I really have no idea where this came from. I'm currently working diligently on new Chapters for "Castiel Grows Up" and "Drop Kicked by God" along with a totally new story that I'm not going to publish until it is finished, but this one just sort of came out as a "stream of consciousness" this evening. Not even sure what to call it, since it isn't exactly a story or a poem, but I hope someone enjoys it.
Not a One Shot anymore...I decided to carry on with the story.
My name is John. It's been five years…
Five years since a Good Samaritan rescued my bloody and broken body from certain death.
Four years and six months since I awoke in the hospital and became aware that I was still alive.
Four years since I took my first halting steps again in rehab.
Three years and six months since my rehab therapist, Mary, took pity on the homeless man with no memory and invited me into her home.
Three years since Mary and I got married.
Two years and three months since the birth of my twin daughters, Deanna and Samantha.
One year since we bought a house and I bought a car for the first time that I can remember.
I now know that my name is Castiel. It's been five days…
Five days since the dreams started.
Four days and six hours since the dreams began to transform into memories.
Four days since I remembered my real name.
Three days and six hours since I knew that I had to find him.
Three days since I dialed the number and hung up when he answered.
Two days and three hours since I called a friend in the police department to trace the call and find his location.
One day since I kissed my wife and children goodbye and started driving to Sioux Falls.
I am Castiel, Former Angel of the Lord. It's been five minutes…
Five minutes since my former life and my current life collided.
Four minutes and thirty seconds since I looked at him and said simply, "Dean".
Four minutes since he looked at me in disbelief, then threw holy water and borax at me.
Three minutes and thirty seconds since he handed me his demon knife and I watched the blood flow from my arm.
Three minutes since he enveloped me in a hug so tight I could not breathe.
Two minutes and fifteen seconds since he withdrew from the hug said simply, "Cas."
One minute since he looked at my sensible family car and rolled his eyes.
I'm finally home, but yet I am not. It still falls to me to go back to my wife and tell her the truth of my existence. I owe her that even if it means she wants nothing more to do with me.
To tell Dean that in addition to owning a car and learning to drive, that I am a husband and father now.
To somehow combine my new life and my old life.
I begin by handing Dean the family portrait that rested on the seat beside me all the way here.
Dean looks at it and back at me. He asks their names and I hesitate for a second before telling him.
Dean laughs when I tell him the names were entirely Mary's idea. He says, "It must have been Fate then."
He laughs even harder when I tell him that I went by the name of John before my memories returned.
I begin to laugh also. The absurdity of the confluence of events that brought me back to him becomes too much.
We share a beer on the hood of the Impala.
The task I am faced with seems daunting, but Dean will be by my side this time. For that I am thankful.
FIN