The door swung open so fast that it bounced back against the wall. All of the customers turned to stare as a man in a kilt, a shirt that read "I sell crack for the CIA", tattoos, eyeliner and a green Mohawk walked in. Not to mention the metal in his face. He glanced around the room for a moment before breaking out into a jig. "Everybody relax! I'm here…" and then he simply walked behind the counter, dropped his bag and put on an apron.
The regulars smiled indulgently; Priestly was a wild looking young man but had the loveliest nature. The strangers stared in shock as he started up the grill, demanding the girls provide him with orders to cook. And the staff shook their heads and continued going about their work.
Two new customers in particular were shocked and continued to stare at Priestly. One approached the counter, staring at the back of Priestly's head.
"Do you need anything?" Tish asked politely, stepping into the man's line of sight. She didn't like the way he was looking at Priestly. She might give him shit all of the time, but he was still her friend. And in the Grill, they protected their friends.
The man cleared his throat, focusing on Tish. "Ah, I just wanted to have a word with him… He looks…he looks like a friend who disappeared a while ago…" he cleared his throat again. He would not cry, not in front of a man who might be Dean.
Tish kept her eyes on the stranger and spoke over her shoulder. "Priestly, this guy wants to talk to you…"
Priestly turned around, waving a spatula erratically. "Hey man, what's up? Did Trucker fuck up on your order or something?" the guy stared in shock and didn't say anything. "You ok man?" the guy was in his mid-fifties and his face had paled. Priestly was worried he might keel over any second.
"Dean?" a rough voice, shaking with emotion. "Dean is that you?" he continued to stare, hope rising in his eyes.
Priestly grimaced and put his spatula down. "Look man, I don't know who you are. I don't even really know who I am. Who's this Dean guy?" he came around from behind the counter and helped the older man back to his booth.
"He's…he's practically my nephew but I basically raised him. Family don't end in blood, you know. He…disappeared a few years ago, and I've been hopin' since then. You're the spittin' image of him, and I'm sorry for botherin' you boy."
Priestly sat down beside the other man, shaking his head. "Don't be sorry just yet. I…I don't have any memories earlier than three years ago. There's a chance I could be this other guy, right? Let's see if we can figure it out either way…"
"I'm Castiel, and this is Bobby." The other man spoke quietly, his voice gruff. Blue eyes stared intently at Priestly, as if he was looking into his soul.
"People call me Priestly." He glanced around; making sure no one was listening in on them. Others were watching, but no one could hear them if they spoke quietly. "So, if I have no memory, how are we gonna figure out if I'm the guy you're looking for?"
Bobby grimaced, eyes darting around the Grill as he thought. "What's your favourite food?" he eventually asked. There was still hope shining in his eyes, but he seemed wary now.
Priestly shrugged. "Pie. You'd think that working in a sub shop I would love subs, but I love pie. Can't get enough of the stuff."
Bobby's glimmer of hope grew and Castiel leant forward in interest. "Do you have…I apologise for the personal nature, but do you have any scars?"
Priestly's face went blank, carefully hiding any emotions. He had more scars than he cared to think about. They were part of the reason he had never gone looking for his old life. If he had found so many scars he didn't want to know what sort of life he led. Not to mention the strange tattoo.
The bell above the door rang and he glanced over his shoulder as casually as he could. It wouldn't do to have everyone thinking he checked every person who walked through the door. They would want to find out what the hell he was looking for. And even he didn't know the answer to that.
Eventually he nodded, glancing at Castiel with wary eyes. "More than I care to think about. What's that to do with anything?"
Castiel leaned closer, his eyes shining brighter. "I don't suppose you have a handprint burned into your shoulder…?" his voice was rough, but Priestly could hear the hope.
He stared in shock. No one, no one, knew about that scar. It was too weird so he had never let anyone see it. And it had always felt…private, intimate. Something that no one else was meant to see. "How'd you know about that?" when Castiel leant back in relief, Priestly noticed that Bobby was staring at the other man as well.
Bobby nodded. "Yeah, Castiel, how did you know about that?" he sounded angry. Like there should be nothing Castiel knew about Priestly that Bobby didn't know.
Castiel stared at his hands, clasped together on top of the table, for a moment. "Because that is my handprint. I…left it behind when I raised you from perdition…"
Priestly stared for a moment, not sure how to react to that. That someone could burn a handprint into his skin with their own hand…he had always hoped it was done with something else. Because if it was done with a hand, it would mean that his nightmares were true. That they were memories.
"So I was in hell? And you dragged me out and dumped me back in my body? That's why I woke up with no…realistic memories and dug myself out of an unmarked grave…" Priestly's voice had dropped to a whisper. Maybe if he didn't put voice to this it wouldn't be true.
Bobby sucked in a breath, his throat catching, and tears welled in his eyes. "Oh damn, I am so sorry boy. If I had known…if I'd had any inkling…" he shook his head, unable to finish his thoughts. It hurt him to think of his Dean digging himself out of a grave and not remembering anything. The boy's life had been hard enough, but not remembering he had people who loved him? That was just plain cruel. If he ever found out who was in charge of the events in Dean's life…
Priestly was watching Castiel, hoping for answers. "I'm sorry to bring more suffering to you, but your memories are real. You did suffer in that place, and before it." He looked away from Priestly for a moment. "I want to apologise for the last few years. I had no idea that you would lose yourself when I brought you out of Hell, and I had no idea that I would not be able to locate you once you were back in your body. You should not have been left alone, not you."
Priestly blinked slowly, staring. He had spent quite some time thinking he must have been a particularly horrible person. He had been buried (presumably alive) in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. He had not been reported as a missing person. He had never seen anyone looking for him. To think that this man felt so badly for the fact he had spent a few years alone…he must have been ok.
Bobby was fighting back tears. "If we had known Castiel was going to drag you out of Hell, we would have buried you in the backyard so you could pop up somewhere familiar. Probably would have provided you with a shovel too. And we sure as hell wouldn't have left you where we did boy."
Priestly nodded slowly. "That's good to know, thanks…Bobby. I thought for a while that I might have been…some sort of horrible person…"
Bobby shook his head adamantly. "You are the most selfless person I know. When you get it in your head that someone needs helping, there's nothing on this earth that can stop you." He smiled proudly at the young man before him. "Although, I will admit you never were quite this…colourful."
Priestly suddenly felt self-conscious of the piercings, the coloured Mohawk and the eyeliner. He had a feeling the tattoo would be accepted. "I…I uh, wanted to be unforgettable…ya know? In case I… lost my memories again. I wanted to be able to walk down the street and have someone come up to me and say your name is Priestly, you work in the sub shop, you wear kilts and funny shirts…sounds kinda stupid I suppose…"