As soon as Dean was outside he hurried to the impala, getting some paint out of the trunk. Without a reference or a paintbrush, he started frantically marking the walls with the sigils he remembered. He knew they must have been wrong, but the angels would be coming any time now. It was too dangerous. He had to get them up before he even told Sam, who was sleeping upstairs.

Cas stood and glanced out the window at what Dean was doing. Now he was really starting to get worried. He'd never seen those sigils before, and based on how frantically Dean was slathering them across the walls, something was coming. Something to do with his wings… It felt odd even to think it. His wings. He had… wings. He could feel them now, the idle muscles, their position in space. He moved them slightly closer to him to make sure. Yes, they were there. Of course, this posed an obvious question: Could he fly?

If discovering his wings at all was a bad idea, flying was probably just idiotic. But still, how was he supposed to resist? Besides, how much bad could it do? So, he turned and slipped out the back door, coming out on the other side of the house than Dean. He walked a few yards away, knowing he'd probably need space. Around him was a huge field of grass and a clear, empty sky, cloudless and littered with stars. It was a little chilly, but not really worthy of the word cold, and the only wind there was was an occasional breeze heading towards the bunker. Perfect flying weather… I guess, he thought. God, this was surreal.

Well, it was now or never. Slowly, he stretched out his wings as far as they could go, raising them in the air. He felt quite powerful, knowing he must have had a wingspan of twenty feet at least. But he couldn't feel the wind against them, and if there was no air, there was no flying. So, without another way to do it, he thought to himself and ordered his wings to appear, appear!

But that, however, didn't happen. His shadow was in front of him, and instead of seeing the shadows of his wings appear, he saw the shadow of the rest of his body flicker and vanish into nothing. The wind brushed against him, passed through him, touching every atom of his body on the way. He shivered. It was a horrible feeling.

Well, maybe this was how it worked. He vanished and then he flew. And if it didn't work, what was the loss? So, without waiting another moment, he took a long breath and raised his wings before quickly beating them down. If they didn't catch the air, they caught something, because he felt his feet leave the ground as his body was thrown several meters into the air.

"Ah!" He shouted in startlement, seeing the ground now so far away and flailing his arms for something to hold onto. As the ground began to get closer again, he frantically told himself, again, again!

Frantically, he beat his wings for a second time, scooping them against the air like a paddle through the water, and he was launched further in the air. A grin spread over his face as the wind blew through his hair (and, well, technically through his head but you get the feeling.) He beat them once more, straightening out his body and keeping his wings open. The air caught underneath and he smoothly soared over the city, invisible to anyone below. He grinned down at the lights, the air rushing past him, his arms spread out. "Wooo!" He cried, knowing no one could hear him. He was flying!

After he circled the city for a moment or two after that, he figured he ought to head back to the bunker. He leaned to the left, finding himself turning back around. He let himself soar back to the bunker, not beating his wings and floating downward. Unfortunately, he was going down faster and more surely than he thought. The huge field was quickly approaching and getting bigger as his smile vanished and he tried to swing around and put his feet forward.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, no, no!" He muttered to himself. But inevitably, his heels harshly collided with the ground and he tripped forward, falling on his face and tumbling across the ground, getting coated with bruises in the process. Finally he stopped, lying on his back and aching all over. So, the landing needed a little work.

After a moment, he sat up and looked around. He was a little ways away from the bunker but far enough to talk. With a wince he stood and made his way back towards the bunker. He stopped when he saw Dean around the side, a book in hand and his hand still coated in paint. For a moment, Cas' heart stopped. Should I be out here? Should I be flying at all?

But then, he reminded himself that Dean couldn't see or hear him. So, fearlessly, he took another step closer to him, standing just behind him. He looked at the sigils that now nearly covered the house. He felt like… he knew those from somewhere or something, but nothing was occurring to him. Then again, all sigils looked fairly similar, he probably just saw something like it. Anyway, he had a creeping suspicion about who Dean may have been trying to keep out.

Dean spent a little while longer on the sigils, coating the house in them. Every now and again Castiel would look down at his hand to make sure he couldn't see it and neither could Dean and then he'd follow after. When Dean was finally done, he hurried back into the bunker and barged into Sam's room.

"He's got his wings," He said hurriedly to his brother, who was waking up, confused and in a daze.

"His what…" He muttered, slowly sitting up.

"His wings, Sam! He broke the binding spell and he's got his wings!" Dean demanded. Sam sat up and looked at Dean, the tiredness in his eyes replaced with dread.

"Just now?" He asked.

"No, a few hours ago."

"Dean, why didn't you-"

"I was putting up the sigils as fast as I could, you know they're already coming for him!"

Cas shivered, knowing it was him they were talking about. What did they know? Who was coming? Sam opened his mouth to argue, but shook his head. There was no time. He whipped off the covers (having slept in his clothes) and rapidly stood.

"We have to move," he told Dean.

"Where?!" Dean cried, "They'll still find him, he's basically both Heaven and Hell's most wanted and now they've got a pinpoint on him!"

"Did you kill the one that found him?" Sam suddenly brought up. Cas looked to Dean expectantly, who didn't speak.

"Well?" Sam asked.

"Yes!" Dean finally said. Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look, Sam, it doesn't matter if I killed one or gave 'em a damn plate of cookies, they're still gonna find Cas, and he's bound to start remembering sometime soon! You know, you're right! As much as I hate to admit it, you're right! I mean, he's broken the goddamned binding spell, he must be figuring out what's happening to him by now, and so are the angels who are trying to find him! Now, we have to watch him close, and you know I'm gonna kill every goddamned angel that comes between us, no matter what! Just because my husband is a goddamned falling angel doesn't mean I'm not gonna do anything to protect him!"

"I'm a what?"

Both Sam and Dean's heads turned as the fallen angel appeared between them, so distracted he let himself become visible again without even realizing it. Dean's eyes widened with horror, knowing he must have heard everything.

"Oh… God, Cas-" he began.

"Dean," Cas began, fear in his eyes and strange images beginning to flow into his mind. For some reason, he hadn't linked angels with those men in white robes with halos, he saw a shimmering knife, a screaming blue light, a stark black suit. "Who am I…?" He asked nervously, "What's happening to me?"

Dean gave him a long sad look and Sam took a step back. This was between them. Dean put a comforting hand on Cas' shoulder and stepped forward, pressing his forehead to his. Cas sighed heavily, Dean's presence still as calming as it was.

"You're a fallen angel, Cassie," Dean told him softly. "Really. Literally. When you fell you… put a binding spell on your wings but I guess you broke that. Angels aren't supposed to fall, and now there are angels who are hunting you… not to mention you'll probably start remembering things from your angelic past." Dean looked down as he told him the truth, unable to hold it back anymore. Cas swallowed, trying to process all of it. An angel? A fallen angel? No… he was just… Cas. A hunter. A human.

"No," Cas said softly, stepping back away from Dean. He wasn't exactly angry at Dean, but he didn't want to see him just now. He needed to be alone.

"Cas-" Dean interjected, but before he could continue, Cas took in a breath, told himself, vanish, and he could feel the air pass through his body as he disappeared. Sam and Dean looked around the room, their eyes no longer locked on him. He was gone. Without waiting another moment, Cas hurried out of Sam's room and into his own, laying himself on his bed and reappearing to get around what he'd just heard.

What? An angel? How could that be possible? No… I can't be, he thought. I remember everything… I remember… What? The more he looked for the memories the more he found he didn't find them. All there were in his mind were doorways painted onto walls, and in his head, again and again he repeated, I remember, I remember, until it wasn't the start to a sentence, grasping for anything he could find, it was just a sentence on its own. I remember. I remember. He let his face falter and his heart sink.

I don't remember.

He let out a long sigh, bringing up his hands and covering his eyes. So, if he wasn't Cas, who was he? And why, why on Earth or in heaven would he fall and do all this to himself if it's such a crime? Why? Why?!

"Cas?" Cas pulled his hands from his face and turned his head to the door, opened just partway, enough to reveal a worried Dean in the doorway. Without an invitation (a verbal one anyway) Dean entered the room. Cas ran his eyes over Dean's gentle seas of green, the tension in his chest already relieving. Dean tucked his hands in his pockets and flopped down on his back next to Cas and the two stared at the ceiling beside each other just for a moment.

Cas looked around the room, searching for the question to ask and the way to phrase it. He had so many.

"Will you tell me…" he began slowly, "How we really met?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the innocent question as he put his hands back behind his head. Well, I stabbed you and then we fell in love. Very romantic.

"Funny story actually," he confessed, "We've… come a long way, I'll tell you that much." Cas turned his head to look at Dean.

"Will you tell me?" He asked sweetly. Dean sighed and stared up at the ceiling, hardly knowing where to begin.

"Well…" he started slowly. "I was… in Hell. I had… sold my soul for Sammy's life, you know how much I care for him."

"Mhm," Cas agreed, lifting his head a bit to look at him, a bit concerned. Hell? Still, he continued.

"Either way, I only got a year in return, and when my year was up… you know the deal with the crossroads. Down I went. I was down there for a good long while before I was just… in my coffin, awake, and coming back up again. Of course, this never happened, and there had to be a reason. The reason was you, you raised me up from there, but I didn't know that at the time. Man, we did everything to try and find you. You even ended up burning out the eyes of a friend of ours with your grace when she tried to look at you."

"Really?" Cas asked, horrified.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He said it more as a command then a request. Without even casting a glance in his direction, he kept going. "But me and my friend Bobby finally managed to summon you; that was when we first met. You walked in, the room coated in sigils, and, well, it wasn't love at first sight."

Cas creased his eyebrows. "What did you do?"

"Stabbed you," Dean said, so casually he almost sounded amused as he looked down at him.

"Oh," was all Cas could manage out. Ah, well. Things were different then, he didn't know him. Cas curled up a little and snuggled into Dean's chest. "Then what?" He asked.

"Well, the knife didn't work," Dena kept going, wrapping his arm around Cas. "You just sort of… pulled that out and dropped it. Then you knocked out Bobby and told me we had to talk."

"S-sorry," Cas interjected.

"Cas, it's fine!" Dean insisted. He was trying not to let it get to him, but it was clearly angering him. That or frightening him. Either way, he only kept that tone in his face for a moment before he continued.

"But yeah… you told me you were Castiel, an angel of the lord. I didn't believe you, not for a long time, I mean would you?"

"No," Cas agreed.

"Well yeah. But anyway, you asked me about my faith and all, and then you showed me those goddamned wings you had," Dean explained, his voice growing passionate. "Thunder cracked and I just see these two massive shadows stretch behind you, and you give me the eye like something between a war-stained soldier and someone trying to get into my pants. God it was just… overwhelming. I mean, scary as fuck, but completely amazing. And you know that was the first time I thought it." He cast a romantic glance down at Cas.

"Thought what?" Cas asked curiously.

"'I'm glad that knife didn't work'." Dean smiled down at him as Cas looked away, beaming. He pressed closer into Dean's chest.

"So, yeah," Dean finished up, "Then you let me know you only raised me for God's orders and that you had work for me, and all that."

"Sorry," Cas told him again.

"Don't-" Dean began angrily but sighed out any anger that he may have had. He looked away from Cas. "You know… this is why I didn't want you to remember."

"Why?" Cas asked him curiously. Dean slowly shook his head and let out a long sigh. Finally, he got up the guts to give him a genuine look into his gentle blue eyes.

"You weren't doing so well, Cassie," he told him honestly. "The memories you're gonna get… they're not gonna be sunshine and rainbows. They're gonna hurt."

Cas swallowed. Dean was tough, and he thought it would hurt? Still he nodded. "Okay," he responded.

"Just remember, Cassie, all through this… I'm here for you. You're not alone, and you're still loved and needed," Dean explained, tightening his arm around him. But still, Cas couldn't accept it until he understood. He shook his head, his chest tightening.

"Why do you say that like I was some suicidal mess?" He asked nervously. Dean bit his lip and swallowed, slowly bringing back the eye contact that he'd briefly cut off. His eyes swam in a true sorrow and empathy, but he couldn't lie to Cas.

"Cause you were," he answered him honestly. Cas shivered, his heart going faster. He was relatively happy here. When he remembered, what was gonna happen? Who was he gonna become? What if he didn't want to be like that?

"I'm scared, Dean," he confessed honestly.

Dean's eyebrows creased in sympathy and he couldn't look at him anymore, his eyes turning back to the ceiling. It was too late to tell him he was gonna be okay. "Just get some sleep," he said finally, and reached over one arm over his lover to the opposite wall, turning off the light-switch with a click.