"Happy Eighth Anniversary, Cas," Dean mutters into Cas's hair. "So what do you wanna watch?"
His hand scours the couch behind his butt to find the remote, but, of course, it's not there. He locates it on the armchair.
"What do you mean?" Cas asks as Dean rolls off the couch.
There's a squint on Cas's face when he slumps back next to him.
"Uh, I'm letting you choose, but only tonight. Appreciate it and be gentle with me."
Cas shakes his head. "No, what do you mean eighth anniversary?"
"Of the day we met," Dean supplies, surprised. "Well, the day you met me. Gripping my ass tight, raising from perdition and all that?"
"I know what we're celebrating." Cas nods. "I don't understand why you said eight years."
Now it's Dean who's wearing Cas's trademark squint. "Because that's how much time's passed. What else did you want me to say?"
Cas shuffles around to get a better look at Dean's face.
"Ten," he answers solemnly.
Dean's jaw slumps a little but he doesn't have a mind to close it. He needs all his brainpower to process the little word that came out of Cas's mouth. He pouts and reaches to his pocket to pull out his cell. He checks the date on the lockscreen. Yup, it's still 2016. He didn't get thrown forward in time, again, he didn't sleep through two years straight, he didn't even get super confused. It's 2016, so it's been eight years.
"Ten," Dean echoes, finally. "How the fuck would that be ten years?"
"It's been ten years since we met," Cas insists. "Why do you think it's only eight?"
"Because, Cas!" he snaps, not even trying to keep his voice down. Either there's something wrong going on here or Cas is extremely terrible at math, which also is not a good sign. "September 18th, 2008. That's when you pulled me out of hell!" He emphasises the word. "Kind of hard to forget."
Cas's mouth forms a perfect 'o' as he stares at Dean. He must be working hard to get his math right this time and, for a second, Dean considers lending him a calculator.
Then Cas's mouth starts moving like one of a fish's and no sound comes out. Looks like a total system freeze. Dean snaps his fingers in front of Cas's face before he starts looking for the reboot button.
"Cas?"
"Something's not right," he blurts out, at last.
His spooked expression raises the hairs on Dean's neck. On all of his body, in fact. If it's Cas of all people who says there's something not right, well, they've gotta brace themselves for real trouble.
Dean takes in a deep breath. Easy, Winchester, it's gonna be fine.
He puts his palm on Cas's shoulder. "Alright, Cas, slowly, tell me why you think there's something wrong."
Cas's eyes remain as wide, but his voice is even when he speaks. "The dates don't add up. I've been on earth, in this vessel, for ten years. I know this," he says firmly. "I know this," he repeats like his words are enough for a proof. "I might have lived for billions of years, but I am aware of each of those years."
Dean swipes his free palm over his mouth, the other still on Cas's shoulder, his thumb rubs soothing circles into his skin.
"Maybe— maybe it's 'cause you fell," Dean supplies, chest feeling a little lighter, like he's already solved the mystery. "You could get confused over the passage of time. It happens. More often that you'd think. Maybe not on a scale of two years, but still."
He keeps rambling and the words he's saying don't mean shit, because Cas's head is set on shaking, negating his words. So sure this is not the case. Hopefully, he's just being stubborn.
"Okay, we'll get to the bottom of it," Dean announces, patting Cas's shoulder. He rubs his palms together and shifts in his spot. "September 18th, 2008, you pull me out of hell and drop me in a grave," he starts the story. The day flashes vivid in his memory, surprisingly so. There's every second of digging out of that grave, of the walk to the gas station and that fucking noise that almost busted his brand new eardrums. Cas can be quite a screamer.
"Two days later you shoot me and stabbed me," Cas reminds him with a ghost of a smile on his lips. At least he doesn't look so terrified anymore.
"Hey, you used to be one intimidating guy, okay." Dean smiles too. Seeing those shadow wings span on the wall of the barn was scary as fuck. Sometimes it's easy to forget Cas is still that. "And then I made you fall."
"I'm still intimidating," Cas reminds him, lips pressed tight, eyes narrowed.
He straightens his back and a distant roll of thunder echoes somewhere outside the bunker. Dean grasps Cas's palm before he can start a full on tempest just to show off his wings again. Dean doesn't need to witness that spectacle again. And he doesn't need to see the broken and tattered tragedy left of his once splendid wings.
"Sure you are. But I like you more like this," he placates him and, luckily, it works. "You can go be scary to the bad guys."
"You're right," Cas says. "And it's not the time for this. We need to figure out our timeline."
"Our timeline," Dean echoes. Sound nice, rocky as the timeline itself might be. "You mean like your first smile?" he teases.
"It was hardly my first smile, Dean," Cas corrects with a serious face. "But that was an interesting year." He plays with the hem of Dean's sweatpants, tips of his fingers grazing his ankle. His eyes drop to them as he continues, "The part in which the host brought me back to unfall me was not," he adds.
His face falls. Dean's palm finds Cas's knee to provide the little bit of support he can. He swallows. Hoo, boy, he might as well get them a bottle of whiskey. This is gonna be a long afternoon.