An all but sleepless night and the stress of the last few days were finally catching up with Sam, and Cas automatically offered to drive him to Dean's apartment to get some rest. Regrettably, it wasn't a good idea to have John and Sam stay in the same place during an already emotional time.
The younger Winchester agreed immediately, his eyes already half closed, and John, who was still struck by the change of his elder son's personality, let himself been taken home with Bobby, who had apparently decided that it was best he keep an eye on him.
Cas had only time for a quick thankful look as he steered a half-conscious Sam to his car.
He didn't say anything as he collapsed into the back seat, and Cas was glad to be alone with his thoughts.
The uneasiness that he had experienced in Dean's room hadn't abated.
They hadn't gotten Dean back and he desperately needed him; needed him in whatever way he could have him. He was selfish, awfully so, but he needed Dean. He had always needed Dean, ever since they had become friends, and until the accident he'd had the comfort that Dean needed him as well.
He didn't anymore. He didn't need them at all because he couldn't remember why. He didn't remember raising Sam or studying with Cas; he didn't remember fixing cars with Bobby.
He didn't remember himself.
Sam slept soundly all the way to Dean's apartment. Cas shook him awake after they had arrived and he stumbled blindly up the stairs; Cas quickly guided him to the guest room he always used when he visited.
"Cas?" he mumbled, clearly more asleep than awake.
"Yes?"
"I don't want to lose my brother".
He sounded like a child. All Cas could do was tuck him in and say, "You won't," although he couldn't be sure. But if the white lie made Sam feel better, it was worth it. Dean wasn't there to look after him; they had to do what he would have done, and that meant assuring that his sleep was restful and undisturbed.
After having seen to Sam, he made himself coffee. Dean wouldn't have had anything against it. They both had keys to the other's apartment and moved in them with the same familiarity.
Dean would no longer.
Cas chastised himself for his worries. Dean wasn't gone. They had no proof that the amnesia would be permanent. Doctor Moseley didn't seem to think so, and he didn't have any brain injuries. His memories were still there, he just couldn't access them for the time being.
Cas looked at his watch. He could have made it to his lecture at 2 pm, but even though he had slept through the night, he still felt tired.
He called his department. Rachel, the secretary, was helpful as always and didn't complain when he told her that he wouldn't be in today and that his lectures would be taken care of by Balthazar.
Afterwards, it dawned on him that he should tell Balthazar that he was expected at 2 pm, and he shook his head at himself as he dialled. Thankfully his friend was more than capable of holding his lectures. They had worked on several research projects together.
"Cassie," he drawled into the phone. "How's Dean?"
Cas quickly filled him in, and Balthazar jumped to the right conclusion.
"The Supreme Court and Religious Issues in the United States at two, right?"
"Thank you," Cas replied.
"Please, it's no problem. You're lucky Spring Break's coming up, no one will have to cover for you then."
He'd almost forgotten that next week was free, but he was glad for it. He could concentrate on helping Dean –
If he wanted his help. Maybe he'd rather have his brother around than a friend he didn't remember.
"Stop over thinking, I can hear you from here," Balthazar chastised him. "I'm sure he'll remember soon. That's the guy who still can't let go of me calling his car a '69 Impala five years ago."
It was true, and Cas chuckled, thanking Balthazar before hanging up. He decided to wait for Sam to wake up. He didn't want him to be alone.
He always kept a few spare clothes at Dean's apartment in case he fell asleep there and didn't have the time to return home before work, and he snuck into the bedroom before taking a shower.
He felt better afterward and made himself comfortable on the couch. The morning had taken quite a lot out of him as well, and he was soon lulled to sleep by the comforting surroundings.
He still woke up before Sam, who looked much younger than his twenty-six years buried in the duvet, and began preparing them a small meal. Neither of them would be much inclined to eat, but it was nearly three pm and they had to take some nourishment.
Sam stumbled into the kitchen shortly afterwards, eyes still blurry from sleep.
"Anything from the hospital?"
He shook his head.
"I'm sure Dean is resting."
Sam nodded and sat down. He looked somewhat doubtful at the meal Cas had swiftly thrown together, but Cas kept encouraging him until the younger Winchester began to eat. Not wanting to feel hypocritical, he forced his own portion down his throat.
After they had eaten, Sam, who he'd been expecting to jump up right away and go back to the hospital, kept staring at his plate.
"Cas, what I said earlier when you brought me to bed – your answer – you didn't really mean it, did you?"
Once again he sounded unbelievably young and Cas wondered if Dean always saw the little boy he'd been when he talked to him.
"I wish I could," he answered softly. "But not even the doctors know what caused the amnesia."
Sam nodded and looked up. Cas wasn't surprised to see his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"I meant it," he said softly. "I don't want to lose my brother. I can't. I know he thinks he's holding me back, that he's a grunt, that I'm the smart one who's going places and I'll leave him behind – but I never would."
"I know," Cas said firmly. He was certain that nothing would ever tear apart Sam and Dean; their brotherly bond was too strong.
"Look at me, telling you all about my problems" Sam chuckled, although it sounded hollow. "You've got to be scared of losing him, too".
"Of course. Dean is my best friend." And for a long time, until he'd gone to college, he'd been his only one.
"Cas –" Sam said and Cas froze. There could only be one reason for Sam to look at him like this. He had always done his best not to let his feelings show. He'd had to accept right from the start that Dean would never see him like that, would never reciprocate his affection, and he had continued to be the best friend he needed, ignoring his desire for more. He'd thought he'd been completely successful.
Apparently not, because Sam was about to speak and make him talk about his feelings, make him openly acknowledge them, which would lead to nothing but stress for both of them.
"Sam – "
"Cas – " he repeated, and he shook his head.
"Don't."
"But – "
"No. I realized a long time ago that Dean and I would only ever be friends, and that is all," he said with finality, and Sam looked down at his plate, rejected.
"Give me a minute and I'll be ready to go," Cas continued and turned around, mastering his emotions. He didn't want Sam to know that the talk, although it hadn't happened in the end, had shaken him. He really shouldn't be that moved by words that hadn't and would never be spoken.
It was just like Sam to worry about him when he was already concerned about his brother. In truth, he had more right to be scared. Cas' love was unwanted and unreciprocated, and more than that, it was a secret, although he was beginning to think it wasn't as well-kept as he had always believed.
He was here to support his best friend and his family, as he had always done, and that was it. He quickly retrieved his duffle bag he always kept at Dean's in case he stayed over from the guest room and changed his clothes.
The drive back to the hospital was quiet apart from Sam talking to Bobby on the phone.
"I see," he replied to something he'd said with contempt in his voice and Cas didn't have to ask what they were talking about.
"If he thinks it is for the best..." Still the same tone.
"Alright, we'll see you there."
He hung up and Cas didn't ask whether John was coming. It was obvious that he wasn't.
Considering Dean's reactions to them, it was perhaps for the best. Although it wouldn't help the instinct that had first identified Bobby as his father.
An instinct that Cas sadly had to conclude had been more right than they'd thought.
They knew each other too long to bother with platitudes, to tell Sam that their father had simply experienced a shock, that he would soon be ready to support Dean in case the amnesia lasted; so he said nothing and let the comforting silence, born out of years of being friends, speak for him.
They went to Dean's doctor first, even though they really wanted to see Dean himself. They had to know if the tests had brought any results, hoping against hope that the hospital had forgotten to call them.
He shook his head.
"The initial diagnosis stands: there is no organic cause for Mr. Winchester's amnesia. Doctor Moseley is with him as we speak."
As far as Cas could tell, Doctor Moseley was competent and would accept neither Dean's stubbornness nor the sulking that was sure to follow. It was good news.
A few feet from his door, they could already hear Dean ranting and carefully pushed it open as not to startle him.
"I mean, there's this whole freaking life I've lived, and I don't know a single thing about it! There's a family I assume I love and nothing rings a bell! How is that normal?"
"Mr. Winchester, not only is it very difficult to examine amnesia as a whole, but every case is different. I am not saying that your experience is normal – but neither is it strange. It is dissociative amnesia."
Their Dean would have gotten angrier, but this Dean simply calmed himself and said slowly, "Sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for. I know it's scary."
She was the first to see them.
"Mr. Winchester, Mr. Novak."
Dean looked up and threw them a brilliant smile as they approached, although because he was glad to see them or simply wanted a way out of the awkward conversation, Cas couldn't say.
Either way it looked enough like his normal grin to make his heart ache.
"Hello Sam, Cas," he said, then stopped. He frowned. "Sorry, man, don't know if you want me to shorten your name – "
"Of course" he said immediately. "It was you who first called me Cas to begin with."
"Okay then, Cas it is," he said, still smiling.
Cas didn't realize they were lost in each other's eyes until Doctor Moseley cleared her throat. He looked away and blushed.
"Dean, you are completely aware and conscious of your situation, but the amnesia shows no signs of abating. I will come back later to discuss treatment."
Dean nodded and wished her a polite goodbye.
When the door had closed behind her, Sam asked, "How are you feeling?"
"No real change from when you guys left. My brain's still all scrambled. The pain meds help, though." He paused.
"And they won't let me out of bed."
"A contusion is rather painful" Cas replied. "It's best if you rest."
"I know," Dean said, "but it's still annoying."
He looked from one of them to the other. They looked like they'd gotten some rest, at least, and Cas was wearing a t-shirt and jeans instead of the rumpled suit. The combination suited him. And he certainly looked cute when he blushed.
Friend, Dean reminded himself. Best friend.
Although he stared at him a lot.
"So – " he began. "Since Doctor Moseley seems to be confident my brain won't fry if I learn stuff, do you think we could – talk?"
He had ended more hesitantly than he had begun; one of the reasons was that he simply didn't want to bring them pain. And he knew that it would hurt him immensely if a member of his family didn't know who he was.
They smiled at him, a little unsure, but determined.
"Sure," Sam said. "What do you want to know?"
That was the difficult part. The simple answer would have been "Everything" but that would probably not help. He should have started asking about his family, but he was so curious about himself that he couldn't help it.
"What am I? I mean, what do I do?"
"You're a mechanic," Sam replied. "You took over Dad's shop three years ago."
"You're extremely capable," Cas supplied. "Everyone you've ever worked for has been impressed by your skills."
Dean was – he wasn't sure how he felt. Not exactly disappointed, but... surprised. He didn't feel like a mechanic. But repairing stuff, making old, useless cars beautiful again – he could get behind that.
"And I was in the shop when the drawer fell on me?"
Sam nodded.
"Well, I know what I'll be getting rid of the moment I step foot in the garage," he said lightly and was baffled at the reaction it received. Cas contended himself with a wide-eyed stare, but Sam actually took a step back.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asked worriedly.
"No," Sam hastened to assure him. "It's just – you're rather – "
"Attached to the old décor," Cas came to the rescue.
"Yeah, well, doubt I'll like the drawer much after it tried to kill me even when I remember."
This time, his attempt at making them laugh was successful.
"And what about you two?"
Sam immediately launched into an explanation of his studies at Stanford, and Dean was impressed. He certainly looked brainy, but a full ride? Pretty awesome. He also detailed his bar exam and it was only at the end of his rant, when he looked at Dean with wide, begging eyes, that he realized what his brother, most likely unconsciously, wanted.
"Don't look so scared. It's obvious you're a prodigy. You passed, I'm sure."
Sam beamed.
Cas watched the exchange between the brothers, both amused and a little sad. Dean was instinctively doing what he had always done: assuring Sam that he was proud of him, telling him he was doing a good job with his life. But at the same time, the gesture didn't have the same meaning it would have had before the accident. Dean had no reason to be proud of Sam other than being his brother and a decent human being.
Yet some of the tension that hadn't left Sam since he had heard the news seemed to evaporate as Dean continued asking questions.
They had now reached Jess.
"She makes you happy?"
Another different approach. Invariably, when Sam told him about a woman he had met or knew, Dean's first question would be, "She pretty?" to annoy him. But this Dean wanted to learn about his brother's life, and he asked the important questions first.
Sam smiled.
"Yes. Very. I'll call her later. She was as worried about you as the rest of us."
"Really?"
"You two hit it off when you first met."
They really did, their caring natures immediately finding a kindred spirit in one another. And of course both wanted what was best for Sam.
"She wanted to come, but I told her to wait until after the exam. You would've been pissed otherwise."
"I would have been," Dean agreed. "So what about me then? Single, I guess."
"Yes," Sam simply confirmed, not feeling the need to elaborate on Dean's dating history. Cas was grateful, not only because Dean's relationships had never ended well – Cassie had simply dropped him when he'd told her that he would continue working in his father's garage, and Lisa was a subject that was never mentioned between them – but also because irrationally, maddeningly, he never could help but feel a twinge of jealousy when they talked about the women Dean had dated. The women who'd had a chance to be with him.
Why they had thrown it away, Cas would never know.
Dean turned to look at him, and for a terrifying moment he thought he knew what he'd been thinking.
"What about you?" he asked, and Cas registered with relief that he was only trying to learn more about him. "Let me guess, from your outfit before – tax accountant?"
Cas laughed. His best friend had often claimed that he looked like one, but he had never seen a reason to get rid of his beloved trench coat and suit for more fitting clothes, especially since Dean seemed to like them.
"I'm a professor at KU. Religious Studies."
Dean whistled. "Pretty damn impressive family and friends I got."
"I can't repair a car to save my life," Cas offered and Dean laughed.
"That's hardly necessary if you're best friend with a mechanic." He winked.
It was what he often did – the unintentional flirting. Cas wished he wouldn't feel butterflies in his stomach every time, and this was no different.
"You have been keeping it running for years. You do complain a lot, though," he admitted.
Dean shrugged good-naturedly. "I'm sure there's a reason."
The reasons were mostly the words "death trap" and "hideous" being thrown about, but Cas chose to tell him another time.
"And Bobby?"
Sam and Cas were aware that he hadn't asked about his father yet; in fact, he hadn't mentioned his parents at all. Cas' best guess was that he wanted to deal with what was in front of him first.
"He owns a salvage yard not far from your garage," Sam replied just as the door opened and Bobby strolled in.
Cas once more couldn't suppress the feeling that Dean's deduction, if erroneous, had been based on sound observation when the older man smiled and squeezed his shoulder while enquiring, "How are you feeling, sport?"
Dean gave him the same honest answer he had given Sam and Cas.
"We were just talking about you," Cas said.
"Ah, already soiling my reputation, I see."
"I only know you own a salvage yard," Dean pointed out.
"Not much else to tell."
"Are you married?" Dean asked innocently and Cas looked at Bobby, expecting him to stiffen as he always did when someone mentioned his dead wife.
He simply shook his head.
"I was married," he said softly. "But she died a long time ago. Before you were even born."
"I'm sorry," Dean began to apologize, but Bobby made clear he didn't have to.
"Ain't your fault you got amnesia."
It was only in the proceeding lull in the conversation that Dean realized someone was missing.
"What about... Dad?" he asked. Sam noticed the slight hesitation before the word "Dad" and knew it as one he had often experienced himself.
"He's gonna come later," Bobby answered and then tried and failed to come up with an explanation.
"Suppose he's at the shop?" Dean inquired innocently and Cas admired the way Bobby just let the question drop without seeming to negate it.
John might be at the garage, but he doubted it. He loved to go there and control Dean, but since all he would find there at the moment was work, he would certainly prefer to go to a bar.
Dean seemed to accept that his father was simply looking after his property – it might have been a lie by omission, but he hoped he wouldn't hold it against them once he recovered – and continued asking questions.
They had all known it was coming.
"What about our mother?" he asked Sam. Cas and Bobby would have liked to answer, but he had asked his brother, and it was not their story to tell. It couldn't be easy; Dean had been the only one of them to remember her, and he usually didn't mention her, except on rare occasions when he was feeling sentimental and talked of bright smiles and good night kisses and cut-off crusts of PB & J sandwiches.
The last time this had happened, Sam had gone off to Stanford and John had told Dean proudly that at least he had one son who could take over the family business, not realizing how much he was suffering because Sam had moved away. He'd sat in his new apartment for hours before he'd called Cas, who'd come right over.
They had fallen asleep together on the couch that night, talking until the first light of day filtered through the windows.
He could still recall how it had been to wake up with Dean's warmth next to him.
All the things he had told him that night about his mother, and Dean didn't remember.
"She died when we were young. House fire," Sam said quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid, and Dean nodded.
There was no pain because there was no remembrance and for the first time Cas found himself glad for the amnesia.
Bobby, who wanted to diffuse the sadness that had settled over the room (or was it just their imaginations? Dean, after all, didn't appear sad in the slightest), grumbled, "Anyway, what else do you want to know?"
"That's the problem. There's too much. I'm glad that I know who you guys are, and that I'm not just some unemployed loser, but I've got a whole life to relearn, and I have no idea how."
"You won't need to. Doctor Moseley said this kind of thing often ain't permanent, didn't she?"
Dean nodded. "She also wanted to talk about treatment later."
"See? You'll be back to being your old obnoxious self before you know it," Bobby joked and was surprised when a flash of pain crossed Dean's face. In the next second, he could have kicked himself.
Dean didn't know him. He was adjusting well enough, but that wasn't the same as knowing him, knowing that he liked to tease them mercilessly. And no one liked being called obnoxious when they thought the other person meant it.
"Not like that, you idjit. I was being sarcastic."
The old term of endearment – well, he supposed it was an insult, but he chose not to see it as such – passed his lips without him realizing, but thankfully Dean didn't react badly. On the contrary, he seemed to get that it was only his way of talking.
Good. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his boy.
The door opened and Bobby half-feared that the doctor was coming to tell their time was up, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw Jody enter, wearing her sheriff's uniform, a smile on her lips. She barely looked at them as she made her way to Dean.
"Hello, Dean. I'm Jody Mills, Sheriff."
"Hello, Sheriff. You're not here in official capacity, are you?" Dean quibbled, and she chuckled.
"Jody, please. I've known you since you were four."
Bobby remembered that night well. It was Jody who had contacted him and informed him that the Winchester house had burned to the ground and that she'd been the first officer at the scene.
He really wished it wasn't how they met. But Dean didn't know that, so he only smiled, happy to find another friend.
She automatically began to fix his bed sheets, and hushed him when Dean half-heartedly protested that she didn't have to.
It confirmed what Bobby had long suspected, that Dean really liked being fussed over despite him often complaining about it in the past.
"Anything new from the doctors?" she asked Dean while she was fixing his pillow.
"Apparently I'm fine" he said sarcastically. "They're talking about therapy."
"I'm sure it's going to come back soon," she said softly. "The Winchesters are nothing if not stubborn."
Dean smiled at her. He liked Jody. Based on what she'd been doing to his bed, she had something of a motherly influence in their lives. He supposed it was more than welcome since they had lost their mother so early.
It had been strange to learn about it. He had experienced no grief. He hadn't had the feeling that something important was missing from his life. Then again, Jody and Bobby could certainly explain that he didn't feel deprived.
With a surge of shame, he remembered that his father was very much alive and that he'd seen him this morning. But he was nowhere to be seen and Dean wasn't dumb; he knew he was not at the garage. His family weren't exactly the best liars.
Sam's phone rang and he all but jumped. He looked at the ID and immediately looked guilty.
"Forgot to call Jess?" Dean inquired sweetly and Sam shot him a dirty look as he left the room. The kid was whipped. Good for him.
His eyes travelled to Cas; he hadn't asked him if he had a significant other. He probablydid. He couldn't imagine someone not snatching him up.
Friend, he reprimanded himself once again.
"What about you, Cas? No frightened phone calls from a wife who adores me too much for your or her own good?"
"I'm single," Cas quickly said, a little forcefully, and Dean wondered if he'd crossed a line, but then he smiled and Dean relaxed.
Neither of them noticed that Bobby and Jody had taken a step back to give them some privacy, smiling at each other.
"Guess we just entertain each other, then?" Dean inquired, and became aware too late that the innocent question didn't sound at all innocent.
Cas blushed but answered apparently unmoved, "We're best friends. Boyfriends or girlfriends have never been a deciding point on whether or not we spend time together."
Boyfriends or girlfriends... Was Dean out? Did his family know? Or was Cas talking about himself?
If he was...
He unconsciously licked his lips, as he often did when he was nervous. Cas should have taken it as encouragement that Dean's instincts and memories were still preserved, but given the type of conversation they were having, he could only stare, mesmerized.
But whatever signals Dean might or might not be sending, he didn't mean them. He couldn't mean them. If Dean would know himself, he would be horrified at the thoughts that were flying through Cas' mind.
He looked away, blushing once more, not seeing that Dean's own face was flushed as well.
Idjits, Bobby thought. But if this made Dean finally pull his head out of his ass and stop the dance they'd been performing around each other for years, the accident might just be worth it. Kid deserved to be happy. And Cas, who was as much his boy as the Winchesters if he was being honest, did as well. Now if Dean could just admit that to himself – and the fact that he was attracted to his best friend – they might just get their happy ending after all.
Baby steps, he told himself as he watched Dean continuing to sneak glances at Cas. First let's get him looked after and well, and then we take on the big guns.
"So there is no explanation?"
"No."
"It's not a bad thing," Jess said slowly. "At least there's no brain damage. And there have been cases of spontaneous memory loss and recovery."
"And what if – " Sam trailed off, the fear he had already told Cas about resurfacing.
"Sam, he can't forget about his life just like that."
"You just said –"
"I know what I said. But Sam, he raised you. Family is everything for him. No matter why he forgot, whatever subconscious reaction prompted the amnesia, it can't be stronger than his dedication to his family and friends."
He knew she had no proof, knew that she was only calming him down, but it helped. His girlfriend always said the right thing exactly when he needed it the most.
When he asked how she was doing, she simply sighed.
"Eight days. Then I can take the exam and get on a plane."
"You don't have to, Jess. I told Dean about you and he agreed that he would have been angry if you'd come immediately, and I'm sure he'll be annoyed because you didn't take the time to celebrate with your friends, too, not to mention that your family – "
"Needs me right now because one of its members is in the hospital and I happen to love his brother enough not to let him shoulder this alone," she interrupted him.
He felt himself flush, as always when she told him she loved him.
"I love you, too," he said softly.
"You better. Alright, I have to go – the books won't study themselves."
She hung up and swore to herself that she would get something done today. Dean would never forgive her if she didn't pass this test because of him. Worse, he would never forgive himself, and he carried enough weight as it was.
One of the first things she had noticed about him was his tendency to solve every problem that arose himself, with as little inconvenience for others as possible. She wondered what he was like without his memories, without anything to drag him down. Was he still the Dean they all knew and loved?
She shook her head and opened her books. Guesswork would lead her nowhere.
"Really? I did what?"
"You pushed Gabriel into the pool because he had dared to draw a crude picture on the windshield of your car. You are rather attached to her."
When he saw Dean's confused look, he added, "The car – a 1967 Impala. You insist that it's a 'she'."
Dean couldn't conjure up a picture of his car, try as he might. But he knew a lot about it apparently, because all sorts of details popped into his head, even what it was supposed to look like. He just didn't remember what his car looked like. Or driving. Or getting a license. Or ever learning how to fix it.
This whole knowing-without-remembering thing was kind of freaky, like suddenly waking up one day and speaking a new language without ever having learned a single word.
Doctor Moseley had told him that he shouldn't freak out about stuff like this, so he tried to stay calm. Cas sensed his discomfort and took his hand.
Dean could only stare at the hand that was suddenly atop his own, gently squeezing it. He had no idea if that was normal in their friendship or not, and when he found himself wondering about the possibilities, he harshly reprimanded itself.
It didn't help with the soft, warm hand still on his.
"I am sure you will remember – and even if you were not to recognise her immediately, you'll fall in love on the spot. Your adoration of your Baby is at times quite frightening."
"That might be the most polite way of calling me a freak that –" he had been going to say "I ever heard," but realized how stupid it would sound, so he stopped.
Cas squeezed his hand again. In an attempt to look anywhere but the attractive man holding his hand, he cast a glance around the room and asked, "Where are Jody and Bobby?"
He tried desperately to recall them leaving, but he couldn't.
Cas finally withdrew his hand. "They mumbled something about coffee, I think."
Dean snorted. "I bet."
Cas tilted his head to his side and looked puzzled, and Dean decided than an adult man definitely shouldn't look that cute while doing that.
"You realized how close they were standing, right? I'm an amnesiac, not blind."
"As a matter of fact, it has been a frequent subject of discussions between us. You think that Bobby should 'grow a pair'," Cas explained.
"Well, it certainly would – wait, she's not married, right?"
"No." Cas bit his lip, trying to decide whether he should tell Dean about Jody's deceased son and husband, but they had allowed Bobby to choose his own time to talk about his wife. They should give Jody the same option.
So he said nothing and only chuckled as Dean said, "Well in that case I'm obviously a genius because Bobby just needs to grow a pair."
"You are very intelligent, Dean."
Cas surprised both of them with that statement, although he knew of course where it had come from. For years, Dean, the boy who had finished school while barely paying attention and only doing the minimum he was required to and had then gotten his ASE while working full-time in his father's garage had been putting himself down as a grunt when he clearly was of above-average intelligence, as Doctor Moseley had pointed out.
It was an idle hope, but maybe if Cas could get Dean to believe it while he didn't remember his self-worth issues, maybe some of it would stick when he regained his memories. Maybe he would finally see himself as the wonderful person anyone who knew him did.
"Never doubted it," Dean said a little uncertainly, and Cas didn't know whether, had he been able to give free reign to his emotions, he would have laughed or cried.
"They'll be fine," Jody repeated as she dragged Bobby to the coffee machine. "You saw them. They clearly needed some time for themselves."
"I'm not worried," Bobby argued. "It's just that – "
He didn't really like Dean being out of his sight at a time like this. It was stupid, but that's how it was.
Jody let go of his arm – he tried not to feel a sense of loss – and her eyes softened. "I know. He's not himself right now. But Cas would never allow him to come to harm."
That was true, and he could really use the coffee.
As they waited for the beverage that at least resembled what they were seeking to seep into the plastic cups, Bobby wondered whether he should talk about what had been gnawing at him for hours now. Maybe not exactly gnawing. It was more making him proud and guilty and all other kinds of stuff at once.
"Dean called me Dad," he eventually said quietly when they had found two other uncomfortable plastic chairs to drink their coffee on.
Jody waited for him to continue.
"When we first saw him. He just knew Sam was his brother and got it in his head that I was his father. Guess he wanted to prove he wasn't wholly lost." A humourless smile passed over his face. "Didn't really succeed."
"And did it... bother you?" she asked, of course coming directly to the point. Must be why she was so successful as sheriff.
"No. And that's it. I'd give my right hand to be the real father of those boys, but I ain't. And John is hanging around his house, moping because his eldest didn't jump up from the bed, say 'Of course, sir' and run to open the shop again when it was his damn fault Dean never changed anything to begin with and –"
He realized he was getting loud and quickly toned his voice down. "I just..." He stopped because he didn't know what he wanted to say.
"I understand," she said, and he thought that perhaps she understood much better than he did. She had been a mother.
"We'll all be there for him," she continued. "It's all we can do."
Bobby nodded.
"And if he doesn't remember?"
"Then he'll get to know us again," she promised, and he believed her.
Cas kept telling him more anecdotes about the things they had done, and while they didn't bring back any memories, they were certainly entertaining.
Dean found himself laughing uncontrollably when Sam entered the room.
"And, she mad?" Dean inquired sweetly.
"She just wanted an update. And she's got the exam coming up – "
"I'm sure she'll do fine. She's not going to fly here before, is she?"
"No, but she's jumping on the plane the moment she's done."
"I told you that she didn't have to, Sam. I really think – "
"Tell her that when you see her and watch how she reacts," Sam suggested and now Dean really couldn't wait to meet his brother's girlfriend. He definitely needed to know who put that dopey smile on his face that made him look even younger.
"Where are Bobby and Jody?" Sam asked.
"Getting coffee, as far as we know," Dean answered matter-of-factly and Cas blushed. Sam studied them. Had something happened between them? No, Cas would never do that, not while Dean didn't remember who he was. But at least they were sitting really close – even closer than normal, and that was saying something.
Maybe this would bring them even closer. Maybe Dean would finally realize that there was one person he adored above all else and who felt the same thing in return. Maybe.
One could always hope.
But before any of that happened, his brother had to come back to them. It was easy to forget, with Dean's friendliness and cheerful manner, that he wasn't the man Sam had grown up with. That he didn't share a single one of the memories that had become so important to them over the years.
When he had left for Stanford, when he'd got the letter, he hadn't known how to tell him at first. He had thought Dean would see it as betrayal, as leaving him behind.
He'd made it. He had finally made it – all the years he'd been working towards one goal, and he'd made it.
He had been accepted. He was going to Stanford.
Even as his heart beat faster at the thought, it sank as he thought of his family.
He knew his father wouldn't be pleased. He might even kick him out. He was prepared for it and, after watching him steadily drift further away, only occasionally returning in the role of a father to berate and dictate to them what their lives would be like, he wouldn't miss him much. He could make his own way.
But Dean. His brother, who had read to him and played with him and watched over him. Who had sometimes gone hungry because Dad had forgotten to give them money before he went on one of his binges and he didn't want to let Bobby know how things were.
He would leave Dean here, too, working in a garage that was slowly falling apart, never thinking of going, of doing what he wished.
A part of him resented his brother for it, but a bigger part was scared that Dean would be angry, would denounce him like their father, wouldn't want to see him again.
He wouldn't mind leaving Kansas or his dad forever, as much as he was ashamed to admit it. But never seeing Dean again...
"What did the letter do to you, Sammy? It ate all your salad or something?"
He would not even get a chance to prepare himself because his brother strode into the kitchen, still in his mechanic jumpsuit, and Sam looked at his watch to realize it was half-past five. He'd lost track of time thinking about what he would have to do, would have to say, would have to hear –
"Sammy? Are you alright?"
He looked into his brother's concerned face and swallowed.
"I got a letter from Stanford. I got in. With a full ride."
He didn't know what he had expected, but Dean's face split into a grin and he punched him on the back hard enough to make him cough.
"Way to go, tiger!"
"Dean?" he asked, unsure. "You're not... mad?"
The proud expression left Dean's face and gave way to something like sadness.
"You didn't think – " He cleared his throat. "Always knew you wouldn't stay here. Me, I'm right where I belong. You've always been the brains of this family. It was only a matter of time before you left."
There was pain in his voice, and Sam had the feeling that it was there because he knew what he had thought, knew he had expected him to reject him, and he felt more ashamed than ever. He looked away.
Dean squeezed his shoulder. "I get it, Sammy. I get that you won't want to come back to this joint. I get I haven't exactly been the best company for you, growing up. And I get that Dad won't like it. But it's great news. You get to do something with your life." After a pause, he added, "But don't think that I'm not a little mad as well. You could have at least told me you were applying."
Sam wanted to scream. Dean could do whatever he wished. He knew he would succeed. But Dean would never believe it. He had soaked up all the lies his father had told him, had come to see himself through Dad's distorted vision.
"He'll throw me out," he said resignedly.
"You don't know that. This, right here, is a big step and I'm damn proud of you. Dad should be to."
Dad wouldn't be. Sam was sure.
He was right. Dad started screaming the moment he mentioned Stanford.
"You have an obligation to this family – "
"I have an obligation to do what is best for me," he said heatedly. He didn't feel indebted to his father. He felt indebted to Dean and Bobby and to a lesser extent to Rufus and Jody Mills. But he couldn't recall his father reading him one story, or coming to one of his soccer games. It had always been Dean, even if he had to skip school because of it.
Dad continued to scream, and Dean stepped between them. It was a defence mechanism that had developed over the years, one that Sam hated especially. Dad had never hit them, although he had come close. And every time, Dean would have taken the beating to save him.
"If you leave, you are never allowed into this house again," Dad finally growled, shoving Dean, who had grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down, away and leaving the house, most likely going to the next bar.
Sam found that he was not upset in the slightest. He had expected nothing less of his dad.
Dean looked broken.
"It's okay, Sammy," he said, just like he had when Dad had been passed out on the couch and his stomach had hurt because he hadn't eaten in days.
"I understand if you don't wanna visit until Dad gets his shit together," there was little hope of that happening, but Sam didn't say anything "but you can always come to my place."
"Your place?"
"The one I'm gonna get. Dad pays me, you know."
Too little. Always under the guise that he'd eventually get the shop anyway. But Sam nodded. He could have protested. He probably should have. But aside from visiting, he wanted Dean to have something that was completely his, and a small apartment was a good idea. Dad wouldn't comment on Cas being over so often and Dean could have a little bit of independence.
"So," Dean said, forcing himself to be cheerful, "How about I call Bobby and Cas and you see how many of your friends got time to celebrate tonight?"
It was a happy celebration, despite everything. By the time Sam left for college, Dean had his own place and Dad was somewhat resigned to him leaving, even mumbling something like "Good luck" at the airport.
But he never entered the house he had grown up in again, spending his visits at Dean's.
Dean had been proud when he had told him that he had just taken his final exam, but he had been proud because he had felt it right to be, not because he actually was. A feeling such as he had known before could only grow after years of bonding.
"Doctor Moseley hasn't returned yet," Cas informed him rather unnecessarily, "but we expect her soon. In the meantime, I've been telling Dean stories."
"Is that wise?" Sam inquired worriedly. Dean rolled his eyes.
"We've established that I won't blow a fuse, and I want to know what my life's like."
"I understand. I just don't want you to get hurt."
"I'm not."
"Dean – "
Dean sighed. "And I thought I was the older brother".
"You are," Sam answered eagerly, "but I'm looking out for you just the same. This whole brother-protection thing goes both ways."
He had been trying to teach Dean that since he'd been old enough to realize that all his brother did was worry about him, never thinking about himself. Maybe he could finally get through to him when he didn't remember that he had been drilled to watch out for him.
"But my feelings in this matter are more important because I am the elder brother." Dean paused. "Actually, I am more important because I am the elder brother. Period."
It was a joke. He was joking, completely free from his must-protect-Sammy attitude, happy to tease him.
Sam wished that he meant it. Wished that he remembered so he could mean it.
"When do you think Bobby and Jody are going to be back?" Dean asked, noticing that he was uncomfortable and trying to help. "Maybe they eloped."
Sam snorted. "Unlikely."
As to prove the fact, Jody and Bobby strolled to the door, both wearing bright smiles. They turned a little forced when they looked at Dean, and he couldn't blame them. If he were in their position, he'd freak out.
He was still in pain from his injuries, but it wasn't too bad. Whatever they had given him had been strong. No wonder he'd been asleep until Doctor Moseley came to check on him.
He winced slightly as he moved, his chest reminding him that just because he was doing fine at the moment didn't mean he should rush things, and everyone's eyes were immediately fixed on him.
He wanted to protest that he was fine, but it would be stupid lying to them, so he just smiled weakly and said, "I'm sure I'll get better soon."
"Yes, Dean," Cas answered quickly, "You'll be out of bed before you know it."
And they were staring at one another again.
He should really tone it down, considering that was his best friend and he probably didn't find him hot when he was in possession of all his memories (although he thought the chances of that were rather slim).
This could get incredibly awkward. He really didn't need a crush on his best friend, especially not at a time when he couldn't remember why it was a bad idea.
Maybe it wasn't, but he shoved that thought away quickly. If he and Cas were supposed to be together, they would be. They had known each other long enough to figure stuff out, and if they had feelings for one another –
He wondered briefly what it would be like to actually be allowed to hold Cas' hand and kiss him to ease the worry in his eyes but when he realized where his mind was going, he looked away.
Cas was growing concerned about Dean's behaviour. He wasn't exactly acting strange per se, and he couldn't call it "out of character" because he didn't know what his character was, but he looked at him for much longer than he usually would have before abruptly turning away. It had happened a few times now. He had also allowed Cas to hold his hand far longer than he would normally have been comfortable with.
Cas could still feel the warmth of Dean's hand against his palm. He really tried to shake the feeling off, but he couldn't. It was ridiculous; he and Dean had often touched over the years, hugs, pats on the backs, they'd even fallen asleep on top of one another on the couch a few times.
But hand holding. It was different, it disclosed certain... intentions that he couldn't harbour when it came to Dean. He had known that when he had reached out. But Dean had looked distressed, and the touch had comforted him.
He was lying to himself, and he was painfully aware of that fact. He hadn't thought about Dean's feelings at all when he had touched his hand. He had wanted to comfort him, but even more, he had needed the contact himself, had needed to feel him, alive and strong –
He had no right. If Dean had known who he was, he would have had none of it, so why should he have it now? He was acting far more like a significant other than a best friend, sitting at his side, holding his hand –
Dean could be very angry once he regained his memory. He should be. Cas was taking liberties because he couldn't keep his feelings under control.
Maybe that was the reason he looked at him and then turned his head. Maybe he knew subconsciously that Cas was acting in a way towards him that he didn't like.
Cas subtly moved his chair back. It wouldn't do to stay more or less pressed up against Dean.
Dean might have known the guy for only a day – alright, he had known him longer, but he had to think as his situation dictated, or he'd go nuts – but he noticed Cas suddenly going quiet and moving away. Would've been hard to miss.
He was surprised and horrified at the feeling of loss he experienced. The guy was only a few inches farther away, for God's sake. And if he should be on the other end of the freaking planet, it still wouldn't have been any of Dean's business because they were friends, nothing more.
It was kind of hard to remember that with the handholding and storytelling, but still. Cas was just being friendly and happened to have no concept of personal space. And perhaps Dean had stared a little too long at him because now he had moved back.
Idjits, Bobby thought to himself once more watching the silent exchange between two of his boys – or rather, the silent miscommunication. Why were they putting distance between them when they clearly wanted the opposite? Dean beamed every time Cas tried to make him feel better, or touched him. His memories were gone, and his feelings stayed the same. How could it be that the penny still hadn't dropped?
He swore to God, once Dean was right in the head, he'd lock them both in his cellar and wait to see things turned out.
Jody moved forward to stop the silence from becoming awkward, and told them about a rather complicated arrest the night before; just as she was about to reach the end, Doctor Moseley returned, together with Doctor Dansley. Dean hadn't really seen much of him, since his injuries, at least the ones he was concerned about, weren't physical.
"Your body is healing well, Dean, even if you haven't acquired any of your memories," he said, and Dean was grateful that he didn't beat around the bush.
"I would like to keep you here a few more days for observation, but I can say with reasonable confidence that you will be released Friday at the latest."
He breathed a sigh of relief, even if it hurt his chest a little. He didn't like being cooped up in a hospital. Maybe he could even get up.
"You'll be in that bed at least another day," Doctor Moseley said, and Dean groaned. He swore this woman could read his thoughts. Then again, that's what she was supposed to do. "And there'll be therapy."
"You mean..."
"We'll work together, try to find out if there was any reason you developed amnesia. There are several techniques we will use to jog your memory."
He definitely liked that. The sooner he remembered, the better.
He would know then why Cas was only a friend and his heart beating faster when he was near and the wish to lean into his touch were only strange fancies that proved he wasn't right in the head at the moment.
And he might find out why his dad hadn't come. He wasn't really sad about it – not even mad, Bobby was hanging around persistently, more than keen on filling out the role – but he'd like to know. Perhaps they quarrelled. As far as he could tell, and he could tell very little after their short talk, he didn't think they had much in common.
He would also love to remember Sam. He wanted to recall their life growing up together. He bet his brother had been really cute, rocking those puppy dog eyes as a child too. He wished to learn what kind of brother he had been; judging by Sam's behaviour, he figured he was a pretty awesome one.
He nodded.
"Whatever you say, Doc".
She didn't correct him, although she shot him a disapproving glare that was somewhat weakened by an affectionate twinkle in her eyes.
All in all, it was good news. He still had no idea what had come before the moment he'd woken up and found a giant screaming at him, but other than that, things looked pretty good.
His family shared his optimism, or they didn't want to quench it; either way, he felt good, so he wasn't complaining. And Cas had moved closer again, once more affirming his belief that Dean would soon remember, that everything would be fine.
It was after the doctors had left – apart from regular health checks and his first appointment with Doctor Moseley tomorrow, Dean was free to do as he pleased, as long as he stayed in bed – that John came in.
Not John – Dad. Dean had to think of him as Dad. His mother had died when he had been young, so his dad had raised him on his own. He should definitely not call him John for that. And he had come after all.
He approached him cautiously, as he would a wild animal, and Dean looked just at the right moment to see Jody subtly shaking her head at Bobby and the older man biting back a no doubt sarcastic remark.
Dean figured he'd help the poor guy out and said, "Hi, Dad."
"Dean." He approached him farther until he was standing next to Cas, who Dean realized wouldn't get up for him. Actually Cas hadn't gotten up for anyone. He was staying at Dean's side, as close as possible.
He was trying not to let the warm feeling he felt in his gut wash through him. Trying.
"How are you feeling?"
"Memory hasn't come back yet, but other than that, better." He suppressed the ridiculous impulse to add "sir" at the end of the statement. Why would he call his own Dad "sir"?
"That's good."
An awkward silence settled between them. Dean was sure that wasn't how it was supposed to go. He didn't have a problem with any of the others, so why did his dad find it difficult to speak to him? Was he making the others as uncomfortable?
But one look at Cas, who was sitting on the edge of his seat to be as close to him as possible without cuddling him (Dean didn't blush at the thought. He didn't.) proved that this wasn't the case.
They had been a little hesitant as to how to approach him. He could understand that. He'd felt the same. But he'd already seen Dad, so shouldn't there be more to talk about? Cas had been talking to him for hours; he knew anecdotes, stories, details that could probably have convinced anyone that he wasn't an amnesiac if he had chosen to try.
He only now became aware of how little of his Dad Cas had told him. He'd stuck to fun memories, and it seemed that every time they had been well and truly content and happy, either Sam or Bobby or some other friend had been with them. Never Dad.
He was starting to think his life was more complicated than he had assumed.
Cas moved and his arm pressed against Dean's side for a second. Not that he wasn't already working on making it more complicated than it needed to be, he reflected as he felt the tingle this resulted in.
He told Dad what the doctors had said, and he looked – well, not exactly disappointed, but not exactly pleased, either. It was difficult to read his expression. Dean had no idea what he was thinking, but he almost looked a little pissed.
Was he angry that they hadn't started therapy right away? Dean would much rather have jumped right into it than wait until tomorrow, but he supposed it had to do with the rest everyone told him he needed, even if he didn't feel like it.
Sam was angry. Actually, Sam was furious.
Dean was telling him about therapy, about getting better, and Dad was clearly pissed because he couldn't go back to work in the garage right away. The garage he had almost died in.
Dean, thankfully, didn't seem to notice, and if he did, it didn't inspire the awe and near-panic it used to. Normally, the moment Dad asked something or looked displeased, Dean would jump up, say, "Yes, sir", and do everything he could to satisfy him.
There was a part of Sam that was pleased at how Dean told Dad about the therapy matter-of-factly, supposing that he felt as they did, never suspecting that he was worried about his shop not being reopened immediately.
There was a larger part that was screaming at him to drag his father out and punch him.
He was glad that Dean didn't understand, that he couldn't read Dad's expression. He didn't need the guilt he would usually have felt – without there being a good reason for it.
Dean was not a soldier, Dean wasn't supposed to function whenever Dad wanted. But Dad had never understood that, had blocked any attempt of Bobby's and later Sam's to talk some sense into him, and it was far too satisfying to see him grow confused once more.
He finally said, and to his credit he kept his voice carefully blank so that it wouldn't sound like a reproach, "You won't be able to open the shop for a few days, then."
Dean took it was a joke and laughed. "A few days? No, I suppose not. Can't remember my training, don't even know if I could fix a car when it was put before me. It's all damn confusing."
"I guess –" Dad stopped, took a deep breath and continued, "I guess it'll stay closed, then. Won't do much harm."
"I would suggest redecorating," Dean answered, still thinking they were joking. "I've got a few ideas about what to do with that drawer."
If Dad's refusal to let him modernize the shop hadn't led to Dean getting injured, Sam might have felt a little sorry for him. As it was, he could only stand there, being equally eaten by delight and regret.
"So, Dad," Dean said, and suddenly Sam felt as if he was watching an accident about to happen, "Sam and Cas have been telling me all kinds of stories, but what about you? What did we do together? It didn't come up."
It didn't come up because "doing things together" had meant that Dean did whatever he was ordered to do, Sam thought, but he said nothing. He could have rescued Dad, but he didn't wish to.
None of the others in the room were particularly keen to let him off the hook, either, it seemed, and so Dad finally stuttered out some stories about teaching Dean how to make macaroni and cheese because he'd forced him to.
He left out the part of the story where Dean wanted to learn because Dad wasn't around to cook often and he needed to feed his brother because he didn't dare go to Bobby all the time in case Dad got angry, but Sam wasn't going to correct him. It was pathetic, but he wanted Dean to have the impression that his life had been as happy as could be, if only for a few short days.
As it was, Dean was laughing, happy and carefree, and Sam had never really seen him like this. He could only stare, and he was sure the others felt the same.
Cas was mesmerized. For a long time, he had been wishing that Dean would stop carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, would do what was best for him and let himself be happy. And now he was happy, without an effort, even if he was a little scared and confused.
But the prize was too high.
John behaved himself during the remainder of his visit, and soon they found that it was evening and Dean would get his meal and then be expected to rest.
He was obviously sorry to see them go, and Cas took hope from it. If he trusted and liked them, they could help him remember. He would remember.
Sam was optimistic as well, already talking quickly about how they could tease Dean once he regained his memories, and Cas wasn't ready to curb his enthusiasm.
They had had a great scare. They deserved an evening of optimism.
Bobby and Jody accompanied John home – no doubt to stop him from drowning his sorrows, but Cas would rather not think about it – and Sam offered to let him stay in Dean's apartment because it was nearer to the hospital. Cas declined. If he accepted, he would look more like a concerned boyfriend than –
Well, than he did already. He hadn't left Dean's side from the moment he had stepped into his room. And Dean had said nothing about their close proximity when before, he would have made a comment about personal space.
But it wasn't right. He shouldn't use Dean's affliction to get as close to him as possible.
He resolved to be a better friend come tomorrow.