They reached Sioux Falls around 6 A.M. the following day. Castiel hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour on the drive. Sam hadn't slept at all. But he wouldn't allow Castiel to drive. Something about Dean not trusting anyone with his Baby.
The man that opened the door at the house was very distrustful. Bobby, Castiel assumed, threw what appeared to be holy water at them as soon as he saw them. When neither of them cried out in anguish, Bobby handed them two butter knives and ordered them to hold them.
Castiel took one of the knives, and Sam the other. When nothing happened, Bobby retrieved his knives and brought Sam into his arms for a warm hug.
"Thought you were dead," Bobby grunted, pulling back. He stood straight as he met Castiel's eyes. The man had a graying beard and a baseball cap. Narrowing his eyes, he said, "Who the hell are you?"
"My name is Castiel, and I'm a fallen angel of the lord."
Bobby's eyes flicked to Sam. "Makes sense. Get inside."
The inside of the house was cluttered, but not messy. Books were stacked in every corner and filled every shelf. Bobby walked into an office and sat behind a large desk, which was also filled with books. He poured himself some kind of liquor into a glass and took a swig.
"Sorry about the past few years," Sam said, sitting on the chair opposite Bobby. "I'll catch you up before I get to the point."
"A sorry ain't going to do much good," Bobby said, refilling his glass, and grabbing another one from under a stack of folders in his desk and filling it up. "Drink with me, son."
Castiel's phone started ringing, and he excused himself. He wandered around the house until he reached a bedroom.
"Dean?" Castiel said, knowing no one else would be calling him.
"Put Sam on the phone," Dean said blankly.
"He's busy," Castiel said, keeping his voice leveled. "He's speaking with Bobby at the moment."
"Bobby Singer?" Dean said. "What the hell are you two doing there?"
"We're asking for help," Castiel said. "How are you? Have you eaten yet?"
"Quit pestering me like you actually care," Dean said bitterly. "I need to talk to Sam."
"Dean, I do care," Castiel said. I care. And I love you. And I'm sorry.
"Look, Cas, whatever obligation you think you have with me, get rid of it. I'm not your problem. I think I found a way to ditch the angels for good."
"Please don't do anything stupid," Castiel pleaded. "As soon as I get my grace, I'm going to get you back."
"Don't bother," Dean said. "I'm getting out of this myself."
"Why are you so stubborn, Dean? Stay put. Whatever it is you're planning, don't do it. It can't be good."
"It's great to know how little you think of me," Dean said.
"I have no wish to fight with you any longer," Castiel said. Even though Castiel knew that Dean would do nothing more than argue with him, he wanted to keep him on the line. Only God knew how Dean was being treated on the other side of the world, and Castiel wanted to make sure that at least he wasn't being tortured. Then again, he was allowed to make phone calls, so maybe his incarceration wasn't as damning. "Tell me about Scotland, Dean."
The line went silent for a long while, long enough that Castiel thought Dean had disconnected. But then he heard Dean's exhale, followed by his voice. "The mountains are marvelous. Green, wide, and the sky is as blue as your eyes."
Castiel smiled absently, gazing around the bedroom. Tilting his head to the side when he spotted a framed picture on the dresser, Castiel walked toward it. "What else do you see?"
"A lake," Dean answered quickly. "It's a really great view. I wish you—never mind."
I wish you were here, Castiel thought. Dean could be angry all he wanted, but that didn't mean he hated Castiel. Not really.
"Hang on to those memories," Castiel said. "It'll keep your sanity."
"Ha! That's long gone, Cas."
Castiel picked up the picture. Bobby stood between two boys. One of them he recognized as Sam, but not by his height. As a kid, Sam Winchester was much shorter than Dean. Castiel smiled fondly at him before he focused on this younger version of Dean, smirking at the camera. This image of Dean sent a pang of emotions through Castiel, but he couldn't understand why.
When looking at Dean's memories, he saw everything through Dean's eyes. The only times he saw Dean's young face was in front of mirrors. But that wasn't the reason why Castiel found this version of Dean so familiar. There was something else, something more, that Castiel wasn't remembering.
He sat on the bed, feeling dazed all over again. It was as though an avalanche of memories was threatening to roll down a mountain, when before he'd only been receiving snowball after snowball.
"Cas? You still there?"
"Yes." Castiel shook his head, setting the picture back on the dresser. "I got distracted."
"I'll let you go, then." There was sadness to Dean's voice.
"I want to hear your voice," Castiel said, pressing the phone closer to his ear. "Talk to me."
"What do you want me to say?" Dean asked, hesitant but willing after all.
Castiel shrugged, his eyes spotting yet another discovery. His name, written in cursive on an envelope. This couldn't possibly be for him. Bobby had no idea Castiel even existed until he showed up at his house with Sam. Why was there an envelope with his name on Bobby's dresser?
"Tell me about your dreams," Castiel said, staring fixedly at the envelope. Castiel. It was unmistakably his name, even after he read it ten times. "What are your dreams, Dean?"
"I don't have dreams. I have nightmares," Dean deadpanned.
"Not those dreams," Castiel said, reaching for the envelope. "Tell me about your dreams in life. What will you do once you've recovered your humanity? What will you do with the rest of your life?" The life I hope to be a part of, Castiel added silently.
"I think that's something I'm going to have to rediscover," Dean said quietly. "Because I'm not sure anymore."
The envelope was now in his hands. Castiel pressed his cheek against his shoulder to keep the phone in place as he picked up the envelope. Behind it was a small, clear bottle with a blue glow. At first sight, Castiel guessed what it was, but he couldn't get ahead of himself. This was much too good to be true. He opened the envelope instead, eyeing the bottle with curiosity as he read the letter inside.
"Dean, I think I've found something," Castiel said. "I'm going to read this letter out loud to you."
"Who wrote you a letter?" Dean wondered.
"Castiel," he began reading. "I should start off by apologizing for that scare I gave you. But there was no other way of getting this done. I had to fool you into thinking I had betrayed you. Gabriel and I had kept in contact since the day he took you into that alternate world. He did it to distract you while we talked. Since that day we've been planning this escape. I had to get that witchcraft book to stall you while Gabriel got everything ready. We both knew you'd never come with us. We will not free Lucifer. In fact, we are trying to stop this apocalypse from ever happening. But first, I brought you this. It's your grace, Castiel. Take it now before it's taken away from you. Meet me and Gabriel when you do. You'll know how to find us. Anna."
Castiel's eyes flicked again to the small bottle. He could hear his racing heart in his ears.
"Wow. That girl could make a pretty convincing actress," Dean said, laughing.
"Dean, listen to me. I will take my grace, and the first thing I'll do is find you. Do you hear me? Stay where you are."
Dean didn't answer. Castiel stood motionless, gripping the phone. And then he heard that unmistakable English accent again. "Not so fast, Castiel. Dean is of my property. Go find your own boy toy."
And the call ended before Castiel could tell this Crowley to stick it where the sun doesn't shine.
The moment Castiel recovered his grace, and power once again overtook him, the memories filled his mind. One by one, Castiel saw everything. From the moment he was created, until that very moment. His daze was gone, like the clouds clearing out, letting all the sunlight shine through. Every detail overtook him, but it all happened faster than the blink of an eye.