Dreams and reality blended together. Castiel saw many things that had happened and things that hadn't happened and were impossible. In the meantime, his cells were trying hard to heal the wounds. With some help from the resistance doctors, Castiel healed faster than normal. Still, it was a slow process.

He was about to wake up. He was on the border of being asleep and awake, felt the blanket they'd placed on him but not quite aware he was waking up or laying in a semi-comfortable bed. In this semi-conscious state, he experienced one last fever dream.

It was the reenactment of an old memory. It had been repressed; until this day, he hadn't thought of it. Why would he? He had cut ties with his human side and other than this significance, he had a new life to make memories for. Why would he care about this one memory?

But he was no longer a loyal angel, which made this memory the more painful.

Castiel stood on the lawn of a house on fire. The flames contrasted with the darkness of the night. He watched the fire he had lit consume the house. Except it was not just a house anymore – it had once been his home. He lived there before the angels came. The human woman he'd married, the woman who did not have the right genes, his wife, was still inside. He'd drugged her. She did not wake, not even to escape the flames. At least he was merciful enough to let her sleep instead of keeping her awake during the process.

Castiel frowned and turned his head. Behind him, a young girl whose blonde hair obscured her face shouted. Someone he did not know held her back so that she would not run inside and lose her life, too.

He knew the girl. He did not see her face – would he even recognize it when he could see it? – but he knew who she was. He knew what they were to one another; her mother was burning and her father had caused it.

He experienced the emotions that he lacked when it happened. These emotions weren't the worst; it was the anonymity of his late wife and daughter. He did not remember how his wife looked, or what her name was. He could only remember his daughter being young and blonde. He couldn't even guess her age correctly. He should know this but did not remember. the angels had been thorough when they cleaned up his memories.

The scene slowly morphed and mutated as he gradually became aware of his surroundings. The weight of the blanket pressed on him and its warmth comforted him. Regular beeps broke the silence. He didn't want to wake up yet – spending more time inside this memory could trigger others that he had forgotten, more he wanted to rediscover while he danced on the line between slumber and consciousness.

But Castiel never could stay asleep when he was waking up. The angel opened his eyes and turned his head to the right. The local resistance doctor had hooked him up to some machine that kept track of his heart rate and blood pressure and they had placed a mask over his face to provide oxygen.

Castiel removed the mask; breathing without it wasn't harder than with, even if breathing itself wasn't quite comfortable yet. He did not remove the wires that tracked his heart rate and blood pressure, preferring to leave this to the doctor that put it there.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain that had been numb and almost undetectable before seared through his chest. He lay down again. A hand shot to the wound and calmly settled on his chest. It was still hot, but the pain subsided as he pressed his hand against it.

Right. Uriel stabbed him and the wound hadn't completely healed yet.

Castiel turned his head to the left. A small watch on the table next to the bed told him it was one o'clock. Since there wasn't a lot of traffic, he did not know whether it was one in the night or at noon. But since there was a doctor walking around, he guessed it was noon.

The doctor came when he noticed Castiel was awake and shared the details of the treatment he was given. In turn, the angel informed the doctor about his symptoms. Castiel learned that if he recovered at the same rate as before, he could leave the makeshift infirmary in two days. Castiel thanked him for his insights and then was left alone again.

Castiel liked the quiet of the infirmary. Nobody talked to him unnecessarily and he could rest a little. Accelerated healing did require a lot of energy.

At half-past two, Dean entered the room and he was surprised and glad to see Castiel had woken up. Castiel thought this was strange behavior. On the other hand, Castiel realized he was an asset still developing his skills which could help against the angels; an asset Dean could not afford to lose.

"You're awake," Dean said, stopping at the end of Castiel's bed. Castiel nodded.

"Only for a while," Castiel said. "How long have I been here?"

"A day or two." Dean paused and glanced at the machines. "Without these, you might not have made it. You were close to dying, but you're still here." He wanted to place a hand on Castiel's leg but decided against it. He reminded himself they suddenly hadn't become friends because he changed sides. "But you did most of the work. I'm glad you're still around."

He would never have made it without the doctors helping him until his healing could take over. And while he was glad to be awake, something deeply bothered Castiel.

Two days.

Many things could happen in two days. Someone's entire world could change within two days. Wars and battles could be won in even less. Knowing the ins and outs of angel hierarchy and how they would react to the warehouse having been destroyed – at least, he assumed it was destroyed while he was unconscious – the resistance literally had no time to lose.

The angels had time to spare. They could be mobilizing their troops at this very moment.

Castiel needed to do something; he couldn't just lay down and do nothing. As he tried to sit up again, the sharp pain in his chest reminded him he was not physically ready yet. Still, he fought through the pain and each inch upwards felt like a victory. Unfortunately, Dean was still standing beside and him and he noticed the pained faces Castiel made.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I have to—" Castiel began, but Dean moved closer and placed a firm hand on the angel's shoulder. Castiel stopped; this was weird, it felt wrong somehow. But it succeeded; it stopped Castiel's efforts to fight to sit up. Castiel relented and lay back down again, but he also shot an annoyed glare at Dean.

"You're awake, but that doesn't mean you're back to full strength," Dean said. He nodded. "Trust me, I know. The body is fragile."

Both human and angel bodies. Dean didn't specify, but they both were. The only difference between them was the genetic code that made Castiel an angel.

"So is the angel body."

"Yeah, well, at least you can survive something that would kill any normal person," Dean said. He paused and glanced at Castiel, mildly smiling before his face returned to its neutral expression. "But really, I'm glad you're okay."

"Because I'm an asset and you could still use me," Castiel wondered out loud.

Dean nodded. "Among other things." He stepped away from the bed. "I'll let you heal. See you around."

Dean moved away from Castiel and walked toward the door.

"I have a question," Castiel raised his voice. Dean stopped, paused for a moment and then turned to the angel. He placed his hands on his sides.

"Go ahead," he said.

How would he explain his problem? The images already faded from his mind and soon, the memory would return to the deepest crevices of his mind and forget about it, until it might return in his dreams again to remind him of the horrendous crime he'd committed.

Dean watched him with expectation, even leaning his head a little closer, to encourage Castiel to say what he needed to say.

"I need to find someone," Castiel said.

Dean did not respond immediately. "Could you be more specific?"

"One year ago, I set my house on fire." Recounting this terror called the fading image to the front of his mind. Saying it out loud made it more real. "My… my daughter. She survived. She is out there somewhere."

Dean's attitude shifted when Castiel mentioned his daughter. "Do you have more details?" the thought that Castiel was ever married and a father had never crossed his mind, despite the fact that angels often had offspring before they converted. People had kids young, around the age they could convert into angels.

"She's blonde," Castiel said. A blonde screaming for her mother. A stranger holds her back. Castiel doesn't know him, but he would like to thank him for taking care of her when he couldn't.

"Anything else?"

"I can't remember anything else." He felt hollow inside. He could not remember anything else. All other memories from when he was human were locked away behind a concrete wall he could not easily destroy. He recalled no family events; no birthdays or parties; no winters spent at the fireplace and summers in the garden. No character traits, no appearances, no names.

He could not even picture him in any of these settings, which was even scarier. He had that family. He must have lived a good life. Yet, it belonged to a stranger who may have worn his face and lived that life, but whose name he did not remember. That man must have been content. He must have been loved, and he loved the woman and child he spent most of his time with.

Castiel had nothing but the memory of the destruction of what he once must have loved.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dean said. He hadn't destroyed his family like Castiel had been forced to, but with that empty look, Castiel figured Dean lost his family to the angels and that he blamed himself.

"I'll try my best, but don't be surprised if nothing comes up," Dean said. Castiel nodded.

"I won't." All things considered, he would be lucky if they found the girl. Knowing that she was alive and probably out there was already enough. "Thank you."

Dean nodded. "You're welcome."

He left the infirmary and Castiel was left to rest. However, his mind was restless and constructed elaborate scenarios featuring the blonde girl and a blurred image of a woman; fabricating what may have been memories he once had. Who knows, maybe one of the things he fantasized happened and the angels took it away from him.

The angels… his betrayal would not go unnoticed. He may have been in the resistance and not reporting, but until the warehouse, his fall had been all but confirmed. He'd flown to save one of the resistance leaders – hopefully, Uriel hadn't picked up on that detail.

No. Uriel definitely had picked up on this. If Castiel left the bunker again or they found him, he was in big trouble. If any angel saw him, they were probably instructed to kill him on sight. He would be dead within minutes.

Now Castiel wondered whether they were actively going to try to find him.