The soft, hushed sounds of the coast whispered memories to Dean, though Elvis played quietly on the radio of the truck. His eyes fluttered open confusedly, and he sat up, realizing after a moment, that he sat atop a low cliff in the back seat of a red truck, which he appeared to have passed out in. The ocean, which was in fairly plain view, bubbled onto the beach in pleasantly uneven tides, staying to darken the pale sand for only a moment before retreating back to the open water.
Dean rubbed his head, a subtle ache forming at the corners of his temples. A few very vague memories teased at his mind for a moment before dancing away, much like the waves on the beach below. A few images stuck with him, however, as he opened the car door and sat himself up on the sandy rocks and began making his way down to the sea line: the obnoxious pulse of a heart monitor, drowned out by urgent shouts. Lots of unidentifiable white surfaces. For a brief moment, he could even imagine that a harsh pain had settled in his arm.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead tiredly, trying a bit harder to draw memory, but nothing else came to him. Dean sighed into the salty air. It must have just been a weird dream. A very, very weird dream...
There was a good amount of meandering to be done before he was able to sink his feet into the cool sand, but Dean somehow seemed to know his way around, and soon, the cliff dipped down into a little path that lead onto the beach. He paused again when here to take i the sights, which now that he thought about it, seemed all too familiar. The only thing that seemed to surprise him was the pair of men that sat alone there, relaxing on a ratty old blanket. One of them, of darker hair, seemed to be clutching a photograph, fondly enough for Dean to assume it was either a lover or a family member, though he could not see from where he stood. He tuned away from the ocean waves and the radio of the truck to listen in, still completely sure that he was missing something very important.
"I remember so clearly being here, just watching the waves roll in. It's one of my best memories, you know," said the man with the photograph. The younger boy with light hair responded exasperatedly, as if he had heard the story a thousand times, and it was clear that he could be no older than seventeen.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Cas. It's all you ever talk about besides... never mind, he's practically all you talk about."
Cas rolled his eyes, which even from this angle, looked bluer than the sky in the morning.
"I'd probably find it in me to tell better stories if you came around more often, Adam."
"The fact that I visit at all should be enough- My mom's waiting for me back at my place right now, I'll bet."
"No, the shadow of your mother is waiting- though I don't expect the real person will be long."
Adam looked momentarily conflicted, but nodded away his thoughts quickly.
"I guess not. It's been a while. But it's not as if I'm the only one- you still have shadows of him, don't you?"
Cas turned to look down at the photo that he held in his hands, running his thumb over the edges fondly, a sad smile pulling his face into a squint.
"Yes, but you can always tell that they're shadows. They're not quite the same," He sighed, looking up, out onto the distant oceans.
Dean wasn't sure why, but for some reason he felt very compelled to walk forward- and so he did, catching the eye of Adam first. The young boy looked up, particularly startled at his arrival.
"I don't think he's a shadow," He said awestruck to Cas, barely above a whisper. Cas whipped his head over his shoulder quickly, and Dean would have wondered how he didn't get whiplash if he'd had the time. Instead, his thoughts were cut off when the shorter, dark-haired man charged into him and hugged him tight. Dean stumbled backwards a bit, but did not exactly feel as though this was strange. In fact, a rather uncanny sense of joy swept over him as Cas ran his fingers through his short-cut hair, face buried in his shoulder. Dean returned the gesture gratefully, and in that moment, all came back.
He remembered his college life, how he had fallen so far in love with this man from the first five minutes of talking to him. He remembered how that love had pulled them through all sorts of awful times, and he remembered the war and the sorrow renewed from the memory of Adam's death. He remembered how returning from Vietnam afterwards had changed him so. His regret pooled deep within his chest, and a tear leaked into the narrow of his cheek as he felt all over again the grief of leaving Castiel all those years, along with all of the love and hope that they had shared in this memory, the one and only time Dean had ever been able to bring him to the beach, disincluding of course the films he had remembered to bring to Castiel's deathbed.
He remembered, now, the pain that had surged through his arm and his chest when, twenty years after, Dean had finally let go of his life to a heart attack. How it all had reminded him that he would be with Cas again soon, and he remembered vaguely the act of smiling up at Sammy, who was rushing alongside his stretcher, right before he left.
Adam sat looking slightly ignored behind Cas, who Dean had yet to release, and he broke free of his grasp for a moment to give his old comrade a quick embrace. Before Dean could say anything, however, Cas caught his eye, still smiling widely.
"I got your letters, Dean."
Dean wondered if he ever had or ever would again smile as bright as he did in that moment.