Cold
At first, all Castiel could remember was the cold. When he had come to in the frigid water, it had felt as though the breath had been punched out of him. If he hadn’t been spotted moments later by the crew of a fishing trawler he would be laid out on a slab with a ‘John Doe’ tag tied to his foot. Even after the crew had pulled him out of the water and wrapped him in every blanket on the boat, his teeth chattered so hard he thought they would break.
Castiel had no memory of how he had ended up in the water. He had no memory of his name. All he could remember was the cold.
The two men he had met a fortnight after his rescue had given him this name, “Castiel”.
When the police had questioned him in the hospital, he had been unable to tell them anything. Who he was, where he had come from or how he came to be bobbing off the coast in the middle of winter. It wasn’t for lack of trying, Castiel genuinely remembered nothing before the moment he broke the surface of the water and gulped, like a stranded fish, for air.
The police had thanked him, their expressions puzzled, but kind, and his face had gone out over the local news wire and had been published in some of the local newspapers. If Castiel could tell them nothing, then they had to appeal to the public for help.
Sam Winchester saw Castiel’s face, in black and white, staring at him from the screen of his laptop. He’d called for his brother, Dean, and together they swore, exclaimed, questioned and swore some more. Then they threw their gear into the Impala and drove all night.
When they arrived at the hospital, suited up, fake FBI badges in hand, they asked to be taken to the John Doe that had been fished out of the water.
Castiel was sitting up in bed, watching TV, with a furrowed brow. When Sam and Dean entered the room, his eyes moved right to them and showed not a flicker of recognition.
“Hello,” Castiel said politely, “Can I help you?”
Sam huffed out an amused breath and Dean glared at him.
“Uh,” Dean started, “Actually, we think we might be able to help you.”
Castiel frowned, “Do I know you?” He corrected himself before they could answer, “Do you know me?”
Dean moved closer to the bed, “Yes, we know you…Castiel.”
And then he remembered.
Castiel. The name of an angel. The name of a pariah.