CHAPTER 19

For their next case, the three of them hunted a Strix out in the middle of Maryland.

A Strix, apparently, was a type of owl from Greek mythology that feasted on human flesh. According to Sam, they had migrated to America a few centuries ago, though they had been hunted to near extinction over the years. Castiel and the Winchesters spent three days hiking all over the forest, searching for the monster's nest, only to suddenly get attacked by the thing in the middle of the night. Sam had been on watch at that time, and had shot the monster straight through the head before it had gotten close enough to hurt him. Dean had poked it with a stick a few times to make sure that it was really dead, and then they'd still had to spend another three hours searching for its nest, to make sure that there weren't any more of them.

Sam examined the nest – once they actually found it – and declared that yes, the Strix was on its own. Castiel wasn't sure how Sam reached that conclusion, but he didn't question it – he trusted that Sam would be able to know these things. And anyway, by this point, all of them were eager to return to civilization and rent some nice motel rooms to stay in, instead of continuing to camp out in the wilderness.

All in all, it was a successful hunt, but the Strix had managed to kill five people before the three of them had arrived to help. Four of those victims had been infants or young children – apparently the Strix's favorite meal. So despite their victory, the mood was subdued as they pulled into the motel parking lot and grabbed their bags.

Nobody even suggested going out to celebrate that night, though they had finished moving their things into the motel room just as it was beginning to grow dark outside, meaning that they had plenty of time to go drink at a bar. Instead, Dean stopped off at the closest supermarket and bought a six-pack of beer, then passed them around as they all sat together in one of the motel rooms, with Dean and Castiel lounging on the couch while Sam sat across from them in the armchair.

"Strix, man," Dean said, taking a long swig of his beer. "God, I hate those things. I thought that they'd been fucking extinct. I mean, I haven't heard of anyone hunting one for years."

"Apparently not," Sam said as he took a drink of his own, then shook his head. "But yeah, it's been, what? Ten years since we've last run into one?"

"Nine, I think," Dean said, looking over at Sam. Slowly, his eyes narrowed as he remembered. "That was the thing that chased you up a tree, wasn't it?"

Sam just gave Dean a dirty look. "In my defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Yeah," Dean said, and snorted, shaking his head. "Climb to the top of a tree to get away from a monster that can frickin' fly. Great plan there, Sammy."

"Shut up," Sam snapped, though it looked like he was trying to hide a smile now. "That was like my second hunt, and the thing was coming right at me. You could show some sympathy. I nearly shit myself with terror."

Dean just rolled his eyes. "How about you have some sympathy for me?" he shot back. "You were like fifty feet in the air, and I had to deal with trying to shoot the bird without also killing my idiot little brother." He shuddered at the memory, his face falling for a moment, as if he truly didn't like thinking about his memory, despite the fact that Sam had clearly made it through just fine. "I was convinced you were going to fall and bust your head open on a rock. Not exactly my best memory, you know."

Sam had an odd look on his face now, too, as if there were something that he was only just now occurring to him. "Oh, yeah, I remember that," he said. "You're right, I think that you were more freaked out than I was."

"Damn right I was," Dean mumbled, and shook his head. "The two of us out in the woods hunting alone, and you pull a stunt like that? I swear you were trying to give me a heart attack on purpose."

"It was okay, though," Sam said quickly, using his beer to make a dismissive gesture. "I never actually fell."

For a second, Dean didn't respond. Then he pulled a grin onto his face as though he were forcibly pushing away the bad memories. "Yeah, that's right," he said, though Castiel could hear that his cheer was forced, as though the memories were still bothering him. "Kid was like a little monkey. Couldn't have been more than two or three when he figured out that he could climb everything in the motel rooms. Dad turned his back on him for about a minute once, and Sammy makes it all the way up onto the ceiling fan."

Sam laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his grin widening into something genuine as he looked back over at Sam. "I swear to god, Dad nearly collapsed right then. We never did figure out how the hell you did that." He paused, then his grin turned to what could only be described as wicked. "And what do you mean you never fell? Don't you remember the broken arm?"

"Hey," Sam protested immediately. "I didn't fall off that roof. I jumped, and only because you told me to." He didn't make it farther before his words dissolved into laughter. After a minute, he shook his head. "You know what, forget about the monsters coming after us. It's a miracle I didn't fall and kill myself just because I was such a stupid kid."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, in a voice that instantly made Castiel turn to look at him. The laughter had left Dean's expression again, leaving a serious look in its place. He caught Castiel looking at him, then cleared his throat and added to Sam, "Seriously, there were a couple of years where I didn't even dare to turn my back on you in case you ended up shimmying the drainpipes or something."

"I bet," Sam said, also looking more serious now. "Thanks for that, you know."

Dean just shrugged, and gave Sam a one-sided grin. "Yeah, well, someone had to keep your idiot little ass in line."

Sam grinned back, then cleared his throat. "I did actually fall that one time, though, didn't I?" he asked, in an obvious attempt to turn back to the more lighthearted memories. "We'd skipped out on cleaning the weapons to go climb trees in the park, remember? I must've fallen from fifteen feet up, didn't even have a scratch."

"Guess you've always been lucky," Dean said, then added, "Dad was sure pissed about that, wasn't he? I don't know how he even found out what we did, we'd gotten them all clean by the time he'd gotten back, but he was fucking furious."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but this time, he was the one whose voice sounded off.

They seemed to be approaching dangerous territory here (to use a metaphor that Sam had taught him). Castiel quickly decided to intervene. "What was your best childhood memory?"

Instantly, Dean was back to grinning. "Oh, boy," he said gleefully. "Let me tell you about the princess-themed birthday that I threw Sam when he was six."

"Bitch," Sam said, and threw his bottle cap at Dean's head. He was also smiling again, though, so Castiel decided that his attempts at intervention had been successful.

"I don't know what you were complaining about," Dean said, catching the bottle cap and lobbing it back at Sam. "I pretty much had to beg Dad for extra cash to buy that cake, and it was the best fucking cake I've ever tasted, pink frosting at all."

"And the fact that I wanted a Spiderman cake had nothing to do with why I was so pissed?" Sam asked.

"You'll be glad I bought you cake at all," Dean shot back. "I swear, I still remember the way the pies in that place looked. Oh, man, was I tempted."

Sam just rolled his eyes, then turned to Castiel. "Your turn," he said.

"My turn for what?" Castiel asked, then eyed the bottle cap in Sam's hand, expecting for Sam to throw it at him. After all, Dean and Sam had both been hit by it already – perhaps that was what was "his turn".

Sam, though, just grinned and said, "You know. Fun stories, childhood memories, that kind of thing." He paused, and when Castiel said nothing, he prompted, "Come on, if Dean and I are going to be all sentimental tonight, then you've at least got to join in."

Castiel froze. For a moment, it occurred to him to attempt to make something up, but he dismissed that idea immediately. For one, he wasn't entirely sure what he should say. But more than that, he didn't wish to deliberately lie. So instead, he sat there stiffly and said, "I'm sorry, I don't wish to participate. But I would enjoy it if you would continue with these stories, though."

Suddenly, both Sam and Dean's expressions shifted from amusement to concern. "Jimmy?" Sam asked, scooting forward slightly in his seat. "You okay?"

"I am fine," Castiel assured them, then tried to find the words to come next. He couldn't think of anything that could divert their suspicions. So, slowly, he admitted, "I don't have and 'fun stories' or 'childhood memories', as you said."

There. He had admitted to his lack of memories, for the first time. He sat there, practically holding his breath, waiting to see how the Winchesters would respond.

Both Sam and Dean's body language shifted completely, growing much more uncomfortable, and the worry on their faces grew stronger. "Jimmy," Sam said slowly, then cut himself off, like he didn't know if he should continue or not.

Then Dean spoke.

"Remember that time that we decided to egg your bullshit teacher's house?" he asked, turning toward his brother, facing away from Castiel completely.

Sam's body remained stiff, but after a few seconds, he nodded. "No," he said, with force cheer. "You decided to egg my bullshit teacher's house after she gave me detention for reading instead of working on the homework that I'd already gotten done. I was completely innocent of that."

Dean just shrugged. "Eh, details," he said.

And just like that, the conversation moved away from Castiel, and it was only a couple of minutes before the reminiscing turned into genuine laughter. And nobody said another word to Castiel the whole time, except to turn to him every once in a while to explain some detail of a story, which quickly grew more and more embarrassing as the brothers tried to one-up each other. And Castiel simply listened, and relaxed, and finally began to laugh along with them.

Dean turned toward him with a grin the first time that Castiel laughed at one of his stories, then added, "Okay, no more asking about your childhood, but I wanna know this one, at least." Castiel frowned, more surprised than anything else, but he nodded for Dean to continue, and Dean said, "How'd you find Sam and I in the first place?" Castiel didn't immediately respond, and Dean added, "Come on, man, I've been wondering this one since the moment you turned up in the park saying you'd been trying to find us. Were you just randomly working a case where we happened to be, or did you know we'd be there?"

Sam shifted in his seat, and nodded. "I wondered that, too, actually."

"I can answer," Castiel assured them, since it wasn't like this was a part of the secrets that he was keeping. "It was a spell, actually."

Dean blinked. It wasn't that he had looked uninterested before – far from it, actually – but now he leaned forward, suddenly looking far more intrigued. "Wait, a spell? Where'd you find it?"

So Castiel explained, beginning with how he had ended up at the men's shelter after living on the streets. He kept the details simple, saying only than one of the men had suggested that he use the public library to track people down, and that it had taken him several hours before he happened across a site that seemed to be useful.

"Looking up spells online?" Dean asked, then snorted. "You sure you're not Sam in disguise?"

Castiel frowned. "I don't think that's possible."

"What website did you use?" Sam asked, before Dean got the chance to respond. "I've seen a few different websites for that kind of stuff, but most of them turn out to be fake."

"I found some of those, too," Castiel admitted. "I recognized this one, though, so I believed that it would work. And it did."

"And do you remember what the words were?" Dean asked, his voice eager. "Or how you do the spell?"

Castiel's frown deepened. "No, I don't, though I could probably find it again if you needed me to," he said. "Why are you so excited about this?"

Dean shrugged. "It'll be useful, don't you think?" he said, and glanced over at Sam. "I mean, remember when you got locked up by those freaky hillbillies last year? Imagine how much easier it would've been to track you down if I'd had a spell like that."

Sam nodded, his face thoughtful. "You know, that is actually a good idea."

"Do you want me to look for it again?" Castiel asked.

Dean, though, just shook his head. "I'll figure it out," he said. "Now come on, Sammy, you should totally tell Jimmy about the time that you locked yourself out of the motel room in just your underwear."

"I was seven!" Sam protested, giving Dean the middle finger. "You don't have to hold that over my head for the rest of my life!" Dean just laughed, and despite what Sam had said, he did immediately turn to Jimmy and begin telling the story.

After that, the mood stayed more or less lighthearted for the rest of the night, with Dean and Sam sharing more of their childhood. Castiel even volunteered a few anecdotes from his time on the streets. He didn't share many of those, though. Most of his stories were not good memories, and Sam and Dean both looked as though it made them sad to hear them.

Most of all, Castiel kept waiting for one of them to ignore what Dean had said earlier, and to ask about the fact that he didn't have memories. After all, that was a big thing for him to just have confessed, and after spending so long worrying about what their reactions would be, it seemed strange that they just- wouldn't care. It was nice, in a way, to know that their opinion of him didn't care. Even so, it was unnerving to see the subject being ignored. It was almost enough to make him want to bring it up again himself.

Almost. In the end, he didn't say another word about it, and decided that he would simply enjoy this peace while it lasted.

It wasn't until he was preparing for bed a few hours later that Castiel realized how his words had likely been interpreted.

He had been trying to tell the Winchesters that he had no memories of his childhood, whether fun or otherwise. The Winchesters, though, had probably thought that he meant that he hadn't had any fun memories, as if all of Castiel's memories were horrible. That would explain the worry and sympathy on their faces, and why they hadn't asked any of the follow-up questions which Castiel had expected.

Part of him wanted to just be grateful that he had gotten out of answering that question without technically lying. The rest of him, though, felt guilty.

The guilt had been slowly creeping up on him for weeks now. Mostly, he had been able to ignore it. He told himself that he hadn't had a choice but to be dishonest, that he never would've gained their trust otherwise, assured himself that Dean knew that secrets were being kept, and had agreed not to press Castiel about them. And most of the time, he was successful in assuring himself that nothing was wrong.

Now, though, as he stood in the bathroom with the angels' voices reverberating through his head – five days, five days – he couldn't avoid it any longer.

There was a pounding on the door, then Dean called, "Hey, you almost done in there? I'm ready to go to bed."

Castiel smiled slightly, and opened the door. "I'm sorry," he said. "I did not realize that you tired."

"I'm not," Dean said, then snorted. "Who said anything about wanting to sleep?" He grinned and winked at Castiel, leaning on the doorframe. He had drank three of the beers from the six pack, and he wasn't drunk, exactly – apparently his tolerance was very high – but he was relaxed in a way that he rarely was when he was completely sober.

"Excellent idea," Castiel agreed, putting one hand on Dean's arm to lead him toward the bed, all thoughts of sleep suddenly forgotten.

Tomorrow. Castiel would speak to Dean – and Sam – tomorrow, to tell them the truth about his past, or lack thereof. There was no sense bringing it up tonight, when Dean didn't appear to be in the state of mind needed to think about something so serious.

So for tonight, he was going to enjoy his time with Dean, and attempt to make this into the best night that they had ever shared.

Tomorrow, though, he had to tell the truth.

He had honestly meant it when he said that he was going to tell Dean everything, and share all of the secrets that he had been hiding. He never got the chance, though.

It began when Castiel woke. He dressed and washed just like any other day, but when he emerged from the bathroom, Dean was on the phone. There was a hard expression on his face – his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, clearly listening hard to whatever it was that the other person was saying.

Castiel remained still, watching Dean. His first thought was that Dean had finally reached his father, or that John Winchester had decided to respond to one of his son's many messages. But no, a moment later, Dean nodded and said, "Okay, thanks, Ash. You're awesome, man."

Dean hung up the phone, then immediately turned and started shoving clothes into his duffel.

"What did Ash find for you?" Castiel asked, taking a step closer.

"Could you go wake Sam up?" Dean asked. "I wanna be on the road in ten minutes. We'll stop for breakfast on the way."

Castiel shook his head, and moved even closer. "Is it something about the demon?" he demanded. No response. "I deserve to know, Dean."

"No, it's not about the demon, alright?" Dean snapped. "Not really, at least, just-" He stopped, and took a deep breath, and turned around. "Sorry," he said, looking Castiel straight in the eyes. "This is important, okay, I can promise you that. So, can you go make sure that Sam's awake?"

Castiel stared back at Dean for a long minute, unblinking. Then he nodded. "Alright," he said. "I'll go wake Sam."

"Thank you," Dean said, fervently enough that it dispelled any more of Castiel's doubts. Whatever was happening, it clearly mattered to Dean quite a bit, and Castiel lost the desire to fight. Instead, he simply turned to do as Dean had asked.

They drove all day. Dean didn't let Sam take a turn driving in all of the thirteen hours that they spent in the car. Nor did he tell them where they were going, no matter how they tried to convince Dean to do so. Eventually, Castiel gave up on trying to learn their destination. Sam continued bothering Dean far longer than Castiel did, but Dean just set his jaw and didn't say a word.

"You trust me, right?" Dean asked at one point.

Sam blinked, looking surprised. "Yeah, of course," he said, "but-"

"Then trust me when I say that this is something important," he said. "It matters to me, okay? So just stop asking and let me drive."

Sam had scowled and glared out the window after that, but Castiel noticed that he never again asked about where they were going.

They stopped three times – once for gas, once for food, and once for both. It had just been growing light when they had left the motel, and it was already dark again when Dean began driving through a small town and pulled into the parking lot of a small motel, just like any of the other motels that they slept in.

"What, we're not going to keep driving all night?" Sam asked, sounding somewhat sarcastic. Dean didn't even acknowledge him.

The three of them climbed out of the car. Sam and Castiel immediately began heading for the front desk, but stopped after a few steps when they realized that Dean wasn't following them.

"Hey, Dean, man!" Sam called, turning around to look at his brother. "Don't we need to check in?"

Dean didn't respond, and didn't slow down. Castiel and Sam exchanged a look, then followed after him.

Dean headed straight to one of the doors, and stopped in front of, then suddenly didn't do anything more. He simply stared at it, something akin to fear and anticipation mingling on his face.

"Dean?" Castiel asked slowly. "What are you doing?"

"You'll know in a second," Dean said, then turned to Sam. "And don't be mad at me, okay? Trust me, Sam, we gotta do this. I gotta do this."

"Mad at you?" Sam repeated, looking more confused than ever. "Dean, what the hell are you even doing?"

Instead of answering, Dean turned to look at the door again. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, then knocked twice.

They all waited, listening to the movement from inside the motel. A second later, the door opened, revealing a man standing there, blinking at them. He was someone that the Winchesters knew, judging by the shocked look that immediately crossed Sam's face, and the way that the man asked, "Dean? Sam? What the hell are you two doing here?"

Castiel glanced around at the other three, wondering when exactly someone was going to explain the exact same thing to him.

Then Dean swallowed hard and said, quietly, "Dad."