Chapter 2: Memory's A Tricky Thing

Jack's fingers clacked along the laptop's keyboard, the only sound in the otherwise silent bunker. Sam and Dean were due back soon, and Jack wanted to have another case ready for them, wanted to show them that he could be a hunter. And that he'd mastered moving the pencil.

He found an article about some graves being dug up. Could be zombies—he'd checked. That would be a good case. He'd like to see zombies.

The front door grated open, and a few moments later, Sam came up the steps from the war room.

"How'd it go?" Jack asked, craning his head to look for Dean.

Sam glanced behind him, out of Jack's line of sight. "Jack, um…"

He stood up. "What's wrong?"

Sam's expression pinched as his gaze strayed to the side again, and now Dean was coming into view, hand on someone's arm and guiding them…

Jack's breath caught in his throat as he instantly recognized the thrum of grace. "Castiel?"

The man in the tan trench coat with dark hair turned piercing blue eyes on him.

Dean stopped and cleared his throat. "Cas, this is Jack."

Jack frowned in confusion. It couldn't be. "No. We burned your body, and what's burned stays dead," he repeated, looking at Dean in puzzlement. "How…?"

"Well, that's the question we've been askin'," Dean replied.

"Jack…" Sam interjected. "Did you, uh…did you bring Cas back?"

He dropped his gaze in contemplation. Had he done that? "I don't know," he admitted. But he could remember the moment when he'd overheard Dean and Sam arguing about him, Dean's palpable grief over Castiel's death and Jack's own heart-wrenching anguish over feeling so alone in a world he didn't understand. And something inside him had…reached out, maybe?

"I wanted him back. I…begged for him to come back, but…" Jack lifted his eyes to Castiel again, overwhelmed by the emotions roiling around inside him. His father was back.

Jack crossed the room and slowly put his arms around Castiel. "I missed you so much."

Dean shifted next to them. "Uh, Jack, listen…"

Castiel raised his own arm to tentatively hug back. "Jack? Um, I'm sorry, but…"

Jack pulled back with a frown. "I'm sorry, should I not have done that? I'm still learning how to be human. But I'm a quick study. Did Sam tell you?"

Castiel's mouth quirked. "Yes, he said you're doing well. It's just…"

"Look, there's no easy way to say this," Dean jumped in. "Cas lost his memory."

Jack squinted at him. "I don't understand."

"I don't remember who you are," Castiel explained. "Or Sam and Dean. Or who I am. I was wandering around without a name until they found me." He gave Jack a pained look. "I'm sorry. I gather I was supposed to protect you when you were born, but I…well…" Castiel shrugged helplessly.

Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You're here now."

"Because of me?" Jack asked slowly.

"We don't know," Sam replied in a low voice. "We don't know, Jack. But we- we think maybe."

Jack felt something crush inside him. He had brought Castiel back…but with no memory. He'd failed to use his powers correctly, again. Was Dean angry with him? Jack regarded the hunter carefully, but Dean didn't look mad. In fact, he seemed almost lighter than Jack had ever seen. No hardness or emptiness behind his eyes. Dean even gave Castiel what looked like a real smile.

"Why don't we get you settled in your room," the older Winchester suggested.

"Oh, alright," Castiel responded, and started to follow as Dean led him through the study area toward the back corridor to the dormitory wing. He paused just before the threshold and turned to look back. "Jack, thank you."

Jack thought smiling was the appropriate response, but he couldn't quite make his mouth form the proper shape.

Castiel lingered for a beat of awkwardness, and then left with Dean.

Jack turned to Sam, whose expression was sad. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to…"

"No, Jack, it's not your fault," the Winchester interrupted. "Of course you didn't mean for this to happen. And you brought Cas back. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?"

Jack ducked his gaze. He wanted to be happy, he did. But he couldn't deny a sense of disappointment as well. Castiel was the one person beside his mother he'd had a connection to before being born. And they had both died before he could meet them. And now Castiel didn't even know him. …Didn't love him.

He felt a prickle in his eye and reached up to rub it.

"Hey," Sam said sympathetically. "Look, I know this is a lot to deal with. But there's a chance Cas will get his memory back."

Jack frowned. "There is?" So, he hadn't completely messed up?

Sam nodded. "It might take a while, though. It could be slow or all at once." He sighed. "Memory's a tricky thing. So for right now we just need to be patient with him."

"Okay."

Sam gave him another sad look and headed toward the dormitory as well.

Jack waited a few moments before taking the back way to retreat to his own room. He forgot about the zombie case. And his triumph with the pencil no longer seemed something to be proud of.


Dean led Cas through the corridors and opened door number 15. "Here's your room. I'm just down the hall in 11."

He held the door open and let Cas go in first. Cas roved his gaze around the sparse decor curiously, and then over the bed.

He canted his head. "But I don't sleep."

Dean shrugged. "You like watching Netflix."

"What's a Netflix?"

Dean quirked a small smile in fond amusement. Cas would always be a dork at heart.

"It's television and movies. But we probably shouldn't fill your head with fake stories until you get your real ones back."

Cas made a noncommittal noise and continued to look around. "Seems very…utilitarian."

Dean inwardly winced. Yeah, Cas never had gotten around to personalizing anything. Probably because he never stayed long enough to do so—but that was a sore point Dean was going to set aside for the moment. Cas was here now, and that was all that mattered.

"You should think about decorating," he said. "No time like the present."

Cas furrowed his brow. "But I don't know what I like."

Dean shrugged. "Look through some magazines or stuff online, pick out anything that speaks to you. Just because you can't remember what you like doesn't mean you won't recognize it on some level when you see it."

Cas's mouth pursed in thought. "I…remember thinking the flowers in the field where I woke up were beautiful." He quickly shook his head. "But there's no sunlight in here."

Dean immediately perked up. He'd buy a fake plant if he had to. "I'm sure there's something we could get. People have indoor plants. I think they even make special lamps to mimic sunlight. Or," he thought to add, "there's space outside to plant a garden."

Part of him couldn't believe he was even spending time and energy thinking of all this, but Cas didn't know them, didn't call this place home in any way, and Dean wanted to do everything he could to make sure his friend wanted to stay with them. After all, the angel only currently had their word to go on that he belonged here. And if his memory didn't start coming back soon, he might decide to strike out on his own, which Dean definitely did not want.

Cas offered him a small smile in return. "A garden sounds nice. Though, I'm afraid I don't know how to grow one."

"Me neither. But hey, learn something new, right?"

They fell into an awkward silence for a few moments. Dean tried to think of something else to say, but was coming up empty. All the issues they hadn't dealt with when Cas ran off with Kelly stopped mattering the moment Lucifer came back through that rift and… Dean's throat constricted. That flash of blazing light still haunted him. Dean had prayed and begged for Chuck to bring Cas back and all he'd wanted to do was both hug and yell at his stupid best friend for going after Lucifer like that.

But that wouldn't be the best approach here.

Cas cleared his throat. "I, uh, feel like I should apologize for causing this…complication."

"No," Dean said a tad sharply, and instantly corrected his tone. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm just glad you're back, man. And the rest, we'll figure out as we go."

Cas nodded absently as he slowly gazed around the room again. He let out a weary sounding sigh. "I'm afraid nothing looks familiar. Is, um, is there anything of a more…personal nature, here?"

Dean grimaced at the unintentional indictment. How many times had he lost Cas, and not had anything to show that the angel had ever been part of his life? Save that ratty old trench coat he'd carried around for months. Which wasn't even the one Cas was currently wearing.

"Well, you don't have a change of clothes. You're pretty partial to the Columbo look, and if it gets dirty or torn, you just clean it up with your mojo." Dean tried for a joking smile. "You change up your tie every few years."

Cas glanced down at his attire.

"You, uh, want me to find you something else to wear?"

"No, that's alright," Cas said. "It's not uncomfortable." He reached up to finger his tie curiously.

Dean straightened abruptly. "Hey, I do have something of yours. I'll be right back."

He ducked out of Cas's room and made a hastened beeline for his own, going straight for the small trunk under his bed. He grabbed the two most recent items he'd stashed in it, and hurried back, almost half afraid that Cas would disappear on him. But the angel was still there, standing around awkwardly.

Dean handed him the angel blade first. "This is yours."

Cas took it reverently, turning the hilt back and forth to examine it. "Interesting," he murmured. "I can hear a chord inside it that sounds like, well, me, I guess." He looked up with an abashed smile. "That probably sounds strange."

"Nah. You told me once that angels infuse a tiny bit of their grace into their blades when they make them."

It was the only reason Dean couldn't bring himself to get rid of the instrument of Cas's death, turned against him by Lucifer.

He waited to see if that piece of grace that had stayed on Earth this whole time might trigger something in the angel holding it. Cas gave the blade a little flip, brows rising a fraction as though in surprise at the smooth movement. Muscle memory wasn't so easily erased.

But he didn't slide the blade up his sleeve where he usually kept it, and instead placed it on the desk.

Dean held out the second item.

Cas accepted it with a perplexed frown. "This has your name on it."

"That's because I made it for you. It was a gift."

A gift he'd taken out of Cas's beaten up old truck after they'd lit the pyre… Which meant that even after ditching them and running away, Cas still listened to the damn thing.

Dean shook the dark memories away. "It's a mixtape," he said. "Music."

Cas cocked his head at the cassette. "Oh. I think I know that. It needs a device to play it."

"Yeah. Sam and I use iPods in the bunker, but I bet I can find an old walkman somewhere in this place."

Cas closed his fist around the tape. "Thank you."

Dean reached up to rub the back of his head. "Well, uh, I guess I should let you settle in." He felt a burble of irrational fear at letting Cas out of his sight for a single moment, but he knew he couldn't exactly hover. He didn't want to freak the guy out.

"If you have any questions, just come to me. Or Sam. We can start filling in the blanks later, see if anything jogs your memory."

"I do have a question. Um…" Cas began to fidget nervously again. "Jack said…he said you burned my body. Something about…staying dead?"

Dean's throat tightened, and it felt like he was swallowing broken glass. "I prayed to Ch- to God, to bring you back," he managed to get out. "I prayed harder than I've ever prayed in my entire life. And when he didn't answer…" Hot moisture pricked at his eyes as that old familiar grief welled up. Dean took a moment to keep it from spilling over. "We didn't think there was a way to bring you back. And so we gave you a hunter's funeral. We felt you deserved that."

"Oh. So it was…something sacred?"

Dean nodded. "Hunter tradition. And you were—are—one of us."

Dean suddenly couldn't take it anymore, and he reached out to embrace his best friend, just to let himself sink into the knowledge and relief that Cas was here, that he was tangible and real and home where he belonged.

Cas raised his arms to squeeze back. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I wish you hadn't had to go through that."

Dean closed his eyes. It wasn't the first time.

But it had damned well better be the last.

He pulled back with a watery smile. "Sorry. I don't want to freak you out."

Cas's eyes softened. "I'm not freaked out. Well, not about that. It's…encouraging. Knowing how much I'm loved." He quirked a rueful smile. "It'd be nice to remember it."

Dean could only stand there, a small part of his heart suddenly breaking. Because he was struck then by how unburdened this Cas was. Not weighed down by some grave mission, or relentless quest to fix a perceived mistake, or a desperate bid to 'be of use in the fight.'

Did the real Cas even understand that he was loved? How many times had Dean tried to tell him that he was family? That the Winchesters cared about him like a brother? Dean had just thought it had never been enough.

But standing here and seeing the look on Cas's face when he believed and accepted that he was cared for? It changed Dean's whole perception of everything, of all the words he and Cas had exchanged, the fights and fervent declarations. Had Cas really never gotten it? Why? Why was years of friendship and toil not enough to make Cas understand, when the version of him with no memory standing in this room accepted it at Dean's word?

Dean wrenched himself away from questions he wouldn't find answers to. Not unless Cas got his memory back and Dean could ask him.

He plastered on a smile for Cas. "Well, you don't need to remember it. Because you know it now. And me and Sam, and Jack, we're gonna help you through this."

Cas smiled back at him. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean nodded. No matter which way things played out, he wasn't taking his best friend for granted anymore.