West Coast

Chapter Two

Almost a week and many physio sessions later, Cas was deemed fit to go home.

'I want you back here at least every two weeks for monitoring,' his doctor said. 'But at this point, you're more likely to make progress at home.'

Cas nodded, his heart making a sickening flip in his chest. He was no longer attached to monitors or a drip, and he could walk around for ten minutes before getting tired, but he was nervous. He still couldn't remember Dean, or anything about their life. What was home?

'That's great, doc,' Dean smiled. His boot had been removed, and though a slight limp still lingered, he appeared to be healed. 'Thank you.'

'All right, I'll get someone in here with your discharge papers, and you're free to go.'

Dean shook his hand warmly, thanking him profusely as he left.

Cas watched him, sitting up in his bed.

'What?' Dean asked.

Cas shook his head.

'Don't look so worried,' Dean said. 'It doesn't matter if you remember home, you'll love it anyway, trust me.'

Cas nodded, though a little apprehensively.

Dean filled out the discharge papers for him, seeing as the only information he could remember was his own name, then he was sat in a wheelchair and wheeled out of the building.

'I got it from here,' Dean said to the orderly, taking hold of the chair.

Cas closed his eyes once they were outside. The sun shone down on his eyelids and a gentle breeze caressed his cheeks. He realised it has been a long time since he'd been outside and relished the feeling. He could smell salt on the air and hear the wind rustling the trees. Birds sang all around him, and he felt he could name each one, if only he could remember the names.

Dean wheeled him gently through the parking lot, allowing him to soak up the outdoors, until they arrived at the car.

Cas opened his eyes and was confused by what he saw. A shiny blue Toyota, which Dean unlocked with a click of the keys. 'This isn't your car,' he said, with an odd certainty.

'You remember my car?' Dean said, eyebrows shooting up.

'No, but this isn't it.'

'Well, you're right, this isn't my car. Mine's still in the shop. She got pretty beat up. No, this is your car.'

'Mine?' Cas said, even more confused. 'I don't drive, do I?'

'You didn't used to,' Dean said, opening the passenger door. 'You used to cycle everywhere, but I made you get a car. I thought it would be safer. Go figure.' There was a bitter note to his voice, but he quickly buried it with a smile and made sure Cas was comfortably in the car before closing the door. He folded up the wheelchair and shoved it into the trunk.

Cas sat quietly in his seat, running his hands along the dashboard. It was very clean inside and he wondered whether it was him or Dean that kept it so. He glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw Dean struggling with the wheelchair. He decided that it wasn't Dean that kept the car clean, and investigated around the driver's side. Sure enough, he found wrappers shoved into the door, and an empty bottle in the footwell. He picked it up and put it with the rest of the wrappers. He absent-mindedly fiddled with his seat, and pulled down the sun visor. A piece of paper floated down and landed in his lap.

'Whatcha got there?' Dean asked, climbing into the driver's seat.

'A picture of you, I think,' Cas said, squinting at it.