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One thing Dean loved about this time of year was the smell.
Wet earth, burning leaves, and the faintest hint of cinnamon anywhere he seemed to go. No other time of year held the same kind of scent. No matter how hard the candle companies tried to capture the scent and bottle it up, it was never quite the same. Trust him, he’s sniffed just about every candle or oil that claimed to be “Autumn Breeze” or “Fall Festival”.
But it wasn’t just the smell that had him loving this time of year. It was the feeling it gave him. Night seemed to creep up sooner on the sun, scaring it away from the sky. When the last rays of sunlight fled from the earth, the wind even seemed to go with it.
Those were the nights Dean loved. There was something calming about sitting out in the crisp night air, staring up at the sky, and just being.
Dean pulled himself up onto the hood of his black ’67 Chevy Impala, and leaned back against the windshield. The stars twinkled their hellos to him as he pulled used his ring to open up the cap from the beer bottle. Dean took a long drink before he adjusted, putting his free arm behind his head.
He didn’t know exactly where he was, besides some random country road he decided to turn off on. Dean guessed he was still in Nebraska somewhere. The state seemed to take forever to get through, going on miles and miles of just flat nothingness. Usually he enjoyed the drive, but all day he had found himself jittery and unable to really focus on anything at all. All the music he put in wasn’t quite right, and he couldn’t quite get into his favorites. As annoying as that was, he felt like there was something missing.
A feeling that something wasn’t exactly right kept nagging inside his head like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Dean took another drink from his bottle, staring up into the darkening sky, fascinated by how brightly the stars shown out here. Absentmindedly he twirled the ring on his finger, debating for the millionth time where it had come from.
It wasn’t like he picked it up off the street and put it on. One morning he woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed, surprised the motel clock showed eight-thirty in the morning, and for the life of him couldn’t remember the last time he slept so soundly. He didn’t notice the ring until he was in the shower, pouring shampoo into his hand when the silver band around his ring finger caught his eye.
Dean had thought long and hard, really wracking his brain trying to remember what he did the night before. He figured he must’ve gone out to the bar and somehow acquired the piece of jewelry, but the last thing he remembered doing was calling Sam to let him know how far he gotten and he was going to get a few hours shut eye. He supposes the strangest thing about the memory was how he swears someone else was in the room with him. But if he was calling Sam, then who else could it have been?
He tried taking the ring off, but his finger just felt too naked without it. There was an engraving on the inside of the band in some language that he didn’t know. Dean knew he could just as easily ask Sam to look it up to get some answers, but something about those few words seemed too…private to share with his little brother.
Tipping the bottle back and draining the last of his beer, Dean sighed up at the heavens. The itch, or whatever, that was bothering him was really bad tonight for some reason. A cool gentle breeze kissed his cheeks as Dean sat up rubbing his arms as goose bumps started to prickle over his skin. He should probably start driving again. The town where Sam was meeting up with him at was about two hours (give or take) away.
Giving another sigh, Dean tossed the empty bottle a little ways from the car, and climbed back into the driver’s seat, starting his Baby up. She purred awake, and gently drove him back down the dirt road to the highway.
Castiel bent down, picking up the discarded beer bottle, listening to the clink of the glass against the ring on his finger. He wondered, momentarily, if he brought the bottle to his lips if he might be able to taste Dean. The ache of missing the man’s lips on his still gives him physical pain. The least he could do for Dean was to erase his memories of ever meeting.
He up to the road, watching as red taillights drive away in a cloud of dust, and lets out a shaky sigh.
“Happy Anniversary,” Castiel whispered.
Just as the fading red lights disappeared into the distance, the wind stirred again. The rustle of feathers was heard briefly before being replaced with glass shattering on the gravel road.