Follow me Home...Part 3
Part 2 here
Follow me Home...Part 3
Castiel watched Dean as he paced back and forth across the apartment he had been living in. Every third step or so he glanced up at Castiel, as if checking to see if he was still there. He didn't know what he'd expected when he found Dean, he had been so consumed with the search, he hadn't stopped to think about what would happen next, or maybe he just hadn't wanted to.
So much of Dean's memories were gone. As Castiel studied him, he could see fragments of them, drifting lost within Dean, like pieces of a shipwreck surrounded by open ocean. If he still believed his father would listen, he would pray to him that he could shape those pieces that were left back together, right now he just didn't know how though.
Dean reached the far end of the room, stopped, turned and paced back towards him for the thirty-seventh time. His eyes flicking up to meet Castiel's for a moment. They had barely spoken since Castiel had appeared. Castiel was still trying to process just how much of Dean shone through in this empty man pacing before him.
Dean's memories were so scattered, Castiel caught glimpses of the past few months in Dean's thoughts, mixed in with odd pieces of his past life. It was all so fragmented Castiel didn't know how Dean had even remembered his own name, let alone pieced enough together to call for Castiel. Despite the loss, there was no doubting that the man before him was still Dean Winchester. Raphael may have destroyed the memories, but he hadn't come close to destroying the man.
"So, I'm some sort of hunter and you're a dude with wings? Gotta tell you this isn't really ringing any bells?" Dean said stubbornly. "I mean an angel, really?"
"I may be able to help you remember," Castiel said quietly, his eyes still following Dean as he paced.
"May?"
Castiel looked away and shrugged. He'd had months to figure out what Raphael had done to Dean, yet he still wasn't sure if he could undo it.
"It depends."
"On what?"
"You," Castiel said as he looked back at Dean.
Dean stopped pacing and rubbed absently at his leg.
"I can fix that too," Castiel said.
Dean stiffened slightly, yet looked at Castiel hopefully. "You can?"
Castiel walked across the room to stand entirely to close, he lifted his fingers, but hesitated when Dean flinched.
"I won't hurt you."
Dean stared at him for a moment, Castiel watched as a series of emotions flitted through Dean's eyes, before settling on something that looked a lot like trust.
"I know," Dean whispered.
Castiel moved his fingers to Dean's temple, he watched as Dean closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he looked down at his leg, then back up at Castiel with wonder in his eyes. As if he finally had proof that Castiel was who he said he was and wasn't just crazy, or maybe it was something else entirely, Castiel wasn't sure.
"Thanks," Dean whispered.
Dean went back to pacing, though this time he seemed more absorbed with the full functionality of his leg than with the angel watching him.
"So, an angel huh?' Dean said eventually, coming to a stop and leaning against the far end of the cupboard. "You're not what I was expecting."
"The first time we met, you stabbed me. I don't believe I was what you were expecting then either."
"I stabbed an angel? You really sure you want me to remember who I am? Cause I kinda sound like a dick."
"Dean...you..." Castiel paused, not really sure what to say.
He had tried to convince Dean he was worth saving once before, so much had happened since then. Castiel had no idea how to tell Dean that he needed him to remember, that Dean was probably as close to a friend as Castiel had ever had.
"I have to call Bobby, let him and Sam know I found you," Castiel said changing the subject.
"Bobby and Sam?" Dean asked.
"You don't remember them?''
Dean shrugged in answer, going back to pacing. Dean had seen flashes of other people in his dreams, Castiel knew that much, as he recognised the snippets of memory in the turmoil in Dean’s head. Dean dreamed of a tall lanky stranger, of a shadow wearing the leather jacket currently living in his closet, a gruff voice despite never remembering what had been said. There were women too, flitting in and out of dreams and memories, but he never could put names to faces. And no face had been as clear as Castiel’s had been. Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Castiel stepped the apartment. He didn't go far, his eyes following Dean's shadowy figure behind the thread bare curtains, as if he looked away Dean might disappear again.
He dialled Bobby's number, "Bobby I found him," he said when Bobby answered, not bothering with pleasantries.
A slight crackle on the line was his only answer.
"Bobby?" He asked as he heard a shuddering breath on the other end of the line as Bobby tried to pull himself together.
"Where are you?" Bobby asked.
Castiel told Bobby the address of Dean's apartment, deciding to stay in familiar surroundings while Dean's memories were still in pieces.
"I'm on my way. How, how is he?" Bobby asked uncertainly.
"His injuries seemed to have healed, but..."
"But what?" Bobby asked impatiently.
"I told you it was unlikely he would remember anything."
"None of that angel mojo of yours of any use then?" Bobby asked harshly.
"I can’t know until I can look at his mind in more depth."
Bobby sighed wearily. "I'm on my way, just don't go running off anywhere till I get there."
Castiel hung up, his shoulders slumped slightly, the only indication he would allow of his weariness. He had spent months searching for Dean. He had been distracted and agitated, leaving himself vulnerable to attacks by Raphael and his followers as he looked for the one person who could truly understand what he had been through, the choices he had made. He had barely been holding onto any hope for himself, or Dean, when he had finally heard Dean's prayer.
He walked back into the apartment. There was one option he could think of to help repair Dean's memories, he originally dismissed it as being too risky, but as Dean looked up at him, his eyes full of trust and hope that this stranger would be his saviour, Castiel knew he would try, would do anything to save him, as he had for so long now.
....................
Dean looked up as Castiel came back into the room. He really didn't know what to think. If it wasn't for the sense of familiarity about the angel, he would think he had finally lost the plot, and fallen off the edge of the map into crazy land where he had an angel for a best friend. There was something so, familiar, comforting, about Castiel though, that Dean didn't really doubt for a minute that he was who he said he was.
A few last lingering doubts about whether he wanted to remember who he was disappeared. The last few months blurred and faded into insignificance as he faced the angel, ready to do whatever it took to get his life back.
"So, can you fix this?" Dean said waving a hand at his head.
"If enough of the memories are there I may know a way to help, but I'm not sure how dangerous it will be," Castiel told him. "And even then you might not get everything back."
"Dangerous for me or for you?"
"Mostly you."
"I'm okay with that," Dean said with a shrug. "So what do we do?"
"Basically, I use my memories to help pull all the fragments of your memories together."
Dean raised an eyebrow, "Basically? Sure, sounds like a walk in the park."
"It's hard to explain," Castiel said looking away for a moment, like he was trying to find a way to put it using human references. "I can use my memories as sort of a magnet, to draw your own memories together."
"Okay," Dean said nodding absently. "So you want to patch my memories up using yours, and hope the stitching will hold mine all together again?"
"Something like that," Castiel answered, looking like he couldn't think of any other way to explain that Dean would understand better.
"And you think that'll work?"
"I don't really know."
"You don't know? That's confidence inspiring."
"It depends on a lot of things going right. It depends how much memory is left, if you can submit to having my memories in your head, if you can understand the way I remember things given I'm an angel and perceive things differently."
"Okay I get it, not a walk in the park."
Dean studied Castiel for a moment. He could run and hide from who he was, or he could simply accept it. He had no doubt that this man was exactly who he said he was. It wasn't just the way he had healed his leg, it was something more, it was something undefinable that Dean felt in his bones.
"Do it," Dean said quietly. He held his hand up to stop the words of warning he could see Castiel was about to say again. "I don't want to live like this, not knowing who I am. I don't care if it's dangerous, or can kill me or whatever. I don't care, just help me remember."
He watched a stream of emotions battle in Castiel's eyes, before his features set in a stony determination that would be almost scary if Dean didn't completely trust him. Castiel closed the space between them. He raised his hand and placed his fingers gently against Dean's temple.
"This won't be pleasant."
Dean had a feeling that may be the understatement of the century, but didn't flinch away from the touch of cool fingers against his temple. He briefly thought it strange that the touch reminded him of a spring morning and life awakening after the dark of winter, before he lost all sense of time and reason as his consciousness was assaulted by a maelstrom of thoughts, energy, emotion and light.
He felt his mind explode as the memories of the angel flowed over him, buffeting him from every direction. A stream of images, of primitive oceans turning to dust, of civilisations rising and falling, days, nights, seasons, years, they all flowed together so quickly that they all seemed to occur at once.
He had a vague impression of someone screaming, thought it may have been himself, but the memories caught him before he could decide. They swept him along, making little to no sense. He felt pain, distant at first before swelling and becoming overwhelming. He felt Castiel almost falter, heard a whispered I'm sorry. Dean reached out, not sure what he was reaching for until he felt something fold itself around him, cocooning him from the worst of the tumult of memories.
The images slowed as he began to understand the angel's perception of time. He let himself go with the flow instead of fighting it. He felt himself take a shuddering breath, as he did he found his mind consumed with a single memory. Time almost seemed to stop.
He was in a forest, had the feeling it was some place that didn't exist anymore. He could feel leaf litter beneath his feet, could feel warm filtered sunlight on his skin. He closed his eyes, feeling every inch of bare skin, felt every cell soak up the warmth.
He opened his eyes, watched in fascination as particles of dust danced in the light streaming through the tree-tops overhead. He could hear every leaf whisper in the soft breeze. He knew this was a memory of Castiel's that he was sharing in order to let Dean rest, to understand how he saw the world.
He felt himself nod his head slightly, the only action he was capable of to let Castiel know he was okay, that he understood. As he felt himself leave the memory and move onto another, he took a deep breath. The memory was so real he could have sworn he could smell the delicate scent of pine.
Everything changed, the peacefulness of the forest replaced by heat and pain. He felt himself almost drown in desperation, Castiel's he realised, as the angel searched frantically through this place of hopelessness.
He saw a figure ahead. He paused, for a moment resisting the memory. As the figure raised his head, he knew who it was, why he was here. Why Castiel had been so desperate to reach him, but he had been too late.
Hell. Dean remembered. He remembered every slice, every scream.
His own memories collided with Castiel's, and for a moment he thought he would lose himself. He had nearly lost himself here once before. He watched as the figure of himself from Castiel's memories looked up, drowning in almost lost hope. This was where they had met. His salvation, the one memory from hell he had forgotten when Castiel had brought him back, when he had raised him from perdition.
Dean wanted to leave this memory, he had seem enough, remembered enough, but something held him in it a moment longer.
"Why did you save me?" Dean asked, wanting to leave, but needing an answer more.
"Those were my orders."
Dean sensed there was more to it than that. He could sense sorrow, loneliness. He didn't know if it was his or the angel's. Maybe it was both.
The memory of hell faded, a rush of new images replacing it. Memories of their encounters in that first year back from hell. In between them Dean got flashes of his own memories. He had come back a broken man. Hell had left its mark on him, and he wasn't sure if he would ever truly escape it.
The flood of memory and emotion were overwhelming. Little bits and pieces of his life coming back to him, all the crap he had endured that had made him who he was.
He found himself in the green room. He didn't need to see the memory for it all to come back to him. So much had changed in this room. It was here Dean had asked everything of the angel, and he had given it. The guilt flowed back with the memory.
"I should never have asked this of you," Dean whispered as he watched himself argue with Castiel.
He ignored the memory of himself, captured by the turmoil in Castiel, the sadness, the absolute loneliness. The overwhelming desire to do the right thing, almost lost in the obedience drummed into him throughout his entire existence.
Free will was as foreign to Castiel, as flying was to Dean. He didn't think he had ever truly understood that. In his self-righteousness had never stopped to understand what it had felt like for a millennia old creature to strike out in his own direction for the first time. To make a choice of his own.
He could feel Castiel pulling him away from the memory.
"Cas, wait."
"It doesn't matter Dean."
Dean's whispered, I'm sorry, was lost in a blur of images as Castiel dragged him forward through his memories of Dean.
The memories became more understandable. Dean realised these were Castiel's memories while he had been cut off from Heaven. The loss of sensation was crushing. Replaced by a cacophony of emotions the angel had never fully felt before. The lost faith that had always been unwavering, the stubborn determination to continue on the course he had chosen no matter what.
Dean watched as they struggled to find a way to defeat Lucifer. He watched himself almost give in to Michael, felt Castiel's last remaining faith almost shatter. He felt the angel's anger and loss of direction, watched as Castiel sacrificed himself for Dean yet again anyway.
He felt the keen loss of what remaining grace Castiel had left. He felt the hollowness, the disconnection from everything the angel had known. He wasn't sure if Castiel meant to share so much with him.
Then they were in Stull cemetery. He watched as Castiel was killed, again. There was a moment of blackness, no memory available to fill in the gap, and then just as suddenly he watched as Castiel reappeared to heal him. He felt the dulling of emotion as they were overpowered by the returned scope of awareness as Castiel looked down at him, fully graced up again. He thought he felt sorrow. He didn't think it was his.
He lost track of Castiel's memories as his own took over. Bits and pieces from his childhood, from his time on the road with Sam, drinking beer in Bobby's yard, it all came rushing back. He could feel there were still holes, odd little pieces that didn't seem to fit anywhere, but he remembered.
He was a brother, son, friend, a broken and fucked up man, and a hunter. He was Dean Winchester.
He could hear a voice, distant, sort of floating above his head somewhere. He realised he was lying on the floor of the apartment. Everything hurt. He opened his eyes, doing his best not to groan in pain as the light above him hurt his eyes.
"Dean?"
He tired to focus on Castiel's face as the angel hovered over him looking concerned. Everything seemed dull. It took a moment for him to realise it was because he was seeing everything as a human. After the scale of sensation from Castiel's memories, the room looked small, confining.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath as the pain behind his eyes slowly started to ease. When he opened them again, everything looked more normal, the way humans were meant to see a dingy apartment.
"Are you okay?" Castiel asked, kneeling beside Dean, looking at him in that searching sort of way he did that Dean had always found unnerving.
"Cas, I'm fine. I'm me."
He couldn't really think of anything else to say. Castiel's memories that he had seen were fading, like a dream he couldn't quite remember. Bits and pieces of them were more vivid though.
"Where's Sam?"
"Sam and Bobby will be here soon."
"Good."
Dean stood up, a little unsteady on his feet. His throat was dry and he felt like he had just gone ten rounds with a demon, but despite Castiel's concerns, he felt okay. His brain felt like it had been liquefied, but that was about it. He didn't think any permanent harm had been done.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, feeling some relief as the cold soothed his parched throat.
"You remember everything?" Castiel asked.
"I think so. Most of it anyway."
Castiel looked relieved. Or as relived as the angel ever looked.
"I think I even have a few extra memories floating around in there," Dean added.
"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, cocking his head slightly as he stared at Dean.
"I think you left a few of yours behind. At least, I assume I've never been to Babylon?'
"They may still fade away," Castiel reassured.
Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to admit that he had quite a bit more than a few images of Babylon left over from the connection. He had enough trouble dealing with his own emotions, let alone the mess of them Castiel left behind. Not to mention a little part of him that found Cas’ memories were somewhat soothing amidst the chaos of his own patchwork memories.
Dean heard the unmistakable hum of the Impala as it pulled up on the street below.
"Oh baby, I've missed you," Dean said as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
They still had an angelic civil war to win, an apocalypse rerun to avoid, and Sam's soul to get back.
"You coming?" he asked Castiel. "None of this too busy crap, I've got a couple months to catch up on. We go get Sam's soul back than we're helping with this war of yours, whether you want us to or not. You're not fighting the whole damn thing on your own."
He may not have understood everything he saw in Castiel's memories, but he understood enough. Castiel was up to something, something that he had been hiding out of fear of Dean's reaction. Something that would probably get him killed again. If he'd learnt anything in the last few months, it was that he had been a shitty friend to Castiel. Sam, Bobby and Castiel were the only family he had. Raphael had taken them from him when he took his memories, and Dean had no intention of losing them again. He was determined to make things up to Castiel. After all the angel had done for him, it was his turn.
He paused before shrugging on his jacket, his fingers feeling the skin of his shoulder. The scar was still missing, no doubt removed by Raphael so it couldn't be used to identify him. Its loss felt wrong, but as he glanced at Castiel, he decided it wasn't a bad thing, the loss had helped him remember, had helped him find his way home.
Dean turned the handle, glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Castiel was following him, and stepped over the threshold. They had a war to win, and he had a friend to save.
....................
Follow me Home...Part 3
Castiel watched Dean as he paced back and forth across the apartment he had been living in. Every third step or so he glanced up at Castiel, as if checking to see if he was still there. He didn't know what he'd expected when he found Dean, he had been so consumed with the search, he hadn't stopped to think about what would happen next, or maybe he just hadn't wanted to.
So much of Dean's memories were gone. As Castiel studied him, he could see fragments of them, drifting lost within Dean, like pieces of a shipwreck surrounded by open ocean. If he still believed his father would listen, he would pray to him that he could shape those pieces that were left back together, right now he just didn't know how though.
Dean reached the far end of the room, stopped, turned and paced back towards him for the thirty-seventh time. His eyes flicking up to meet Castiel's for a moment. They had barely spoken since Castiel had appeared. Castiel was still trying to process just how much of Dean shone through in this empty man pacing before him.
Dean's memories were so scattered, Castiel caught glimpses of the past few months in Dean's thoughts, mixed in with odd pieces of his past life. It was all so fragmented Castiel didn't know how Dean had even remembered his own name, let alone pieced enough together to call for Castiel. Despite the loss, there was no doubting that the man before him was still Dean Winchester. Raphael may have destroyed the memories, but he hadn't come close to destroying the man.
"So, I'm some sort of hunter and you're a dude with wings? Gotta tell you this isn't really ringing any bells?" Dean said stubbornly. "I mean an angel, really?"
"I may be able to help you remember," Castiel said quietly, his eyes still following Dean as he paced.
"May?"
Castiel looked away and shrugged. He'd had months to figure out what Raphael had done to Dean, yet he still wasn't sure if he could undo it.
"It depends."
"On what?"
"You," Castiel said as he looked back at Dean.
Dean stopped pacing and rubbed absently at his leg.
"I can fix that too," Castiel said.
Dean stiffened slightly, yet looked at Castiel hopefully. "You can?"
Castiel walked across the room to stand entirely to close, he lifted his fingers, but hesitated when Dean flinched.
"I won't hurt you."
Dean stared at him for a moment, Castiel watched as a series of emotions flitted through Dean's eyes, before settling on something that looked a lot like trust.
"I know," Dean whispered.
Castiel moved his fingers to Dean's temple, he watched as Dean closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he looked down at his leg, then back up at Castiel with wonder in his eyes. As if he finally had proof that Castiel was who he said he was and wasn't just crazy, or maybe it was something else entirely, Castiel wasn't sure.
"Thanks," Dean whispered.
Dean went back to pacing, though this time he seemed more absorbed with the full functionality of his leg than with the angel watching him.
"So, an angel huh?' Dean said eventually, coming to a stop and leaning against the far end of the cupboard. "You're not what I was expecting."
"The first time we met, you stabbed me. I don't believe I was what you were expecting then either."
"I stabbed an angel? You really sure you want me to remember who I am? Cause I kinda sound like a dick."
"Dean...you..." Castiel paused, not really sure what to say.
He had tried to convince Dean he was worth saving once before, so much had happened since then. Castiel had no idea how to tell Dean that he needed him to remember, that Dean was probably as close to a friend as Castiel had ever had.
"I have to call Bobby, let him and Sam know I found you," Castiel said changing the subject.
"Bobby and Sam?" Dean asked.
"You don't remember them?''
Dean shrugged in answer, going back to pacing. Dean had seen flashes of other people in his dreams, Castiel knew that much, as he recognised the snippets of memory in the turmoil in Dean’s head. Dean dreamed of a tall lanky stranger, of a shadow wearing the leather jacket currently living in his closet, a gruff voice despite never remembering what had been said. There were women too, flitting in and out of dreams and memories, but he never could put names to faces. And no face had been as clear as Castiel’s had been. Castiel wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Castiel stepped the apartment. He didn't go far, his eyes following Dean's shadowy figure behind the thread bare curtains, as if he looked away Dean might disappear again.
He dialled Bobby's number, "Bobby I found him," he said when Bobby answered, not bothering with pleasantries.
A slight crackle on the line was his only answer.
"Bobby?" He asked as he heard a shuddering breath on the other end of the line as Bobby tried to pull himself together.
"Where are you?" Bobby asked.
Castiel told Bobby the address of Dean's apartment, deciding to stay in familiar surroundings while Dean's memories were still in pieces.
"I'm on my way. How, how is he?" Bobby asked uncertainly.
"His injuries seemed to have healed, but..."
"But what?" Bobby asked impatiently.
"I told you it was unlikely he would remember anything."
"None of that angel mojo of yours of any use then?" Bobby asked harshly.
"I can’t know until I can look at his mind in more depth."
Bobby sighed wearily. "I'm on my way, just don't go running off anywhere till I get there."
Castiel hung up, his shoulders slumped slightly, the only indication he would allow of his weariness. He had spent months searching for Dean. He had been distracted and agitated, leaving himself vulnerable to attacks by Raphael and his followers as he looked for the one person who could truly understand what he had been through, the choices he had made. He had barely been holding onto any hope for himself, or Dean, when he had finally heard Dean's prayer.
He walked back into the apartment. There was one option he could think of to help repair Dean's memories, he originally dismissed it as being too risky, but as Dean looked up at him, his eyes full of trust and hope that this stranger would be his saviour, Castiel knew he would try, would do anything to save him, as he had for so long now.
....................
Dean looked up as Castiel came back into the room. He really didn't know what to think. If it wasn't for the sense of familiarity about the angel, he would think he had finally lost the plot, and fallen off the edge of the map into crazy land where he had an angel for a best friend. There was something so, familiar, comforting, about Castiel though, that Dean didn't really doubt for a minute that he was who he said he was.
A few last lingering doubts about whether he wanted to remember who he was disappeared. The last few months blurred and faded into insignificance as he faced the angel, ready to do whatever it took to get his life back.
"So, can you fix this?" Dean said waving a hand at his head.
"If enough of the memories are there I may know a way to help, but I'm not sure how dangerous it will be," Castiel told him. "And even then you might not get everything back."
"Dangerous for me or for you?"
"Mostly you."
"I'm okay with that," Dean said with a shrug. "So what do we do?"
"Basically, I use my memories to help pull all the fragments of your memories together."
Dean raised an eyebrow, "Basically? Sure, sounds like a walk in the park."
"It's hard to explain," Castiel said looking away for a moment, like he was trying to find a way to put it using human references. "I can use my memories as sort of a magnet, to draw your own memories together."
"Okay," Dean said nodding absently. "So you want to patch my memories up using yours, and hope the stitching will hold mine all together again?"
"Something like that," Castiel answered, looking like he couldn't think of any other way to explain that Dean would understand better.
"And you think that'll work?"
"I don't really know."
"You don't know? That's confidence inspiring."
"It depends on a lot of things going right. It depends how much memory is left, if you can submit to having my memories in your head, if you can understand the way I remember things given I'm an angel and perceive things differently."
"Okay I get it, not a walk in the park."
Dean studied Castiel for a moment. He could run and hide from who he was, or he could simply accept it. He had no doubt that this man was exactly who he said he was. It wasn't just the way he had healed his leg, it was something more, it was something undefinable that Dean felt in his bones.
"Do it," Dean said quietly. He held his hand up to stop the words of warning he could see Castiel was about to say again. "I don't want to live like this, not knowing who I am. I don't care if it's dangerous, or can kill me or whatever. I don't care, just help me remember."
He watched a stream of emotions battle in Castiel's eyes, before his features set in a stony determination that would be almost scary if Dean didn't completely trust him. Castiel closed the space between them. He raised his hand and placed his fingers gently against Dean's temple.
"This won't be pleasant."
Dean had a feeling that may be the understatement of the century, but didn't flinch away from the touch of cool fingers against his temple. He briefly thought it strange that the touch reminded him of a spring morning and life awakening after the dark of winter, before he lost all sense of time and reason as his consciousness was assaulted by a maelstrom of thoughts, energy, emotion and light.
He felt his mind explode as the memories of the angel flowed over him, buffeting him from every direction. A stream of images, of primitive oceans turning to dust, of civilisations rising and falling, days, nights, seasons, years, they all flowed together so quickly that they all seemed to occur at once.
He had a vague impression of someone screaming, thought it may have been himself, but the memories caught him before he could decide. They swept him along, making little to no sense. He felt pain, distant at first before swelling and becoming overwhelming. He felt Castiel almost falter, heard a whispered I'm sorry. Dean reached out, not sure what he was reaching for until he felt something fold itself around him, cocooning him from the worst of the tumult of memories.
The images slowed as he began to understand the angel's perception of time. He let himself go with the flow instead of fighting it. He felt himself take a shuddering breath, as he did he found his mind consumed with a single memory. Time almost seemed to stop.
He was in a forest, had the feeling it was some place that didn't exist anymore. He could feel leaf litter beneath his feet, could feel warm filtered sunlight on his skin. He closed his eyes, feeling every inch of bare skin, felt every cell soak up the warmth.
He opened his eyes, watched in fascination as particles of dust danced in the light streaming through the tree-tops overhead. He could hear every leaf whisper in the soft breeze. He knew this was a memory of Castiel's that he was sharing in order to let Dean rest, to understand how he saw the world.
He felt himself nod his head slightly, the only action he was capable of to let Castiel know he was okay, that he understood. As he felt himself leave the memory and move onto another, he took a deep breath. The memory was so real he could have sworn he could smell the delicate scent of pine.
Everything changed, the peacefulness of the forest replaced by heat and pain. He felt himself almost drown in desperation, Castiel's he realised, as the angel searched frantically through this place of hopelessness.
He saw a figure ahead. He paused, for a moment resisting the memory. As the figure raised his head, he knew who it was, why he was here. Why Castiel had been so desperate to reach him, but he had been too late.
Hell. Dean remembered. He remembered every slice, every scream.
His own memories collided with Castiel's, and for a moment he thought he would lose himself. He had nearly lost himself here once before. He watched as the figure of himself from Castiel's memories looked up, drowning in almost lost hope. This was where they had met. His salvation, the one memory from hell he had forgotten when Castiel had brought him back, when he had raised him from perdition.
Dean wanted to leave this memory, he had seem enough, remembered enough, but something held him in it a moment longer.
"Why did you save me?" Dean asked, wanting to leave, but needing an answer more.
"Those were my orders."
Dean sensed there was more to it than that. He could sense sorrow, loneliness. He didn't know if it was his or the angel's. Maybe it was both.
The memory of hell faded, a rush of new images replacing it. Memories of their encounters in that first year back from hell. In between them Dean got flashes of his own memories. He had come back a broken man. Hell had left its mark on him, and he wasn't sure if he would ever truly escape it.
The flood of memory and emotion were overwhelming. Little bits and pieces of his life coming back to him, all the crap he had endured that had made him who he was.
He found himself in the green room. He didn't need to see the memory for it all to come back to him. So much had changed in this room. It was here Dean had asked everything of the angel, and he had given it. The guilt flowed back with the memory.
"I should never have asked this of you," Dean whispered as he watched himself argue with Castiel.
He ignored the memory of himself, captured by the turmoil in Castiel, the sadness, the absolute loneliness. The overwhelming desire to do the right thing, almost lost in the obedience drummed into him throughout his entire existence.
Free will was as foreign to Castiel, as flying was to Dean. He didn't think he had ever truly understood that. In his self-righteousness had never stopped to understand what it had felt like for a millennia old creature to strike out in his own direction for the first time. To make a choice of his own.
He could feel Castiel pulling him away from the memory.
"Cas, wait."
"It doesn't matter Dean."
Dean's whispered, I'm sorry, was lost in a blur of images as Castiel dragged him forward through his memories of Dean.
The memories became more understandable. Dean realised these were Castiel's memories while he had been cut off from Heaven. The loss of sensation was crushing. Replaced by a cacophony of emotions the angel had never fully felt before. The lost faith that had always been unwavering, the stubborn determination to continue on the course he had chosen no matter what.
Dean watched as they struggled to find a way to defeat Lucifer. He watched himself almost give in to Michael, felt Castiel's last remaining faith almost shatter. He felt the angel's anger and loss of direction, watched as Castiel sacrificed himself for Dean yet again anyway.
He felt the keen loss of what remaining grace Castiel had left. He felt the hollowness, the disconnection from everything the angel had known. He wasn't sure if Castiel meant to share so much with him.
Then they were in Stull cemetery. He watched as Castiel was killed, again. There was a moment of blackness, no memory available to fill in the gap, and then just as suddenly he watched as Castiel reappeared to heal him. He felt the dulling of emotion as they were overpowered by the returned scope of awareness as Castiel looked down at him, fully graced up again. He thought he felt sorrow. He didn't think it was his.
He lost track of Castiel's memories as his own took over. Bits and pieces from his childhood, from his time on the road with Sam, drinking beer in Bobby's yard, it all came rushing back. He could feel there were still holes, odd little pieces that didn't seem to fit anywhere, but he remembered.
He was a brother, son, friend, a broken and fucked up man, and a hunter. He was Dean Winchester.
He could hear a voice, distant, sort of floating above his head somewhere. He realised he was lying on the floor of the apartment. Everything hurt. He opened his eyes, doing his best not to groan in pain as the light above him hurt his eyes.
"Dean?"
He tired to focus on Castiel's face as the angel hovered over him looking concerned. Everything seemed dull. It took a moment for him to realise it was because he was seeing everything as a human. After the scale of sensation from Castiel's memories, the room looked small, confining.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath as the pain behind his eyes slowly started to ease. When he opened them again, everything looked more normal, the way humans were meant to see a dingy apartment.
"Are you okay?" Castiel asked, kneeling beside Dean, looking at him in that searching sort of way he did that Dean had always found unnerving.
"Cas, I'm fine. I'm me."
He couldn't really think of anything else to say. Castiel's memories that he had seen were fading, like a dream he couldn't quite remember. Bits and pieces of them were more vivid though.
"Where's Sam?"
"Sam and Bobby will be here soon."
"Good."
Dean stood up, a little unsteady on his feet. His throat was dry and he felt like he had just gone ten rounds with a demon, but despite Castiel's concerns, he felt okay. His brain felt like it had been liquefied, but that was about it. He didn't think any permanent harm had been done.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, feeling some relief as the cold soothed his parched throat.
"You remember everything?" Castiel asked.
"I think so. Most of it anyway."
Castiel looked relieved. Or as relived as the angel ever looked.
"I think I even have a few extra memories floating around in there," Dean added.
"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, cocking his head slightly as he stared at Dean.
"I think you left a few of yours behind. At least, I assume I've never been to Babylon?'
"They may still fade away," Castiel reassured.
Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to admit that he had quite a bit more than a few images of Babylon left over from the connection. He had enough trouble dealing with his own emotions, let alone the mess of them Castiel left behind. Not to mention a little part of him that found Cas’ memories were somewhat soothing amidst the chaos of his own patchwork memories.
Dean heard the unmistakable hum of the Impala as it pulled up on the street below.
"Oh baby, I've missed you," Dean said as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
They still had an angelic civil war to win, an apocalypse rerun to avoid, and Sam's soul to get back.
"You coming?" he asked Castiel. "None of this too busy crap, I've got a couple months to catch up on. We go get Sam's soul back than we're helping with this war of yours, whether you want us to or not. You're not fighting the whole damn thing on your own."
He may not have understood everything he saw in Castiel's memories, but he understood enough. Castiel was up to something, something that he had been hiding out of fear of Dean's reaction. Something that would probably get him killed again. If he'd learnt anything in the last few months, it was that he had been a shitty friend to Castiel. Sam, Bobby and Castiel were the only family he had. Raphael had taken them from him when he took his memories, and Dean had no intention of losing them again. He was determined to make things up to Castiel. After all the angel had done for him, it was his turn.
He paused before shrugging on his jacket, his fingers feeling the skin of his shoulder. The scar was still missing, no doubt removed by Raphael so it couldn't be used to identify him. Its loss felt wrong, but as he glanced at Castiel, he decided it wasn't a bad thing, the loss had helped him remember, had helped him find his way home.
Dean turned the handle, glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Castiel was following him, and stepped over the threshold. They had a war to win, and he had a friend to save.
....................