The mangled wings remain on Cas's back all night and all the next day. Dean put Cas on the kitchen table and carefully examined his wings, gingerly wiping away a few small smears of blood, but there was really nothing he could do to help.

The two slept together for the night, and when Dean woke up the next morning—around six, which only gave him about six hours of sleep—he slipped away from the still sleeping angel and went to make breakfast.

But something is different. Instead of feeling pleased when he sees a tousle-haired Cas emerge from the bedroom, he just feels sad. Instead of feeling content when Cas puts his arms around him from behind, setting his chin hesitantly on Dean's shoulder as he tries to flip an omelette, he just feels regretful.

"Do you want me to leave today?" Cas asks softly from over Dean's shoulder.

It takes Dean a long time to answer. "I don't know, Cas. I can't just—I don't want to throw you out when you still have wings, but…maybe it's the only way they'll go away."

Cas unclasps his hands and puts one on Dean's shoulder. "Are you still certain you want to do this?"

"Yes," Dean says, turning around. "Don't you? I mean, I know you said you'd take any punishment, but now I'm in danger too. Can't you at least relate to why I'm making this decision?"

"I don't disagree with you, Dean." Cas's hand falls back to his side and he looks at the floor. "I just don't want to do this."

"Nor do I. But I don't know what else to do." Dean feels a spark of anger and he turns back to the omelette in the pan. Damn heaven for being this way.

After they eat breakfast in uncharacteristic silence, Dean asks, resigned, "Do you have anywhere to go?"

"I—I have a place in mind."

"Good. Because I go back to work tomorrow and I think…I think you should go tonight."

The day drifts by with neither of them acting like themselves. Dean's idea the previous night that somehow they were going to find a way to stop loving each other was bullshit and he knows it. But nonetheless there seems to be an unspoken agreement that the less they talk to each other, the more this will somehow be easier.

They spend most of the day sitting on the couch in front of Dean's tiny television, flipping idly past channels. At first, they sit far enough apart that they aren't touching, as if they're distant friends instead of boyfriends, but by the end of the day, Cas has fallen asleep on Dean's shoulder.

Dean hasn't failed to notice that Cas looks pale and feverish. He needs attention, but Dean can't fathom a good way to get it to him. Every option gets too complicated as soon as he thinks about it. The best he can do is hope that either the wings will go away once they part or Cas's angel healing will take care of it.

He sighs and leans his head lightly against Cas's, closing his eyes. He can hear Cas snoring softly. Though Cas's wing mobility is limited, he has them slightly spread in order to sit on the couch. His left wing rests against Dean's back and curls around his shoulder slightly, the top of it brushing his neck periodically with Cas's breathing. Dean feels surrounded by the angel, and it's a perfect kind of sensation, one he thought he'd never really feel.

It makes him sick to think of forcing Cas out on his own. He knows it's the right thing to do, but since when has right ever felt so wrong?

He lifts his head and reaches over to touch Cas's shoulder. "Cas," he says quietly to wake him.

Cas starts slightly and straightens. He tucks his wing in a bit and whatever Dean had felt is gone. "I didn't realized I had fallen asleep," he says drowsily. "Angels don't have to sleep—usually I have to tell myself to."

"Well, there are probably a lot of things going on with you that don't normally happen," Dean says. He clears his throat. "I think…I think it's time to go, Cas."

The angel nods. He seems resigned; he's accepted it.

Dean stands and goes to his bedroom, where he grabs Cas's trench coat from where it had been tossed over the dresser. He holds it briefly to his face and breathes in the scent of Castiel.

Why the hell do I have to love everything about him so much now that he's leaving?

He shakes his head and lowers the trench coat. The more he blocks out those thoughts, the easier this will be.

Earlier that day, he'd taken Cas's trench coat and cut a slit out of the back of it to accommodate Cas's wings. Dean didn't really want to disfigure it, since he knows Cas is rather fond of it, but it was the only item of clothing long enough to not be ruined.

"Here," Dean says, entering the living room again. "I figured it was about time you were able to wear something, even with the wings. And yes, I cut up your trench coat."

Cas frowns but doesn't seem displeased. On the contrary, he says, "Thanks. I wouldn't have thought of that."

Dean just nods and helps Cas get his wings through the slit in the coat. Cas winces as he stretches each wing through the back, but when they've gotten it around his shoulders, he seems satisfied. For the first time since Dean met him, he ties the belt around the front of the coat to hold it closed. The lapels of it form a V in front of his chest that still makes it very obvious that he's not wearing a shirt, but the point isn't exactly to help him blend in.

He wouldn't be able to do that for as long as he still had wings.

Dean finds himself standing the middle of the room, facing Cas with no idea what to say to him. Suddenly, it's like he's fifteen again and just telling Cas that his family is moving.

"Is this it?" Cas asks, looking up at Dean. "Are we ever going to see each other again?"

"No. For your sake, no."

Cas nods, looking to the floor for a moment. When he meets Dean's eyes again, he says, "You know I'm only doing this to protect you."

"I know, you stubborn bastard." He puts a hand on Cas's upper arm. "Try to find some self esteem while you're out there, would you?"

Cas smiles slightly. "I've gotten better."

"Yeah, but you've got more work to do." Dean shakes his head. "It's been fun, Cas. I wish it didn't have to end this way, but here we are. Good luck with heaven. Maybe now that I'm out of the picture, you can talk some sense into them."

"Maybe," Cas says, but Dean can tell he doesn't believe it for a second. He opens his mouth to say something, then pauses and closes it again. Then he says quickly, "Thank you, Dean." He puts his hand over Dean's, which is still on Cas's arm. "You've shown me a world of things I never thought I would see or experience. I don't want to draw this out because I know it would drive you insane, I just wanted to say that. You mean a lot to me. You always will."

Dean clenches his jaw and nods. "You're welcome. You're right, I don't want to make this any longer than it needs to be." He moves his hand off Cas's shoulder. "Come on, angel boy." He opens the door and they step out onto the porch. "I don't know how the hell to say goodbye to you," Dean admits with a hint of anger. "So get out of here."

Cas nods, seemingly more understanding of than insulted by Dean's tone and words. When he steps up to Dean and kisses him lightly on the cheek, Dean shuts his eyes hard.

"Don't you dare blame this on yourself," Cas says quietly before pulling away.

Dean gives a single nod, but doesn't say anything. He feels like this is all going too fast and he wants to slow it down, but what can he say? What's he willing to say?

Cas turns and steps away and Dean knows it's only a matter of second before he disappears.

"Cas," Dean bursts out desperately, catching Cas's hand. The angel turns to look at him and Dean sees tears in his eyes. Dean pulls him back and hugs him tightly. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Cas does some combination of a laugh and a sob. "You completely ignored what I just said, didn't you?"

"I think so," Dean laughs, but his laugh holds no happiness.

When they part, Cas doesn't meet Dean's eyes. He turns his back to him and raises a hand to his face, maybe wiping tears away.

And just like that, he's gone.

vvv

A week passes and Dean feels numb. He doesn't feel unhappy. He feels…distracted. Like he's waiting. Like this state he's in is only temporary.

Like he's going to see Castiel again.

It's a good thing Cas is gone, he tells himself repeatedly. This is all for the best.

Each work day goes by in a blur of faces, metal, oil, and sweat. They're the better days, the days Dean can shut his brain off and just focus on the task at hand. The weekends are the days he spends minutes at a time staring at the name 'Cas' on his contacts list, and when he notices breakup songs playing off one of his albums, after which he immediately rolls his eyes and skips to the next song.

It's late one Sunday in mid June when Dean is in the bathroom of a bar, leaning over the sink, splashing water over his face as he tries to get his thoughts together.

He can't stop seeing Cas's face. He can't stop thinking of what it was like to feel him that night before everything changed.

He can't stop hearing the angel's cries of pain as his wings were crushed.

Dean's phone rings. He almost starts at the sound of the heavy guitar tones, and he realizes he's been standing for a few minutes with his elbows resting on the sides of the sink and his face in his hands. He realizes his throat is tight.

He wipes his hand on his pants and digs his phone out of his pocket. He's surprised by the caller ID and flips the phone open to answer.

"Dad. Hey." He cringes as his voice breaks.

"Dean," John says. He sounds relieved. "How are you?"

"Fine," Dean answers a little to quickly. "I'm…great. Why are you calling me? I haven't heard from you in ages."

"I've tried to call you twice in the past couple of weeks. Usually you always answer your phone, but I couldn't get a hold of you. I talked to Sam instead. He hasn't heard from you in over a month."

Dean rubs a hand over his face and leaves the bathroom to go back to his seat at the bar. "You didn't just call me to check in, Dad. What's going on?"

John sighs. "You're right. You were calling me a lot several weeks back and I figured it was time to address that."

Dean takes a swig of his beer. "You finally gonna tell me what you've been doing?"

"You know what I've been doing."

Dean scoffs silently, looking at his beer bottle. Probably about the same thing I'm doing right now.

"Give me time, Dean. It's not like you and your brother need me right now. You're adults."

"Time?" Dean asks incredulously. "Dad, I've been giving you time for the past six years."

"It hasn't been that long. I didn't leave you and your brother until a year after Mary…."

"Dad." Dean pauses. "I know it's hard to get over Mom. Trust me, I know. It still hurts me, too." He takes a breath. "But someday you might want to actually try being a father again."

"Dean—"

"You have no idea what I've been doing for the past year—at least—do you? And last I heard from Sam, he was sure you'd just given up on us."

"You haven't been in touch with us yourself."

"Well, that's been two months! You've been absent for years."

There's a pause on the line that lasts long enough Dean wonders if John hung up without him noticing. Then he says, very calmly, "Talk to Sam. He wants to hear from you. But if this is what you've wanted to say to me all this time, don't call me again."

He hangs up.

Dean closes his eyes, a raw feeling in his gut. He shouldn't have snapped like that. Those were never the things he'd wanted to say to his dad after all this time. But he can't deny that he's angry.

He pulls the phone away from his ear and puts his elbow on the bar counter, resting his forehead in his hand. One of these days he won't mess up with the people he cares about.