audrarose: (spn castiel/dean:vichon)
It's been awhile! I may be writing this for myself at this point. :)

Title: Forgotten, part 4/?
Fandom/Pairing: SPN, Dean/Castiel
Rating: Adult (finally!)
Word count: 2000
Summary: Dean knows what he used to be but he still doesn't remember anything about it; Sam is missing; and Castiel just hopes they can stay ahead of pursuit.
Notes: An occasional series. I'm going to wrap it up by the end of the season, though. Also? This has gotten kind of hand-wavey on canon.

Previous parts are here

"Sam wouldn't just leave with no word like that," Dean says. "He couldn't have. He was hurt bad, you saw him. I don't get it." He crosses his arms and sits back gloomily, his tuna sandwich untouched on the table in front of them.

"Angels aren't the only ones who can heal, Dean," Castiel says, upending the ketchup bottle over his plate and shaking it uselessly.

"So... what? Ruby just glides in while we're out in the parking lot and sprinkles a little magic hell-dust on him? And he just leaps out of bed and takes off with her?" Dean shakes his head. "I'm not buying it. I know him," Dean adds, as the waitress walks up with the coffee pot.

"I thought I knew my dead-beat lying-ass boyfriend, too," she says, pouring coffee into Dean's cup. "Right before he cleaned out my bank account and left town. Honey, when it comes right down to it, nobody knows shit about anyone."

"God knows each of us," Castiel tells her, meeting her eyes seriously. "Even unto the fall of the sparrow."

Dean takes the ketchup bottle from him. "It's better if you don't talk." He smiles at the waitress. "Can we get the check?"

"Yeah. Sure," she says, a little uncertainly. Castiel doesn't try to smile, too, because he sees movement outside the window of the diner, across the street. A presence.

Dean leans forward as she walks away. "If you're right and Sam really is with Ruby, where would they go?" Dean pauses, waiting while Castiel stares out the window. "Hey. Am I boring you, here?"

Castiel looks at Dean and tries to sound more resigned than he feels. "Uriel has come for me."

"What? Where?" Dean demands, sounding alarmed. He turns to look out the window, too. "Are you talking about the big guy over there by the pick-up truck? Are you sure?"

"Fairly certain. I've know him since the dawn of creation." Castiel meets Uriel's scowl and tries not to show any emotion. It's surprisingly difficult.

"I thought the big guys weren't looking for you," Dean says urgently, leaning in toward Castiel as if that will prevent Uriel from hearing if he wished. "I thought you said they were too busy screwing around with Lilith to come after you for breaking me out of hell."

"Perhaps something's changed," Catiel says, wrinkling his brow in thought. "But even so, I disobeyed. More than once. I knew they'd come for me eventually."

Dean's mouth thins. "Yeah, we'll see about that." He throws some cash on the table and leaves Castiel to follow after him, warning him in a low voice not to interfere.

"I'm not interfering, I'm being proactive," Dean says as they reached Uriel, who stands with his arms crossed over his chest. "Hey. You with the wings," Dean says. "If you're here to smite, you can just take off. Fly off. Whatever. He's not going with you."

Uriel seems taken aback. "Are you speaking to me? After everything you've done? Don't you know I could send you straight back to the pit?"

"No, I don't think you can." Dean cocks his head and studied Uriel steadily. "Because I'm in the club. Or I used to be, right? Sentenced to earth, a zillion consecutive life sentences or something? So though I have no doubt you could pull off something pretty nasty, I don't think hell is in your bag of tricks."

Uriel's scowl deepens. Castiel knows him well enough to realize he's furious. "You're an abomination. I should --"

"Leave him be," Castiel interrupts. "There's no need for this; I'll go with you."

"The hell you will --," Dean begins, but Uriel turns his back on Dean and faces Castiel.

"There's no time for this. As much as I would treasure taking you back to face the Throne -- and believe me, that day is coming -- there are other, more pressing matters. Alisdair has emerged."

Dean steps back at the sound of the demon's name, practically staggers and Castiel moves without thinking, reaches out to find the memory and blunts it, blurs the edges and pushes it away from Dean so swiftly that Dean is left blinking at him helplessly.

"I won't let him hurt you," Castiel says quietly.

Uriel snorts in disgust. "Always defending him. It would be pathetic if it weren't revolting. You should have joined this one in exile."

"I'll come back for you," Castiel says to Dean, as if Uriel hadn't spoken.

"Don't think you're doing this alone," Dean begins, raging, but Castiel reaches out and taps his fingertips against Dean's forehead.

And continues staring as Dean looks back at him in slowly dawning indignation.

"Did you... did you just try to put the whammy on me?" Dean demands.

Castiel resists looking down at his fingertips in confusion. "The whammy?"

"I can't believe --" Dean shakes his head. "That was so not cool. We're going to talk about that later."

"Can we get started?" Uriel asks. "Should we let more seals be broken while you waste time on this criminal?"

Castiel turns away from Dean, almost in relief. "Fine. I'm ready," he says.

"You keep telling yourself that," Uriel says.


They track the demon to an abandoned barn in the middle of fallow fields. Uriel speaks about Lilith and the seals and the end of the world, but all of it truly comes down to one thing, it seems; to Alisdair, anyway. He stares at Dean with acquisitive malice before closing his hands around Castiel's neck.

"I don't like to share my toys."

Those are the last words Castiel remembers before Alisdair begins chanting, words in Latin that grip him by the throat and don't let go, not until the world starts to blur and the body he inhabits starts to be torn away with a horrible wrenching that radiates agony out from the center of him.

And then it ends, just as suddenly, and he finds himself kneeling, Alisdair gone and Uriel facing Dean who stands holding a shovel raised to swing and Castiel would find it strange if he could breathe.

"When were you planning to step in?" Dean demands. "Alisdair was killing him and you were just fucking standing there... is that the way it works in heaven's army?"

"You have no comprehension --," Uriel begins.

"Oh, I fucking comprehend, believe me," Dean says, enraged. "And I don't think your little fragging attempt would go over with your boss very well, do you?" Dean gestures in disgust. "Get out of here."

Uriel stands still for a moment, hands clenched, then he looks at Castiel. "Enjoy the time you have left."

"Yeah, yeah -- doom and destruction, the world is ending, we're all gonna die," Dean says. "We get it. Get lost."

Dean doesn't move until Uriel is gone, with a force like a hurricane gust left in his wake and it would have knocked Castiel to the floor if Dean hadn't moved, fallen to his knees, too, and gripped him tight. Castiel turns his face toward Dean, to thank him, perhaps, or to ask him what in heaven's name he did to send Alisdair running, but Dean's mouth is on his before he can speak.

When Dean finally pulls back, Castiel feels bruised.

"He was killing you," Dean says against Castiel's cheek, like he doesn't believe it himself. "You were going to die, I could feel it." He shakes his head. "I didn't know -- I didn't know he could do that. That anything could do that."

"All things ends eventually," Castiel says, still out of breath.

"Shut up," Dean says, and kisses him again. This time it's softer, deeper, no less desperate, and Castiel finds himself reaching out and holding Dean back. Then Dean hauls him to his feet and steps in close, shoves his fingers into Castiel's hair and tilts his head so they're kissing some more, open and messy and intent.

"You can do this, right?" Dean murmurs. "It's allowed?"

Castiel thinks it hardly matters at this point, that he wouldn't let it matter regardless, but he doesn't tell Dean this. He simply nods, puts his mouth to the turn of Dean's jaw and rests his lips there, letting Dean's pulse beat against them. The memories make him dizzy.

"It's been a very long time," he whispers.

Dean stills. "Oh. Well. We don't have to -- I mean, we can go slow. Whatever you want," he says awkwardly, and it takes a moment for Castiel to grasp his meaning.

When he figures it out, Dean's concern is so typical, so familiar and beloved that it swamps him, overwhelms him and he surges forward, pushes Dean into the wall, practically taking him off his feet with the force of it. Castiel is doing the kissing this time, hungry and sweet, Dean between him and the rough wood of the barn and just taking what Castiel gives him until they both need to break apart to breathe.

Dean inhales sharply. "Or this works, too. Fuck."

More kissing because Castiel needs this; has always needed Dean, but this is different. Through the countless incarnations Dean has had since his exile, Castiel has followed the light of him, never truly taking notice of the form that light took until now. Now he wants.

Dean's body is beautifully made, smooth skin over muscle and Castiel tugs and pulls to get clothing out of the way to see more of it. He falls to his knees to trace the lines of him, explore the places where the curve of muscle gives way to the jut of bone, where smooth skin gives way to soft hair, until eventually he has his hands between Dean's legs, Dean's cock hard and hot in his palm.

Then Dean makes a desperate sound and runs his fingers hard through Castiel's hair, tips his face up with a firm tug, forcing Castiel to look up into his face. Dean's clothes are rumpled and hanging off him, shirt framing his shoulders, mouth swollen and red from kissing, expression almost dazed. Castiel wonders if he looks as taken apart as Dean does.

"Hey. Come up here," Dean says, voice rough, and pulls him up with surprising strength.

More kissing then, and Dean's hands moving over him, impatient and sure, pushing and shoving at Castiel's clothing until with a flare of heat they're skin to skin. The shock of it takes Castiel's breath, literally makes him gasp, and whatever Dean sees in his face makes him swallow and look away and take Castiel's hand in his.

"Like this," Dean murmurs, mouth against Castiel's skin, and then Dean guides him, shows him how he wants to be touched. Then he touches Castiel, too and oh, the sheer joy of it makes Castiel forget what he's doing, forget how to do anything at all, maybe. And then it's all too much to take and he has to throw his head back and just let himself go.

"Yeah, just like that," Dean whispers when Castiel comes back to himself, winds an arm around him and holds him close, holds him up. Dean smiles and turns his grin into Castiel's neck. "That bring back any memories for you?"

A millennium since they'd been together in their true forms, and Castiel can recall every moment of it, up until the very last. "I've never forgotten," he whispers.

Dean freezes at that, then steps back and starts to pull his clothing back together. He nods at Castiel. "Button up. It's getting cold."

Castiel starts, realizing Dean is right; he can feel the cold creeping into him, making him shiver. "I'm cold," he says, wondering.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, buttoning his shirt. "Is that new?"

Alarmingly so. He'd always been aware of the temperature, but simply that -- just an awareness. It had never affected him before. And he hadn't been able to make Dean sleep.

"Is something wrong?" Dean asks.

Castiel finishes pulling his clothing back into place before he answers.

"I don't know. I've never been human for this long before," he says.

Dean nods, looking concerned. "Let's get you somewhere warm, then," he says, but reaches out when Castiel turns to go, stopping him. He gestures between them. "So this is what we were like? You and me? You know. Before."

Castiel looks away, the sharp ache of loss hollow in his chest. "No."

Dean's expression falls and Castiel puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezes a little.

"We were more than this. Better."

Dean takes that in, unusually serious, but then he catches Castiel's eye and the side of his mouth quirks. "There's more stuff we can do here, too, you know. Better stuff."

Castiel's heart makes a slow thump of anticipation. Dean laughs at his expression and kisses him. When he pulls back, though, his expression is serious.

"But first we need to find Sam."



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