A/N: This is my first SPN story, so just be warned. I've loved Destiel for so long, I don't know why I haven't written anything for them yet. But now that Misha is officially coming back (soon!) I now have something to write for. Enjoy!


The first thought that entered Dean's head upon waking up that morning was that he was out of cereal.

Dean didn't make a habit of going grocery shopping. He didn't even have a semblance of normal meal times - when Dean was hungry, he ate. When he wasn't, he didn't. They were plenty of food places in Lawrence, Kansas that were within a five mile radius of Dean's house, and it didn't take very much for him to get in his truck and drive to one of those restaurants and eat. He didn't keep much food in the house, but one thing he usually had was cereal. It was a fast way to get rid of the stomach pangs of hunger that Dean usually encountered each morning. When Dean woke up, the covers drawn halfway up his bare torso and his legs tangled in the sheets, his stomach was already aching. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to skip dinner the night before, but he didn't like driving at night anymore. Too many, well…life-threatening memories. So Dean hadn't eaten, instead sitting on his couch and watching some trashy television show as he started to drift off, trying to ignore the hollowness in his gut that had nothing to do with hunger.

Eventually, the lack of nutrition caught up to him, and Dean found himself groaning at the realization that he had no food in the house. He hadn't gone shopping in weeks. Dean figured he might as well head to the store in downtown Lawrence and grab a few things, but a larger part of him just wanted something to eat now. Dean got out of bed, pushing the covers off of him as he threw on a shirt and some jeans. He walked out of his bedroom, stopping in the small kitchen to double check the cereal box sitting on his counter. Nope. Empty. Dean sighed and grabbed the keys to his truck off of the top of the fridge before venturing out into the early morning, Lawrence sun.

The truck was green and covered in cracked paint - Dean had bought it for a few hundred bucks when he arrived in Lawrence several years ago. The impala was still in working order, perched underneath a tan sheet in Dean's dirt driveway, but whenever Dean looked at it, it brought a tight twisting in his core that threatened to bring back years of pain and destructive memories Dean had tried to push down for too long. So it sat idle in his driveway, never to be touched, let alone ridden, again. Dean cast it a long look before getting in his truck and driving towards the main road near his house.

After Dean and Sam had gotten rid of the Leviathans nearly two years ago, they had gone their separate ways. They had both had enough - losing Bobby had taken a serious toll on both of them. Sam moved back to California, finding a way back into law school and falling in love with some grad student while there. Dean had been the best man at Sam's wedding, but he hadn't seen his brother since. That had been a year ago. Dean found his way back to Lawrence, purchasing a small, one floor house on the outskirts of the town. He lived alone, making money by fixing up cars from all over the town. It was an unofficial business, but Dean made all the money he needed by helping out people with car troubles all around Lawrence and surrounding towns. He had given up hunting for good, although there was still a gun in Dean's nightstand, loaded and ready to be used if necessary. The rest of his hunting stuff had been locked away under the floorboards of his living room. The impala in the driveway, Bobby's hat hanging off of a nail sticking out of the wall in the kitchen, and Castiel's coat hanging in the hall closet was all Dean had left of his previous life. Even those items were untouched, just ghosts hanging in the background of Dean's dull, domestic life.

Dean drove for a little while until he reached downtown Lawrence. His mind was begging him to stop at the grocery store and pick up a few things, but his stomach took him to the Lawrence Cafe, a little breakfast place right in the center of town. Dean parked his truck outside before walking over to the cafe. As he reached the door, a man walked out, his head ducked as he reached for something in his long, tan coat. Dean did a double take, his heart pounding and his stomach dropping for a few moments before he realized that the man had blonde hair, not brown. Dean sighed. It wasn't the first time Dean was shaken by someone wearing a trench coat on the street. It seemed like every time he went somewhere, there was always some remnant of his past that he'd run into. Whether it was a guy with extremely light brown eyes that were almost yellow, or somebody wearing a tan coat, Dean always jumped, staring at the person until he convinced himself that it wasn't somebody he knew. Still, it sent courses of shocks running through Dean, and he let out a shaky breath before sidling by the guy and walking into the cafe.

It was busy for early in the morning. The booths and tables were full of people, and Dean was lucky to find an empty seat at the cafe bar. He ordered a coffee, perusing the menu while a large, balding man sitting at the bar glanced over at him.

"Dean Winchester," the man said in a rumbling, low voice. Dean looked up, meeting the man's gaze. "You owe me money, boy."

"I don't owe you shit," Dean replied, looking back down at his menu disinterestedly. The man's name was Thompson. Dean remembered fixing his Ford Galaxie 500 nearly three months ago. The car was nice, and Dean had a good time fixing the interior, which had been ripped in several places. Dean had gotten a couple hundred for the job by Thompson, but the idiot sat on his keys while he got in the car, ripping the seams of the front seat cleanly. The man had turned purple and started screaming at Dean for his "waste of money, piss poor job", which Dean tuned out and told him to hit the road. It wasn't Dean's fault the man was a fucking moron.

Thompson leaned over, fixing Dean with a crude glare. "You might not want to mess with me, Winchester," he said, his eyes sharp. "I've been known to be pretty pestering when I don't get what I'm owed."

"Yeah, alright then," Dean said, not even looking at the man as he waved over a waitress. "I guess I'll be watching my back then." When the waitress came over, he ordered a stack of pancakes for himself, his stomach grumbling in appreciation. Thompson leaned back, but he kept his ugly eyes on Dean as the former hunter enjoyed his breakfast.

A few minutes later, one of the waitresses came sidling up to Dean with a big smile on her face. She wore a black shirt that stretched over her busty chest nicely, and Dean couldn't help but give it a look as she sat on the stool next to him. She was blonde, blue eyed and giving Dean a very hungry look. "Hi, Dean," she said. Dean glanced at her name tag.

"Hey Kate," he greeted, straining to remember if he should know who she is or not. When Kate leaned forward and put her hand on his leg, he realized he probably should.

"You haven't been in here in awhile," Kate pouted, sticking out her lower lip. Dean shrugged, taking a bite of his pancake.

"I've been busy," Dean told her, which wasn't a complete lie. He had three cars he had to work on back home. One of them was a nice Chevy from the fifties, and he was waiting on some parts he had ordered online a week ago. Dean started thinking about the car's exterior as Kate slid her hand up his leg. Dean tensed a little, but he didn't push her off. He knew he should probably remember her a little better. He was guessing she was some waitress he had flirted with some time ago, and she was taking it a little more seriously than him. He was okay with it, though. She had nice tits.

Kate tilted her head, giving Dean a little smirk. "I'd be busy too, if I had muscles like yours," she said, squeezing one of his legs. "You must work out a ton to have such defined leg muscles."

"Well, actually," Dean said, leaning in a little, "I got them by kicking a lot of demon's asses. And ghosts. You'd think that ghosts wouldn't be too hard to fight, because they're dead and everything, but nah, they're a bitch. I haven't had a good fight with one of them in awhile, though, so I'm lucky I still got my muscles."

Kate stared at him blankly for a few moments. Dean snickered to himself. That ought to get her away. But instead, the girl burst out into bits of fake laughter. "Oh my God, Dean, you're so fucking funny."

Dean grimaced. She hadn't reacted the way he had expected (or hoped). Dean tried to ignore her as she ran her hands all over his legs, eating his pancakes as fast as he could so he could get the hell out of the cafe. The door to the restaurant opened from behind them, and Kate's attention was drawn from Dean as she laid eyes on the person who had just entered. "What the hell? That guy looks like he just crawled out of a grave."

Dean's interest spiked, and he turned from the slutty waitress, laying eyes on the man who had just came in the cafe. He was leaning across the counter, speaking in a fast voice to one of the waiters.

"-if you could just let me use your phone," the man was saying. Dean couldn't see his face, but the dude was covered from head to toe in dirt. His dark hair was powdered in dust, his clothes were torn and his shoes were unlaced. The waiter gave the man a scolding look.

"Listen, guy, you need to leave this restaurant immediately. I won't have someone as filthy as you mucking up my floors."

The man groaned in exasperation. "Please! I need to use the phone, I need to call-"

"Who? Who do you need to call?"

"I…" the man stopped, leaning back. "I…uh. I don't know." Dean raised an eyebrow, confused. He wondered what the guy's deal was. The waiter certainly was wondering the same thing, but he wasn't as interested as Dean.

"You need to leave, or I'm going to make a call. To the police," the waiter said. The man back away from the counter, turning so Dean could see his worn face. Dean's breath left his body, his insides turning cold. The fork in his hand dropped to the floor, making a loud, clattering sound. The man looked up, his eyes finding Dean's.

"Dean," Kate was saying from behind him, tugging on his arm. "Dean, what's-"

"Cas," Dean whispered. He stood, the pretty waitress forgotten. The man before him frowned. Dean took a few steps closer until he was directly in front of the dirt covered man.

It was Castiel; it had to be. Even underneath all that dirt, Dean knew it was him. His deep blue eyes, his ruffled dark hair, his face…Dean couldn't believe what he was seeing. His head felt light, and Dean dizzily reached over to put a hand on Cas's shoulder. The man winced, taking a step back.

"Do I know you?" the man said, giving Dean a strange look. Dean was barely listening, although the man's familiar deep voice brought a tug in Dean's stomach. He was trying to work out what he was seeing, what was going on. He brought back the memory of so long ago, the memory of his best friend gliding under the surface of the water of that lake, his coat washing up to shore. Cas had died. He had betrayed them, and he had died. Castiel was dead.

So how could he be standing right in front of Dean, in Lawrence, Kansas, covered in dirt and without an ounce of recognition on his face?

The man spoke again, this time rather roughly. "Do you know who I am?" He looked lost, very troubled as he neared Dean. His eyes were strained as he surveyed Dean. "Please tell me you know who I am."

With that, Cas swayed, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fell forward. Dean spotted it before it happened and extended his arms, catching Cas as he fainted into Dean's chest. Dean was still in shock, his legs wobbling from under Cas's weight. He grunted, wrapping an arm around Cas's waist to keep him upright. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew he had to get Cas back to his house. He had to get him cleaned up, and then...he had to call Sam.


"Dean? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Sammy. Well, uh…maybe not. I don't really know."

"Dean…what is it? What's wrong?" Sam paused, then, "Is it a demon? A monster? Oh, God, it's not another Leviathan is it-"

"No! No, I mean…I don't know. Sam, you need to get down here."

"You need to tell me what the hell is going on. You're freaking me out."

"It's Cas."

"What?"

"Cas. He's back, Sam."

There was silence on the other line. Dean rubbed his face impatiently, waiting for his brother to respond. After fifteen seconds of silence (Dean counted), Dean groaned, "Sam. You there?"

"I…yeah, I'm here."

"So yeah, you need to get down to Kansas. Like, right now. Please."

"Dean…"

"Please, Sammy. I need you."

There was another pause. Sam was breathing heavily on the other line. Then, "Dean, do you know how many times you've called me in the past two years, saying you've found Cas, or Bobby, or Jo, or whoever?"

"This isn't like that, Sam. I didn't just see Cas. He's here, on my couch."

"Can I talk to him?"

"He's sleeping. He came running into a cafe I was in this morning, covered in dirt. He has no idea who he is. He's got, uh, anamesia or something…"

"Amnesia."

"Yeah, that!" Dean cried, looking over at the couch. Cas was clean now, after Dean had hosed him down in the back yard. He had waken up from his faint after a few minutes, giving Dean enough time to get him a change of clothes and letting Cas dry. After he was finished, Cas passed out on Dean's couch without another word. Dean watched him sleep, his eyelids flickering a little as he breathed out of parted lips.

Sam had begun to speak again. "Dean, you don't know if that's actually Cas. It could be someone who looks like him-"

"Someone who looks exactly like him? Someone who sounds like him, talks like him, moves like him? That seems a little far-fetched, Sam."

"No, what sounds far-fetched is that our friend, who died more than two years ago, is currently sleeping in your house, without knowing who he is. Damn it, Dean, I thought you were going to see someone about this."

"I'm not hallucinating, Sam," Dean snapped, slamming his fist on the table. "I don't need to see some goddamn therapist, either. It's not like it would help."

"You don't know that."

"I do fucking know that," Dean countered. "And what, you don't need to see someone? You're just as fucked up as I am, Sam, even if your Stanford barbie doesn't know it."

"Don't bring Jennifer into this," Sam warned. "I've worked so hard to keep all this from her. She doesn't need to know about any of it."

"I thought you loved her, Sam. Aren't you not supposed to keep secrets from the ones you love?"

"Fuck you, Dean. You don't know shit," Sam said angrily, "I'm happy here, being normal, having a normal life. I like having a wife, a bed to come home to instead of living out of the impala or going to shitty motels and getting my ass handed to me by supernatural creatures. Maybe that's not for you, but it's for me. So don't try and make me feel guilty or trick me back into my old life just because you're bored with yours. I'm done."

Dean sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "It's not like that, Sam. I just need help. Not professional help," he amended, "but I need you here. If this is actually Cas-"

"It's not Cas, Dean."

"You don't know that! You haven't even seen him, for fuck's sake!"

"I don't need to!" Sam shouted, swearing. "God, Dean, listen to yourself. Even if you do actually have someone that looks like Cas on your couch, what makes you think it's actually Castiel? It could be a demon. Or a Leviathan. It's more likely its Jimmy than Cas, Dean. You know that. You heard the Leviathan. Cas is dead."

"That's why I need you. I need you to help me figure this out."

Sam let out a breath. "I can't. It's not my life anymore. You're on your own. I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean didn't say anything. He couldn't believe Sam was just going to ignore this. He was angry, but he was more hurt than anything. Dean just watched Cas, the phone loosening in his hand.

Sam was moving something on the other line. "Listen, I have to go. Jennifer is awake and we're going to a movie."

"Yeah."

"Dean…" Sam said softly, and Dean felt his stomach tighten. "I love you."

Dean hung up.


It was a few hours later when Cas finally woke up. Dean had been sitting at his kitchen table, watching him dutifully, afraid he might disappear if Dean stopped looking at him for too long. Cas stretched, sitting up on the couch and yawning as he reached his arms over his head. When he caught sight of Dean, his arms lowered, and he flushed.

"I'm sorry about falling asleep," Cas said, speaking quietly. "It was a long night."

"Don't worry about it," Dean assured him, getting up and standing in front of the couch, his hands spread out of his upper thighs nervously. "Would you mind telling me what happened?"

Cas shrugged, lifting the blanket off of him and placing it on the couch beside him. He then stood, looking around. "Do you have a bathroom?"

"Down the hall, at the end." Dean said, a little agitated. Was it too much to ask for a few answers? He had been waiting all fucking day for Cas to wake up so he could find out the truth, and here Cas was, making up excuses like going to the bathroom. Couldn't he hold it? Cas gave Dean a small smile before disappearing into the hallway. Dean waited for him, drumming his fingers on his legs impatiently. When Cas returned, Dean straightened, waiting for him to sit back down on the couch before asking him again, "So, what happened?"

But Cas didn't seem to hear him. "You don't happen to have any water bottles around here, do you? I'm parched."

Dean let out a frustrated groan while he went to his fridge, reached into for a water and chucked one in Cas's general direction. Cas caught it, a little taken aback. Dean went back to the living room, this time standing right in front of the couch. "Come on, Cas, tell me what happened before I blow my brains out in anticipation, 'cause right now you're giving me enough reasons to."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't know me? You keep calling me Cas," he said, confused. Dean realized his mistake, and tried to fix it.

"Oh, I just, uh…you look like someone I used to know, that's all," Dean said, flustered. Cas still looking bemused, but he accepted Dean's reasoning. Dean clapped his hands together, giving Cas a look that indicated he was done waiting. "So?"

Cas took a sip of water before setting the bottle down, drawing back and looking Dean in the eyes. "I woke up on the side of the road, not far from here. I had no idea how I got there or who I was, only that I felt terrible and like I had woken up from a really long night's sleep," Cas said, looking down at his lap. "It was horrible," he said quietly, sighing. "It was the worst feeling in the world."

"Trust me, there's a lot worse feelings out there," Dean said dryly, causing Cas to give him another strange look. Dean waved it aside. "So you woke up alone on the side of the road. So, what, you walked all the way back to Lawrence? How did you get so dirty?"

"I don't know," Cas muttered, shrugging. "It just all kind of…happened."

Dean nodded, scratching the back of his neck. He had been hoping for something a little more strange, something he could look into for supernatural reasons, but Cas's story was bare and vague. Dean wondered if Cas could possibly be holding out on him, but the guy looked positively stumped. Dean sighed.

"Anything else you remember? Anything at all?"

Cas shook his head, but then he stopped. "I knew I had to get to Lawrence and make a call," Cas said slowly, looking up at Dean. Dean felt his heart twinge as Cas's familiar, deep blue eyes stared at him so much like they used to when they hunted together. "I didn't know who I was calling, but it was like I needed to get to that cafe, no matter what," Cas said. Dean took a deep breath, his green eyes surveying Cas closely. Cas looked away, taking another sip of his water. He was wearing one of Dean's long sleeved shirts, the white making his skin look translucent. It was a little big on him, and when Cas stood, the shirt hung loosely over his small waist.

"Thank you for helping me out, er…" Cas struggled.

"Dean."

"Dean," Cas said warmly, sticking out his hand. Dean took it, feeling his heart race in his chest. He couldn't let Cas get away. He couldn't let him leave. Whatever happened, Dean had to figure out if Cas was still there somewhere.

"Listen…" Dean started, letting go of Cas's soft hand. "I don't think you should be going anywhere for a little while. You don't know who you are, so I can't imagine you have anywhere you really need to go, right?"

Cas nodded. Dean continued. "Why don't you stay here? I have a spare bedroom down the hall, and you can stay there until you figure something out. Its the least I can do," Dean said, praying Cas would accept his proposition.

Cas seemed to be contemplating. "I really don't want to intrude on you, Dean. You've already shown me an immense amount of kindness." His blue eyes were soft, and Dean had to force himself to look away from the familiarity, his gut clenching a little.

"Please. I insist," Dean nearly begged. Cas watched him for a moment, then nodded.

"Thank you," he murmured, ducking his head a little. Dean couldn't help but reach out and put a hand on Cas's shoulder. This time, Cas didn't back away. They stayed like that for a few moments, until Cas raised his head. Dean stepped back, flushing a bit as he walked towards the kitchen to grab a beer.

"So, you should probably think of a name for yourself until we find out who you actually are," Dean said, twisting off the beer cap as he took a large swig. Cas smiled a bit.

"Well, since you're already accustomed to calling me 'Cas', I suppose that can be my name for now," Cas said, sitting down at the table. Dean sat across from him, nodding but suppressed a smirk. He had been counting on that. It was like they had taken the first step in accepting that Cas was actually Castiel, even if Cas didn't know it.

Dean smiled. "Cool. Nice to meet you, Cas," Dean said, raising his beer.

Cas reciprocated, raising his water. "Nice to meet you, Dean."

Dean raised the beer to his lips, sucking it down, feeling more hopeful now that he had in the past three years. He watched Cas drink his water, happiness bubbling in his core. If this guy ended up being Castiel, Dean wouldn't even be able to describe how happy he'd be. If he wasn't, well…Dean didn't want to quite think of that possibility just yet.