel. ]
What did I say to piss you off just now?
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He's kept his kindness, of course, and his concern for someone he perceives as a stranger is touching, despite everything else about Dean's situation being difficult and frustrating. Castiel smiles softly as he looks over at him, then returns his eyes to the road as he drives them towards home. ]
Angels can be... touchy about their wings, these days. It's nothing you need to worry about.
[ With a sigh, he lifts his chin. ]
Anyway, you'll remember soon.
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[ That helps, at least, and as he watches Cas turn a three point into a ten point turn, he keeps his mouth closed and instead focuses on an apology, because that's probably what should come out of his mouth, right?
Right. ]
Sounds like something I need to worry about. We're friends, right? Don't need to piss off the only person who was lookin' for me.
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I was the only person looking for your ashes, to put them to rest. You have many friends besides me, Dean. And a brother who loves you.
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[ That's just a simple acknowledgment of truth, right? Castiel said it himself.
I was the only person looking for your ashes, to put them to rest.
It tells him volumes about their relationship, even if Castiel doesn't say it outright.
He looks out of the window, away from the so-called angel, trying to put what few thoughts he has together. It seems like so many, but in the grand scheme of things, it isn't, really. ]
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That isn't true.
[ He could explain why, all the sacrifices Sam has made for him, but it isn't his place to defend Sam anymore than it is to defend himself. Dean will understand when his memories return, if not sooner. When he meets Sam, Castiel can't imagine Dean won't know it then, instantly, that he's loved. ]
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It probably won't be the only horrible thing he says. ]
Maybe.
[ He leans back against his seat, picks at his jeans, his jacket, folds his arms, a defense mechanism. ]
You were the one looking, though. [ That seems important. That, he will remember. ]
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He can't tell Dean that any more now than he could when Dean had his memories, though. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. Eyes focused on the road, but distant, Castiel attempts to explain his actions in a way Dean, with or without his memories, should understand. ]
You and Sam are the only family I have. It was the least I could do. For both of you. We both care about you, Dean. Given the entity you were fighting and the amount of energy you needed to harness to destroy her, neither of us were sure there would even be ashes left to find. You shouldn't blame your brother for not driving endlessly around, hoping to stumble on some physical trace of what you once were when that trace might not even exist. He's grieving. We all grieve differently.
[ Castiel glances at Dean now, just quickly, as if to make sure he's still there, and that he hasn't vanished in the time Castiel's eyes have been on the road. It's a very real possibility. There's still no logical explanation for how the sun is in the sky and Dean is here, sitting beside him. ]
I'm glad you're alive. Sam will be, also.
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