Strings Attached

Chapter 29

"Don't fuck with us, Castiel," he hisses.

"I'm not... Fucking with you." Is he? Well, theoretically, he might have been, in the literal sense of the word. But he isn't anymore, if he ever was. Amnesia is hard.

"Drop the act, angel," the boy with the dark hair says.

"Angel..." Castiel mutters under his breath. "I've heard that before..."

He racks his brain for who these people are. Where has he heard the nickname angel? Who calls him that? Oh. This is Crowley. He mentally scolds himself for not realizing it sooner. So these other two people are... Their names are on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't know. They begin with an A...

Although, Castiel reasons, it doesn't really matter what their names are. He knows who they are, even if he doesn't know what to call them. They're the people that are always so mean to him.

Why are they mean to him again? Castiel can't remember. What he does remember is that he doesn't talk to them, ever, so he doesn't say anything else.

"Guys, leave him alone!" Charlie commands them, a sudden air of confidence surrounding her.

Castiel shakes his head at her, silently asking her to let them do what they want.

"Shut it, Charles," Crowley snaps.

"It's Charlie, thank you very much," she replies. "And I will not shut it, because unlike you three, I am not a complete dick."

Castiel is suddenly aware of the absolute silence in the room. He watches the three boys give her the stare down, and it's clear they're questioning whether it would be worth it to fight her. After a painfully long couple seconds, Yellow Eyes speaks.

"Listen, Red, this ain't your place. Shut your trap before I make you."

"Fine," she replies, her smirk a challenge. "Make me."

"Charlie, stop," Castiel says quietly.

"Stop? Not a chance. You may not remember what they've done to you, but I do, and I'm going to put an end to it."

"Why the hell wouldn't he remember?" Azazel asks.

"Because he's got-"

"Charlie, just stop!" Castiel interrupts.

"Ooh, my little angel's gotten louder," Crowley observes.

Castiel doesn't respond.

"Aw, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Alastair teases.

"Or maybe he just realized he shouldn't waste his time with you idiots," Charlie suggests.

"Seriously, stop," Castiel repeats.

"Listen to Cassie," Crowley adds.

"What did he ever do to you?" Charlie asks.

"Nothing. That's the whole damn point," Azazel replies.

"Then leave him alone!"

"Gotta side with the cute one," a familiar voice announces. Castiel looks over to see Dean walking towards them, a casual bounce to his step. He tosses Charlie a wink, and she rolls her eyes. "I need the kid in one piece. Or as many pieces as he's in now," he adds, eyeing Castiel's wheelchair. "Need someone to keep my grades up if I want to stay on the team."

"Aw, come on, Dean!" Crowley complains. "Just one go, huh?"

"Nope, sorry," Dean replies. "I've gotta steal him." He looks down at Castiel. "Come on."

He attempts to wheel Castiel away, but there's no way Castiel is accepting help from this guy. Instead, Castiel mouths "Bye" to Charlie and Kevin before reluctantly wheeling himself after the older boy. He ignores the other three, who definitely don't want him to leave yet, and follows Dean out of the cafeteria in silence.

"Sorry," Dean says as soon as they're out of earshot of the cafeteria. "I needed something to get you away from there."

"Am I correct in assuming you don't need help with school?" Castiel asks.

"If I needed help, I'd ask Sammy," Dean replies. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Castiel frowns. This doesn't sound good.

"I don't know why you're mad at me, but we're supposed to be friends," Dean tells him.

"No, we aren't," Castiel replies. "You're just like them. Why would I ever be friends with you?"

"And Sam is one of them, too," Dean replies. "But we aren't all the same. I may be on the football team, but that doesn't mean I can't be your friend."

"Sam is...?" Castiel searches through his memories, but he can't think of a single time Sam was ever like the rest of the team. "No, Sam, he's — he's nice."

"So am I," Dean replies. "I mean, maybe I haven't always been, but I am. We're friends, Cas. You may not remember it, but we are. What will it take for you to remember?"

"I don't know. That's the whole issue here. Look, Dean, I don't know who you are. All I know about you is that you are a grade-A dick, just like the rest of the football team. Now, maybe there was a time when we were friends. I don't know. But until I remember that, if I remember that, I am not your friend."

"No, Cas, you are," Dean insists. "Some part of you has to know that. I mean, you're talking to me. You don't talk to any of the others. So maybe you do know we're friends, but you don't remember."

"Or maybe you cornered me out here and I don't have a choice," Castiel replies, but he sees what Dean is saying. Maybe he has a point.

"Then... Check your phone. You have my number. Is that enough?"

"I can't use my phone," Castiel replies. "It's all smashed up and covered in blood."

"Then ask Sam or Gabriel," Dean suggests, seemingly reaching for anything now. "They'll tell you."

"They're you're friends," Castiel reminds him. "They'd want to make you happy."

"Gabriel isn't my friend," Dean protests.

"Yes, he is. Wait."

Castiel remembers something. He went to the Winchesters' house, and Sam and Gabriel had the same miniature argument. Why was he at the Winchesters' house? What did he do there?

He vaguely remembers going to Dean's room after Sam and Gabriel forced him to. He sort of remembers a conversation between them. Dean called Castiel something. What was it?

"'The kid that everybody hates with the killer guitar skill'..." Castiel looks up at Dean again. "You called me that. Or something like it. That doesn't really sound like friendship."

"No, that was-"

"You actually said we weren't friends," Castiel adds.

"No — Look, I can explain everything, even the parts that I'm not proud of. But... Not here."

Dean gestures for Castiel to follow him, and he does. Dean leads him to the band room, which is entirely deserted. Something about it makes him feel safe, and he doesn't know why. Castiel stops the wheelchair close to the doorway, his arm tired of moving it. He waits for Dean to speak, but he doesn't know if he wants to know what Dean has to say. If he wanted to be alone, it can't be good. But Castiel wants to know what he's forgotten, so he'll listen.