Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow."

-Langston Hughes


The living room window was open, letting in a cool breeze. Castiel had forgotten to close it again and he'd fallen asleep on the recliner watching How to Get Away with Murder. That was why Dean was yelling at him right now.

Castiel fixated on Dean's biceps as he flexed his arms in outrage. Dean was wearing a plaid flannel shirt over a greasy white shirt. His hands were calloused and stained, even though he washed them meticulously. He was going on about Castiel's behavior and how he was sick and tired of coming home after a long day of work to find Castiel passed out, with the window wide open and the air conditioning turned on.

Dean was really fond of his own voice.

Castiel had learned to block out Dean a while back. When their more serious arguments had first started, Castiel used to argue back. The two of them would scream at each other until one of them shoved the other, and they'd end up having angry sex for hours to release the tension.

But that was months ago.

Now, all Castiel did when Dean yelled at him was stare at the wall behind him. The pale salmon color in the living room was an eye sore. Dean had picked out the color, but they had painted it together.

Two years ago, they'd gotten married and moved into this big house, happy and in love.

Now, Castiel found it difficult to remember the way he'd felt before. He remembered the times when he and Dean would cook together, drive on long country roads and pull up at the side of the road to make out like teenagers; when they'd hike for hours until their feet were sore, and camp under the stars until they were attacked by nature. Castiel remembered everything, but he couldn't remember the feelings that had lived inside him for so long, so deeply. He wondered if Dean remembered them.

"Are you listening to me?" Dean asked. There was something comical about Dean's furrowed eyebrows. It was almost like he was trying to look even angrier.

"What?" Castiel said, finally looking at him.

Dean slumped his shoulders and dug his fingers in his hair. They'd been here before. This was just like every other one of their arguments. Except, they'd never learned to end an argument.

When Dean looked up again, he looked defeated. "Cas," Dean said quietly, crouching down to be at the same level as Castiel, who remained sitting on the recliner. "I want you to go."

It took a moment for the words to really sink in. Castiel was a little high, and his mind was still trying to process the numbness he felt. That was a recent feeling. The numbness.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere," Dean said, sighing. After scanning Castiel's face, Dean shook his head. "You're not even with me right now. You're not part of this conversation. Why do I even bother? Just get the hell out of my house. Now, Cas."

Castiel was on his feet, tilting his head. "You're kicking me out? Why?"

Dean scoffed. In one swift motion, Dean turned his back to Castiel, heading for the hallway closet. There was a lot of digging around before Dean pulled out an old suitcase, one they'd used on their last trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.

"Because I won't wait until we hate each other," Dean said, tossing the suitcase at Castiel, who caught it reflectively. "More than we already do, I mean."

"I don't hate you, Dean."

"Let's keep it that way." Dean crossed his arms. "Pack your bags and go. I need some breathing room."

Castiel stood there, gripping the suitcase in his arms, watching as Dean grabbed a beer, opened it, and chugged half the bottle in one go. Dean avoided eye contact as he headed to their bedroom in silence, stepping off of his work boots.

There was no turning back now.

It didn't take long to fill up the suitcase. Castiel only packed the most essential items—his clothes, shoes, toiletries, pot, and a few Stephen King mass paperbacks. As he packed, he made a mental list of his closest friends and family. Most of Castiel's friends were Dean's friends who'd been forced to befriend Castiel when they'd started dating, so he wasn't sure where he stood with them. Although Charlie wouldn't deny him, Castiel wouldn't take her from Dean. He knew her first, so technically he called dibs. Castiel only had one sister, Anna, but she lived in New York. His father was dead, had been dead for months, and his mom was somewhere in Asia, living the life she never could when she was young and married.

Castiel wanted to hate Dean for putting him in this uncomfortable situation. He wanted to hate Dean for letting him feel miserable for so long and doing nothing but scream at him all the time. He wanted to blame Dean for the way Castiel felt, or didn't feel. But Castiel realized that with the numbness that had invaded him, he was incapable of feeling hate, too. Maybe it was better that way. Less melodrama.

They were both in their bedroom. Dean lay on the bed, watching Bates Motel on Netflix. They used to watch that together, but then Castiel lost interest and Dean kept going.

Without taking his eyes off of the TV, Dean broke the silence. "Maybe we can talk in a few days." Dean sipped his beer. Nervously, he peeled off the label off of the bottle. "I'll give you a call, once we cool off."

"Okay." Castiel packed his last pair of socks and closed the suitcase.

"We can try counseling," Dean said softly, and his eyes flicked from the TV to Castiel.

Counseling. Sure. Because Dean was such a firm believer in counseling. Dean, who refused to see a counselor after his parents died in a house fire when he was eight years old. Dean, who raised his brother alongside his godfather and made it sound perfectly natural. Dean, who refused to accept anyone's help. That Dean wanted to try counseling. It occurred to Castiel that maybe things between them were truly irreparable if it pushed Dean to even consider counseling.

"Of course," Castiel said, lifting the suitcase off the bed. He was forced to carry it since this suitcase didn't come with little wheels.

On his way out, Castiel set down his suitcase on the living room floor and went to shut the window. His eyes fell on the big wedding picture on the wall above the entertainment center. Dean and Castiel had both opted for wearing white suits, and they were clinking their champagne glasses, smiling at each other with nothing short of adoration in their eyes. Castiel remembered that as well. It was the happiest day of his life. Well, it hadbeen.

"Bye, Dean," Castiel muttered.

The phone call to his ex-coworker had been awkward, but it was nothing compared to this moment.

Castiel stood outside of Chuck's apartment, his suitcase at his feet, while a variety of thuds came from inside the apartment leading up to Chuck answering the door. Chuck was in a bathrobe, and he had a piece of salami stuck to his hair. Castiel got the feeling that Chuck rarely had any guests over.

"Hey, Cas, sorry I took so long to open the door," Chuck said, shifting on his bare feet. "I got home from work late, took a long bath, and fell asleep in the bathtub. I was still in there when you called. Then I started cleaning up the house, but I smelled something funny coming from the fridge, so I opened it and found so many moldy leftovers from weeks ago, so I decided to clean the fridge. Long story short, my house is a bigger mess than it was before. I'm really sorry about that."

Castiel shook his head. "It's no bother. I'm just grateful you had space for me in your home."

"Oh, yeah, no, absolutely. Come on in, Cas." Chuck stepped aside.

Castiel dragged his suitcase inside before he took the first step. The apartment was in worse shape than he'd imagined. There was food covering the dinner table, kitchen counters, and part of the kitchen floor. In the small living room, the couch was cushion-less and facing the wall, and the cushions were scattered on the floor. And apparently even the coffee table was full of the contents of the fridge that Chuck was sorting through.

"How can I help?" Castiel asked, turning to Chuck.

"No, no, you don't have to help me with this. It's my mess. You just make yourself at home."

Castiel looked at Chuck. "If this is my home, I feel responsible for cleaning it up. Please let me." It was the least he could do. Chuck didn't have to open up his home for Castiel.

Chuck sighed, surveying the mess. "I guess it would be faster that way. Alright, buddy, help me throw out all the stuff that's gone bad."

"Sure," Castiel said, stepping over the mess, careful not to step on any of the food. He could possibly be eating this in the future.

A couple hours later, Chuck's apartment was spotless. Well, Castiel hadn't seen the bedroom or bathroom yet, but at least the living room and kitchen were spotless.

As a reward for their hard work, Chuck poured two glasses of wine and they sat at the table to drink it.

"How's the diner?" Castiel asked, sipping his wine.

Chuck shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. "The usual. Ellen likes to keep adding to the menu every time she comes up with a new dish, and we all have to learn it by the end of the day. And Jo's pretty demanding with the cooking time. She says we waste too much time by talking to each other. Apparently socializing reduces productivity."

Castiel smiled fondly. The only good thing about working at the Roadhouse had been Ellen and Jo. They'd always kept him on his toes and made sure he didn't slack off. Castiel had always intended to return to work, but the intention had never amounted to anything. How long had it been since he took a leave of absence from work? Three, four months? Was that before or after the numbness took over?

"I thought you were coming back to the diner," Chuck said. "We haven't had a cook as good as you. Ellen has hired other people, but I can't work well with them. They don't last long. The new guy is cool, though. But I don't know, maybe I was just waiting for you to come back."

Castiel put down his glass of wine. "I thought I would come back. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Shit happens, right?"

Castiel rubbed his hands on his face. "I don't know what's happening anymore. Sometimes it's like I'm seeing my life play out and I'm not really there. I don't feel like myself lately. Look at me. My husband kicked me out, and I'm all alone, but I have no plans in life. I have no motivation. I just feel…nothing."

"I've felt that way before," Chuck said, sipping his wine. "It's like you lost your purpose, but you're waiting for a big epiphany to guide you on your next stage in life."

"Did you ever get that epiphany?"

Chuck smiled coyly, shaking his head. "No, but I'm still waiting for it. In the meantime, I'm doing my best. I'm the head cook at a nice diner. I live modestly, and sometimes I wish I wasn't perpetually single, but mostly I'm alright. I think you will be too, Cas."

Castiel finished the rest of his wine. "I'm going to need a refill."

Chuck laughed, filling his cup again. "Don't worry. Your marriage isn't over until the divorce papers are signed and filed. And even then, you can re-marry."

Castiel wrinkled his nose. "Thank you for bringing up the divorce part. I was trying hard not to think about it."

"Dean didn't mention getting a divorce, did he?"

"No." Castiel sipped his wine. "Not yet."

Their divorce was the next step. Castiel wasn't entirely in denial. But he wouldn't think about it until he absolutely had to.


Against his better judgment, Dean called Charlie right after Castiel left. Dean hated involving third parties into his marriage problems, but he also needed his best friend to alleviate the hollow in his chest.

"I'm coming over," Charlie said.

"No, no, you really don't have to. I'm fine—"

"Already in my car."

Charlie arrived not fifteen minutes later, pulling Dean into a warm hug as soon as he opened the door. Dean sunk into her arms, feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on his shoulders.

Charlie pulled away and looked at him for a moment. "You hungry?"

"No."

"Margaritas then."

Dean let Charlie pull him to the kitchen island, propping him up on a high stool while she pulled out the ingredients and tools for the margaritas. Charlie whistled as she worked, occasionally smiling up at Dean, but she didn't pry for any details about what had happened. That was why Dean loved her so much. And damn, it was a good trick, because Dean suddenly wanted to share everything.

"Cas and I are never on the same page anymore," Dean said, digging hands into his hair. "We argue every single day. I can't remember the last time we just had a normal conversation. But I didn't have to kick him out. I should have been the one to leave. I've been worried sick since he left because I don't know where he went. His mom's always traveling and he doesn't have any other living relatives. Shit, what if he went to your place?"

Charlie sighed, pausing what she was doing to look at Dean again. "You did what you felt was right at the time. Don't be so hard on yourself. I don't think Cas went to my place or he would have called me. The guy never shows up anywhere unannounced. If it makes you feel better, I can text him and see if he's doing okay."

"Would you?"

Charlie nodded, already pulling out her phone. She left her phone on the island while she continued making the drinks. "Dean, he'll text back even if you're not staring at my phone without blinking."

Dean sat up straighter. "Sorry. It's just been a few minutes."

As if on cue, Charlie's phone chimed. She held up a hand as she picked the phone up with the other, and then she quirked her lips. "He's good, and safe, and asked me not to worry."

Dean nodded, swallowing the big knot in his throat. The pressure in his shoulders lifted slightly. He could breathe a little better. Just a little.

"He never wanted to leave the house the past few months," Dean said, staring at his lap. "I kicked him out of the only place he felt safe. I fucked up, Charlie."

Charlie placed a full margarita glass with salt on the rim in front of him. "All your woes are better with alcohol."

Dean took a sip, and it was as good as he'd hoped. So he took another sip. "Do you think he thinks I stopped loving him? That could never happen. He's Cas. He's…he's my Cas."

Charlie rounded the island and went over to squish Dean into another hug. "Cas knows you love him because he loves you just as much. Just give it some time. When he comes back, talk to him. Sit down and have a real conversation, without arguments, without getting angry, just talk. That's the first step in solving any problem."

"How'd you get to be so smart, Charlie?"

"I was born that way, obviously." Charlie ruffled Dean's hair before she moved them over to the couch. "How about some Game of Thrones to cheer you up? Nothing better than Daenerys to put a smile on your face."

"And Jon Snow," Dean said, kicking up his feet and taking another sip of his drink.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Tyrion Lannister all the way, baby."

Dean smiled, looking from Charlie to the TV.

The house was eerily quiet in the morning. Dean never thought he'd feel trapped inside such a big house. It was two stories, but nobody slept on the second floor. They had two guest rooms, but only Sam and Jess used those whenever they visited. Maybe it had been a mistake buying such a big house just for them.

No, it hadn't been a mistake back then. They'd wanted kids. Three of them. They'd wanted many things.

Dean heaved a sigh as he got ready for work. His eyelids were heavy from exhaustion. It had been impossible to sleep the night before. Dean had gotten used to the familiar weight on the left side of his king size bed. He'd gotten so used to Castiel's presence, even when all he did was sleep, smoke, eat, and watch TV. Even when all they did was fight. Now all Dean had left was Castiel's lingering scent. His stupid aftershave had a strong smell and it had invaded every space in the house.

Dean skipped a real breakfast and instead grabbed a banana as he hurried out the door. It was startling for a second, not seeing Castiel's old green pickup on the driveway. It was always there, day and night, and now suddenly, it was gone. Dean would have to get used to this, for however long. God, it was too early in the morning to dwell on this.

After peeling his banana, Dean unlocked his Impala and climbed in. The leather scent dissolved whatever smell Castiel had left behind in the house, and Dean took a deep breath. Before driving away, he checked his phone for any missed calls or messages. Nothing. As always, Castiel was completely oblivious to the world.

Bobby's auto shop was closed when Dean arrived. It wasn't even 7 a.m. yet. Dean was so out of it he didn't even checked the time when he left the house. Seeing as he had an hour to kill, Dean looked up marriage counselors online. There were quite a few in the Denton area. He looked up reviews for all of the counselors he found, but he still wasn't set on anyone.

Who would have thought that Dean and Castiel would ever even need a marriage counselor? When Dean got married, he was deeply in love, and he was sure it was smooth sailing from then on, with a few bumps here and there. They'd lived through some rough times already. When Sam's wife, Jess, had a miscarriage last year, Castiel had been there for them during the weeks following. He'd cooked them every meal and kept both of them company until they healed. That had been before Sam moved away. And then six months ago, Castiel's father passed away, and Dean had been there for him, and they'd flown to New York for the funeral.

A couple months after that, Castiel changed.

It wasn't a drastic change. Nothing too concerning at first. Castiel went back to work right after coming home from the funeral. He worked overtime most days and he was rarely home. Sometimes it was easier to spend time with Castiel if Dean went to see him at the Roadhouse. Then he started smoking pot. Again, not a big deal at first. Castiel and Dean used to smoke every so often, but never alone. Castiel took to smoking every single night when he came home. Dean figured the long shifts were getting to him, so he let it side.

But it didn't end there. Slowly, Castiel stopped leaving the house for any other reason except work. Dean had to cancel many of their plans, until eventually he started going out alone. Dean tried getting Castiel to talk to him, to trust him with whatever was causing this change, but Castiel had stopped listening somewhere around that time. One moment, Castiel was a sweet, attentive, loving husband, and the next, he was a brick wall, cold and insensitive.

Castiel had left his job three and a half months ago, and he never went back. He didn't give a reason, just said he had to leave. And Dean didn't pry, didn't pressure him to return to work; he was patient and kind, as much as he could be. But there were days when his frustration got the better of him, and he yelled just to release all his anger. At first, they'd ended up fixing things with sex, as unhealthy as that was, but then Castiel stopped fighting back. And Dean didn't know what to do. All his efforts were futile, and he was tired. Dean was tired of fighting against an invisible opponent.

The last thing Dean wanted was to go to a stranger with their problems, but after Sam suggested seeing a counselor, Dean couldn't shake off the idea. Dean had to give it a shot. It was that or nothing, and Dean couldn't take the "nothing" option anymore.

Bobby joined Dean in the break room for lunch. They sat apart from each other, neither of them saying anything, but the silence was comfortable. Dean had gone to buy a burger, but he took one bite and felt sick. Now he was just picking at it.

"What's the matter with you, boy?" Bobby asked, narrowing his eyes. Although Dean had tried many times before, it was impossible to keep anything from Bobby. The man raised him and Sam, after all. He knew them both too well.

Dean stared at his burger. "Cas moved out." I made him leave.

A beat of silence.

"For good?"

"No," Dean said. "I don't want that." The thought of Castiel never coming back had never occurred to him before, but it was enough to leave him breathless.

Bobby was out of his seat and he shuffled behind Dean, grabbing a beer from the fridge and placing it in front of him. "All marriages go through rough patches."

Dean swallowed, gripping the cold beer in his hands, enjoying the sensation of the condensation on it. "I know."

"That boy loves you," Bobby said, and it hurt how desperate Dean was for the reassurance, even if it came from someone outside his marriage. "When there's love, everything else comes second."

"I hope so, Bobby," Dean said, licking his lips. He savored the beer before he took a big gulp from it. "We're trying counseling."

"That's good, son." Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder.

Dean pushed his uneaten burger away. "Thanks for the beer. I think I'll head home early today, if that's okay. I gotta clean out the garage. We might need the storage space."

Bobby nodded. "Get some rest. It'll do you good."

"I'll try."

"Call that ungrateful brother of yours, too," Bobby said. "Never comes around anymore since he got that fancy job in Houston."

"He's not that far away."

"Tell him that next time he complains about driving up to visit," Bobby grunted.

Dean smiled warmly. After the death of his parents when he was eight, Bobby took him and Sammy under his wing. Sammy was only four at the time, and Dean felt a sudden urge to protect him at all cost. They had both been young and scared and miserable, but Bobby had given them a home again. Dean owed so much to him, but it was difficult to express his gratitude verbally. Words were complicated. Sometimes it was easier to show how he felt. So, Dean threw away his half-eaten lunch, grabbed his keys, and gave Bobby a tight hug.

"Take care, son."

"You, too, Bobby."


When Castiel woke up, the darkness of the morning confused him. It was strange for a moment because the ceiling was pale white instead of light blue, and his king size memory foam mattress had been replaced by a stiff upholstery couch. As his eyes adjusted to the new environment, Castiel remembered the events of the previous day.

And oh, there it was, an enormous headache. Probably due to the bottle of wine he'd finished with Chuck, or the beers he'd snuck long after Chuck had gone to bed, or the fact that he kept waking up every thirty minutes, reaching out for Dean in the darkness, and then sobbing quietly when he realized he wasn't there.

Fuck, he was pathetic. At least today he didn't feel so numb.

Castiel stumbled into the bathroom where he took care of his morning business, showered, and got dressed in the few clothes he'd packed that didn't stink. He ran a hand through his tangled hair, not bothering to do anything about the way it wouldn't stay down.

On his way to the living room, Castiel saw Chuck's bedroom door slightly open. He wasn't going to invade his friend's privacy, but he wanted to see if Chuck was in his room or not. Fortunately, Castiel didn't need to sneak a peek inside because he heard Chuck's uneven snoring. He debated whether or not to leave a note so Chuck wouldn't worry about Castiel's whereabouts when he woke up, but thought better of it. They weren't roommates, not officially. And mostly, Castiel wished this wouldn't be permanent.

Once Castiel was behind the wheel of his truck, he checked the time on his phone. It was 8:16 a.m., which meant that he'd hardly slept three hours. No wonder his eyelids felt like stones.

It was probably an obvious cry for help, but Castiel decided to drive to his old job. Granted, the Roadhouse had never been just a job for him. Ellen and Jo were like family. Working at the Roadhouse had been one of the best aspects of his life at one point. But the last time he'd stepped foot inside the diner was the last time he worked there.

Despite the early hours, the Roadhouse was lively when Castiel walked inside. Most of the tables were occupied by loud customers, too energetic for the time of day. The smell of coffee was so strong that Castiel almost reawakened by its presence. There were a few open spaces at the counter, so Castiel took an empty chair and curled into himself. He'd caught sight of Jo and Ash waiting the tables, but they were so busy they hadn't noticed him. Yet.

After a moment of staring at the menu without really looking at it, Castiel jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Any reason you're avoiding me?" Jo asked, turning him around. Her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she shot him a warm smile. "I saw you the moment you pulled up in that ugly green truck. You can't hide. How are you, stranger?"

Castiel smiled back because he was honestly relieved to see his old friend again. It had been far too long, and he'd avoided most of her phone calls for which he'd constantly felt guilty. But now that he was here, it was as though no time had passed.

"Jo, I missed you." Castiel drew her in his arms, something which he'd rarely done in the past, but felt necessary at the moment. He hugged her a little too long, and when he pulled away, he realized his eyes were full of tears. He willed them back inside.

"I missed you too, Cas," Jo said, studying his face. "What's the matter? Dean stopped by last week to let us know you were doing better. Was he lying?"

"No, no, I'm sure he wasn't," Castiel said quickly. There were ups and downs, that's how it usually went with him.

"Alright," Jo said, furrowing her eyebrows. "Well, if you're here, you might as well eat something. What can I get you?"

Castiel blinked, trying to remember the menu he had memorized for years but couldn't come up with anything specific. "Eggs?"

"You want coffee with that?"

"Yes, please."

Jo smiled again, clapping Castiel's shoulder. "Hang in there, Cas. It's only Thurday."

"Right." Castiel made a mental note of the day of the week it was, just to keep himself grounded. It's Thursday, March 3rd, 8:44 a.m.

After Jo left, Castiel had nothing better to do with his time than check his phone. There weren't any messages or missed calls. Not that he'd expected to hear from Dean so soon, but he'd hoped to hear from Anna. Phone calls from his sister were irregular, but he hadn't heard from her in over two weeks, and hearing her voice would be comforting now.

Castiel found Anna in his contacts and called her. The phone rang six times before it went to voicemail. Hi, you've reached Anna Novak's voicemail. If this is a client, please call my work number. If this is personal, leave me a message, and I will get back to you soon. Thank you. Castiel sighed. Having a financial advisor as a sister was frustrating. Dean was the only person who understood his frustration because Sam was a criminal defense attorney, so getting in touch with him was even harder.

"Hello, Anna. It's me. Just wanted to see how you were doing. I feel like we haven't talked in months. It hasn't been that long, though, has it? Do you ever feel like you're running out of people to talk to? Does it ever feel that way to you? I hope not. Call me when you get this. I love you."

A cup of coffee was placed in front of him. Ellen was glaring at him, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"Ellen," Castiel said, swallowing hard. "Hey."

Ellen pushed the containers for the cream and sugar closer, and then leaned forward. "You feeling okay?"

"Yes," Castiel answered without thinking. He'd learned from experience that people never really wanted to hear otherwise.

Ellen stared at him for a long time, until eventually Castiel looked down at his coffee. "You want your old job back?"

"I, uh, don't know." Castiel faced her again. The prospect of returning to work was not the worst idea. It would distract him at least. But was he willing to push himself to get out of bed—Chuck's couch—every day to come to work? He really had no other choice. He was running out of his savings, living with Chuck, and uncertain about his future with Dean. "Actually, yes, I think I'd like that."

"Great. When can you start?" Ellen gave him a hint of a smile, but it was faint, as if he hadn't earned a full one yet.

"Right away," Castiel said. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

Ellen raised her eyebrows. "Alright, then. Finish your coffee and eat your breakfast. Then grab an apron and get in the back. We have lots of new dishes on the menu. I can't wait for you to learn them."

Castiel chuckled. This felt surreal. For months he'd been dreading the thought of ever returning to work. He'd been so stuck on what he'd learned, those memories that had clogged his mind, memories he'd repressed for so long, yet still found their way out. Now that he was here, he realized the fear and hesitation that had kept him away was shrinking.

"Yes, ma'am," Castiel said, sipping his coffee.

Ash appeared with his eggs—scrambled with a side of hash browns, which were his favorite. Even when Castiel had trouble remembering his old self, his friends hadn't forgotten.

It didn't take long for Castiel to get readjusted to cooking for the Roadhouse. All the new dishes Ellen had added to the menu were flavorful and easy to prepare. By noon, Castiel was cooking up dishes one after the other, not getting a single wrong order. The other cook Ellen had hired, Kevin, was struggling to keep up. Castiel liked the kid because he made sure he did things right, even though he moved slow.

By the time Chuck went in to work at 2 p.m., Castiel had found his old rhythm in the kitchen. It was like riding a bike.

"Cas, what are you doing here?" Chuck asked, putting on his apron.

"I'm working," Castiel said, grinning as he chopped up lettuce for a salad.

"Why?"

"Because I need a job," Castiel said. "I'm not a freeloader."

"I never thought you were." Chuck went to stand beside him, arms crossed. "You okay?"

"Why does everyone keep asking that? Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Actually, I was thinking about going home on my break—my home, not yours. I need to pick up my old uniforms and since Dean is at work right now, it's the best time to get them. Do you mind covering for me while I go? I talked to Ellen already."

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Chuck said, a slow smile spreading on his lips. "You know, I'm glad to see you back here again. You look…better."

"I feel better," Castiel said, sighing. After removing his apron and washing his hands, Castiel looked back at Chuck and Kevin. "I'll be right back, you guys. Seriously, you won't even know I'm gone."

"Take your time," Chuck said.

"I think we all know you're frustratingly fast at everything," Kevin said.

"Hey, show some respect," Chuck said.

"No, thanks," Kevin said.

"No fighting while I'm gone," Castiel said, turning to leave. He rushed to his truck, turned on the radio, and sang along to the first pop song that started playing. Instead of trying to remember the last time he'd felt this giddy, he hit the gas.


Dean made it home around 1 p.m. He felt tired despite having only worked half a shift. He knew his exhaustion was due to his lack of sleep, but that was something he would have to work on. As soon as he got home, he sat on the recliner in the living room. Castiel was the only person who ever used it, so maybe that's why Dean gravitated to it now. He slumped down on it and got comfortable, ignoring the heavy stench of Castiel all over it—his deep scented aftershave with a hint of mint. Well, not so much ignoring it as closing his eyes and inhaling it deeply. If he pretended hard enough, he could feel him close again.

Dean fell asleep, remembering the soft touches from Castiel when they were in bed on cold nights, curled under their blanket, clinging to each other, pressing cold lips to cold necks.

The front door flew open and it woke Dean with a start. He removed his boot and blindly tossed it at the intruder.

"Ow, fuck," Castiel hissed, rubbing his head.

"Cas?" Dean ran up to Castiel to check how badly he'd injured him. "Shit. I'm sorry. I was sleeping. I thought someone was breaking in."

"It's fine," Castiel said, moving away when Dean reached his arm out. Since when did Castiel avoid Dean's touch?

"What are you doing here?" Dean roamed his eyes over Castiel, noticing first his red-rimmed eyes. Dean would bet a thousand dollars that Castiel hadn't slept well the night before. It was obvious how tired he was. But there was something different. Castiel didn't have that zoned- out look anymore. He looked confident, if slightly nervous. And he smelled of greasy food.

"It's my house too, isn't it?" Castiel walked straight to their bedroom.

"What's with the attitude?" Dean followed after him. He wasn't looking to start a fight, but he needed to figure out what had changed between yesterday and today. "Why do you smell so different?"

"What kind of question is that?" Castiel asked, looking through the clothes in their walk-in closet. "How am I supposed to smell, exactly?"

"Not like that," Dean said, standing on the doorway of their closet. "What the hell are you doing?"

Castiel sighed, giving up his search and turning to Dean. "Where are my uniforms?"

"Uniforms?"

"My work clothes," Castiel said. "The khaki pants and polos I used to wear for work?"

"Why do you need them?"

"Oh my God, Dean," Castiel snapped, rubbing his temples. "We need to stop asking each other so many questions and start giving answers. I need my work clothes."

Dean clenched his teeth, taking a few deep breaths before answering. "Bottom drawer on the dresser."

"Thank you," Castiel said, trying to step out of the closet, but Dean blocked the doorway. "Please step away."

"No," Dean said, frowning. "First you're going to tell me why you need those clothes."

A long, tense silence passed between them. Dean locked eyes with Castiel and neither of them looked away.

"I went back to work," Castiel said, lifting his chin. "Ellen rehired me. I asked permission to leave work while I came home to pick up my uniforms. I'd assumed you'd be at work and I wouldn't run into you. But I got hit with a shoe instead."

Dean felt a knot in his throat. Of course he was thrilled that Castiel had returned to work. He'd been waiting for Castiel to get back to his old self, and he'd always thought that going back to the Roadhouse was the best start. But Dean couldn't get past what Castiel said about wanting to avoid him. Why couldn't they just have a civilized conversation? Why was that so hard for them?

"I'm sorry I hit you," Dean said. "How's your head?"

"I'll live," Castiel said.

Dean moved out of the way. "Where are you staying?"

"At Chuck's." Castiel dug through the bottom drawer and pulled out his clothes, stacking them on the floor beside him. "Why aren't you at work?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Bobby let me come home early," Dean said. "I'm going to clean out the garage."

"Why?" Castiel looked Dean over his shoulder.

"We may need the storage space." Dean shrugged.

"Are you going to shove all my things in the garage, Dean?"

"No," Dean said, shifting. Dean had thought Castiel would be relieved to know Dean was giving him space. But judging by the look on Castiel's face, Dean had greatly misjudged the situation.

Castiel scoffed, getting back to his feet. He collected his clothes and tucked them under his arm. "How long were you waiting for me to move out? If you were so eager to kick me out, you should have done it sooner."

"Cas, that's not what I meant. I don't want to fight right now."

"But you want to get rid of all my shit," Castiel said, raising his voice. "Is this not my house anymore? I was under the impression that it was. I had no idea that all my shit was taking up so much space in your house. Why don't you get rid of everything? That would make things easier. Just throw it all out. Who the fuck cares?"

"Cas."

Castiel stepped closer, leaving almost no space between them. They were standing nose-to-nose, and Castiel had never looked more intimidating. "Don't touch my stuff. I'll come back for everything next week."

"Fine," Dean said, swallowing the lump on his throat. "Take everything with you. But don't pretend I'm the one keeping you away. I wanted some time to clear my head. I didn't ask you to move out."

"It's clear you don't want me around anymore," Castiel said, scowling.

"You were never here, Cas. Even when you were here physically, you were never really here. You left long ago."

"I did," Castiel said, his voice quiet. "I did it for myself. I don't regret it."

Dean was afraid to ask the next question, but he couldn't keep it inside. "Is this over for us?"

Castiel blinked, taken aback. There was fear in his eyes for a moment, but then he looked away. "I'm willing to try counseling."

"Me too," Dean said.

That was something.

"Then that's all we have left."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Okay."

"Bye, Dean." Castiel rushed outside, rushed to get as far away from Dean as possible.

And Dean was left with the smallest glimmer of hope. Too small for comfort.

After his second week back at work, Castiel had gotten used to his new routine. He worked the morning shift five days a week, and he was damned good at it. He got along really well with Kevin, even though the kid pretended not to like him. Most of all, he enjoyed being around Ellen, Jo, and Ash, who were some of the best people he'd ever met. They all knew something was going on in Castiel's marriage, but none of them pried, and Castiel was eternally grateful for that.

Every day after his shift, Castiel went to Chuck's apartment. His second day living there, Castiel had gone shopping for groceries and stocked up Chuck's fridge again since their cleanup day had resulted in them throwing out mostly everything—it was all moldy. Castiel cooked dinner for both of them and they ate together when Chuck got home. Then, the two of them would sit on the couch—Castiel's new bed—and watch The Twilight Zone while smoking a joint. They'd learned to live comfortably with each other.

Today, it was Thursday again. Chuck had long gone to bed, but Castiel lay awake on the couch, pressing his eyes tight together trying to will himself to sleep. When he realized that wasn't working, Castiel checked his e-mails on his phone, something he'd neglected doing for weeks. He sat up when he saw an e-mail from Anna, two days ago.

Hey, Castiel. Sorry I've been M.I.A. lately. Work's been hell. I know this will sound pretentious, but can we schedule a phone call? I'm free Saturday morning. Is it alright if I call you around 10 in the morning? We can catch up then. I'm worried about you, but I didn't want to call you until I had enough time to talk freely. Let me know if that time works for you.

Love, Anna.

Hey, sis. Sure. I'll be waiting for your call Sat at 10am. Didn't know I had to make an appointment to speak with you, but thanks for getting back to me. Don't be worried. I'm perfectly fine. Promise.

Castiel.

Half an hour of answering e-mails later, Castiel put his phone down again, yawning. He played with the ring that weighed down his left hand. It was simple and silver, and on the inside, Dean's name was engraved. Dean's ring had Castiel's name engraved on it. The only time Castiel took it off was for work, but he made sure to put it back on as soon as his shift was over. Dean wore his even while he was at work, and he'd never lost it.

Castiel debated whether he should keep wearing it or not. He wondered if taking it off would change anything. Before coming to a decision, he fell asleep.


Dean was eating dinner alone at his kitchen table when his phone rang. When he saw who was calling, he smiled. The first real smile he'd had in weeks.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Dean, how are you? I got your message. I wanted to call earlier, but work's been keeping me busy."

"So it goes," Dean said, chewing on his cereal. He hadn't had a real dinner since Castiel left home. There was no point in cooking an elaborate meal for one.

"I'm sorry, don't be mad," Sam said. There was a lot of noise in the background. Sam was probably stuck in traffic after getting out of the office.

"I'm not mad," Dean said, pushing his plate of soggy cereal away. "I'm glad you called, actually. It's not easy being in my head lately."

"I know, Dean. I can't imagine what you must be going through." A beat of silence. "I wouldn't know what to do if Jess moved out."

"Cas didn't technically move out," Dean said quickly. After that day with the uniforms, Castiel hadn't returned for any of his belongings. Most of his things were still here, at their home. Dean hadn't touched a single thing. Hell, he'd even given up on cleaning out the garage.

"You said you were going to counseling?"

"We are," Dean said. "Made an appointment to see a marriage counselor in Dallas tomorrow. I'm not sure what to expect, but at this point, I'll try anything."

"You're doing the right thing, Dean. Counseling isn't as bad as it sounds."

"You kidding? I gotta tell some strangers about my private problems with my husband so they can tell me how to fix it. I don't know how it could get any worse."

Sam laughed. "Don't be so dramatic. I'm sure it won't be so bad. Listen, I hate to rush off the phone, but I have to stop at the store to pick up wine. Jess's parents are having dinner with us tonight, and I'm already an hour late."

"Well, you don't need them hating you more than they already do," Dean said.

"They don't hate me," Sam said, defensively. "They said I wasn't 'that bad' last time they came to visit. I've officially upgraded from 'pretentious workaholic.' I'd say that's progress."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Maybe a year from now they'll actually think you're decent."

"A man can dream," Sam said, wistfully.

"I'll talk to you later, Sammy."

"Cool—hey, man, watch where you're going!"

The line disconnected with the sound of a car honk.


Castiel watched Dean from his truck, dreading the moment he'd have to step out. Dean's Impala was parked on the other end of the parking lot. Dean was still inside his car, his head thrown back on his seat and his eyes closed. Castiel knew Dean hated this as much as he did. But they'd both agreed to this.

Castiel played with his ring—he'd decided to keep wearing it, just to avoid another unnecessary argument.

This was his life now.

Hesitantly, Castiel opened the truck's door and stepped outside, stretching his limbs. The hour-long drive from Denton to Dallas had taken a toll on him. He wasn't used to driving for long periods of time anymore. The five-minute drive from the Roadhouse to Chuck's was the most he'd driven in half a year.

Castiel stood outside his truck, lighting a cigarette. He wasn't a huge fan of cigarettes, but it wasn't like he could smoke a joint outside the counselor's building. He was a nervous wreck and he needed something to calm him down.

The loud screech of the Impala's door made Castiel cringe. The familiar noise hadn't always annoyed him, but lately, he'd learned to hate it.

Dean had dressed up for the occasion. He was wearing dark jeans, a fitted green shirt, and his favorite leather jacket. The length of his hair was shorter, and he'd plastered an entire bottle of gel on it that made it look stiff and sticky.

When the two of them locked eyes, Castiel held back a smile. Was he happy to see Dean? Yes. Did he want Dean to know that? Not really. Regardless, Dean smiled at him, a full-on grin that was blinding. Castiel nodded in response, too stubborn to let himself openly reciprocate.

They walked towards each other and stopped about three feet away. Castiel waved while Dean extended his hand for a handshake, which Castiel rejected. Why in the world would he shake hands with his husband?

"Hi."

"Hey."

Dean cleared his throat. "You ready?"

"No," Castiel said, licking his chapped lips. His mouth felt sandy all of a sudden. "Why did you pick this place? I hated the drive."

Dean dug his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "I spent a long time researching the best marriage counselors, and this place came highly recommended." Dean frowned. "If this is our last shot, then I'm not going to half ass it."

"Right." Castiel tossed his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. He ran a hand through his greasy hair; he hadn't washed it in a few days. Before leaving Chuck's apartment, Castiel hadn't considered dressing up for this. He hadn't even shaved, and his five o'clock shadow was at its peak. But now that he was standing in front of Dean, who looked straight out of a magazine, Castiel regretted wearing his holey jeans and faded Jurassic Park t-shirt.

"We should go inside," Dean said, checking the time on his phone. "Our appointment's in five minutes."

"After you," Castiel said.

Dean took the lead as they went inside. The place was small and it smelled like cinnamon spice. As a matter of fact, the smell was so strong that Castiel sneezed. The lady at the front desk told them to wait for her to call their names, and so they sat down, leaving two empty seats between them. Dean paged through a magazine, staring at models that weren't half as beautiful as he was. Castiel fidgeted with his hands and his wedding ring. A quick glance in Dean's direction let him know that Dean was, unsurprisingly, still wearing his own wedding ring.

What was the point of wedding rings? They were symbolic, sure. But what were their wedding rings supposed to symbolize? Their marriage had stopped feeling like a marriage so long ago, it was hard to really pinpoint the moment when Castiel stopped feeling like a husband and started feeling alone.

Castiel wished for the numbness to return. Anything was better than this sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"Novak-Winchester?"

Castiel looked up. Dean was already on his feet, motioning for Castiel to follow him. They went through a short hallway and entered a bright, roomy office that wasn't pungent of cinnamon. All the windows in the room were open, letting in the air and sunlight from outside. The beige shag carpet was interesting, and it made Castiel's feet sink in with every step. There were two paintings on the wall, one of the ocean at sunrise, and the other of the desert at night with a sky full of stars. Castiel stared at the desert painting for a long moment while Dean ran through introductions with the counselor.

"Cas?"

Castiel blinked, turning to Dean. "Yes?"

"Dr. Mills, this is Castiel Novak," Dean said. "Cas, this is Dr. Mills."

"Call me Jody," the counselor said, shaking Castiel's hand. "Please, have a seat."

The two of them sat on a small couch, which made it impossible to leave enough space between them. Castiel was careful not to let his knee bump into Dean's. Meanwhile, Dean removed his leather jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch beside him, spreading his legs.

Dr. Mills—Jody—smiled politely at them, watching them carefully as they settled down.

"Thanks for seeing us so fast," Dean said. "I know you had a lot of appointments this week."

Jody waved a hand, dismissively. "I always make time for everyone. Now, why don't you start by telling me more about your marriage?"

"Me?" Dean asked.

"You or Castiel," Jody said, flicking her eyes from Dean to Castiel.

Castiel widened his eyes, sitting up straighter. "I—uh—I think Dean should start."

Dean nodded, giving him a look that showed he understood. "Well, Cas and I met about four and a half years ago. We met through my friend, Charlie, and we were friends for about four months before we went on our first date. We were together two years before Castiel asked me to marry him, a week before I had planned to ask him. We've been married two years last January."

"Okay, good," Jody said, nodding along to all the details of their relationship.

Castiel hadn't realized how easy it would be to summarize all of the history between them. Sometimes it was difficult to remember what his life had been like before Dean showed up in it. He could still remember the way he'd felt around him at the beginning. Charlie was a frequent customer of the Roadhouse, and she made a pastime out of bothering the cooking staff. Castiel had grown fond of her, but didn't really consider her a friend until she invited him out to lunch a few times, only to bring Dean along one of those times. Castiel had been instantly taken with Dean, not only because he was good-looking—anyone could see that—but because he was unbelievably considerate to everyone around him.

The first time they'd met, Dean had asked Castiel if he was okay with Dean joining them because he didn't want to interrupt their time together. After Castiel gave his okay, Dean made sure to keep him included in the conversation, even though it was obvious how long his friendship with Charlie was—eight years and counting. Dean made quite a memorable first impression, and their friendship grew naturally after that. And then…

"Cas, you want to take it from here?" Dean asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Jody asked if we want to share with each other why we haven't exactly been getting along lately," Dean said, catching Castiel's eyes and not looking away.

"I thought that's what we were here to find out," Castiel said, looking at Jody.

Jody smiled again. "Yes, we are. We don't have to start with the negative. Why don't you tell me what made you decide to get married?"

"Love," Castiel said easily.

"Love. Okay. Good. Would you like to elaborate?"

Castiel squinted at the desert painting hanging on the wall behind Jody. He could almost make out every detail. "I fell in love. It's the only thing I'm certain of. I couldn't tell you why or how or when it happened. But I remember thinking one day that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Dean, and I wanted everyone to know it. There was nothing more powerful to me than the way I felt for Dean. It was just all-consuming. It was…Loving Dean was beautiful."

"Excellent," Jody said. "That's really good to hear. Dean, do you have anything to add?"

Dean was staring at Castiel, mouth open. There was no reason to look so shocked. Castiel tilted his head in Dean's direction, squinting his eyes. They locked eyes for a long moment until Jody cleared her throat and asked Dean to proceed.

"I didn't know I could feel so strongly for another person until I met Cas," Dean said, still staring at Castiel. "I wanted to share every part of my life with him, and then some. I wanted a family, a white-picket fence, Fourth-of-July barbecues, lazy weekends and even lazier vacations. Then, when we were old and gray, I wanted us to sit out in the backyard, drinking coffee and watching the sunset every evening after dinner. A simple, easy life. That's what I wanted."

"Is that no longer what you want, Dean?" Jody asked.

Castiel waited for Dean's answer.

Dean glanced at Jody. "Sure I do. I still want all of that. But things changed along the way. I'd just like to figure out what changed them."

"By 'things' he means me," Castiel said. "I'm the one that changed."

Jody nodded. "Okay. Would you like to address that?"

"No," Castiel said, shifting uncomfortably.

Dean sighed.

"I don't like the way Dean decided to put all the blame of our separation on me," Castiel said, his voice wavering slightly. "I don't think he's realized his fault in all of this."

"My fault?" Dean said.

"When you don't get what you want, the way you want it, you lash out," Castiel said. "You had little patience when I needed it the most. If you still can't see that, then we'll just keep going in circles."

"What the hell are you talking about? I had a lot of patience for six months, Cas. And then you gave up."

Castiel looked at his hands, played with his wedding ring again. "I didn't give up on us. You can't see that, but that's not my fault."

"All I see is you always making things more difficult for both of us," Dean said. "It's like you don't even give a damn anymore."

Castiel looked at Jody again. "Are we done here? I've said all I had to say."

"We still have a few more minutes," Jody said.

"Then we'll just sit here quietly," Castiel said, removing his ring. Discreetly, he tucked it in his front pocket.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, having followed the action.

Castiel glared at him. "It was hurting my finger."

"I've never taken mine off," Dean said. "Do you ever hear me complain?"

"All the time."

"Cas."

"It's just a ring, Dean. It doesn't mean anything."

"It's our wedding ring."

"Our wedding was two years ago. It's no longer necessary."

"Cas."

"I think we're done here."

"Cas, wait."

"It was nice meeting you, Jody. Thank you for your help."

Castiel was out the door before Dean could catch up to him.

And then the bodies started raining from the sky.