"Dean, breakfast!"

Dean woke with a start, eyes snapping open. He had been so deeply asleep that for a few moments the world felt like a dream. He shook his head and got out of bed.

"Dean, I'll eat your pancakes if you don't get in here!"

Dean replied with a loud grunt and threw on a robe over his boxers. The robe was green, and for a moment he distinctly remembered having a grey one. The moment passed and he padded sleepily into the kitchen.

Sun poured in through the window, illuminating the little room. The round table in the centre was laid out neatly, and Dean took a seat. He picked up his fork and just for a second it felt heavier than usual. He squinted at it, shrugged, and speared a bit of bacon.

"What, no good morning, no thank you? I made this all from scratch, Dean" said Cas, looking up from his paper. He was smiling warmly and wore a 'kiss the cook' apron over striped pyjamas. Dean smiled back and leaned across the table to kiss him gently, then went back to his food. Cas shook his head and tucked into his own.

"So, are you nervous about work tomorrow?" asked Cas, sipping his freshly pressed orange juice.

"Work?" said Dean, at a loss.

"The presentation?" prompted Cas. "To the board?" he added, when Dean continued to look blank.

"Oh, yeah, that," said Dean. "Not really. I mean, I know it's a big deal but the projections are solid and we already have most of the capital raised, so it shouldn't be a real hard sell anyway."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," said Cas. "Between Charlie's brains and your cha-"

A noise sounded from the hallway and Dean stood fast as lightning, knife raised reflexively. Silently he crossed to the doorway and before Cas had chance to stop him he had jumped into the hallway, grabbed the startled intruder and pulled him into the kitchen, knife to his throat.

"Jesus, Dean, it's me, it's me!" yelled Sam, looking terrified. "What the hell, man?"

"Oh, uh, my bad?" said Dean, releasing him. He hurriedly dropped the knife on the table and stood back, looking down at his hands in a slightly bewildered manner. When he looked up Cas and his brother were looking at him in much the same way.

"I… Uh…" said Dean, but he had no explanation. He had never wielded a knife in all his life. He shrugged and tried to laugh it off.

"Did… Did you forget Sam was sleeping on our couch?" said Cas slowly.

"Uh, yeah, sorry Sammy," said Dean, taking his seat.

"Ew, don't call me Sammy. Sammy is a chubby twelve year old," said Sam, relaxing a little. He ran his slender fingers through his short, dark hair. "It's Sam, okay?"

"Whatever Sammy," said Dean. They all laughed and he felt the tension lessen. "So, remind me what you were doing stinking up my couch again?"

There was a pause, a very pregnant pause, that told Dean he was missing something. He was mad at himself for not remembering, but his mind was blank. He looked desperately at Cas, who made a gesture that Dean didn't understand. Cas did it again, but it still made no sense to Dean.

"Dean, I know you're busy and all, and we're not that close these days, but you'd think you would remember about my house burning down and-" Sam's voice wavered "-and about J-Jess."

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry Sam," said Dean, remembrance hitting him like a freight train. He didn't know what else to say.

"Here, Sam, I made pancakes," said Cas, swooping in with a fresh plate. "Dean and I are just going to have a talk out here," he said, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling him forcefully into the hall. He closed the door gently, then rounded on his partner.

"What is wrong with you?" said Cas. The concern was clear on his face, bright blue eyes squinting critically at Dean.

"I don't know," admitted Dean. "Everything feels… off. Kinda dreamlike, you know?"

"No, I don't… Have, have you been drinking?" Cas sounded stern and leaned in close, sniffing at Dean's mouth.

"Dude, it's like 10am, of course I haven't been drinking!" protested Dean.

"Good, I'm sorry, I just had to be sure," said Cas, then frowned. "Since when do you call me dude?"

"Uh, since now? Sorry, honey-bee," winked Dean.

Cas rolled his eyes, then stretched up to place a soft kiss on Dean's lips. He started to pull away but Dean put a gentle hand on the small of his back, pulling him back within reach. He grinned and caught Cas' lips once more, kissing him deeply. His fingers twisted the fabric of Cas' pyjamas as he pulled him yet closer, pressing their bodies together for a brief moment before he let go.

"What was that for?" Cas breathed into Dean's neck.

"Because it's Sunday? For the pancakes? Because the apron told me to? Who cares?"

Cas chuckled.

"Alright, I'mma get dressed and go take a drive, clear my head a bit. Will you take care of Sam for me?" asked Dean.

"I'll see what I can do. See you later, Mr. WInchester."

"Adios, Mr. Winchester," said Dean. He watched Cas disappear back into the kitchen before he went into the bedroom.

Dean took off his robe and admired himself in the mirror for a second, then did a double take and had a closer look. Not only was his body crisscrossed with scars that he could not remember getting, his left shoulder had a red, angry-looking burn mark in the shape of a hand on it. He examined it for a minute, hoping that he would remember where it came from, but he was drawing yet another blank.

Dean felt a slight panic rising and considered calling Cas in, but he didn't want to cause any more concern. He frowned at his shoulder, puzzled. What the hell was wrong with him today? Was it his memory, or a neurological thing? Should he go to the doctor? He shook his head. No, get dressed, take a drive, clear his head and all would turn out fine.

He took a deep breath and opened the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans at random. Most of the clothes were slacks, suits and shirts, and Dean wasn't sure which were his and which his partner's. He rummaged for a bit until he found, at the very back, a Van Halen T-shirt which he knew had to be his, and got dressed. Feeling a little shaken he went into the hall, grabbed keys, wallet and jacket, and left with a yelled goodbye over his shoulder.

Their condo was on the third floor of the building. It was a nice building; clean, modern and with plenty of greenery - in other words, expensive. Dean made his way down the stairs, nodding at various people that seemed to recognise him. He knew their faces, in a vague sort of way, but had trouble putting names to them.

One young woman was giving him a really odd look, staring at him in a way that sent shivers down his spine. Her long white hair fluttered weightlessly in the breeze and she raised a blue-tattooed arm to tuck it behind her ear. Dean looked away from her, narrowly avoiding bumping into a neighbour - who gave him a cheery 'Hey, careful, Deano!' - and when he glanced back she was gone. He shrugged it off and continued down the glass-covered stairway.

When he got to the bottom he headed towards the row of shiny cars parked outside, eyes scanning for his own. He spotted a black car at the far end and started towards it, but halfway there he realised that it was a Cadillac. Didn't he drive an Impala? Looking again, he realised that the entire row was bereft of Impalas. Dean's brow creased and he questioned his sanity, remembering that, in fact, the Cadillac was his. He got in.

Dean took a few slightly shaky breaths and started the engine. The familiar roar comforted him and he took off, driving aimlessly, wondering if he was going mad. He passed several areas that he recognised and that comforted him further. There was the coffee shop where he and Cas had had their first date. He remembered it clearly, as if it had happened mere seconds ago. And here, a few streets away, was the park where they had kissed for the first time. He remembered that clearly, too. Trouble was, there was nothing connecting those two events. How had they ended up at that park? Had it even been on the same day? He shook his head. Something was definitely wrong.

Dean glanced up at his rear view mirror, eyes widening in shock as he recognised the white-haired girl from his building, sitting plain as day in his back seat. He jerked the steering wheel without meaning to, then jerked it right back the other way to compensate.

The Cadillac was going too fast and Dean had over corrected. As if in slow motion he saw the world turn upside-down as the car flipped onto its roof. Random bits of junk flew past him like he was in space - a pair of sunglasses hit him in the forehead. The impact shattered the windscreen and Dean tried to raise an arm to protect himself from the glass. It was useless; without a seatbelt on he tumbled around like socks in a washing machine. Vaguely he wondered what had happened to the girl, as she didn't seem to be tumbling around with him, but at that moment he had bigger concerns.

The car slid along the road until another car got in its way. The second impact was larger than the first, sending Dean headlong through the car, through the broken windscreen and into the road. The car he had hit was still in motion, and dazed as Dean was he could only watch as metal death charged towards him, tyres squealing on the asphalt.