Author's Notes - Just a FYI. I primarily post this and my other Destiel stories on A03. Not that I want to discourage any readers on this site, but you will probably get updates sooner if you subscribe over there. I also have a couple of other fics that have not moved over to this platform yet. Sorry and I hope you like this chapter.

-oOo-

2016's Cas POV

"Dean," I call, pushing open the door to his bedroom.

His eyes are closed, hands clasped over his chest as he listens to Led Zeppelin, and yet I just know that he heard me and is choosing not to say anything.

"Dean!" I repeat, pulling one side of his headphones away from his ears.

"What do you want?" he demands—and, even though I have seen this man bloody and bruised, covered in sewage, and throwing up far too much whiskey, this is definitely his least attractive look.

"I don't understand why you're acting like this," I confess. "And I've been trying for days to get you to talk to me, but you just keep shutting me out. I thought, maybe, if I went away for a while…?"

I feel the strange desire to shift from foot to foot, useless as the gesture would be. Just another sign of how human I've become. And yet, I am no closer to understanding this human than when he used to step toward me, only to issue a reminder about the sanctity of personal space. "I could still go, if you want," I whisper.

This is obviously the wrong thing to say as the pulse point in his neck jumps, angrily.

"No, I don't want you to fuckin' leave! And I've been telling you that for hours—years! even—but apparently, it takes Boy Wonder coming along for you to have a reason to stay."

"Are you…?" The words slip out of me in surprise. But I know better than to use the term 'jealous', so I quickly change tactics. "I would have stayed if you asked me to, too. You didn't ask. You just told me I'd get myself killed going after Lucifer on my own."

"Yes, well, in addition to not staying here with us, you have a pretty bad track record at staying alive."

I release a loud breath. I once spent two Earth years having one conversation with Balthazar. I once waited in silence as an entire solar system was born. I have enough patience to deal with Dean Winchester, I remind myself.

"I may leave the Bunker, Dean, but I never leave you. Not really. My thoughts are always here even when I think it's best for us to be apart. But you—you go a million miles away from me while you're still sitting at the kitchen table. How am I supposed to stay with you when I don't even know where you went?"

He doesn't say anything—just starts reaching for his headphones. And I swear I will smite him if he puts them on again.

Instead, he takes them off completely, tossing them onto the nightstand. I soften my glare, just a little.

"I-" Dean starts, but cuts himself off abruptly, looking physically pained. "Close your eyes, will ya?" he asks, suddenly, squeezing his own eyes closed again.

"What…?"

"Please, Cas."

I've met Fate, God, The Darkness, and Death and none of them rendered me as powerless as that please. I close my eyes.

I feel him then, not quite praying yet, his consciousness just hesitantly reaching out to my own. He's trying to hide in the shadows, but he's always underestimated the sheer brightness of his soul—the way it not only gives light, but casts it on other things and people. My thoughts sigh in relief.

I know I'm being an asshole, alright? he admits, finally. But…it really bugs me that he can get through to you when I can't.

Just underneath his words, I see a flash of memory that I doubt he intended to share. It's…me? Shaggy-haired and stubbled, jean-covered legs propped up on a table. As I watch, this doppelganger throws a smile over his shoulder. "What? I like past Dean," he says with a smirk, a compliment and an insult all at once.

I mean, I know we're the same person, kinda, Dean continues, unaware of the interruption. But he hasn't been through all the shit that I've been through. That we've been through together. Maybe that means he hasn't messed up with you yet. The idea of him…having your memories…knowing stuff about you that I don't…It just feels like he should have to earn it. Does that make any sense?

No, I tell him, honestly, seeing his consciousness swirl with embarrassment. But feelings aren't always rational and that doesn't mean they aren't still valid.

You're wrong though…, I say after a pause. If you think I prefer him.

I can feel his thoughts holding very still, trying not to give anything away, so I just keep going. He's Dean Winchester. And that means something to me—no matter what form he takes or when he is from. But he's not the one who taught me about the value of free will or gave me a second chance after I stuffed myself with Leviathan. He hasn't listened to me doubt the meaning of it all and I haven't gotten the chance to do that for him either. He hasn't taught me the thousands of things you have.

He'll become that person someday—or the timeline might change, and he'll make new memories with his Castiel. But that doesn't change anything about us. I'd choose you, the same way I've always done.

Relief bursts from him, bright green and yellow—and as beautiful as it is, I worry that I am taking advantage of him by seeing this much without his permission.

"So, considering all that, are you OK with me sharing some things with the Other Dean or do you still want me to abstain?" I say, opening my eyes, hoping the sound of my voice will prompt him to let go of the prayer.

"Yeah, it's fine," he mumbles, dismissively, but the part of his mind that's in the process of retreating from mine turns greyer.

An idea comes to me. It's a stupid risk—but as long as I choose carefully, it may make him feel better without revealing anything he'd find uncomfortable.

I walk over to the bed, reaching slowly forward to place two fingers on his forehead. Rather than dodging them like I half expected him to, Dean just looks at me curiously. "Uh, Cas?"

"I want to give you a memory. It's not something that the other Castiel needs to see, so I won't be showing past Dean either." He looks up at my still-hovering fingers. "It's like healing. It's easier if I touch you."

"You don't have to," he points out.

"I want to."

He looks directly into my eyes as he leans into my fingers.

Of course, when I said memory, I wasn't being entirely accurate. Instead, my mind flashes between a dozen or so snippets tied together.

/

"Angel of Thursday," Jophiel greets me in one of the hallways of Heaven a few days after I had taken Jimmy's vessel. I nod in acknowledgment and slight fondness before continuing down the long corridor.

/

"Heyo, brother of mine," Gabriel suddenly appears by my shoulder. And, even though my heart lifts to see one of my kind who doesn't shun me for falling, I don't appreciate his recent tricks with the Winchesters. Sam and Dean are worth so much more than vessels—and this world deserves so much more than a fiery end. So, I don't turn to him—don't even acknowledge his presence.

"Oh, I forgot. Angel of Solitude and all that," he grumbles, and my annoyance darkens further. "Don't let me interrupt the party of one you've got going on," he says, disappearing in a rush of wings.

/

My head pounds with the beginnings of a hangover. Such a strange sensation as the thoughts I came to bury violently demand escape. It takes me a second to realize a second pressure in my mind. Someone is contacting me. "Hey there, Casanova, little preoccupied, I see. What's the matter?" It's Gabriel. Again.

"God doesn't care," I growl, pained all over again by the message He had sent through Joshua.

"Well, I could have told you that. Glad to see you've given up the whole Angel of Temperance persona though. It never quite suited you."

"Goodbye, Gabriel." And with that, I push his voice firmly away to continue drinking the rest of the liquor store.

/

Now that I've re-established a link, I can feel Dean's curiosity burning through me, but I don't bother to answer it with words. Instead, I pull up the next memory.

/

"Castiel, you used to be an Angel of the Lord. Now, you're…"

"What? Sariel? What am I?" I ask, picturing the weight and grip of my angel blade in case I need to summon it from the ether.

"The angel of Winchesters," she spits out in obvious insult.

Unexpected pleasure blooms inside my grace.

"Perhaps I am."

/

When I find the Winchesters in a motel outside Memphis, Sam quickly warns me that they've teamed up with another hunter for a case. He keeps his voice carefully neutral, but Dean rants for the rest of the night. "Who does this guy think he is…? Just because he specializes in…doesn't mean…. And another thing! I don't like how he keeps on asking about Cas. No, it's not 'fascinating' Sam. If he's that curious, he can get his own goddamn angel."

I hide my smile inside the book I'd been using for research.

/

"Castiel," Garth grins, trying the name out on his tongue. "I took a look at some of Bobby's books—Angel of Thursday, right? Not gonna lie. I'm more of a Friday man myself."

"You can call me Cas if you prefer," I tell him, looking across the way to where Dean is joking with Sam over by the Impala. The sight makes me smile slightly—though Garth probably thinks that has to do with his joke. "I haven't had much to do with Thursdays in quite a while," I admit.

"Yeah, being the guardian angel of the Winchesters is probably a full-time job, am I right?"

"Yes," I say, easily. Dean throws his head back fully, bright sunlight over autumn-colored hair. It's nice to see him like this—so free. "However, there's nothing else I'd rather be."

/

I pull back then, quickly, before some other memory can slip in—worried that, perhaps, I already showed too much. Dean's face...is hard to interpret. It looks vaguely stunned like the time he first encountered me as Emmanuel several literal lifetimes ago.

"That was…pretty intense," Dean declares, finally, rubbing the palms of his hands against his jeans.

"Too…intense?" I ask back, unsure why that word doesn't seem quite right.

"Nah," he smiles, suddenly, in the way that fuels the tiny hope inside me—the one that I try not to entertain but which I haven't quite been able to extinguish either. At the very least, I'm glad that he seems happier.

I let the quiet sit there, but when it stretches out for another minute, I decide that's probably my cue to leave. I nod my head and turn, but Dean's voice stops me with my hand on the doorknob.

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"You know that for every angel or demon that's called you our pet angel, just as many have called us your pet humans."

The corners of my lips twitch as I stand, still facing the door. "I know."