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Castiel waited quietly at the bar, sitting at the edge of the stool and sipping cheap bourbon to appease the bartender. He looked like the exact stereotype of a perfect bartender: handsome in a ruddy and chubby way, a bald head that shone with sweat in a pleasing contrast to his thick ginger beard, and thick forearms that were a canvas for tattoos that showed a variety in age, complexity, and artistic skill.
“Nice ink,” the man said to him, nodding at Castiel’s hand wrapped around the glass he was drinking from.
“Thank you,” Castiel said, but no more than that, before he turned his head away.
A lot of people who had tattoos wanted to chat with him, seeing him as some kindred spirit. But the mirrored waxing and waning moons on the backs of his hands were not there for decoration. Anybody who could read the ancient script tattooed inside the moons would know that, but there were few people who could. He doubted that any scholars of nešili cuneiform were hanging out in a dive bar in Montana.
Restlessly, he drank bourbon and watched the other people in the room. There weren’t many of them. A couple who looked simultaneously too young and too old seemed to be having an argument, two grizzled old men were watching a baseball game on the little television mounted in the corner, and five people in biker leathers were alternating between playing pool and being outside, smoking.
Castiel immediately loved them. They were such delightfully ordinary people. And that made up his mind: he’d already argued against staying behind, and he couldn’t just sit here putting people at risk for no reason. If the witch that Sam and Dean were talking to was the real thing, he could be making the bar a target just by being here.
He threw a few bills on the bar and strode out the door. Piles of gray-brown slush slumped around the edges of the small parking area, where plow-displaced snow had enough shade to not melt in the weak winter sunlight. He shivered, cold in spite of a thermal undershirt, a flannel, and a thick woolen coat layered on him.
A familiar black car turned into the parking area, tires crunching on grit, and a familiar head poked out of the window.
“Cas!” Dean hissed at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
It was quite obvious that Castiel had been going after him, so he didn’t say anything as he stomped over to climb into the backseat.
“Hey, Cas,” Sam said more calmly.
“Just tell me it was a bust so we can move on,” Castiel sighed, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes, then opening them when he felt like the car was tilting over. He may have drunk more bourbon than he should have.
“Ever the optimist, this one,” Dean said, already turning the car around to get back on the road. “Would it kill you to have hope for two seconds?”
“Yes,” Castiel said immediately.
“Well, shit, rest in peace, then,” Dean drawled.
Castiel sat up straight. “What do you mean? Sam, what does that mean?”
“I think he’s the real deal,” Sam said, frowning down at a laptop on his legs. “He was able to read the script when I showed him the photo of your hands.”
Castiel met Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror, because he could read Dean like a book and he trusted Dean not to lie to him about this. Dean’s gaze back at him was steady.
“I’m not going to get my hopes up,” Castiel announced, slumping back down.
“We set up a meeting for tomorrow,” Sam said. “Just to talk, and assess things. No magic until we’re all feeling friendly.”
“Fine,” Castiel said, and watched the empty, snow-melt fields passing by through the window.
They picked up a few pizzas from a local place that looked entirely mediocre and took them back to the motel. It was only a little past four in the afternoon, but already getting dark. Sam plucked one of the boxes from Dean’s hands and headed for his own room, clearly ready to let Dean be the one to deal with his grumpy boyfriend.
The room’s temperature was set by the motel management and couldn’t be adjusted, so Castiel left most of his layers on, only taking off his outer coat and immediately getting into the bed to wrap up in the covers.
“Hey, sunshine,” Dean grinned, stepping over to him and holding his hands out. “I forgot my gloves again…”
Castiel sighed in exasperation, but he took Dean’s hands inside his own to warm them. The red-gold glow of magic snaking under his skin was mostly hidden by his sleeves, but he could tell it was taking a while to get going, made sluggish by the cold and dark outside. He watched the tattoos on his hands slowly lighting up a dark purple gleam, the counterbalancing effect that kept his innate magic below the safe threshold. Dean’s hands were warmed, but not burned, then the tattoos flared bright and cut off Castiel’s magic entirely.
“Thanks,” Dean said, and leaned down for an easy kiss. “Now come eat some of this pizza. I know you’re about to tell me you’re not hungry, but we both know it’s bullshit so can you just do me a favor?”
“I just did you one.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t get cute.”
Castiel finally cracked a smile. “No? Are you sure?”
Dean responded by plopping a piece of pizza into his hands. “We all know you’re freakin’ adorable. Just eat something.”
Castiel did, and felt better for it, which was annoyingly predictable. This was why Dean was in charge of Castiel’s eating schedule.
Dean turned on the television and put it on some kind of medical show, but left the volume turned so low it was hard to make out anything that was happening. He walked into the bathroom and turned the bathtub on, which made the volume situation make even less sense. Castiel loved this man, but that didn’t preclude finding him incredibly annoying, sometimes.
“Come on, get warm,” Dean said, standing in the doorway. “I need you to be comfy and less of a grump so we can talk about tomorrow.”
“Sam’s big lead just had to be in Montana in December,” Castiel muttered around a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni.
“You’re such a baby,” Dean said, and came over to start peeling Castiel out of his clothes. “It’s not even that cold.”
“For humans.”
They bickered all the way through the process of getting Castiel naked and into the bath. Dean stripped down to jeans and t-shirt, then sat on the closed lid of the toilet. He was already developing a fine sheen of sweat on his face from the steam.
Castiel sighed with relief as he sank into the hot water. Dean looked proud when a gentle reddish light started to glow in the center of Castiel’s broad chest, under the tattoo of a round sun whose rays spread across his skin from collarbone to navel.
“So,” Dean said, breaking the silence after a couple of minutes. “Tomorrow could be it. Our chance to get your memories restored.”
“I doubt it. We’ve been down this road before. It’s never anything useful. It’s one charlatan after red herring after charlatan.”
“Okay, Debbie Downer,” Dean frowned. Then he scooted off his seat and knelt on the floor, reaching out to put a hand to Castiel’s scruffy cheek. “Hey. You still want this, right?”
Castiel looked at his own knees poking up out of the water. He watched droplets of water catch in the hair on his legs. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to go through with this.”
“Dean, you know I do. What exactly I did, why I did it… it matters. We need to know.”
“I don’t,” Dean said, his hand sliding around behind Castiel’s neck, cupping it firmly. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It should,” Castiel said, looking up to meet his eyes. “Dean, how could it not matter? People died. Homes destroyed. I caused so much destruction. Of course it matters why.”
“I know you, Cas. I’ve known you for years, now. I’ve been sharing your bed for some of ‘em. And you’re a damn good hunter. You care about people, and you protect them, and you’d never hurt anyone without a reason. I know it.”
Castiel surged forward to meet Dean’s mouth so quickly that water slopped from the tub and soaked Dean’s clothes, but neither of them cared. There was no gentle lead-in, just a crashing together of lips and hard, heavy kisses, hands groping at hair and neck to drag them closer into each other.
Castiel let his magic well up, pressed it all into the kiss and left Dean’s mouth faintly glowing as he moaned against Castiel’s mouth.
They hurried to get Dean’s clothes off, and Castiel gave himself a cursory swipe of a towel before they fell into bed. Castiel’s whole body glowed faintly, keeping himself warm enough to withstand being naked in this room, and the purple light on his hands flared in warning.
“C’mon, exercise will warm you up,” Dean said, rolling him onto his stomach. “God, we need to drive down to Arizona again,” he moaned, then bit at the place where the wings tattooed on Castiel’s back joined together on his spine. “Need you to be comfortable so we can take some time with these suckers.”
The sizzle of magic raced along the outlines of the tattoo to meet Dean wherever he placed his mouth, an unconscious response of Castiel’s that always left them both gasping in pleasure. The icy pain in his hands went creeping up his arms, trying to suppress it, and he cried out.
“Shhh,” Dean soothed as he pressed apologetic kisses to Castiel’s neck. “This is why I support you getting your memories back, by the way. Maybe if you know what happened, you’ll be willing to get that shit removed.”
“No,” Castiel said immediately. “No, I need them.”
Dean bit his shoulder. “We’ll see.”
“Come on,” Castiel said, bracing his knees and pressing his ass up against Dean. “Let’s see if you can make me stop thinking about it.”
Castiel had been looking for someone who might be able to restore his missing memories about the fire for a long time. Longer than he’d known the Winchesters. It was very difficult to stop thinking about the fact that, this time tomorrow, he might finally know his own depths. How violent and frightening he really was, before he’d had tattoos to keep his power in check. There wasn’t really anything that could truly distract him from the anticipatory grief and self-loathing.
But Dean certainly put in a good effort.
Something was off the minute they walked into the room where they’d agreed to meet.
For one thing, it didn’t look like a witch’s workshop. It was clean to the point of sterile, white walls and minimal furniture. There wasn’t a single jar or bowl left out, nor a single stain or scar on the table.
But the thing that truly sent the magic crackling under Castiel’s skin was the way the man who sat at the table looked at him. There was something off about his smile. He looked so unassuming, a little man with rounded shoulders and gray in his curly hair. But his smile was so predatory, and there was a strange familiarity to his gaze.
Castiel lost a moment of time, and came back to awareness when he stumbled over a chair.
“Cas!” Dean grabbed him by the shoulders. “You okay?”
He nodded briefly, but didn’t take his eyes off the man. “I know you,” he said.
“Do you?” the witch asked, voice bright and polite.
“I’ve seen you… I don’t…”
He felt a sharp pain behind his eyes, heard a weird buzzing sound in his head. He fell to his knees, crying out. Dean let him go and pulled a gun, turning it on the witch. Sam had already done so.
“Man, if you’re playing games with us, that ends now. Who are you?”
“I’m not playing a game,” he said, still seated and still calm. “I’m just taking the opportunity to check up on Castiel. See how those tattoos are holding up.”
“What do you know about his tattoos?” Sam asked.
“Well, I put them on him, so quite a lot,” he answered.
Castiel’s head snapped up. “That’s not true,” he said immediately. “I got them after I… what I did in Texas… they…”
He felt so cold, and his head hurt so badly. Why couldn’t he remember? Hadn’t he gone to someone, begged to have his powers restrained so he couldn’t hurt anyone like that again? Who was it?
“I asked another phoenix,” he said, voice slow and slurred as he tried to force the memories to come. “Someone who would know what to do. He… Marv.”
He looked up, and Marv was beaming down at him like he was proud of him.
“His name is Marv,” Castiel told Dean and Sam. “He helped me before.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other, and didn’t lower their guns, even at hearing the other man was actually a phoenix. Which was stupid. They had bullets that could kill a witch, and silver as a backup, and both of those things would likely slow Marv down but certainly wouldn’t kill him. Shooting him would be pointless.
“Something about this sounds fishy to me,” Dean said. “C’mon Cas, if he’s the one who gave you the tattoos, why can’t you remember it?”
Castiel staggered back up to his feet, despite the pounding pain in his head. “I don’t know.”
“He asked me to,” Marv said. “It was right after the incident. He said the less he remembered about the whole thing, the better.”
“You took his memories?”
“We both thought it was better that way.”
He stood up, palms raised in surrender, and Sam and Dean tracked him with their guns.
“Castiel is dangerous, and his rage was terrifying. Taking away his magic wasn’t enough of a guarantee. Taking the memory of why he did it was the only way to ensure that he wouldn’t do it again. Do you know how many acres he burned in that fire? Only four people died, but dozens were injured and hospitalized.”
“Cas,” Dean said, eyes never leaving Marv. “Please tell me you can smell the bullshit.”
Castiel’s head felt like it would split open, and his vision swam. He couldn’t stay upright without clutching onto the back of a chair. Memories licked at his mind like tongues of fire. Flashes of screaming. Of Marv’s face.
“I don’t remember,” he grated out.
“You don’t need to,” Marv said. He kept moving forward, incrementally, closer to Castiel. “Boys, all this bravado is very impressive, but it’s unnecessary. I don’t mean Castiel any harm. But I do think he should come with me so I can renew my work. It’s clearly experiencing some degradation, and we need to fix that before he goes off like a bomb. Again.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Sam said, just as Dean said, “No way in hell.”
“Castiel, I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing.”
“Nobody’s going to any second location, you got that?" Dean barked before Castiel could say anything. “Come on, Cas, let’s go.”
It was not a question that Castiel would prefer to go with Dean than with Marv. He didn’t even know Marv, or at least didn’t remember knowing him. And he didn’t like the urgency with which Marv said Castiel’s lost memories needed to be buried even deeper. Just yesterday, he’d been claiming he could restore them.
Castiel started backing away, toward the door.
Marv’s eyes flared orange and eerie, and Dean and Sam dropped their suddenly red-hot guns with shouts of surprise. He swept his hands out like he was shooing a dog, and the door handle behind them melted and drooped.
“I can’t let him leave,” Marv said. “Not if his memories are coming back.”
“Don’t hurt them,” Castiel said, moving to stand in front of the brothers, spreading his arms wide. “They were just trying to help me. They don’t have anything to do with this, whatever it is.”
“Oh, Castiel, you’re so brave, but ultimately stupid,” he said, sounding pitying. “It’s far too late for that.”
“Shit!” Dean yelped, but Castiel couldn’t take his eyes off Marv to turn and check on him. “My fucking shirt is on fire!”
Marv’s face. The fire. Screaming.
“Dean,” Castiel said. “Give me your knife.”
“What? How’s that going to help?” Dean yelled as he frantically slapped at his burning arm. Sam was similarly occupied.
“Castiel, if you don’t come with me now, they die,” Marv said. “Is that what you want? More people to die because of you?”
"Dean!" Castiel shouted.
A knife hit Castiel’s palm.
Castiel took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and slashed the back of his hand. Cut through the waxing moon and the cuneiform symbols, split his skin wide open.
“Don’t!” Marv shrieked, and his own skin started glowing a vibrant orange.
Castiel had a harder time gripping the knife in the hand he’d just sliced open, but he managed, and cut through the waning moon on the other hand.
Crackling energy swelled. His veins were glorious, beautiful fire. He was finally warm enough.
He turned and quelled the fire that Marv had set on his loved ones. “You two need to run,” he said.
“Not leaving without you!” Dean shouted, even as Sam was already turning to throw himself against the door and break it open with brute strength.
“Marv told me it was vampire nest,” Castiel said. “I thought I was saving people. He tricked me. It wasn’t a nest. They were humans.”
“You remember?”
All the power that had been suppressed in him for so long was an inferno in his chest. It screamed to be used.
“I remember,” Castiel said. “Now, go. It’s about to get very hot in here.”
Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and hauled him away, just as Castiel’s power reached a crescendo. He glowed so hot that he was blue-white, and as he turned back to Marv, every little movement sent sparks of fire trailing in its wake.
“Now, Cas, calm down,” Marv said, flames dancing over his teeth and tongue. “I thought it was a vampire nest, too, I wasn’t trying to trick you, you know that. Why would I do that?”
“Because I was a threat to you, and wouldn’t let you get away with using your powers to intimidate people and take anything you wanted. What did those people even have that you wanted so much? Or did they just piss you off? You turned me into a murderer for your own personal gain.”
“I guess you really do remember,” Marv said weakly.
“I’ve wasted so many years thinking I was a monster.”
“You are,” Marv said. “You are a monster.”
“Then let me show you what a monster does,” Castiel said, and let the great red-gold wings burst forth from him. He let go of the last of his control, let go of everything, and let himself be lost in the fire.
Three days later, Castiel knocked on the green-painted door of room 104 at the A+ Comfort Inn, rapping out C-A-S in Morse code.
There was a crash, pounding footsteps, and the door flung open. Dean stared at Castiel with frantic eyes that quickly welled with tears. Sam was right behind him, face openly awed.
“Cas?”
“Hello, Dean.”
“You found us.”
“First motel in the yellow pages, Jim Rockford.”
“Christ, you look so young. Like, thirty, tops.”
Castiel sighed deeply. “How much phoenix lore do I need to remind you of before you let me inside?”
Dean crashed against him, hugging him for all he was worth, and Castiel returned it in kind.
“I’m getting ash all over your clothes.”
“Don’t care.”
“Yeah, me either,” Sam said, the moment Dean’s arms loosened a fraction. “Cas, get in here.”
Castiel accepted an enthusiastic hug from Sam, knowing it was all he was going to get before Sam’s natural tendencies took over.
Sure enough, as soon as he pulled back, he said, “So, you’re all powered up now? The tattoos are gone?”
“Yes,” Castiel said, lifting up his soot-streaked hands to show off the unblemished skin on their backs.
Dean immediately yanked Castiel's shirt collar down to check that his wing and sun tattoos were still there, which, of course they were. Those ones were an integral part of his human form. Dean breathed a sigh of relief that made Castiel desperately wish Sam would go away.
“And that guy? Marv? What happened with him?” Sam demanded.
“He’s dead.”
“But he’s a phoenix, too.”
“Yes,” Castiel said uncomfortably. “I don’t really want to tell you how a phoenix kills another phoenix. Please.”
Sam twitched, visibly trying to restrain himself from asking again. Dean elbowed him hard in the side.
“Dude, get out of here. Go pick us up some dinner.”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
“Sam,” Dean said, slow and deliberate. “Get out of this room.”
“Ah,” Sam said awkwardly. “Yep. Got it.”
He snatched up his laptop and duffel bag and scurried out, dropping one more affectionate pat onto Castiel’s shoulder as he went.
As soon as the door closed, Dean was on him again, pressing a fierce kiss on him and gripping his shoulders a little too tightly.
“Are you okay? Be honest.”
“I’m okay.”
“Even after you had to eat Marv?”
Castiel’s first instinct was to draw away, to hide his shame. He really thought he’d managed to keep that information from them. He didn’t know how Dean had found out.
“Dean, I…”
“Cas, I know our last conversation was an entire resurrection ago for you, so let me just remind you: I don’t care. I love you. I just want to know that you’re okay.”
Castiel pushed his face into Dean’s shoulder as he felt the first sting of tears. “I will be.”
“Yeah, you’re home now,” Dean said, fingers running through Castiel’s hair. “Of course you will.”