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Dean Winchester divested of his memories walked lightly, his open expression unfamiliar to Castiel. No trace of the burdens Dean usually carried - of the weight of the world always on his shoulders. No trace of recognition in his eyes - as if this was their first meeting. It was nostalgic, yet lacked the potency of any of their other firsts. Dean was looking at him curiously, without fear or any preconceptions. He didn't know about all the ways Castiel had let him down, betrayed him.
"So you're my best friend?" Dean's voice was strange - it took a moment for Castiel to realize he pitched it higher than usual.
"Correct," Castiel said - there was satisfaction to coming out on top - occupying a first in any capacity in Dean's life, even though there was no real competition in arena of friendship. And with Sam of course holding a completely unassailable position - nothing Castiel could contest.
"And you're an angel?"
"Yes."
Dean stared - his mouth fell open slightly and Castiel's eyes were drawn to the moisture glistening inside - the pink tongue covering Dean's lower teeth. Dean closed his mouth again, depriving Castiel of the view.
"Huh."
Sam had recommended keeping Dean occupied with TV - there was a cartoon Dean seemed to especially like. A talking dog solving a mystery with the help of his friends. Dean watched, pointing to the TV when something amused him, until he quieted, and then leaned into Castiel, placing his head on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel stiffened.
"Did I do something wrong?" Dean was looking at him, uncertain, with a hint of fear in his eyes. "No," Castiel lied. Then added, "We often do this."
"Oh, awesome," Dean relaxed again. "What else do we do?"
Castiel considered the question and then consulted his fantasies. He slid his hand into Dean's, entwining their fingers.
"This," he said.
Dean hummed, looking at their joined hands - running the pad of his thumb over Castiel's knuckle. Castiel focused on the skin of Dean's palm, his fingers - the calluses born of labor, of handling guns. When he remade Dean's body in the grave, he ensured his skin was smooth and unblemished, not understanding the beauty of wear, of evidence of life lived and body used. He only concerned himself with perfection. He knew better now.
Dean squeezed and drummed his fingers against the back of Castiel's hand. Smiled, subdued in a way that sat oddly on his face. He looked up, from where he was resting his cheek on Castiel's shoulder - face close, close enough that Castiel could smell Dean's breath - lightly sour, suggesting some of his stomach acid had regurgitated into his esophagus. He was watching Castiel with an expression that was open, unguarded - waiting to see what else Castiel would do and so Castiel closed the distance, giving into wish fulfillment, pressing their lips together. It was just a touch - but lips were exceedingly enervated, providing a wealth a sensation from the merest contact.
Dean declined to stay stationary - opting to instead touch his hand to Castiel's cheek, eyes closed, moving his mouth - stroking flesh against flesh. Castiel left his eyes open to study Dean's relaxed expression, so unlike him. It caused him great uncertainty - was this the kind of kiss the Dean he knew would give? It was a paradox impossible to resolve of course - a Dean that remembered Castiel would never kiss him.
Dean's movements slowly petered out and he drew away. He had a vacant sort of expression - face slack and eyes hazy.
He blinked rapidly, looking Castiel in the eye with uncertainty.
"Wait, who were you again?"
Some human philosophers theorized that there were an innumerable numbers of universes, containing any possible permutation of actions and circumstance. This was of course wrong. The heavenly father was quite economical in his creations, and his sister's wrath had trimmed his work down even further. This was how Castiel could be quite certain that in no world was what he was about to say true. He imagined for a moment that the lie was outrageous enough it would cause the spell to fail, exposing this charade.
"I'm your lover," he whispered.
He watched Dean's face focus, a smile coming over him like a sun peeking over the horizon. A grin split his face, "awesome."
Dean rose up from the bed and threw his leg over Castiel's legs, situating himself in his lap, causing Castiel to nearly panic. "You're so hot," Dean groaned and took Castiel's face in his hand. He rubbed his stubbled cheek and ran the pad of his thumb over Castiel's cheekbone - he seemed fascinated with Castiel's features and this made Castiel reminiscence on their early relationship - when Dean still looked at him like was something strange and unknowable.
"How did I land a hot piece of ass like this, huh?"
Castiel smiled. He liked hearing it, even though it came as no surprise to him. But it was for the best that Dean would recall nothing of this - he would have been humiliated that Castiel heard him speak so and transgress against the masculine ideal that Dean held himself to.
Dean looked serious all of a sudden, "so you love me?"
Castiel's mouth flooded with saliva - just one of the many strange incongruous reactions of his body taking liberties with him, now that his grace was diminished. Castiel placed his hands on Dean's waist, finding the physical touch grounding.
"I love you more than anyone."
He wished he could say it to the Dean that remembered him. He imagined the confusion, the anger that would come over his features. But the knowledge, the shared moment of understanding just how devoted Castiel was to Dean would have been worth it. This was a pale imitation - wrong in the way Dean looked at him, awed. Speechless.
"Wow," Dean licked his lips.
In reality, Dean would have pushed him away at this point. Would have reprimanded him. Castiel imagined it - Dean's face twisted in anger. Maybe even disgust.
Instead, Dean asked, his voice soft, "and I love you?"
Castiel was confident Dean could not read his face - was not capable of it, even when he remembered him.
"Yes, you love me as well."
Somehow, telling this lie cost him much more than all the others combined. Dean, however, appeared mollified. He touched Castiel's face more - watching him with adoration - his face transformed into that of a stranger, discomforting.
Castiel welcomed when Dean's eyes grew hazy, his expression slack.
"Wait, who were you again?"
"I'm your best friend."
Dean's expression faltered, his mouth visibly sounding out the word. He seemed agitated for a moment, as if grasping for a memory just out of his reach, but soon gave up.
"You were watching television," Castiel gestured over Dean's shoulder - towards the screen. Dean turned and seeing the cartoon had his shoulders relaxing - he climbed off Castiel's lap and sat back on the bed, focusing again on the antics of the talking dog and his group of friends. The previous events dispelled and forgotten like a bad dream.