Collection of Destiel

Shoebox Full of Memories

It wasn't a scrapbook, or a cute little decorative album bursting at the seams, or even picture frames gloriously lining a fireplace mantle. No, what Castiel had was a shoe box. It was worn at the edges, the cardboard soft from the years that it has held the fallen angel's entire world in its confines. It wasn't stored in a safe or placed in a glass case like a treasure; it was kept underneath his bed where his head laid at night.

The shoe box wasn't filled to the brim; the lid was easy enough to close. When picked up, it didn't weigh more than a hardcover novel. Sometimes dust collected in the little dip of the lid. It could lay in wait for weeks under their bed without being touched.

Usually it was Sunday mornings when Castiel would pull out the box from its hiding place. The back of his hand would brush away the dust as he walked barefoot down the stairs and into their living room. His husband was out having lunch with his brother, his daughter was at a friend's house for the weekend, and Castiel was left with a deafening silence echoing through the halls.

He remembers a time that he would go to church, when he had first lost his wings, in hopes that maybe praying would bring him peace. Sitting in a pew surrounded by worshippers had done him no good, it brought him no sense of family as religion had done when he was in heaven. While he was bowing his head one Sunday, it finally struck him that it wasn't in the church that he would find his salvation... it was in his shoe box full of a collection of glimpses of a life he had carved as a man.

The first picture he his eyes would catch when opening the box was one of the first ones that he had ever received. It was a crappy quality, most likely from a cheap throw-away camera. The edges were ripping from the amount of times it had been handled by the fallen angel. Three smiling faces were pointed at the camera. Dean's was the closest, being that his arm was the one attached to the camera. In those green eyes Castiel can still see the haunting depth they took on when Dean harbored the Mark. Sam had a boyish grin, as though he knew something the camera didn't. Castiel was in the middle of the brothers, his smile at the time not as human as it was now. The older hunter's arm was around his shoulders and Cas can remember the way Dean smelt when he was still hunting, the gun oil and alcohol seared into his clothing and skin.

Underneath that picture came the ones from their wedding. A small stack of bigger pictures from that autumn day. Castiel's favorite one out of the bunch is one of the ones that the photographer wanted to throw away. A leaf had fallen and was covering half of the shot, but it was the other half that still made Cas' knees weak. Just in half a picture his entire life was defined. Dean was pressing a palm to Cas' face, in both their matching tuxes, and his lips were parting with a concerned expression. Castiel can still hear Dean's voice as he reassured him that they would live long lives together as Mr. and Mr. Winchester.

After the wedding photos came the baby ones. The sonogram still made Cas' eyes prickle with tears. Every time he sees the black and white blob he remembers the way his entire life had seemed so far away. It was like all of his years in heaven were from a long lost dream. In that moment everything that ever mattered to him was that small being. The words and feelings were indescribable, resting on the tip of his tongue and he never tasted anything sweeter.

There were photos of his daughter from school, photos of his daughter and husband together in their home, a few holiday pictures taken of the three of them in crazy sweaters. There were photos of smiles, tears, and even laughs. There were photos that were taken by professionals and photos that were blurred by the uncertainty of the photographer.

Every single picture made Castiel lose himself in the memories that have built the bricks of his human existence. When he misses his wings he will look at the picture of his daughter curled up asleep on his lap and flying doesn't seem so important. When he misses wielding an angel blade he will look at the picture of the three of them cooking dinner one mundane day of the week and suddenly a blade doesn't compare to a whisk.

Castiel shuffles through the shoe box in his lounge pants and one of his husband's old tee-shirts. His golden ring gleams from the lamp light as he arranges the photos across his coffee table. With each rectangle of wood that gets covered by a glimpse of his past, Castiel feels a weight fall from his shoulders.

Sometimes he will lose himself and forget about the time that is still ticking around him. He will be so tuned into replaying his memories that he won't hear the front door open, he won't hear the shuffle of socked feet or see the way his husband's eyes crinkle into a smile when they see him from the doorway.

Dean will stand in the doorway of their living room and remain silent as his eyes follow Cas' deft fingers. The older man will lean against the frame with a settling smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He knows that Castiel does this, looks through pictures, and it makes his heart ache to see the way their life together could mean so much to an angel.

"She was seven." Castiel's deep voice cut through the silence of the Sunday morning. "She told me that 'selfies' were the 'new cool thing'. I didn't know what that was so she showed me. When we printed it out she told me that I was the coolest dad in the world for taking a selfie with her."

Dean's feet carried him over to the couch before he realized it. He peered over his husband's hunched shoulders to see the smiling faces of the two people he loved most in the world. Grace's face was closest to the camera, she wore her weird duckface thing that neither of them understood, and just behind her was Castiel with a dopy unsure smile lighting up his eyes. Even though Grace was adopted, Dean could swear they both looked like angels in that picture.

"Someday, Dean, these will be all I'll have of her. She will be an adult and going off to live her own life. I'll only see her every day from within this shoe box. She will forever be this little girl that made me take a selfie with her." The fallen angel turned with the slightest grimace drawing up his lips. "I'm so scared that the happiness in these pictures is going to leave me."

"Sweetheart," Dean shifted to wrap his arms around his husband's shoulders and press their foreheads together so that his words were breathed against Cas' lips, "never worry over something like that. Yeah, those pictures are great but it's what we have right now that we live for. Grace is going to be a teenager soon and when she is all grown up she is going to make us so proud. Don't be afraid of the future, baby, because ours is so promising. There aren't monsters chasing us anymore. We are a happy family, don't forget that."

Castiel allowed the tears to escape from between his eyelids as he gripped tightly to the small stack of pictures in his hand. He thought that if he squeezed hard enough to his memories, they would forever stay present in his future.

"I love you, Dean."

"I love you, too, Cas."

Over the years Castiel's shoebox filled and soon enough he had many shoeboxes under his bed. They were stuffed with photos of Grace's wedding, of grandchildren, of sporting events, of graduations... photos of the life that Castiel gave up heaven for.