I've Got You, Cas (Destiel)

Angel

Dean stared at the man standing in front of him in a dirty tan trench coat and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through him.
Castiel, he thought to himself.
Castiel.
Castiel.
Cas.

Dean looked up to see the man staring down, fiddling with the lapels of his trench coat, his eyes moist.
"Cas?" he asked.
Castiel's gaze shot up hopefully, looking for any sign of recognition but instead all he saw was confusion in Dean's eyes. He sighed.
"Come with me," he said. "It's too dangerous for you out here."

Dean wordlessly followed Castiel out of the forest to his car. His eyes widened as he recognised it as the black car from his memory. He was feeling more confused by the minute. When he looked up to ask Cas about it, he saw him tossing the keys to him. Dean caught them reflexively. He stared at them for a few deafening moments and then finally spoke.
"What am I supposed to do with these?"

He waited for an answer but when he didn't get one he looked up, mouth open to ask his question again. But he stopped short when he saw the look of hurt frozen on the other man's face. He stared at him for a moment and handed back the keys that Castiel took from him wordlessly. They got inside the car and for the next few hours none of them said another word. Even though Dean didn't know why, he found himself instinctively trusting this man who he knew nothing about.

---------------------------------------------------

Castiel was shocked and hurt as realisation slowly sank in. His best friend, the man he loved had suddenly come back into his life and didn't remember him. He didn't remember the Impala. He didn't remember his family. He didn't remember that he was a hunter. He didn't remember anything. His forest green eyes only held questions and confusion.

Inside the car, Castiel quickly found the first aid kit. He unbuttoned Dean's shirt to reveal a wound that was, thankfully, not too deep. He applied some antiseptic and patched up the wound. Dean put his shirt back on with a word of thanks.

Castiel looked into the cassette box, found Dean's favourite AC/DC tape and put it in as Dean looked on curiously. Castiel hoped it would bring back some of Dean's memories. He was, however, disappointed when he got no reaction from the other man. Eventually, Dean slipped into a deep slumber.

Castiel watched him, thoughtful. His face was as handsome as ever, freckles scattered across his face. His soul shone as bright as ever. He found himself distracted by his best friend's face and finally looking at the road, narrowly avoided crashing into a tree, jolting Dean awake.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he said.

Dean rubbed his eyes and grunted something about it not being a problem. Then an uncomfortable silence settled over them. Castiel just kept his eyes on the road, determined not to make a mistake again. Dean stared out of the window intently, trying to recollect whatever he could and failing miserably. Finally he turned to Cas and broke the silence.
"Do you know someone called Sammy?" he asked.

Castiel hit the brakes and looked at Dean.
"What do you remember?" he asked.
"Nothing at all," Dean said.
Castiel sighed. "Whatever happened to you, Dean? Do you not remember your own brother?"
Dean froze. "I have a brother?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"Missing. Possibly dead."
"Since when?"
"Since when you went missing. Thirty years ago."

Dean took his head in his hands. Castiel resumed driving, occasionally glancing at his best friend. He looked sad and confused. Eventually he fell asleep again. Castiel kept driving and a few hours later pulled into the garage of the bunker. Dean was still asleep. Gently, he shook him awake.

Dean got out of the car and surveyed his surroundings. Castiel led him through a large room full of books and a long wooden table in the middle. Dean pulled up a chair and sat near it. Some scratchings on the table arrested his attention. He surveyed them intently, barely registering Castiel's voice when it called out to him.
"What do you want to eat?"
"Anything," Dean said, distracted. He was staring at the four letters carved into the wood.
S. W.
D. W.