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The first thought Dean had was that he was in some sort of djinn dream. Standing on the carpeted landing of the homely looking place he’d found himself in, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the djinn dream he’d had– him with a beautiful wife and a house in the suburbs, his parents alive and happy, Sam a successful lawyer.
He patted himself down, looking around the neatly-kept house for any sort of clues. He could see into the living room, which almost looked like Bobby’s place with the amount of books crammed into the bookcase. Feeling the inside pocket of his jacket– not his dad’s jacket, why wasn’t he wearing that?-- he pulled out a knife carved with intricate sigils. A demon-killing blade, he realized, watching it glint in the yellow-tinted lighting of the house.
Where did he get a demon-killing blade from? Why did he even have it, if this was a djinn dream?
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean looked up at the sound of the voice. The words felt familiar somehow, but he didn’t recognize the man standing in front of him, at the base of the stairs. His hair was dark and messy, and his blue eyes gazed at Dean with soft concern that filled Dean’s stomach with a warm feeling he couldn’t quite name.
Dean swallowed, pointing the demon-killing knife at the man. If this was really a djinn dream, it wouldn’t be a man that he was happy with. “Where am I? Where’s my brother?”
He tried to remember what he was doing before waking up here, but the memories themselves felt fuzzy, especially the most recent ones. He vaguely remembered Sam telling him about a job he’d found, but the job had indicated a ghost, not something that could pull off something like this. Whatever this was.
Castiel sighed. He didn’t seem scared of Dean or the blade, mostly just resigned, which did nothing to soothe Dean’s nerves or his confusion. “I had hoped this wouldn’t happen. My name is Castiel, and this is o– my house. Sam is safe.”
“What happened?” Dean demanded. He wasn’t sure how this Castiel guy knew Sam’s name, but he certainly didn’t like it.
“We were on a hunt, chasing down a witch. She cast some sort of amnesia spell on you before I was able to kill her.” Using slow, careful movements, Castiel reached up and tugged down the collar of his shirt– was that Dean’s shirt?-- to show Dean the anti-possession tattoo there, the same one Dean and Sam had. “Sam’s gathering the ingredients to reverse the spell right now. In the meantime, you’re welcome to make sure I’m not a monster.”
Keeping his eyes locked on Castiel, Dean reached for a silver knife from his jacket pocket. Castiel took it easily.
“The kitchen is across the hall if you’re looking for salt,” Castiel offered, motioning down a hallway.
If this Cas guy was really a monster, Dean couldn’t figure out what his game plan was. Still, he had to at least try the salt. Turning his back to Castiel, Dean started rooting through the kitchen, finding the rock salt easily. He couldn’t help but notice that the kitchen was just as well-stocked as the bookshelf was– if this was Castiel’s kitchen, he must be a good cook.
“So, who are you, then? A hunter?” Dean asked, watching as Castiel passed the salt test as well. He felt strangely relieved upon knowing that this stranger wasn’t a monster, a relief that felt deeper than just knowing he wasn’t in any immediate danger. He stowed the demon blade, leaning up against the marble kitchen counter.
Castiel’s hesitation felt tangible, and Dean wondered how much this witch really took from him.
“We’re partners,” Castiel said finally. “I’ve helped you and your brother on numerous occasions, and you’ve helped me more times than I can count.”
“Did you know Dad?”
Castiel snorted at that, and Dean could feel the defensiveness rising in him, excuses on his dad’s behalf clawing at his throat and sitting heavy on his tongue. “I met him a few times. We were never friends, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Dean shrugged. “Alright, I’ll bite. How did we meet, Castiel?”
“I pulled you out of Hell. I am– I was – an angel of the Lord.”
It was Dean’s turn to snort. Forget djinn, he was pretty sure this dream was just a product of drinking too much before he went to sleep. “Angels aren’t real.”
“Yes, that’s what you told me when we first met.”
Dean let out a low whistle, trying to hide the queasiness in his stomach at the implication that he’d been in Hell. His eyes scanned the walls of Cas’s house, which were painted a pale yellow that felt oddly cheery for a hunter’s house. “So you said the witch put a memory spell on me? How much did I lose?”
He found himself getting drawn to a wooden mantle by the kitchen table, which was covered in photos in gilded frames. He picked one up, his heart leaping into his throat as he realized it was his only photo of him and his mom. How– why– did Castiel have this?
“If you don’t recognize me, then it’s been at least thirteen years, maybe more.”
Dean almost dropped the picture frame, whirling around to face Cas. “I lost thirteen years? Just, what, gone?’
“Not gone for good,” Castiel replied, almost placatingly. “Like I said, Sam is working on gathering the ingredients for the cure right now.”
Dean turned his attention back to the photos. There were very few of Cas, he realized. There were plenty of photos of him and Sam, a few of him and Bobby, and even more with him and Castiel, arms slung around each other and laughing into the camera. He looked older in the photos– somehow he’d managed to reach his 40s, despite all the crap going on in his life– and he looked happy.
His heart clenched in his chest; he had the strange urge to check for a wedding band, but he didn’t, not entirely sure what he even wanted to see there.
“I thought you said this was your house,” Dean said, motioning to the line of photos.
Cas almost looked guilty, eyes trained on the photos instead of Dean. “I wasn’t sure how you would react to knowing that you were living with a man.”
“A man I was sleeping with, you mean.”
He tried not to sound too resentful. Castiel seemed like a nice guy, all things considered. It was still a hard pill to swallow. No wonder Cas didn’t like his dad– he could only imagine what John Winchester would say if he found out his eldest son was dating a man.
“How did that even happen, anyway?” Dean asked, the question coming out a lot more desperate than he intended. “How did we…” He trailed off, but Cas seemed to understand anyway.
Castiel drifted closer to Dean, and it should’ve made Dean nervous. He didn’t even know for sure that Castiel was who he said he was, or if anything he was saying was true. He couldn’t be sure that if Cas got any closer, that he wouldn’t reach out and touch Dean, take Dean’s hand and tangle their fingers.
And, god, Dean wanted him to. Even just the smell of Castiel– some mix of honey and flowers and the faint scent of crackling ozone, which Dean attributed to the ex-angel part– felt comforting. Like it was a scent Dean knew by heart, a scent belonging to the person– man, ex-angel, whatever– he loved.
Even if he didn’t remember Castiel, his body sure seemed to remember the way Cas made him feel.
“I rebelled against Heaven for you. I suppose that was the first thing I did that changed our relationship.”
“How romantic of you, Cas.”
He hadn’t realized that the nickname slipped out until he saw Cas’s face split into a wide, gummy smile. Thirteen years gone and he was still picking the same nicknames to use.
“After that, like I said, I helped you and Sam a lot. I’m told it’s quite normal for humans to develop romantic feelings for each other while in high tension situations. I was prepared to carry my feelings to the grave, of course, because I believed you didn’t feel the same. But I had to confess them to save your life, and when you got me back, you kissed me and told me you loved me too.”
“Why?”
Cas tilted his head to the side, squinting up at Dean. The gesture filled him with such fondness that Dean thought he might actually burst with it. “Why do you love me?”
Dean shook his head. He understood why he’d love Cas, the angel of the Lord who pulled him out of Hell and kept coming back to save him, no matter what. “Why do you love me? I mean, what did I do that was worth rebelling against Heaven for?”
“Dean.” His hand came up to cup Dean’s cheek on instinct. Realizing what he was doing, he pulled away, but Dean was faster, resting his hand on top of Cas’s to keep it fixed there. “You are the most selfless man I’ve ever met.”
For one wild second, Dean was sure Cas was going to kiss him. And Dean was sure he wouldn’t have minded in the slightest. He wondered if it would feel any different than kissing a girl, how Cas would taste, how his lips would feel.
And then Cas’s phone rang and he stepped away to answer, popping the moment like a bubble.
“Sam, you’re on speaker.”
“Is Dean with you?”
Dean would recognize his brother’s voice anywhere, even through the crackly speakers of Cas’s old phone. “Sammy, good to see you! Got the cure yet?”
“How much do you remember?”
“I remember trying not to go to Hell, but it doesn’t seem like we were too successful with that,” Dean said. It was second nature for him to inject a light chuckle into his words, just to keep Sammy from worrying too much about him.
“Well, hopefully this should help. I’ve got everything we need for the counterspell and I should be at your house soon.”
“See you then,” Cas said before hanging up.
“Counterspell, huh? When did Sam become a witch?” Of course, if it meant he could undo the amnesia so Dean could get his thirteen years back, Dean would take the witchy spells over weird demon powers any day.
“He started picking up things from Rowena a few years ago. It’s been very helpful, now that I can’t use my grace to heal people.”
“Your grace?”
“It’s where angels get their powers from. Sort of like a human soul.” He saw the confusion on Dean’s face and smiled apologetically. “There’s a lot you learned in the last decade about monsters.”
“Why aren’t you an angel anymore, anyway?” Was it Dean’s fault? It probably was.
“After I died, losing my grace and becoming human was the price I paid to come back.”
Dean was starting to get the sense that there had been a lot of dying over the decade or so he’d forgotten. How many times had he died? What about Sam?
“And are you happy like this? With me?”
Cas actually laughed. “You never change, do you, Dean? Yes, I’m happy like this. I don’t regret losing my grace if it means having you.”
Dean didn’t think his older self would regret it, either. No matter what John Winchester might’ve said if he ever found out about it.
The spell was fairly easy to set up, Sam explained when he arrived, lugging a plastic bag full of supplies. He lit a candle, made Dean hold hands with Cas– the touch sending sparks through Dean that he half-wished he could blame on the spell work– and whispered an incantation.
There was a bright spark of light, and Dean looked around, wondering when it was supposed to kick in. Then, it hit him– image after image, memory after memory, water rushing out of a broken dam and crashing through him.
He sat up with a groan, head pounding, mouth dry, like the world’s worst hangover. When he opened his eyes, the lights of his house feeling all too bright, Cas was there, looking down at him with soft concern.
He smiled when he saw his boyfriend, leaning forward to plant a light kiss on Cas’s chapped lips, making a mental note to buy Cas more of that bee-themed chapstick he loved so much.
“Missed that,” Dean said when he pulled away, letting Cas pull him up. “Old Dean didn’t know what he was missing out on.”
Cas rolled his eyes. “You were only technically “gone” for a few hours.” He sounded annoyed, but Dean could tell he was trying not to smile as he allowed Dean to peck him on the cheek.
“What can I say? Maybe I just enjoy kissing you that much.”
Sam groaned. “I forgot how gross you two are.”
“It’s not gross, Sammy, it’s true love,” Dean replied. He reached over, lacing his fingers together with Cas’s, and he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how nice that felt. “Are you staying for dinner or are you heading back to Eileen’s?”
“Depends, are you making burgers?” Sam asked.
Dean smiled. Ever since he got Cas back, Sam and Eileen had struck out on their own, hunting monsters while Cas and Dean stayed behind at the Bunker, sifting through research. When Sam had first told him about his plans, of course he’d been happy for his brother, but he couldn’t shake the fear that their brotherly bond would dissolve, and they’d become the kind of family to only speak through phone calls at birthdays and Christmas.
But it was moments like this that told Dean that Sam would still be his brother, no matter what.
“Consider it a thank you for getting my memories back,” Dean said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. He moved into the kitchen, dragging Cas along with him.
“Dean, last time you wanted me to help you cook, I set off the fire alarms,” Cas warned.
Dean laughed at the memory. God, way back then, before Hell, he never would’ve guessed that he’d get a fully stocked kitchen to set off fire alarms in. He’d resigned himself to a short life, even before that demon deal set a ticking clock on the whole thing. And now that he had this life, just him and Cas with the occasional hunt, with Sam and Jack and Claire stopping by almost weekly for family dinners, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“I don’t need you to do anything, I just need you to stand there and look pretty.” Dean winked at Cas, pressing another lingering kiss to Cas’s lips. “I love you.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
“Good. I just don’t want you to forget that.”
When Cas smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled up, and Dean was struck by how absolutely beautiful his boyfriend was, and how lucky he was to have him. “I won’t. And even if I do, I’d probably just fall in love with you all over again.”