Memories of Things Unknown

by CastleQuill

Castiel woke in a strange hotel, without his memories and with the angels' voices in his head, constantly speaking of two brothers - the Winchesters. Castiel quickly befriends the two, and would do anything to stay by their sides, even lying about his origins. But Castiel realizes that Dean also has something to hide, and his secret may be deadlier than they ever imagined.

4. Part 1, Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The girl was shaking, and clearly on the verge of panicking, so Castiel reached over and tentatively touched her shoulder. "It is alright," he told her, seriously. "You are safe. We will take you to people who can patch your wounds, and nothing will harm you again."

He could not tell if his words were helping at all, but they didn't appear to be hurting, and so he kept up the stream of reassurances the whole time that they drove. And it must have been comforting, because at one point she moved to lay her limp head against his shoulder, and he hesitantly switched to patting the top of her head. He wasn't used to physical contact – come to think if it, he couldn't think of the last time he had touched someone, aside from fighting the Vetala and helping Sam walk to the car – and he felt awkward and uncomfortable the entire time. But if it helped the girl at all to be comforted, he was not going to deny her that.

At one point, he saw Dean glance over his shoulder at the two of them. Castiel couldn't quite read the expression in Dean's eyes – Dean turned back around too quickly for that – but he had the feeling that it had been something good.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot. Dean parked the car about a hundred feet from entrance to a place that proclaimed itself as the emergency room, which Castiel thought was odd, considering that there were several spaces that were closer. But before he could comment, Dean asked, "Do you think you can carry her? She looks like she'd trust you more than me."

"Yes," Castiel said at once. The girl was small; she couldn't have been much more than five feet tall. Castiel could easily manage that amount of weight. But he added, "I'm not sure what to do with her once I'm inside. I have never been to a hospital before."

Dean turned around, surprise evident on his face. "Never?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Castiel said honestly. "Have you?"

Dean snorted. "Way too freakin' much," he said darkly, then added, "It's okay, I'll go with you and handle the talking." He reached over and patted his brother on the arm, and asked, "Hey, you going to be okay out here for five minutes?"

Castiel had thought that Sam was still asleep, but now he squirmed slightly in his seat and said, "Yeah, I'm fine." The tone of voice he used made Castiel doubt the truth of that statement, but Dean seemed satisfied, so Castiel decided not to argue, either. Instead, he exited the car and moved around to the door closest to the girl, and carefully lifted her into his arm. She weighed almost nothing, or at least it seemed that way, even though logically he knew that she must be around a hundred pounds at least.

"You are okay," he reminded her, as she made a pained sound at the movement. She nodded weakly and closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

The moment that the entered the emergency room, the nurses sprang into action. It was less than a minute before they were wheeling a bed into the lobby. Castiel laid her down carefully, and added one last "It will be alright," for her sake. Then they wheeled her off down the hallway, and there was nothing more that he could do for her.

"What happened?" the receptionist asked.

Thankfully, Dean answered, just as Castiel had hoped that he would. "I don't know," he said. "My pal Alex and I were driving back to my place when we suddenly see this figure on the side of the road. We pulled off, and there she was!" He gestured to Castiel, who guessed that he was supposed to be the friend Alex in this story, so he dutifully nodded.

"You don't know anything else about her condition?" she asked.

"Nothing," Dean confirmed, "except that they look like some pretty nasty bite marks. I don't know, maybe she was attacked by a dog or something?"

"Or a snake," Castiel added, thinking of the way that the Vetala's eyes had looked, and the fact that Dean and Sam had said that it was venomous.

Judging by the way that Dean looked at him, though, that was too close to the truth, and Castiel hadn't been supposed to say that. But Dean just nodded. "Yeah, or a snake."

"I'm going to call the police," the receptionist said. "You'll have to wait until they get here so that you can give your statement."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said politely, and the nurse smiled at him before heading to the front desk.

Castiel's stomach rumbled softly. Now that he thought about it, it had been hours since he had eaten. He glanced around. There was a vending machine in the corner of the room, and he headed toward it. If he and Dean were going to stay here until the police arrived, then he may as well eat in the meantime.

He had used a vending machine once before, during the days before he had arrived at the men's shelter. A woman who had also been living on the street had taught him what to do, in exchange for a few of the dollars that a passerby had given him. So now, Castiel pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and opened it, to remove one of the dollar bills that he knew was inside.

"James Novak, huh?" Dean asked, his voice coming from directly over Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel turned, surprised – he hadn't realized that Dean had followed him over. "What?" he asked. How had Dean possibly known that name?

There turned out to be a simple explanation. Dean pointed to the wallet, and when Castiel glanced down, he saw that the license was clearly displayed, with James Novak's name written in letters large enough that Dean would easily be able to read them.

"Unless that's a fake name," Dean said casually.

Castiel frowned. "Why would it be a fake name?" he asked. Because it was – or, at least, he knew that it wasn't his name – but he had not expected Dean to know that.

Dean shrugged. "Lot's of hunters use fake names," he said. "Hell, I've got a ton of them."

That did make sense, especially considering how easily Dean had called him "Alex" earlier, despite not having a clue what Castiel's real name was.

And Dean still didn't know his real name. Castiel thought that he should rectify that immediately, and opened his mouth to say that the name on the license was indeed fake, and to give him his real name.

He didn't get the chance, though, because a second later Dean was already saying, "Now come on, Jimmy, let's go."

Castiel frowned. "Jimmy?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "What, you don't like the nickname or something?"

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it, not quite sure what the proper response to this way. "No, it is alright," he finally said. "But-"

"Well, okay, then," Dean said. "In that case, move your ass, Jimmy, before the nurse comes back. We'll stop somewhere on the way to the motel, I'll buy you a burger or something. It'll be way better than the shitty vending machine food."

"I thought that we had to wait until the police arrived?" Castiel asked, glancing back at the receptionist, who was talking to someone else now.

Dean had the look on his face again, as though he didn't understand Castiel at all. "Of course we're not," he said. "Come on, this'll be a good time to sneak out, she's not looking."

Dean turned to leave without waiting to make sure that Castiel followed, though he did pause after only a few feet and glance back at him. Castiel nodded and slid his wallet into his back pocket again, then followed.

"You do this a lot," Castiel said as they approached the car. He didn't make it a question. It was obvious that Dean knew exactly when was the best time to leave the emergency room without being stopped, and exactly what lies he should tell to people.

"Victims get hurt," Dean said simply. "You learn the best way to get them help without getting caught up in all the questioning."

"When the girl's treatment is finished and they question her, she's going to tell them a different story that what you told them," Castiel pointed out.

"And by then, we'll be long gone," Dean said. He turned and pointed up at a small white box on the top of the hospital entrance, which was slowly swiveling back and forth. "And I made sure to park where the camera can't get a good look at the car, so they won't be able to track us down."

Camera. Castiel mentally repeated the unfamiliar word in his mind, and couldn't help but wonder at the life that he must have lived before his memories had been lost, to make him wake up with words like car and street and lost, but to be missing words like camera and RV. Now wasn't the time to think about that, but still, he wished that he knew what could have possibly caused those gaps in his knowledge.

"You're new at this hunting thing," Dean remarked as they climbed into the car.

Hunting. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what Dean meant by that. He knew the definition – to kill wild animals or game, usually for meat or sport – but considering that no animals had been harmed that night, Castiel thought that Dean had meant a different definition. Unless that monster had counted as an animal.

Castiel must have waited too long before responding, because Dean turned to him and asked, "You are a hunter, right?"

Now that he thought about it, the Vetala had called him a hunter as well. And Castiel had been trying to kill the monster today, so he supposed that yes, he had been hunting it, in a way. "Yes, I'm a hunter," Castiel said slowly, and wondered if it was a lie or not.

Dean nodded. "Figured you'd have to be, if you're looking for me and Sam," he said, and climbed into car.

Castiel had the feeling that the reason that he was looking for them was vastly different than anything that Dean had imagined, but he didn't say that. Not yet, at least. He just climbed into the car and settled into the backseat as Dean drove off.

---

Dean did stop quickly to buy food, just as he had promised that he would. He asked Castiel what he wanted, but Castiel didn't know, so he just told Dean to order him anything. So Dean ordered three hamburgers, and a salad. "For Sam," he added to Castiel in way of explanation. "He's gonna need to eat something when he wakes up."

"I'm awake," Sam slurred. Castiel could barely understand what he was saying. "And McDonalds salads are disgusting."

"All salads are disgusting," Dean countered.

"You couldn't have chosen someplace better?" Sam complained.

"You try someplace better that's open at ten o'clock at night," Dean said, then added, "Besides, I'm the guy that's going to be stabbing a needle in your neck in about five minutes. If I were you, I'd be nice to me."

"Bitch," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Jerk," Dean shot back, and sounded quite happy as he said it.

These two were confusing Castiel more and more the longer that he traveled with him. He couldn't believe that they would even bother to stop for food when Sam had venomous bite wounds in his neck that still needed to be treated, let alone that they would have a conversation like this while they were waiting for the burgers to arrive. He was beginning to realize that Dean had been telling the truth when he said that they dealt with injuries like this often.

Dean ate one handed as he drove them to the motel. Castiel ate in the backseat, and discovered that hamburgers tasted incredibly good. Sam took a single bite of his own hamburger, then made a face and dropped it back into the bag, muttering something under his breath that Castiel couldn't hear, but which sounded derogatory.

Dean shook his head. "Just shut up and eat your frickin' salad."

Sam didn't respond to that. Castiel was reasonably certain that he'd fallen back to sleep.

They didn't say anything for the rest of the ride to the motel. It wasn't until Dean was parking the car that he glanced back at Castiel again and said, "I know that you wanted to talk about stuff, and honest, I've got some questions for you, too. But I'm going to get Sam patched up first, okay?"

Castiel blinked. "Of course," he said, surprised that Dean even felt the need to say anything. Castiel had just assumed that that would be the case, given the state that Sam was in.

"Okay, good," Dean said.

Getting Sam into the motel room was slightly easier than getting him to the car had been. The venom didn't seem to be wearing off yet – which wasn't surprising, since it couldn't have been more than half an hour since Sam had been bitten – but he seemed to have learned to compensate slightly, at least. And the distance that needed to be traveled was shorter, which was another reason why it was easier. Even so, it took both Dean and Castiel together to half-carry Sam into the room and sit him down on the closest bed, where he sprawled backward against the headboard.

"Ugh," Sam groaned, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling, allowing Castiel to get a closer look at his neck. Sam was no longer holding the jacket against it, revealing four puncture marks that were still bleeding a bit, though not nearly as much as they had been earlier. Even so, Castiel could see why Dean believed that it would require stiches. "Being drugged sucks," Sam announced after a moment.

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed. He walked over to a duffle bag that had been thrown into the corner of the room and began rooting around inside it for a moment before pulling out a first aid kit and heading over to sit on the bed beside Sam. He pulled out a needle and said, "Hold still."

There was a table over against the wall opposite the bed. Castiel perched on the edge of it, watching as Dean carefully sewed up the gashes in Sam's neck. Sam's eyes remained closed the entire time, and though he gritted his teeth a few times, he didn't move or make a noise during the whole procedure. Castiel couldn't tell if it was because the venom in Sam's system had some numbing affect on the pain, or if Sam's pain threshold was just exceptionally high. Either way, it wasn't long before Dean had tied off the thread. Castiel thought that that was the end, but then Dean retrieved a bottle of whisky from the mini fridge and returned to Sam's side. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice tight. Dean opened the bottle and poured a small stream of the alcohol over Sam's wounds.

Sam let out a low hiss, his hands clenching around the bed sheets and his face crumpling with pain. Then he took a deep breath. "I'm good," he said, before Dean got the chance to ask. Because Dean was worried – even Castiel could see that, so it wasn't surprising that Sam would be able to tell, even with his eyes closed.

Sam took another deep breath, then opened his eyes and turned to Castiel. "Thanks," he said. "For saving me back there. Don't think I ever said that."

For a moment, Castiel just stared at Sam, surprised. "Of course," he said, a repeat of the words that he had spoken to Dean earlier, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. After a moment, he decided to add, "I'm sorry that I did not arrive before she had bitten you." Although, considering that Castiel had originally assumed that Sam was the murderer, it was likely a good thing that Castiel hadn't gotten there in time.

"It's fine," Sam said.

"You said you were looking for us," Dean suddenly said. He settled down at the foot of Sam's bed, and took a swig of the whisky, then held it out toward Sam. "Want some?"

Sam made a face. "We don't actually know that much about Vetala venom, Dean," he said. "I don't think mixing it with alcohol is a good idea."

Dean just shrugged. "Your loss," he said, taking another drink. Then he turned back to Castiel and added, "Why?"

It took Castiel a moment to realize that Dean was asking about why he had wanted to find them. Which was a very good question, and Castiel still hadn't quite decided how to answer it. "I have heard about you," he began, which was the truth.

"Really?" Sam looked surprised – or, at least, as surprised as someone could look when he seemed as though he could barely force himself to keep his eyes opened. "Like what?"

What hadn't Castiel heard, really? A multitude of details ran through his head – all of the words that the angels had spoken in relation to Sam and Dean Winchester. Most of the information was vague, but it was still enough to give him a place to start, at least.

"Azazel," Castiel began. "I have heard about Azazel."

Dean's posture changed in an instant. His back straightened, his shoulders stiffened, and he turned to glare at Castiel, and Castiel suddenly found himself almost frightened by the mere thought of saying another word. Sam, meanwhile, just blinked blearily at Castiel. Either the name did not have the same meaning for him as it clearly did for Dean, or else he was simply too exhausted to react as his brother had.

It must have been the former, because Sam's face grew steadily more confused as he glanced from Castiel to Dean. "Who's Azazel?" he asked after a long moment had passed.

That was a good question, one that Castiel wasn't entirely sure how to answer. He had heard the angels whisper the name, their voices filled with disgust, and often at the same time that they spoke the name Sam Winchester. From the things that they said, Castiel thought that this Azazel wasn't quite human – or, if he was a human, then he had done something to earn a burning hatred from the angels as a whole.

There was one piece of information that Castiel could share, though. He didn't think that he was supposed to know this bit. Or, he likely wasn't supposed to hear anything that the angels said, but this had been particularly secretive. He had been awake when they'd first spoken it at midnight almost four days ago, and had curled up in his cot, pulling his sheet over his head to try to muffle the noises of the men around him, to block out all earthly noises and focus entirely on hearing the angels share their secrets. Even then, he had barely been able to hear.

It was the information that had caused him to seek out the Winchesters in the first place.

"He has children," Castiel said slowly. "Or, he's collecting them."

Collecting. That was the actual word that an angel had used to describe whatever was happening. The angel had said that the children that Azazel had collected were beginning to grow stronger. And then it had said that Sam Winchester was still the strongest.

The angels used Azazel's name many times, but that had been the only time when it was used in connection to a sentence that Castiel had been able to understand, instead of just being a random word that was repeated again and again. It was also one of the only concrete pieces of information about the Winchesters that Castiel had managed to overhear.

"What?" Sam and Dean said together, with Sam's voice lagging a beat behind, likely due to the grogginess that the venom had caused.

Castiel nodded. "Sam in one of them," he added, and then found himself immediately looking toward Dean, to see what his reaction would be. Dean had clearly been the one to know something about Azazel before this, and hadn't seemed to want Castiel to say anything about it, which made Castiel instantly worry that he had somehow betrayed a secret that Dean had been trying to keep.

Dean was sitting completely still. He didn't move at all, aside from the slight rise and fall of his chest. Castiel took that to mean that yes, he had somehow just said something that he had not supposed to have.

"One of Azazel's children," Sam repeated, like he was working it out in his mind. His lips moved again, once again forming the words "one of", though he didn't say it out loud. His forehead furrowed, and he thought about it for several seconds. Castiel could see the exact moment that Sam suddenly realized something, because he shot upright, immediately turning toward Dean. "Wait. Is Azazel the one who killed Mom and Jess?"

Dean's jaw clenched, and he didn't answer.

"Dean," Sam said, in a dangerous tone, which was tampered by the fact that he was swaying dangerously, and had to once again lean back against the headboard of the bed in order to keep himself upright. "How did you know its name?"

"I didn't," Dean said quickly, and looked over at Sam. Sam was glaring at Dean, his face the very definition of fury, at least in Castiel's opinion. The fact that his eyes had a slightly-glazed look about them didn't lessen the effect at all.

"You recognized the name when he said it," Sam said, briefly lifting one hand and waving it vaguely in Castiel's direction to show who he meant, then allowing it to drop limply to his side. "How did you know the name?"

Dean quickly looked away, his eyes dropping down to his hands for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, and said, "Dad told me. Back before he left the hospital."

Dean glanced back at Sam. If he had expected this admission to lessen Sam's anger, then he would be disappointed. If anything, Sam looked even angrier now than he had before.

"Dad told you something about the demon, and you didn't tell me?" Sam demanded.

"Give me a break," Dean said, his voice going defensive. "I'd just woken up from being on the brink of death, I wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

Sam made a noise. He didn't sound happy, far from it, but he seemed to accept that. "What else did he tell you?"

"Nothing," Dean said at once. Sam raised his eyebrows, and Dean insisted, "Nothing! Come on, I'd tell you immediately if I found out something important."

"Not if dad told you not to," Sam said.

Castiel frowned to himself as watched the brothers argue, though he was barely paying attention to the words that they said. There was something in the back of his mind, something that nagged at him, as though he knew something that was important, but which was just barely out of his reach.

"Why would Dad tell you something like this, and not me?" Sam continued, before Dean got the chance to speak.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, and he said, "Damned if I know."

"What, does Dad not trust me to join the hunt anymore?" Sam asked, sounding thoroughly offended and angry by the very idea. And maybe it had to do with the fact that they had been speaking of their father so much, or maybe it was simply because Castiel was thinking so hard about it, but suddenly, he remembered.

"John Winchester," Castiel said. He had spoken the words softly, more to himself than to either of them, but it instantly made both Dean and Sam look toward him. Castiel cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable at being the object of their stares, and amended, "Your father. John Winchester."

"You know our dad?" Dean asked.

Did he? "Yes," Castiel said, even though he wasn't so sure. But then, he wasn't sure of anything. It had been more than a week since the last time that he had ever felt certain about anything, because in all the time that had passed since he had woken with missing memories, he couldn't think of a single instant where he had been sure of anything, aside from the fact that he knew that he had to figure out the truth about whatever was happening to him and to the Winchesters.

"Do you know where he's been this past week?" Dean asked. "Or how to reach him?"

"Doesn't matter," Sam said. "We're not calling him."

Dean turned to Sam, looking as though he couldn't believe that Sam had just said that. "What-"

"I said it doesn't matter, Dean," Sam insisted, his voice hard, as though he were leaving no room for argument.

Dean stared at Sam for a moment, then slowly turned back to Castiel. "Hey, Jimmy, do you think that you could give us a minute?"

It took Castiel several moments to realize that he was the one that Dean was referring to when he spoke that name – because that was right, Castiel never had corrected him after he'd made that assumption at the hospital, and Castiel really should say something about that. But then Dean made a motion with his hands as though he were shooing him away, and Castiel suddenly realized that he wanted to be left alone with Sam.

"Yes," Castiel said quickly as he stood. "I need to go urinate," he added after a second, both because it was true, and because it gave him an excuse to leave the room and head for the bathroom, which was connected to this room, but also far enough away to offer the brothers a modicum of privacy.

It also gave Castiel the privacy necessary to try to gather his thoughts, though it did little good.

After he had finished urinating, he stood in front of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, trying to read the secrets out of his own eyes and discover who he had been. At some point in his life, he must have known John Winchester, since the name had come back to him when he had begun trying to think about the man. But the name seemed to have been all that Castiel knew – or, at least, it was the only thing that he remembered.

Still, though, it was progress. He had never before received a hint of a memory, let alone a concrete detail such as this. And he got the feeling that it was caused by being around Sam and Dean – which made sense, if he had somehow known John before the loss of his memories. And Castiel had only known the pair for little over an hour. Perhaps if he stayed with them for longer, more of his memories would begin to come back.

Somehow, Castiel found that doubtful. But he could still hope, at the very least.

Castiel took one last deep breath, then turned and opened the door a crack, preparing to rejoin Sam and Dean. He paused for a moment, though, wondering if they were done speaking privately, or if he should give them more time. Which was why he heard it when Dean said, "You can't possibly be thinking of working with this guy?"

"He knows about Azazel, and he knows Dad," Sam said. His voice sounded weary, as though the fight was taking its toll on him, although he also sounded like he wasn't going to stop fighting until he had won.

"Yeah, but if he can't help us find Dad, then what's the point?" Dean asked.

"We're not finding Dad," Sam insisted. "Besides, if we can get help from someone who'd helped him hunt Azazel before, then we don't need him."

"Seriously, what happened with you two?" Dean asked, his voice making it almost more of a demand.

Sam said nothing. The silence stretched for a long minute.

It was only then that Castiel realized that he had been eavesdropping, which was exactly what the Winchesters had asked him not to do. He stepped away from the door, intending on heading toward the back of the bathroom, where it would be more difficult to overhear. Or perhaps this would be a good time to take a shower, as his skin still felt as though it were crawling in the places where the Vetala had touched him. Although, that wouldn't do much good, considering that he had nothing to wear except his bloodstained clothes, which were streaked with dirt and beginning to stink with sweat. But his skin would be clean, at least.

"We don't know anything about Jimmy," Dean suddenly said. "For all we know, he could be completely insane. Remember Gordon?"

"Yes, I remember Gordon," Sam said, annoyed. "That was two days ago, Dean, of course I remember. And do you remember that I was the one who didn't want to trust him?" Dean muttered something that Castiel couldn't hear, and Sam added, "Just because Gordon turned out to be completely psychopathic doesn't mean that all hunters are. And besides, we have no leads on the demon so far. The thing's just vanished, and if Jimmy knows something that can help us track it down, then we're going to need his help."

Dean muttered something else, and Sam sighed. "Come on, I'm way too tired to keep fighting tonight. I just got my freakin' throat torn open, remember? Can we at least save this for the morning?"

Instantly, Dean's voice shifted from annoyed to worried. "Yeah, you should rest up. Try to sleep off the venom."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam mumbled through a yawn, and then it was silent.

Castiel waited for another minute, but when he still didn't hear anything more, he decided that it would be safe for him to exit the bathroom. And sure enough, when he pushed the door the rest of the way open, he saw that Sam had already passed out, still on top of the covers, his long limbs hanging off the bed that was too small to fit him completely. Dean had moved over to the second bed, and was staring at his brother, not appearing to pay attention to anything else.

Castiel approached the bed, but Dean still didn't appear to notice him. Castiel waited until he was barely an inch away from Dean, then cleared his throat.

Dean glanced up, then flinched back. "Dude," he said. "Personal space." Castiel frowned, not understanding, and Dean added, "That means don't stand quite so close, okay?"

Castiel still did not understand why Dean seemed so upset, but even so, he nodded and took a step back. Dean relaxed once there was more distance between them, and looked up at Castiel's face, seeming to be waiting for him to say something. Castiel cleared his throat again, and finally asked, "Would you like for me to leave?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"I unintentionally overheard the last part of your argument," Castiel admitted. "I don't wish to make trouble. I will leave if you don't wish for me to be here."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, probably a good idea." He stood and grabbed his car keys from where he'd thrown them onto a nearby table earlier, then added, "You want me to drive you anywhere? You got a car or a motel room you want to be dropped off at?"

Castiel shook his head. "Thank you, it is kind of you to offer, but I suppose that here is as good as anywhere else." Then he frowned, and asked, "Actually, do you know anything about which areas of this town are safe and which are not? Besides the park, obviously, although I suppose that the park would be safe enough, now that the Vetala are dead." He considered that, but decided that the park was too far away. It was definitely outside of walking distance, and the adrenaline rush that he had experienced during the fight was quickly leaving him. He felt as though he were on the verge of collapse, and mostly wanted to find a relatively-nice place to curl up and sleep.

Dean snorted. "Look at us," he said, with a vague gesture toward both Sam and himself. "You think that we pay attention to what's safe and what's not?"

"I suppose not," Castiel admitted. That was too bad. He would just have to hope that the area near this motel was safe. He had heard stories about bad things that could happen to someone who slept out on the streets, and was in no hurry to experience any of these stories firsthand. He didn't see any other alternative, though.

"Did you and Sam want to speak with me again?" Castiel asked, trying to hide the fact that he was hoping they'd say yes. "I can return tomorrow morning, if you wish."

"Sure, yeah, sounds good," Dean said. "I think that Sammy's got some questions for you about how you know our dad and that sort of shit."

Castiel frowned. He wasn't sure what he was going to say in response to those questions. Now wasn't the time to think about it, though. Castiel felt himself begin to sway slightly, and it was becoming difficult to remain upright. Now, it was time to sleep.

"I will be back tomorrow," he promised, as he headed toward the door. He opened it and stepped outside, then turned and glanced over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Dean," he said, then allowed the door to slam closed behind him.