If Dean forgot the truth of how he and Castiel parted in purgatory, what else was lost from his tormented mind?
Did he greet his lost angel with an embrace or a kiss when he found him?
Did he lie in the angel’s arms, in the starless night, their breaths synchronised as they listened to the sounds of the creatures lurking in the dark. Did Castiel lay his hand over Dean’s heart to soothe him?
Did they make love in the river, the first time they got to wash the blood and mud from their skin. Did they touch each other’s warm flesh just to be sure that the other was still alive and as well as could be expected?
Did Castiel watch Dean grow hungry and weak and weep with sorrow for him?
Did Dean watch Castiel stare into the distance, full of self recrimination, blaming all Dean’s suffering on himself?
Dean doesn’t remember.
Naomi took Castiel’s memory, castrated what held him back, honed him into a weapon of heaven.
Did Castiel profess his love for Dean, that time Dean held him in the river, washing his face with his trembling hands?
Did Castiel lay in the dead leaves, on top of his coat, sinking into the soft earth as Dean pressed down on him?
Did Castiel pledge his body and grace to Dean, kill for him, run for him, worship him with hand and mouth and all he was and ever will be?
Castiel doesn’t remember.
Their bodies remember. Their eyes seek out each other. Dean’s hands stray to Castiel’s shoulder or arm. Castiel just holds himself back, hands fisted, shoulders back, lips pursed or pouted. Unable to remember why his whole body seems to strain forward in Dean’s presence.