[ 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. ]
[ That's fair, he guesses. He's sure people grieve differently, though he doesn't really know how at present. Dean's trying to wing it, get into the groove of being a human being with no memory to go on, just core personality and a few basic references. ]
Yeah, course. I'm sure.
[ He's nervous, because Castiel hasn't really expected anything of him but a brother.
There will be an expectation there to be normal, he's sure. To react like he usually would, to recognize this 'Sam' and probably smile and hug him and exclaim how happy he is to be alive.
It's a lot of pressure, and it makes him anxious. ]
[ It's an awkward situation for Dean, but Castiel is sure that Sam of all people will be understanding. In fact, it's likely he'll handle Dean's return much better than Castiel has. And with luck, Dean won't be left to flounder long, as he did offer to allow Castiel to restore his memories once they're safely indoors. ]
Not far. A few minutes, and we'll arrive.
[ There are golden fields on either side as they drive, and they pass the occasional farm and vulture, but the road itself is deserted of traffic, and Castiel goes well over the speed limit. A few minutes more of the same, and Castiel turns the car down a branch in the road, and the pavement gives way to dirt. He slows down as they drive past a large factory on a hillside that's seemingly been abandoned, old-looking stone worn from the elements, with a circular doorway that has an inconspicuous set of steps leading down. Castiel drives past, to the rear of the building where there's a garage entrance that slopes down sharply.
It's a dark tunnel on the way down, lit by hanging electric lights that are far apart and flicker with age. Eventually though, the cement path levels out and opens to to the garage proper. The lights turn on one by one in a row as the car arrives, illuminating a number of antique vehicles, including the 1967 Impala he'd mentioned earlier. There are a few vacant spots, and Castiel pulls the car neatly, if not perfect centered, in one, sets it in park, and the turns off the ignition. ]
This is the Men of Letters bunker.
[ Castiel explains, though he'd mentioned the name before. Maybe it will make more sense to Dean now to see it in person. It's unlikely, but there's a chance he might even remember being here. ]
[ It's a nice drive, quiet. Dean's full of bees though, jittery and nervous, anxiety mounting with every passing moment. He doesn't register the countryside, the farms, the wildflowers on the side of the road.
By the time they arrive he's worked himself up so much he's jiggling his knee, staring out the window as they pull in.
And honestly, this makes even less sense. Dean's frowning at it a little, glancing over at Cas, not making a move to get out of the car. ]
This feels like a James Bond villain lair. We live here? You, me, Sam?
[ Though Dean's nerves are justified, it's still heartbreaking to witness. He should be comfortable in Castiel's presence. He should revel in the sound of a car engine and passing scenery. A garage full of classic cars should thrill him. To see Dean so on edge that he can't even enjoy his favorite things is an old, familiar feeling, and it breaks Castiel's heart. He looks at Dean, who looks at the moment like he has no plans to exit the vehicle, and his eyebrows lift as he attempts a bit of dry humor. ]
It's alright. There aren't any armed, masked men waiting to tie you up and bring you to their leader. ...Though we do have a dungeon in the basement.
[ With those comforting words, Castiel pockets the car keys, opens his own door and steps outside, closing it behind. He leaves Dean in the car to come to his own conclusion while Castiel walks to the middle of the garage and waits. His attention is on the parked Impala as if the vehicle, just by existing, is riveting. ]
Dean stays in the car for a few more moments when the angel gets out, trying to process what the fuck was just said to him.
Slowly, carefully, Dean eases himself out of the car, cringing a little as he slams the door, looking uneasily around him before trudging in Castiel's direction. ]
[ Poor Dean. Castiel feels no remorse. He waits patiently for Dean and nods encouragingly when Dean finally approaches him. ]
This way.
[ Only humans have souls, but that's not to say that there isn't energy stored in inanimate objects similar to a soul, or grace. Castiel doesn't have to imagine what Baby is feeling as Dean walks by her without recognition. He feels the same sense of loss, not for Dean's absent memories, but for something shared between them that is so much more significant. The lights in the garage shut off as they climb the metal stairway towards the basement, leaving her in the dark.
At the top of the stairs, Castiel leads Dean through a tiled hallway, only briefly pausing to open one door to bedroom, currently empty, and another after that, also empty. Sam must be upstairs. He pauses, thoughtfully, before commenting. ]
This is your room.
[ He leaves the door open as he continues to walk towards the stairwell at the end of the hallway, encouraging Dean to look in, if he cares to, but not to linger. Dean's room in the bunker is military-clean as he usually keeps it, the bed made, with weapons artfully displayed across the ledges behind his bed and along the walls. It doesn't feel to Castiel as lonely as the Impala. It hasn't been lived in or loved for nearly as long. ]
[ Once (if) Dean regains his memories, he'll probably go spend hours with his baby, apologizing profusely in the form of a wax job or an hours long drive.
For now, he walks right past the muscle car, doesn't acknowledge it, zero recognition in his eyes. The lights shutter, and he doesn't even blink as he follows after the angel, arms crossed. The hall weirds him out, it's all definitely bunker-like and eerie and he wonders if this was some kind of trick and this 'Castiel' really just brought Dean here to kill him.
It's a reasonable fear, if you look at it objectively and from Dean's point of view. He has no memories, only what Castiel is telling him. He's trusting this guy he doesn't know who's led him into what looks like a prison and for all Dean knows, he's the big bad Dean was supposed to kill, not something else.
God he's so uncomfortable. ]
Not much in here, huh. It's like Folsom Prison Blues in here.
[ If this were some plot to kill Dean, it would be quite an elaborate one. Sadly, there are humans depraved enough to torture their victims before killing them, as Castiel has witnessed first time. It isn't always monsters they're hunting. That some humans are creative and uncaring enough to turn against one another so abhorrently is the grim side of free will. Luckily, there are men like Dean to stop people like that.
If Castiel ends stabbed in the back or shot by Dean on this house tour, he wouldn't be wholly surprised.
Dean's commentary, though, rather than his mistrust, has Castiel turning back towards him as they walk with a scrunch to his eyebrows and a frown. ]
There's quite a lot here, actually. This building was a hub for scholars dedicated to researching and combatting supernatural activity in the United States for decades. The foundations are constructed of salted iron. It's a fortress impenetrable to all kinds of nefarious beings. The library, the weaponry, and the artifacts contained here are invaluable.
[ So you should SHOW IT some RESPECT is what Castiel is saying as he leads Dean upstairs. Around the bend, the room opens up to a brightly lit reading area, with shelves lined with books, separated by columns, and a series of empty tables, each with its own reading lamp.
...Well, almost empty tables. Sam is sitting, gangly-legged and hunched over a very large, old-looking book, his fingers curled under the next page. He turns his head slightly at the sound of footsteps, still reading. "Hey, Cas—" he begins to say, but when he lifts his head and realizes that not only is Castiel not alone, but whom he's with, Sam's head lifts fully, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open with disbelief. "Dean?" ]
[ He's just saying. There's some prison vibes, here. Plus, he's nervous and anxious as hell and in a place he's apparently lived with absolutely no recollection of it. It's intimidating, and he can tell he's toeing a line.
Castiel and Sam may just decide he isn't worth it, boot him to the curb. It's probably the safest bet, and he wonders (not for the first time in the past hour) if he shouldn't have just kept walking and waved off the awkward advances of the shorter so-called 'angel' and just...made his own way.
The library is nice, though. At least it's less prison ward and more...Harvard study group.
The inevitable happens too quickly, though, and Dean's faced with a shaggy haired moose that's now getting up without words to offer in comfort. He just smiles helplessly, shrugs his shoulders and gestures vaguely. ]
Uh. Yeah. In the flesh. [ Apparently. He has about three seconds before he's squashed up in a hug and ah-- yep. Oof. ]
[ The bunker may in fact be "like Folsom Prison Blues," but it's Dean and Sam's home. Castiel has been fortunate enough to be welcomed into this space as well, and it's that sense of loyalty to the Winchesters and the values the brothers share that has him defending it so ardently... even against Dean. Castiel feels a stab of guilt when Dean apologizes, but he recant any of what he'd said. There are precious memories formed in this place, along side terrible regrets. There's far more than just salt and iron in these walls. There's history, his shared history with Dean and Sam.
Guilt does strike him a bit more strongly once Sam is hugging Dean, though (and, more oddly, envy). Maybe he should've texted Sam. Would news like this be acceptable to send by text? He has no idea. Still standing awkwardly aside, he speaks up. ]
Dean's lost his memories. I found him walking along the road not far from here and offered to attempt to restore what he's lost, but he was... uneasy with the offer.
[ Castiel could go on, and plans to, but Sam leans back from Dean, not quite fully releasing him from the hug, and interrupts. "Hang on. You lost your memories?" He addresses Dean, which Castiel finds unsurprising, though he's the one with his mind intact and is perfectly capable of explaining on Dean's behalf. Sam spares only a glance at Castiel, as if for unspoken confirmation, before he continues to ask Dean directly, "What do you remember?" ]
[ Dean looks like he might make like a rabbit and run for the hills, being as squeezed by Sam as he is, the discomfort clear on his face as he's finally released from it. The relief is palpable, and he folds his arms over his chest to prevent it from happening again without explicit permission.
It's not Sam's fault, or Castiel's, but Dean is pretty tense and on a hair trigger. ]
Nothing. It's like what Castiel said. [ He gestures at Cas, and the fact he keeps referring to Cas as Castiel should be an indicator that no one stuttered. ] It's a big blank up here. I don't know how else to explain it. I woke up on a park bench in town, no idea who I was or where I was.
[ Really, he's lucky he's not babbling in a hospital somewhere, yammering on about Darkness and God's sister. ]
And now I'm here, because he [ again, he gestures to the angel, ] was the only one who seemed to know who the hell I was.
[ It seems impossible, improbable - but it's true, and he's standing right here. Not a demon, a shifter, nothing like that. Just...a blank, clean slate. ]
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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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Yeah, course. I'm sure.
[ He's nervous, because Castiel hasn't really expected anything of him but a brother.
There will be an expectation there to be normal, he's sure. To react like he usually would, to recognize this 'Sam' and probably smile and hug him and exclaim how happy he is to be alive.
It's a lot of pressure, and it makes him anxious. ]
How far is it?
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Not far. A few minutes, and we'll arrive.
[ There are golden fields on either side as they drive, and they pass the occasional farm and vulture, but the road itself is deserted of traffic, and Castiel goes well over the speed limit. A few minutes more of the same, and Castiel turns the car down a branch in the road, and the pavement gives way to dirt. He slows down as they drive past a large factory on a hillside that's seemingly been abandoned, old-looking stone worn from the elements, with a circular doorway that has an inconspicuous set of steps leading down. Castiel drives past, to the rear of the building where there's a garage entrance that slopes down sharply.
It's a dark tunnel on the way down, lit by hanging electric lights that are far apart and flicker with age. Eventually though, the cement path levels out and opens to to the garage proper. The lights turn on one by one in a row as the car arrives, illuminating a number of antique vehicles, including the 1967 Impala he'd mentioned earlier. There are a few vacant spots, and Castiel pulls the car neatly, if not perfect centered, in one, sets it in park, and the turns off the ignition. ]
This is the Men of Letters bunker.
[ Castiel explains, though he'd mentioned the name before. Maybe it will make more sense to Dean now to see it in person. It's unlikely, but there's a chance he might even remember being here. ]
Welcome home, Dean.
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By the time they arrive he's worked himself up so much he's jiggling his knee, staring out the window as they pull in.
And honestly, this makes even less sense. Dean's frowning at it a little, glancing over at Cas, not making a move to get out of the car. ]
This feels like a James Bond villain lair. We live here? You, me, Sam?
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It's alright. There aren't any armed, masked men waiting to tie you up and bring you to their leader. ...Though we do have a dungeon in the basement.
[ With those comforting words, Castiel pockets the car keys, opens his own door and steps outside, closing it behind. He leaves Dean in the car to come to his own conclusion while Castiel walks to the middle of the garage and waits. His attention is on the parked Impala as if the vehicle, just by existing, is riveting. ]
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Is unhelpful.
Dean stays in the car for a few more moments when the angel gets out, trying to process what the fuck was just said to him.
Slowly, carefully, Dean eases himself out of the car, cringing a little as he slams the door, looking uneasily around him before trudging in Castiel's direction. ]
Okay. I'm ready. [ He thinks. ]
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This way.
[ Only humans have souls, but that's not to say that there isn't energy stored in inanimate objects similar to a soul, or grace. Castiel doesn't have to imagine what Baby is feeling as Dean walks by her without recognition. He feels the same sense of loss, not for Dean's absent memories, but for something shared between them that is so much more significant. The lights in the garage shut off as they climb the metal stairway towards the basement, leaving her in the dark.
At the top of the stairs, Castiel leads Dean through a tiled hallway, only briefly pausing to open one door to bedroom, currently empty, and another after that, also empty. Sam must be upstairs. He pauses, thoughtfully, before commenting. ]
This is your room.
[ He leaves the door open as he continues to walk towards the stairwell at the end of the hallway, encouraging Dean to look in, if he cares to, but not to linger. Dean's room in the bunker is military-clean as he usually keeps it, the bed made, with weapons artfully displayed across the ledges behind his bed and along the walls. It doesn't feel to Castiel as lonely as the Impala. It hasn't been lived in or loved for nearly as long. ]
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For now, he walks right past the muscle car, doesn't acknowledge it, zero recognition in his eyes. The lights shutter, and he doesn't even blink as he follows after the angel, arms crossed. The hall weirds him out, it's all definitely bunker-like and eerie and he wonders if this was some kind of trick and this 'Castiel' really just brought Dean here to kill him.
It's a reasonable fear, if you look at it objectively and from Dean's point of view. He has no memories, only what Castiel is telling him. He's trusting this guy he doesn't know who's led him into what looks like a prison and for all Dean knows, he's the big bad Dean was supposed to kill, not something else.
God he's so uncomfortable. ]
Not much in here, huh. It's like Folsom Prison Blues in here.
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If Castiel ends stabbed in the back or shot by Dean on this house tour, he wouldn't be wholly surprised.
Dean's commentary, though, rather than his mistrust, has Castiel turning back towards him as they walk with a scrunch to his eyebrows and a frown. ]
There's quite a lot here, actually. This building was a hub for scholars dedicated to researching and combatting supernatural activity in the United States for decades. The foundations are constructed of salted iron. It's a fortress impenetrable to all kinds of nefarious beings. The library, the weaponry, and the artifacts contained here are invaluable.
[ So you should SHOW IT some RESPECT is what Castiel is saying as he leads Dean upstairs. Around the bend, the room opens up to a brightly lit reading area, with shelves lined with books, separated by columns, and a series of empty tables, each with its own reading lamp.
...Well, almost empty tables. Sam is sitting, gangly-legged and hunched over a very large, old-looking book, his fingers curled under the next page. He turns his head slightly at the sound of footsteps, still reading. "Hey, Cas—" he begins to say, but when he lifts his head and realizes that not only is Castiel not alone, but whom he's with, Sam's head lifts fully, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open with disbelief. "Dean?" ]
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[ He's just saying. There's some prison vibes, here. Plus, he's nervous and anxious as hell and in a place he's apparently lived with absolutely no recollection of it. It's intimidating, and he can tell he's toeing a line.
Castiel and Sam may just decide he isn't worth it, boot him to the curb. It's probably the safest bet, and he wonders (not for the first time in the past hour) if he shouldn't have just kept walking and waved off the awkward advances of the shorter so-called 'angel' and just...made his own way.
The library is nice, though. At least it's less prison ward and more...Harvard study group.
The inevitable happens too quickly, though, and Dean's faced with a shaggy haired moose that's now getting up without words to offer in comfort. He just smiles helplessly, shrugs his shoulders and gestures vaguely. ]
Uh. Yeah. In the flesh. [ Apparently. He has about three seconds before he's squashed up in a hug and ah-- yep. Oof. ]
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Guilt does strike him a bit more strongly once Sam is hugging Dean, though (and, more oddly, envy). Maybe he should've texted Sam. Would news like this be acceptable to send by text? He has no idea. Still standing awkwardly aside, he speaks up. ]
Dean's lost his memories. I found him walking along the road not far from here and offered to attempt to restore what he's lost, but he was... uneasy with the offer.
[ Castiel could go on, and plans to, but Sam leans back from Dean, not quite fully releasing him from the hug, and interrupts. "Hang on. You lost your memories?" He addresses Dean, which Castiel finds unsurprising, though he's the one with his mind intact and is perfectly capable of explaining on Dean's behalf. Sam spares only a glance at Castiel, as if for unspoken confirmation, before he continues to ask Dean directly, "What do you remember?" ]
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It's not Sam's fault, or Castiel's, but Dean is pretty tense and on a hair trigger. ]
Nothing. It's like what Castiel said. [ He gestures at Cas, and the fact he keeps referring to Cas as Castiel should be an indicator that no one stuttered. ] It's a big blank up here. I don't know how else to explain it. I woke up on a park bench in town, no idea who I was or where I was.
[ Really, he's lucky he's not babbling in a hospital somewhere, yammering on about Darkness and God's sister. ]
And now I'm here, because he [ again, he gestures to the angel, ] was the only one who seemed to know who the hell I was.
[ It seems impossible, improbable - but it's true, and he's standing right here. Not a demon, a shifter, nothing like that. Just...a blank, clean slate. ]
Sorry.