AN: this is somewhat of a short chapter - i have to think about where i'm going to go after this, so i thought it would be better to put up something now as opposed to waiting another week for a longer chapter
i also had someone mention that this story probably could've ended when dean & thomas first meet - that was actually my initial intention, but then when i actually started writing i ended up spending all this time shaping out thomas and his experiences leading up to meeting dean. it felt kind of... incomplete? unsatisfying? to stop at their meeting. i wanted to explore how things would go from there. which is why i'm still knee deep in this fic .
It's not until a couple of days have passed that he notices the change. Of all places, it's at a coffee shop. He places an order for both himself and Dean. The barista asks for a name and the words are almost out of his mouth before he sputters to a dead stop.
"It's for-"
He chokes slightly, wonder switching off his brain for a moment before he scrambles to answer the poor guy trying to take his order. "It's for Winchester," he manages to stutter out. Somehow that seemed a safer answer.
There's an empty table nearby and he sits. He takes a few deep breaths to try and calm his rapidly beating heart, because his body has decided to react just as strongly as his mind did.
Castiel. He was going to say Castiel.
Not Thomas. Not even Cas, the only way Dean has ever referred to the angel. Castiel.
What the actual fuck.
Upon further reflection, he realizes he hasn't referred to himself as Thomas for a while now. For sure not since Georgia, but even before then the facade of a distinct "Thomas" was slipping. The exact where and how and why elude him, but the very real conclusion remains.
In the confines of his own mind, he thinks of himself as Castiel.
Fuck.
Two weeks later, he asks Dean to start calling him "Cas." He had waited to make sure, just to see if it was something temporary. If the realization would startle him back into being Thomas. There was the very real possibility it was just a side effect of whatever mojo the witch had worked on him.
But the feeling didn't wane.
If anything, it grew stronger. His dreams at night were more real. Every piece of it he could describe in minute detail. He was pretty sure they were memories. At first he feared that he's been influenced by Dean's stories, but he knows better. There are things he remembers that Dean could not have known.
(How could he have seen the birth of the sun? Or the beauty of Eden? Even in Hell, he did not see how his own soul was a beautiful thing in a pit of darkness. No, these are things that come from Castiel alone.)
A game he plays is he lets his mind wander through his memories, tries to pick apart if they are Castiel or Thomas. He knows both well enough, both are him, that it often takes a moment to place them.
Though at times the images of Cas' life are fuzzy, worn away because of the distance Thomas' life has created, he feels he could easily fit into the lives of Thomas or Castiel.
When he brings it up to Dean, he doesn't say all that. Castiel's memories bring new insight into Dean, and he does not want to create a false impression. He isn't Castiel. He was Castiel. Years have passed, and from this human perspective years seems like a long time. Things have changed. Above all, he has changed. To give Dean the idea that he might behave in the same way his friend did... It would be unwise.
So all he does is express his comfort with being called Cas. Or Castiel. Or Thomas, for that matter. In his mind, they are all one and the same.
He doesn't know how he expected Dean to react - perhaps a hopeful smile or barely contained affection in his eyes - but all that he gets is a stunned yet carefully neutral expression. "Sure."
If Cas thought things were tense before, it's nothing in comparison to how they are now. Dean seems both more at ease and more on edge around him. He has actively avoided calling him by name - whether it be Cas or Thomas - and every conversation they have eventually putters to a stop, Dean looking thoroughly uncomfortable.
They don't really talk about it for about a week, and only then because Cas can't stand it anymore.
"What wrong?"
Dean's usual trend to deny his own feelings appears not to have disappeared over the years. "Nothing."
"Dean." Not harsh, but enough bite to show he can see through the bullshit.
"Ca.. I don't know what you're talking about."
And that says it all, doesn't it?
You don't know what to call me anymore. Don't know who I am.
But you want me to be Cas. You're hoping I'm Cas.
They stare at each other for a moment, Dean clearly defensive.
He sighs. "I've made you uncomfortable."
"What? No, no of course-" Dean swallows at the unamused stare he receives. "Okay, maybe a little-"
"I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention." He rubs at his temples in an exasperation that feels more like Castiel's. Long-suffering Castiel who has had to deal with Dean in similar contexts too often. "Would you prefer to go back to-"
"No." They have a short staring match, Cas' raised eyebrow meeting Dean's determined gaze. "Look, you're figuring out who you are. I need to get over my shit and be more supportive of that. Sorry if I've been... well, however I've been." A pause. "Seriously, dude, I'm here to help."
Cas takes a moment to think about it. This, actually, is not the Dean he knew for years. This is an older, more grown up one that is more in keeping with Thomas' experience. Both halves consider the offer, give a small smile, and say a simple, "Thank you."
Dean seems to have a knack for knowing when he feels more Castiel vs Thomas. Probably because he's known both, knows their mannerisms inside and out by this point. Just the way he carries himself has Dean giving him a pat on the back with a call of "Tommy boy" or a blinding smile and a shy, "Hey Cas."
True to his word, Dean makes an obvious effort to not be weird about the whole thing. There's some undercurrent still there, something left unsaid, but for the most part it's unnoticeable.
It finally comes to a head one night at a bar outside of St Paul. Just a salt and burn, nothing too fancy or hard, but it's become routine for them to hit up a local bar for dinner after a successful hunt. This place is a shithole, really, but that doesn't make its alcohol any less potent.
Dean, for once, is the one who gets drunk.
Castiel has plenty of experience with drunk Dean. He sighs and prepares himself for the inevitable flirting or hustling or perhaps even bar fight that always come. They don't have separate rooms, so he wonders briefly if Dean would kick him out while he scores. Maybe he'll get a second room.
None of this happens, though. It takes a moment for him to figure out why. Cas has seen drunk 30-something Dean many times. This is 50-something Dean.
Instead, it appears Dean has become quite the chatty Cathy over the years. He has a slight pink blush on his cheeks as he goes through story after story of hunts he's been on. He happens to avoid the near decade of time Castiel was still around, focusing on stories that are from his early life (right after John started trusting him to hunt on his own) to a bit after he gave up looking for Cas.
Cas doesn't bother cutting him off from the bar until he tells the story three times in a row, hiccuping through the last rendition. He humors him through another re-telling before he decides it's time to leave.
It's a struggle for Dean to walk, so he ends up leaning a lot of his weight on Cas. Dean goes quiet on the walk back to the motel, too much of his energy spent on trying to put one foot in front of the other. At the door, Cas can barely juggle holding onto Dean and searching his pockets for the key.
"Knew you weren't dead," he slurs, weight pressing into Cas' side. "Knew it."
"Hmm," he says in way of response. He finally manages to work the door open and manhandle Dean inside. He guides him to the nearest bed and the older man flops down gracelessly.
"Knew you wouldn't leave me."
"I was gone for twenty two years, Dean."
"'s okay, I forgive you," he says around a yawn before rolling over. Light snoring can be heard before Cas has thought how to react.
He barely sleeps that night.