Summary: Sam and Dean find Castiel while they are finishing a hunt. The only problem is, Castiel can't remember who he is, who Sam and Dean are, or why he's always got this urge to protect them from danger... Can Sam and Dean help him get his memory back?

"Dean, I know that this thing is special to you, and it is to me too, but don't you think that we should wash it now?"

Dean poked his head out of the motel door to see Sam holding up the familiar beige trench coat. It dangled from his gentle hold on it, waving lightly in the breeze. Dean scrunched up his nose. "You ever suggest that again and I'll shove you into the washer," he retorted and walked back inside to start cleaning the guns from the previous hunt.

"I'm just saying," Sam replied as he walked in and shut the door to prevent more ice-cold winter air from seeping in. "It's starting to really smell, and when cops catch you with it in the trunk, it's not going to be easy to slip away."

Dean gave his brother the best evil eye that he could. "I'll tell you this one more time, Sammy," he growled. "We are NOT going to do anything with that damn trench coat. It will stay the way it is."

Sam softened. "Does it comfort you?" he asked. "Does it, oh I don't know, smell like him or something?"

Dean gave him a look. "I'm not gay, Sammy," he said and set the first gun down. "It's just... I hope that he'll..."

Dean trailed off. Sam, knowing already what his brother had intended to say, sunk down on the other side and wordlessly began cleaning the guns. Dean shot him a grateful look, and they worked in silence.

It was just a typical salt-and-burn case. The job was done within about three days, and the last day found Sam and Dean packing up slowly, cleaning bloody clothes and stitching up wounds that had opened during the fights with the spirits.

"I'm telling you, Sammy," Dean was saying. "This town has some pretty hot chicks. If you actually wanted to hook up for one night, now would be your chance."

Sam cracked a smile. "I think I'll pass, thank you," he stated. "I'm still getting over that whole Becky incident."

Dean laughed. "I got a picture," he grinned, holding up his phone, "just so that one day you'll look back and remember the good times."

"Considering I don't even remember most of it, I hardly think that's fair," Sam replied and walked into the bathroom.

Dean grinned after his brother and was about to take his bag out to the new crappy car, when his phone began to ring. Confused, he looked at the contact's name, and stopped dead in his walk. Slowly, he answered and raised it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Who the hell are you?" the familiar voice from the other end demanded in a harsh, almost threatening tone. "And why do I have your number?"

Dean shifted the phone to a more comfortable position and hesitated. "Um, this is my old friend's number," he responded. "Do you maybe have his phone or something?"

"Listen," the man replied, ignoring Dean's question. "I want you to delete my name from your phone as soon as you hang up, because I will be sure to delete yours. Understand?"

Dean swallowed, thinking for a long time. Finally, he spoke. "Who is this?"

"Good," the man on the other end sounded pleased; Dean could almost hear the smile in his voice. "We never talked. I don't know you, and you don't know me. So just hang up the phone and forget that this conversation ever happened."

Dean was about to reply when the man hung up and Dean's phone buzzed, letting him know that he had been disconnected. He pulled the phone back and looked at the screen, making sure that he was hearing right.

At this point, Sam had rounded the corner, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, hazel eyes full of confusion and worry. "Dean?" he asked around the toothbrush. "Who was that?"

Dean looked up and snapped out of his trance. "Huh? Oh, um, I don't know," he responded and went back to looking at his phone. "But whoever it was... They called from Castiel's number."

Sam spit in the sink and rinsed his mouth out. "Track it down," he responded, drying his mouth with a hand towel. "Didn't you put a GPS on his phone?"

Dean's hope rose as he grabbed Sam's laptop and typed the number in on the GPS website. The computer loaded, and then a bright red circle surrounding a silver phone popped up on the screen. Dean studied the location, and then coughed. "It says that he's here," he told his brother. "In town."

Sam pulled on a shirt and stared at him. "Where?"

Dean ignored him. Shutting the laptop, he grabbed his jacket and pulled it on.

"C'mon," he mumbled, making his way quickly to the door. "We're going."

Turns out, the place where the phone call had been made was at the town's bar, a place that Dean had visited just the night before after the long hunt. He parked his blue car, which stood out embarrassingly against the cooler cars that he had taken more interest to.

Sam climbed out and looked at the bar. "How did Castiel's phone manage to travel all the way over here?" he asked, slamming the door shut.

Dean shrugged. "Let's find out."

They walked in the building, which was warm and nice compared to the snow and freezing winds outside. Sam and Dean stopped in the doorway and looked around. Being a Saturday night, the place was crowded.

Sam shivered involuntarily. "How the hell are we supposed to find his phone in this place?"

"We'll check whoever pulls out their phone," Dean replied, obviously not having a better plan. "In the meantime, let's get a drink."

"Dean," Sam scolded. "We need to get that phone."

"Aw, lighten up, Sammy," Dean nudged his brother playfully. "I saw that they had sasparillas here." He winked.

Sam made a face but followed his brother to the bar.

They sank down onto the two bar stools and surveyed the place. There were men and women dancing together to the blaring music pouring out of the speakers, men getting drunk and throwing bottles at each other, men playing pool for money, men and women playing poker... Dean smiled, "This place has got everything!"

"Dean, we're not here to play games," Sam reminded him sternly.

The bartender, who had previously had his back to Sam and Dean while he busied himself on the other side of the counter, turned around for the first time and asked to the back of the brothers' heads, "What can I get you fellas?"

The voice had Sam and Dean's heads snapping around, and when they saw who the bartender actually was, Sam tipped backwards and almost fell out of his seat, had he not grabbed onto the bar. Dean's eyes widened and he paled so much that it looked like he would pass out at any moment. "Castiel?" they both cried.