I'll go. But only if you really want me to."

The words echoed around the empty space, refusing to fade. The amber liquid swirled at the bottom of the tumbler, waiting to be topped up.

Dean stared down at the little pieces of melting ice, bobbing in the few centimetres of liquor. The bottle on the coffee table had long since gone warm, blending with the heat radiating from the heater. Despite the warmth circulating the small room, Dean felt nothing but cold—numb, empty and frozen. He asked for this.

The apartment was dark. The only source of light was from outside, the millions of lights coming from the city around him. It cast a grey shadow around the room. Dean sat in his armchair. He looked as battered as he felt. His jacket from earlier was tossed carelessly on the couch. His sleeves of his button-down were rolled up to his elbows. The crisp white fabric had since become horrifically rumpled. His black tie hung loosely around his neck.

It didn't matter what Charlie said or Sam, Chuck—hell, even Gabriel. This was all on him. He placed his glass on the table and reached for the bottle. Disregarding the cup, he picked up the nearly empty bottle and took a long pull. The alcohol burned on its way down, irritating his raw throat. Drinking nearly an entire bottle of whiskey in a single sitting was unhealthy and border lining on alcohol poisoning.

"You fucked up, Winchester," Dean whispered to the darkness. His head pounded and he reached up to rub his temple. Sadly, he had become familiar with alcohol and was nowhere near as drunk as he wanted to be. All he had was intense pressure. He would have shivered at the clamminess of his own skin, but he had no emotions right now. The red, fiery streaks down his cheeks still burned.

Two weeks earlier

"You heard who's coming back, right?" Charlie asked in a hushed voice. She was glancing around carefully.

"Yeah. Vic told me last week. Do you think Dean knows?" Chuck sat on the desk behind her, staring at the set of stairs behind Charlie.

"Doubt it. He would've said something. Remember what happened at last year's hockey game?"

"You think I would forget? Vic and I had to drag Dean home from the bar before he drank the place dry." Chuck let out a dry, humourless laugh at the memory of a drunk Dean crying over his ex. Maybe this wasn't a good situation.

"According to Sam, Gabe said Cas hadn't been any better, though, I assume a little less vocal." She turned around to face the stairs with Chuck.

"Crowley asked for him to come back." The brunet played with the cuff of his sleeve, fixing it over his watch.

Charlie sighed; she looked sad, heartbroken for her friend, and a lost one. Things really turned ugly after Dean and Cas went their separate ways.

"Kevin mentioned it. Honestly, I know things weren't great when we were all together, but is Crowley trying to start a war?"

"Who's starting a war?" a voice crept up behind the two officers. Chuck jumped and turned around, meeting Kevin's interested face from the other side of the desk.

"Crowley," Charlie supplied, still facing the entrance to the building.

The young officer's mouth formed an 'O' and eyebrows knitted together. "You know?"

"We all know. I'm pretty sure-"

"Bradbury, Tran, Shurley!" the harsh British brogue bellowed from behind the trio. "I'm not paying you all to gossip."

"Our shift hasn't started yet, sir."

The Staff Sergeant's cold stare snapped to the female. "So haven't your assignments. How's desk duty sound this week?"

He flashed a smug smile as Charlie rolled her eyes. After over eight years of working for Crowley, it was evident which of his statements were threats and which were just words.

"Of course, sir." Kevin gathered his papers and hurried to the briefing room.

"It's Novak," Charlie gasped as she looked up from her computer. There were a couple of officers around their former colleague. He was smiling and greeted each one with a handshake.

"And it's Dean," Chuck, who was sitting next to the redhead, whispered almost immediately after.

Dean walked down the stairs, quickly briefing Victor on the current homicide he was working on. They had a new lead, and he was explaining the possibility of a suspect. He just rounded the corner when he heard a laugh.

"Yes, it's good to be back. Thank you, Kate."

That voice. He hadn't heard it since...

"Cas?" His voice was shaky, cracking slightly. He stared at the figure in front of him—the man whom he had not seen in close to a year. The man he had spent his whole young adult life with. Castiel was standing right in front of him, dressed in a uniform with gold little '23' pins on his lapels. So this was the day.

Over the last couple of weeks, he'd heard rumours of Castiel possibly coming back. They were hushed rumours. People tried to keep the talk to a minimum, but even as a detective, news about the patrol officers always circulated to the higher floors.

Castiel turned; his face was bright and happy. His smile fell just a touch once his eyes met Dean's. Both men stared at each other, both lost for words. It felt as if the whole precinct was focused on them.

Finally, Cas broke the silence. "Hello, Dean." His voice was just as deep as ever, and it crept into Dean's heart, piercing it with icy shards.

"S-So, you're back. H-heard rumours. Wasn't sure if it was true. Gabriel didn't-"

"I didn't tell Gabriel until last week." Made sense, Dean last talked to his brother-in-law over a week ago.

It was so weird. Years ago, he was Gabe's in-law. Now, Gabe was still his in-law, but by a different marriage.

"Oh." That's all he could muster up. Despite Dean and Cas still being very much connected in terms of being in each other's lives, they did everything possible to avoid each other. After their divorce, once Dean had recovered, they continued to try working together. Dean moved out of their condo, renting a smaller apartment, and tried hard to pretend that it wasn't only several blocks from his old place. Work was tough and even worse once Sam and Gabe married.

Cas had decided to transfer, going to 29th precinct. After that, they only saw each other three times and it was all work related. Well, it was during the annual hockey games. The first two times, Dean avoided the games. Oddly, instead of 23 playing against 17, they played Cas' new precinct.

"It's good to see you," the younger man offered; smile small and soft. "Homicide detective? The suit suits you." Right after Cas left, Dean put in his application to finally join the guys upstairs.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, feeling like a bug underneath a microscope. He knew people were still watching them. He felt hot and prickly at the back of his neck.

"It was something I always wanted to do."

"You've always had ambition." Those words were like Metatron's knife stabbing him all over again, twisting the blade. Only, this time, it was Cas holding the blade.

Present Day

"I still love you, Dean."

Dean stumbled blindly into his room. In the four years he's been here, he never made the effort to add personal touches. There were the three photos of his family. One recent one with John, but they all had a theme, someone important was missing.

Cas wasn't present in any of the photos. And why should he? He was no longer part of Dean's life. The bed never smelled like Cas. His clothes didn't take up half of his closet anymore. Cas never saw the inside of this pathetic excuse for a home. Peter Parker put his place to shame.

Dean was so tired, but he knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight. The idea of closing his eyes and being haunted by the ghosts of his memories was not as appealing as a total blackout.

He knew Cas would deeply disapprove of his behaviour right now. He never enjoyed dealing with him drunk, even when he only went out for a good time. Using alcohol as a coping mechanism was shamefully lowering himself to his father's standards.

"Sorry, dad," the man mumbled sarcastically, chuckling once he finished off the bottle. The whiskey no longer burned, sliding down his throat smoothly. He moved to his bed, placing the bottle on the nightstand.

Outside, the sound of cars passing by filtered up to the bedroom. Horns honked, and there was a car alarm off in the distance. Life was moving on while Dean wished his would end.

He dropped down onto the mattress, disregarding that he was still dressed. He curled himself up into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible.

Maybe he could disappear. Get away from all this hurt and pain. The horrible agony of losing love.

Dean grew frantic. Every cruel thought began to fill his head. He felt trapped in his own mind, voices screaming at him. He was slowly slipping. He jerked against the mattress, desperately trying to shake the crippling trap.

He reached under his pillow and grabbed the piece of fabric. He clung to it—his anchor.

It was an old NYPD t-shirt. It was worn and too small for Dean to wear. It was Cas'. Had been his from his rookie days. It was the only thing he had of ex-husband's from the divorce.

He pressed the fabric to his nose, desperately searching for any remaining traces of Cas. The shirt had long since lost its original smell. It smelt too much like Dean and made the officer want to tear at his own skin.

He clutched the shirt to his chest, clinging to it as if it were his lifeline. Sobs wracked through his body and tears flowed, burning hot down the laid-out tracks.

He closed his eyes, drifting off into a world of darkness.

Ten Days Earlier

He was in Hell. There was no doubt about it. Dean was suffering at the hands of the devil. Cas has been back for four days and it was agony. He thought he could be professional and not let his suffering feelings for his ex-husband rule him, but he was wrong.

It didn't even matter that there was an entire floor separating him and Castiel, or that they were part of two different departments. Dean swore he ran into Cas more times than when they actively worked together. Every time an officer was sent to his department it always seemed to be Cas who received the honours. Arriving to work, Dean would walk in with Cas. Leaving work was no different. Every time Dean needed to go talk to Crowley, Cas was around.

The man was now at the point where he wanted to pull his hair out.

It also wasn't fair that Cas could talk and smile at him like every moment wasn't a gunshot to his heart. Seeing Cas smile at him was just like falling in love all over again. He was victim to the flashbacks, remembering the first time they met, their wedding, those days where they would—no! He had to stop. They had to stop. Castiel and he were done. And yet, Dean couldn't help but crave these small interactions. He craved them like a drug, and he was going mad with need.

He needed Cas, despite their toxic history. He hadn't even gone to counselling after his divorce. He was nowhere near over the divorce.

Call him crazy, but if he couldn't have Cas back, he'd take what he could. Awkward small talk and jerky acknowledgments were better than going home with a gaping hole in his heart. Those simple words were tangled strings, mangling his heart back together.

He knew he had no right to feel this way. He had been the one who had asked for the divorce. Cas had fought. He had even tried after they filed. He had suggested—pleaded for counselling, and Dean, being the complete arrogant ass he was, had shut Cas out. He didn't do counselling, and he hadn't been about to.

"Hello, Dean," Cas greeted, walking out of the break room.

"Hey, Cas." Castiel. Crap. He really needed to crack down on that. He wasn't in a position to use that name.

Cas still smiled widely, only, something was off. His smile was still the same, but his eyes were dull, more grey than blue. His eyes were shadowed with dark circles. He looked tired. Maybe Cas wasn't as—

"How are you, Dean?" The younger man slimed softly, tilting his head just slightly. "You seem-"

Dean shrugged, adjusting the folders under his arm. "Working. Keeping busy."

A stiff chuckle curled around Dean. It wasn't warm or familiar like Cas' usual laugh. This one felt too forced.

"You were always good at that. I understand why Benny chose you as his replacement."

Three years ago, Benny was promoted to the head of the homicide division. Dean quickly filled the detective's vacant spot.

The small talk was killing him. Lately, he craved the intimate conversations they used to have. Their inside jokes and how Cas could make him laugh with one look. It was amazing that five years could wipe out a life he spent ten years building. He was stupid to let Castiel go, but he was even more insane to think that they could have another chance. How do you go back to someone you threw aside when things got too tough?

They didn't get too tough. He was just afraid of too many uncertainties and ran to what he knew and was comfortable with. He and Cas were no more.

Cas shifted on his feet, gnawing on his bottom lip. He looked nervous, and he kept looking around him.

Dean was about to ask if he was all right when the other officer finally spoke up.

"So, I-I know this is-" Cas coughed and cleared his throat, a sign Dean knew as he wasn't even sure with what he was about to say "-I know we don't really—I was wondering if maybe you'd-"

Dean's heart thundered in his chest. He had a terrifying suspicion he knew what his ex-husband was about to ask. He wanted to scream "yes"! Maybe this was a sign. This was his... No. He couldn't say yes. He couldn't put Castiel through all that again. He damn near ruined the man in the trap they called a marriage. But Cas was pursuing him. That was a good thing? Right? Dean had no right to ask Cas this, but for Cas to ask him. Could he say 'yes'?

The dream didn't last long and was punctured without another syllable from the dark-haired man standing before him. Anna came over, looking for Cas.

"There's a man at the front desk asking for you." She smiled politely at the detective. After Dean's promotion, he found he didn't see many of the other officers. Their schedules never crossed and they were separated by different areas of the station.

Cas looked like he wanted to say something—finish what he had been trying to ask—but Dean just jerked his head. "I'll-uh-I'll see you around."

The younger officer paused for a moment, frowning before he nodded and followed Anna to the front desk. By the reception, a tall man with dirty blond hair combed back. Eli, Dean later found out.

Cas touched Eli's arm gently, a small sign of affection Dean wished he was still on the receiving end of. Eli turned around and smiled brightly at the sight of Cas. The scene twisted Dean's stomach into knots. He felt sick watching Eli's hand rub up and down his Cas' back.

The scene was enough to form a lump in Dean's throat, which he willed down. He was sure he was going to be sick.

Present Day

"You're it for me. Don't you see that, Dean?"

A shrill ring echoed around the tiny room, causing Dean to jump up, nearly falling out of bed. His head pounded and he raised a hand to hold his head, willing the nausea to subside. The phone echoed around his head, sounding substantially louder.

He ripped the receiver out of its cradle and stabbed the button.

"I told you to fuck off," he growled, gripping the plastic in a death grip.

The caller remained silent while a voice spoke in the background.

"Dean, please. I know-"

"I told you to leave me alone. I don't need this right now."

"I know. But Dean-"

"No! You don't know. You don't know anything, Sam. I told you I wanted to be left alone and you can't even give me that!"

Sam growled and muttered something to someone—Jamie. "I'm just making sure you don't drink yourself to your grave! I don't need-"

"I frankly don't care what you need right now, Sam. Just stay there with Jamie. It's where you belong—not here." Dean grabbed the bottle from the nightstand and lifted it to his lips, whining when his lips met with the cool glass of the bottle, nothing but air hit his eager lips. He tossed the bottle onto the bed and left the room, leaving behind the shirt.

"You're my brother. I'm always here for you. Cas is-"

"Don't you dare fucking mention Castiel to me." Dean nearly collided with the coffee table, partly from his drunkenness, but also partly due to the dark. "You don't get to do this. You still have Jamie. You still-"

"You could have had this too. Do you really think Cas wanted the divorce? He loved you Dean, and took you back after you repeatedly hurt and lied to him."

The air left Dean's lungs. He felt as if Sam had reached through the phone and ripped out his heart. The only sound between them was Sam's harsh breathing. Dean's breath hitched as he tried to control the angry tears welling in his eyes.

Neither of them wanted the divorce, but they agreed that there was nothing they could do. It was a mutual agreement, but it wasn't a happy agreement.

"Fuck you. Don't call me again."

There was a stuttered reply from his brother's end. "No! Dean, please. I'm sorry. Please, just talk-"

Dean pressed the button, cutting off his brother's pleas. He threw the phone onto the table with too much force. It cracked against the wood, skidding across the surface and onto the floor.

There was a loud strangled cry as Dean pressed his palms against his eyes. He had enough of Sam and Bobby's sympathy. He was dealing with this on his own.

He grabbed another bottle from the fridge, this one full and unopened in the pitiful contents of his fridge. Any outsider would assume the man was a drunk. Maybe he was.

Seven Days Earlier

Less than a week into February and they still were dealing with the insane amount of snow that fell last week. Honestly, there should be a rule for how much snow was allowed to fall.

Dean was flipping through his current cases when Crowley burst into his office, unannounced.

"Shooting at Sullfolk and Stanton. I want you there."

"Sorry?" The detective furrowed his brows. This was probably the least formal case he's been assigned. "Nothing's been called-"

"Now! You need to be there. I don't want to hear any moaning. Tran and Bradbury are there."

"Umm. Okay." Dean stacked his files and grabbed his coat from the hook. "Anything else I should know?"

The was a brief pause. Crowley looked sullen for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low—almost gentle. "Be careful." He turned abruptly, leading the homicide detective out.

When the grey Ford pulled up to the scene, it barely fit with the three cruisers parked haphazardly. He noticed Charlie yelling at Kevin, pointing to the other side of the sidewalk. Officer Parks had a man handcuff, leading him to the back of his cruiser. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" No one was organized. He looked for evidence from the scene, but besides frantic screaming and the one suspect in handcuffs, nothing looked like it was in need of his—

"Dean!" Charlie nearly shouted, almost colliding into the detective as he approached the scene. It was chaos. Dean noticed sirens were wailing in the distance and then suddenly he heard Chuck, frantically talking behind the woman. Two more officers were clearing the area.

"Where's the victim?" Charlie sputtered for a moment, no longer the cool and collected officer that she always was. She almost looked offended that Dean would ask such a thing.

"Chuck's over there with him. EMTs are on their way, but they are taking fucking forever. Kevin and I cleared the scene. One suspect fled."

Dean groaned. Seriously, why were they going against protocol? "Why am I here? If the EMTs aren't even here." The victim hasn't been pronounced yet. There was not a scene for him to investigate.

"Wait! You don't kno—oh God." She whispered something to herself. Her hands covered her mouth, preventing Dean from hearing clearly. This was getting strange. "Dean, please..." Charlie's eyes were swimming now. She tried to keep her composure, but even her breath hitched.

A sickening feeling filled the pit of Dean's stomach. Charlie was a second away from breaking, and Kevin, despite the vicious wind, wiped his eyes with his hand.

"W-what's going on?" He looked over Charlie's shoulder, finally noticing the body Chuck was hovering over. Suddenly Crowley's behaviour made sense. He knew that dark mop of hair.

"Dean-"

"Cas." Dean hurriedly brushed past the woman. His shoes skidded on the slippery pavement and the force of his halt.

Laying on the slush-covered pavement, barely making a sound was Cas. He was eerily still and so pale.

"Oh God." Dean was going to throw up. He was sure. His stomach churned, but then he remembered he had skipped lunch today. Chuck's hands were painted in crimson; the vibrant colour flowed like a river over his hands. His palms were pressed against Castiel's neck, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.

Chuck startled, he looked up at Dean with a grave face. The situation was not good. "We responded to a call. He was shot as soon as he got out of the car. The officer was trying to keep his voice controlled, but like Charlie, he was struggling.

"How bad?" Even Dean didn't recognize his own voice.

Chuck looked at Cas, whose face was twisted in pain as Chuck readjusted his hold against the gunshot wound and then back at Dean.

Oh.

"Let me?" Dean kneeled down on the wet pavement, ignoring how cold and wet his pants were becoming from the slush. He placed his hand next to Chuck's and they quickly switched spots.

Castiel noticed the change and opened his eyes. Dean's heart leaped when tears began to swim of the deep blue. Cas tried to sit up, but Dean eased him down with his free hand.

"Hey, shh. The paramedics are on their way. Just hang in there." Dean pressed his hand harder against the wound, which only caused the blood to stream over his hand.

"You're here," Cas whispered, his voice barely audible above the commotion going on around them. He smiled in spite of himself, revealing his blood-stained teeth. He hissed in pain, breaking the smile as Dean pressed harder.

Dean wanted to say so much. Cas has already lost so much blood. The side of his jacket was soaked, and Dean's hands were stained with red. His sleeves were quickly absorbing the crimson fluid. Chuck's own hands were caked in blood.

He needed to reassure Cas. That's what they were taught: talk the victim through the pain. Don't give them a reason to fear. Then it hit him—Cas was a victim here. Cas was the focus here. He needed to be reassured.

Instead, all he said was 'I am'.

Cas opened his mouth again, but no sound came out.

"No. Don't. Save your strength." Dean's voice caught in his throat and his breath began to quiver. Cas smiled softly, considering he must be in a tremendous amount of pain. "Just focus on me." That was probably the last thing Castiel wanted to hear while his life hung in the balance. But maybe it would be a sense of familiarity and give him some comfort.

"Just a couple of minutes, Dean." He heard Chuck's voice in the distance, and somehow it seemed like miles away,

"You're going to be okay." Cas' smile began to slip and that's when Dean's heart skipped a beat. "You only need to hang in for a little bit longer, Cas." The blue eyes began to cloud over. "Do that for me, Cas. Okay?"

Cas' breath stuttered and his head began to loll. Dean pressed harder, hoping to force some kind of reaction from the wounded man. All he got was a small wheeze that sounded more like an exhale.

"Cas?" Castiel's stopped moving, laying flat on the ground. Dean tilted Cas head, but it's laid there, without any strength from Cas. Dean's heart hammered in his chest. No. No! "Cas?!" he said more forcibly, but again, Cas remained unresponsive. "No. No."

Dean turned Cas' head in his hands, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He grabbed Cas' wrist and tried again. His fingers came up empty.

"Cas..." he moaned, feeling the large ball form in his throat. He tried to swallow around it, but even he didn't have the strength. Several tears slipped past the barriers.

He moved Cas on his back, but Chuck stopped him. "The medics are here. Let them."

He put up a small fight, but he didn't have the energy right now. It felt like years watching the paramedics work over Cas. Finally, Charlie braved over to the scene, Chuck refused to let him go.

The woman turned, hand flying to her mouth, trying to muffle her sobs. She returned to Dean, tears falling freely, her face a mess with grief and sympathy. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry."

And the detective felt the floor collapsed from under him. He wasn't sure if he was falling or just shaking. He couldn't feel his legs.

"Fuck, Dean. I'm so sorry," Chuck whispered, but Dean didn't hear any of it. He didn't hear anything. He just stared at the flashing lights of the ambulance.

"He asked for you."

"What?"

"Cas. After he was shot, he asked for you." Charlie tried to offer a tiny smile. "'I n-need to s-see Dean'. Y-you were h-h-his fir-first thought."

Nothing felt real. Voices spoke, but nothing registered to him. Chuck touched him, but he didn't even flinch. Dean breath caught; he was sure his heart stopped. He couldn't. Cas couldn't be... He was.

"He still loved you."

Present day.

"So, where do we go from here?"

Castiel James Novak was laid to rest today. Dean's been home for hours now, desperately wishing away the crippling pain and the damning memories.

Once Cas' casket had been carried in, draped in green and white everything had hit. This wasn't a funeral to honour a fallen brother. This was to honour Cas.

It was tough being around his friends, seeing the grief-stricken faces, but seeing their sympathy for him. Charlie made sure to stay with him the entire time while Victor and Chuck acted as pallbearers. Dean had been a choice, but Crowley put his foot down, and even Dean had to agree. He nearly lost it at the wake they had held for Cas the day before.

When the ceremony came, Dean had thought saluting Cas' casket would've been the hardest part—he was damn wrong. The entire service had been unbearable.

They honoured Cas for the officer that he was. Charlie held onto Dean's hand as soon as the last call played. She made no complaint as he held her hand in a crushing hold, shoulders shaking as he tried to silently control his cries. One tear slipped past his restraint and several followed. He wasn't the only officer shedding tears but was the only one whose heart was shattered. He rubbed his eyes furiously, ignoring the patches they made on his gloves.

"We have to go, Dean," Charlie whispered, her voice hoarse from the tears. She was rubbing small circles against her friend's back, which offered no comfort.

"N-no," Dean pleaded, voice wrecked and cracked. His shoulders shook uncontrollably as silent sobs wracked through him. He couldn't leave. Not now. This was goodbye. As soon as this was over it would make everything final. No wake to go to. No funeral to plan. Nothing. He would go to work next week and find Cas' locker empty, or filled by someone new. He couldn't say goodbye. Not now. Not ever.

"I know," she cried tearfully and hugged herself to Dean. "I know. I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

Dean could only make a small choked off sound and clung to Charlie as tightly as he could.

"But we have to. They're waiting for us."

Dean knew Bobby, Ellen, and his dad were waiting for them, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone right now. Sam was with Gabe and the rest of the Novaks, trying to condole them. But how when they just lost their brother? They had welcomed him over, but he couldn't be with them. Not right now.

Kevin approached them, folding his hands in front of him, bowing his head in respect.

"Dean? The car's waiting? We have t-" he cut off as soon as Charlie shot him a silent warning.

"This is Cas," Dean whispered, still standing, feet buried in the snow as he stared at Cas' casket. The two other officers' stayed silent, letting Dean have his moment. Charlie could feel the wetness of Dean's face against her neck, but she made no move to shy away. Dean needed her.

After several more minutes and Victor, they coaxed Dean away from the grave and over to their car.

The entire car ride was silent. He declined Bobby's offer to let him stay with him for a few days. Sam even tried, but Sam was—he just was a reminder of this. Jo and Charlie attempted, but he didn't want any reminders of work. He declined the invite to the reception.

He held everything in until he was alone and safe in his apartment. As soon as the door locked, Dean dropped to the floor, letting out a desperate scream of a man who just lost everything. He cried loudly for several minutes. He didn't care if the neighbours heard. Frankly, they could all go fuck themselves if they had an issue.

He stayed huddled in front of the door, pathetically clinging to the door handle until the screaming subsided and he was just left with a raw throat and a tear-stained face.

Dean walked out from the kitchen, whiskey bottle clutched loosely in his hand. He walked back to his chair, dropping heavily into it.

Maybe he would sleep out here tonight. The couch was suddenly more welcoming than his room, his room where it reminded him of Cas.

The room was now littered with several small possessions of Cas'. All too small to define the man, but the only things Dean was brave enough to take.

The few photos that he had—the ones he took from Cas' apartment last Sunday—were safely tucked in a box in the back of his closet. The only photo Dean had out was Cas' portrait. It was similar to the one the service had on display, only from years ago. Cas dressed in his dress uniform, smiling brightly, holding such a lightness back in that time. It was picture was currently leaning against Dean's night lamp, next to the bottle of Cas' cologne—the same he had worn when they had been married. No one had commented on the missing bottle. The Novaks had been too busy dividing the box of photos.

It was the only thing Dean took, besides a t-shirt. It felt wrong taking it, but Gabe insisted that he'd take something. This one was new and still gave off the warm, welcoming smell of home.

Gabe had offered up the photos from Cas and Dean's wedding, claiming that they really belonged to Dean. And that was it. A bottle of cologne, a t-shirt, and a handful of photos to represent who Cas once was. They did nothing to tell what type of man he had been or officer. Cas had carried about people and he had taken his job with pride. Everything he did, he put his all in.

Then there was the flag. The flag that had draped Cas' casket earlier was now in a triangular fold, sitting on the kitchen table. The top of the table was barely visible from his spot in the chair—he couldn't look at it.

He was almost tempted to send it back to the Novaks. They would know what to do with it. They would care for it better. All Dean wanted to do was lock it in a box until it no longer felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest.

Gabe had approached him before getting into the car. He had looked like a wreck, and Dean was sure he hadn't looked any better. Sam had hovered behind, moving farther for Dean, giving Gabriel and his brother space. His own eyes had been rimmed with red; he had been trying to remain strong for Sam.

Without a word, his ex-brother-in-law held out his hands, presenting the folded flag which had decorated Cas' casket.

"I know he would've wanted you to have it." Tears shimmered in the older Novak's eyes. His voice was low and hoarse. Dean hesitated, meeting the cold gaze of Michael's standing in the short distance. He looked back at his brother. The man nodded with a teary smile.

"It's yours." Gabriel managed a weak smile when Dean took the flag, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat.

"Thank you."

"I also wanted you to have this-" He reached a gloved hand into an inside pocket. "My family and I decided you need this more than us. Respecting Cas' wishes." He pulled out a small black box and held it in his palm. "I know you looked for it."

Dean's throat grew dry and tight. Suddenly everything he lost was coming back to him; only, the pieces were broken and mangled, never to become whole again.

"Cas made a promise to you with this. We feel like you-" Gabe couldn't continue after the, his throat became too thick.

"Take it, Dean." Sam walked closer to Dean, shoes crunching in the snow. "It has more meaning to you than any of us.

A broken promise.

"Please," Gabe whispered, finding his voice.

He didn't deserve this kindness. The past ten years with Cas were shrouded with lies and fights. He gave Cas an out, but not for the better. The Novaks showed Dean more kindness this past week than he truly deserved.

Dean nodded and took the box, slipping it into his pocket.

Gabriel smiled his thanks and turned around, watching Michael. They needed to go. "If it means anything, I'm glad Cas got his final wish." He reached up and hugged Dean.

The ring now hung from a chain around Dean's neck, mirroring the routine he had thought became extinct. The metal piece did nothing to soothe him. Instead of representing a promising future, the gold only weighed him down, tightening the noose around his neck. He knew with time the chain would lighten, but he wasn't ready for that day to come—the day he got over Castiel Novak.

Five years ago, Dean made the worst mistake of his life. Today, he was paying the price.