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There are no clouds in the sky when Dean comes to pick Castiel up, who's been waiting outside long enough to get a slight sunburn. Dean asks him, "Why'd you just stand out in the sun like that?" And what Castiel wants to say is I didn't know, I've never been this vulnerable, there are a thousand things I need to think about protecting myself from now and I wasn't aware that the sun would be one of them, but instead he shrugs and says nothing at all.
As a human, everything feels strange and new, and it's overwhelming. Castiel had hoped that the Impala would at least feel familiar, but even riding in the car is different now. The rumbling of the engine feels louder, like it's vibrating straight through him; trying to read the road signs as they rush by gives him a headache, and it startles him each time another vehicle shoots by and unsettles the balance of the car for a moment.
The main difference, though, is that instead of feeling relaxed and at ease in this space that Dean loves and has welcomed him into, he feels caged and contained.
Castiel's true form, existing on a plane that humans can't perceive or access, stretched far beyond the confines of any vehicle. It was vast, it was filled with power and grace, but most importantly, it was him. Now, all that he is fits neatly into the passenger's seat, and it feels like his edges have been cropped off to force him to conform to such a small space.
He tries to call back a memory of himself, to let the image of who he once was bring him some comfort, but he realizes with a jolt that there isn't anything to remember. Dean shoots him a thinly veiled look of concern, but Castiel is struck speechless as he starts to understand.
The true form of an angel is beyond a human's ability to comprehend, and now, Castiel is human too.
I can't remember what I looked like.
He thinks, suddenly, of Naomi; recalls what it felt like to know that there were memories and experiences were just out of his reach, an empty void in his mind that couldn't ever be filled. Not only is his true form now missing, but many of his older memories are disappearing, slipping through his grasp like sand as his human brain throws away all the excess that it has no space to hold. He feels raw, as though he's just risen from the operating table, the sounds of buzzing needles and his own screams ringing in his head.
There's no comforting weight of wings on his back, no grace coursing through his vessel and swirling in the air around him, and there's no more to him now than what meets the human eye. All he has now is a growing headache, an empty feeling in his chest, and a reddening sunburn that's starting to itch.
He is just Castiel - if he is even that anymore.