With Rollie out for sandwiches - and therefore out of earshot for more of Dean's incessant questions - Dean was all but climbing the walls. He'd tried pacing in the front of the clinic, pacing in the back, but nothing seemed to satisfy. He'd just moved to the east wall to try pacing there when he heard a muffled thud.
It sounded like a body hitting the sand outside.
Dean poked his head out the door and sure enough, there was a man lying there looking far too dressed for the beach. Poor bastard was probably new and not ready for the heat.
He felt a flash of nerves at being alone at the exact moment an injured person arrived on the clinic doorstep, but Dean swallowed it down, moving in quick strides over the sand to the fallen man.
"Hey man," he said, kneeling, touching the guy's cheeks to find them warm and too dry. "Can you hear me?"
Castiel groaned, but it was nonsensical. He was out of it. His body had given out, not only from shock, but from lack of eating, drinking, and sleeping. It had come to a head, now that the vessel was no longer being replenished and healed by the holy presence inside it.
Dean waited, but the man's head only lolled, and he sighed. "Figures." He hooked both his hands under the man's arms and hauled him up, bracing the weight against his side. "Why make this dignified?" he grunted
( ... )
Castiel's eyelids fluttered and he slowly regained consciousness. Confusion threatened to take over once more, too much...the air, the feelings. He was inside, he saw a rudimentary built wall, he was on some sort of bed, there was a tiny throb atop his hand.
Dean.
He smiled at first, hesitant but relieved to see at least one thing familiar to him. Maybe the most important thing.
Dean hadn't expected that kind of look on the guy's face when he came to, and found himself smiling in return. "Hey."
There was an odd quality to the smile, one Dean might have called childlike if he hadn't suspected the man to be delirious. "You with me now?" Not waiting for an answer, Dean went for the wallet he'd felt getting the guy up on the table. He flipped it open to the ID card. "James?"
Castiel's expression went serious, brows furrowed as he regarded Dean. Dean was acting as though he didn't know him.
"Dean," he said, trying out his voice. It was hoarse and sounded strange to his ears. He frowned, trying to sit up. There was no time for this...confusion. "Did you stop Sam? Is that-- what's going on?"
Dean's hands were already on the guy's shoulders, pushing him back against the bed, but now they stilled. "Did you - "
His name and his brother's both, there was no mistaking it, but Dean had never seen this guy in his life. He stared down at him, but nothing came. "Who are you? Stop Sam what?"
No, no...this made even less sense than...everything.
"Stop Sam from killing Lilith," Castiel answered, the words stumbling out of his mouth, so much that he didn't even know where the reply came from. His mind was working too fast, too slow.
"How do you not know me, Dean?"
He reached for Dean's shoulder. Surely, there would at least be his mark.
A few inches were all Dean's stunned silence bought the other man, and then Dean was pulling out of his grasp. "Why would I want to stop him killing Lilith?" He hadn't known the bitch's name before those books, but Dean had learned to hate it since.
"Who - what were you, man?" he asked, anger and suspicion finally clouding his face. "You're not any hunter I ever heard tale of."
"Dean," Castiel growled, as if he needed to snap him out of it. His voice was deep as it had been when he talked through the vessel. He sat up, ignoring the dizziness. "Are you being sarcastic? This isn't the time for games."
"Do I look anything less than serious to you?" Dean growled back. Distantly, he knew Rollie wouldn't approve of him speaking to a patient this way, but whoever this guy was, he was so much more than mere patient, and he was about to get a lot more jacked up than how he'd arrived.
"I'm not playing games, man, who are you, and what did you say about my brother?"
Castiel was having trouble breathing, and he found himself repeating the same thing he'd told Dean when they first officially met. "I am an angel of the Lord. I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."
The problem was, Dean didn't look like he was joking.
Dean took a step back, skin flashing hot and cold all over. They'd spent a few weeks in Catholic school outside of Chicago before John moved them on again. Dean's time there had been brief, painful, and informative. He knew a few Angels' names, knew a good many sins, and he knew Perdition.
"Bullshit," he murmured, wondering after how he got the words out. "There's no Lord. There's no Perdition."
But there was. There was a Hell, and Dean was in it. The book made that clear in cruel detail, and looking at this man now Dean could see that he believed it. But still he shook his head, trying to jumpstart a brain that was spinning its wheels without ever finding the ground, with nowhere to go but around and around the same loop of disbelief. "Why would anyone pull me out, angel or demon?"
Castiel stared at Dean in disbelief, and tried to keep the rapidly forming panic from taking over his body as it had when he first came to find himself here. "Why are we doing this again?" he asked, eyebrows drawn and eyes wide, mouth parted as he took in his surroundings.
"Have I fallen and gone back in time?" he appeared to ask no one, gazing toward the ceiling. But that's all it was, a ceiling. He looked back to Dean, ignoring the questions he'd already answered an age ago. "Where am I? What have I done?"
Dean stared at him and felt that gnawing fear in his gut ratchet up a notch. Friend or foe, this guy was the one with the answers, and watching him panic made it oddly tempting for Dean to do the same.
"I don't know what you've done," he said, hoping against reason that maybe the man was just crazy after all, just some poor bastard they hadn't gotten to in time back home. "You're - it's an island. The people here call it Tabula Rasa. Time doesn't work right here, my brother...he was here for years before I got here, and he didn't remember the last two years of our lives back home."
Mouth dry, Dean stopped talking all at once, wondering why he was explaining rather than demanding.
Castiel just shook his head. None of that meant anything to him.
"You don't know me," he stated. He felt so much at that moment, and none of it was good. So this was his punishment? Had Sam released Lucifer, and they had been sent here, to some island? Would the torture, and the terror happen at some unexpected moment?
Castiel ran his hands over his face, through his hair, trying to think of something he could do to reverse this.
"I am Castiel, not James. Jimmy was...in this body. He is gone, now. I raised you from Hell because God commanded it, Dean." He looked up at Dean, expression stark. "You do not truly remember any of it? Not even your time below?"
It sounded like a body hitting the sand outside.
Dean poked his head out the door and sure enough, there was a man lying there looking far too dressed for the beach. Poor bastard was probably new and not ready for the heat.
He felt a flash of nerves at being alone at the exact moment an injured person arrived on the clinic doorstep, but Dean swallowed it down, moving in quick strides over the sand to the fallen man.
"Hey man," he said, kneeling, touching the guy's cheeks to find them warm and too dry. "Can you hear me?"
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Dean.
He smiled at first, hesitant but relieved to see at least one thing familiar to him. Maybe the most important thing.
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There was an odd quality to the smile, one Dean might have called childlike if he hadn't suspected the man to be delirious. "You with me now?" Not waiting for an answer, Dean went for the wallet he'd felt getting the guy up on the table. He flipped it open to the ID card. "James?"
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"Dean," he said, trying out his voice. It was hoarse and sounded strange to his ears. He frowned, trying to sit up. There was no time for this...confusion. "Did you stop Sam? Is that-- what's going on?"
Reply
His name and his brother's both, there was no mistaking it, but Dean had never seen this guy in his life. He stared down at him, but nothing came. "Who are you? Stop Sam what?"
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"Stop Sam from killing Lilith," Castiel answered, the words stumbling out of his mouth, so much that he didn't even know where the reply came from. His mind was working too fast, too slow.
"How do you not know me, Dean?"
He reached for Dean's shoulder. Surely, there would at least be his mark.
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"Who - what were you, man?" he asked, anger and suspicion finally clouding his face. "You're not any hunter I ever heard tale of."
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"I'm not playing games, man, who are you, and what did you say about my brother?"
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The problem was, Dean didn't look like he was joking.
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"Bullshit," he murmured, wondering after how he got the words out. "There's no Lord. There's no Perdition."
But there was. There was a Hell, and Dean was in it. The book made that clear in cruel detail, and looking at this man now Dean could see that he believed it. But still he shook his head, trying to jumpstart a brain that was spinning its wheels without ever finding the ground, with nowhere to go but around and around the same loop of disbelief. "Why would anyone pull me out, angel or demon?"
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"Have I fallen and gone back in time?" he appeared to ask no one, gazing toward the ceiling. But that's all it was, a ceiling. He looked back to Dean, ignoring the questions he'd already answered an age ago. "Where am I? What have I done?"
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"I don't know what you've done," he said, hoping against reason that maybe the man was just crazy after all, just some poor bastard they hadn't gotten to in time back home. "You're - it's an island. The people here call it Tabula Rasa. Time doesn't work right here, my brother...he was here for years before I got here, and he didn't remember the last two years of our lives back home."
Mouth dry, Dean stopped talking all at once, wondering why he was explaining rather than demanding.
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"You don't know me," he stated. He felt so much at that moment, and none of it was good. So this was his punishment? Had Sam released Lucifer, and they had been sent here, to some island? Would the torture, and the terror happen at some unexpected moment?
Castiel ran his hands over his face, through his hair, trying to think of something he could do to reverse this.
"I am Castiel, not James. Jimmy was...in this body. He is gone, now. I raised you from Hell because God commanded it, Dean." He looked up at Dean, expression stark. "You do not truly remember any of it? Not even your time below?"
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