"Dean – "

"Cas – "

They began to speak at the same time, Cas intent on keeping the conversation short. Nothing would come of it if Dean were to profess feelings that weren't true. He would be ashamed and humiliated when his memory returned, and his and Cas' friendship would never be the same. Cas couldn't bear the thought of not talking to Dean every day, of not feeling the exquisite torture of keeping him close but never close enough.

"Cas – " Dean insisted and Cas knew he would have to let him talk. Dean wouldn't be satisfied otherwise, would only try to start the discussion anew. It was better to let him have his say and then put an end to all thoughts of this kind once and for all. And maybe, if he was lucky, Cas could do it without giving away that he was in love with Dean. There was no reason he should listen to his father. He had seen what kind of man John Winchester was. He couldn't believe him. And just because everyone knew, didn't mean Dean knew as well – if they could go back to living their lives as best friends, Dean never being the wiser, Cas would see it as the greatest of blessings.

He stayed silent as Dean approached him.

Dean could hear his blood pumping through his veins. His hands were sweaty. It had nothing do with the fight with Dad; if it could even be called a fight. A drunk homophobic asshole that just happened to be his father had stumbled into his apartment, thrown around insults, and left. Dean would have gladly punched him for what he had said about Cas, but him leaving was good enough; he and Cas had to talk.

He'd wanted to speak to Cas yesterday, but he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open in the car, the rock music playing from the speakers, the comforting rumble of the engine and Cas' presence relaxing him after a long day.

It was just as well. He'd shown his dad what he thought of him, and he'd gotten more confirmation that his feelings were reciprocated.

If Dad could see it of all people, it had to be true.

Cas was in love with Dean.

And Dean was in love with Cas.

All that remained was to talk.

He turned to his best friend, a little nervous, yet confident and hopeful as well.

Cas was white, breathing heavily, leaning against the door. Dad's comments must have hurt him. Dean quickly stepped towards him, wishing to provide comfort.

"So I guess Dad's an ass," he began because he had to say something. Cas snorted and stood up properly, colour slowly returning to his cheeks.

"I think we can safely make this assumption".

"I didn't realize he was that bad," Dean said softly, "I'm sorry".

"Don't be," Cas said and quickly moved forwards, so that they were once again in each other's personal space. "You're the one who's suffered the most from his blatant disregard of anyone's comfort but his own".

Cas caught himself staring in Dean's eyes, once again too close, much too close. When had he stepped forward? He was supposed to keep his distance. He wanted to move away but Dean grabbed his hand.

To Dean's astonishment, Cas suddenly seemed aware of personal space and what it entailed and made a move away from him. He couldn't let that happen, not until he'd said what he needed to say. He grabbed his left hand and made the same soothing motions Cas had applied yesterday.

"Still, I wish you didn't have to hear that".

"I know".

Dean cleared his throat.

"You know, he said some other things..."

Cas was definitely trying to get away. He was tugging at Dean's hand, a silent plea in his eyes, and Dean wondered if he could really have overlooked how he felt about him. He thought he'd made his intentions clear last night. Maybe he needed to hear the words. He could do that, had wanted to do that anyway. It had become even more important to be vocal about what he wanted. Anything to get that look off Cas' face. He looked terrified. That wasn't Cas. Cas was confident, if usually in a quiet, unobtrusive way. This expression didn't fit him.

He was just unsure, Dean told himself. Soon, he'd be smiling and everything would be alright.

He waited to see whether or not Cas would acknowledge what he had just said, but instead of answering, Cas averted his eyes and tried even more determinedly to disentangle their hands. Dean wouldn't allow it.

"He said you were in love with me. Is it true?"

"Dean".

Cas had decided to listen to Dean, give a calm answer, and leave, their friendship hopefully still intact.

The pronunciation of his name in a pained, agitated voice made Dean pause. It was almost like Cas was begging him to stop. But could he really fear rejection? Could he really, with Dean holding his hand and looking at him hopefully?

"I'm in love with you, too," he breathed. There was no time to lead up. Cas was scared, and vulnerable, and Dean needed him to hear the truth.

Cas stilled. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Dean couldn't tell what was going on in his head, but he was no longer trying to get away and that was something.

He had underestimated the effect the words he'd been longing to hear would have on him. Since he was sixteen, he had now and then dreamed and imagined that Dean could reciprocate his feelings, guiltily, secretly.

Dean was telling him that he loved him, and it wasn't true. Dean was telling him that he loved him, and it resulted from a head injury. Dean was telling him that he loved him, and Cas had to reject him.

The temptation was strong, stronger than he had anticipated. To just give in. Let go of his doubts, move closer. Taste his lips, hold him in his arms, feel loved.

It was an intense struggle, but thankfully a brief one. It ended with the same thought it had begun: He couldn't do that to Dean. Dean believed he had feelings for Cas, was drawn to Cas. Cas knew of his heterosexuality. To use him in a way that he would never consent to – just the thought was enough to make Cas sick.

He opened his eyes and hoped he looked calm as he said, "You are not".

Dean didn't know what exactly he had expected, but a smile and a kiss would have been nice. Cas telling him that he didn't love him had been low on his list of possible reactions.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Cas replied flatly, "that you are not in love with me and never have been".

He drew his hand back and this time, Dean didn't hold on to it.

He was confused and slightly angry.

"What do you mean? No offense, but I know my feelings better than you do – "

"You don't. Not right now". Cas looked down on the floor. "You are straight, Dean. Your whole life, you have never given any indication that you were attracted to men". It occurred to him then that he could hardly look sure of what he was saying if he was looking at the floor, and he forced himself to lift his head again.

"And? Maybe I didn't want people to know," Dean shrugged. In truth, he could see little to no reason to hide his sexuality, but growing up with a homophobic father might well have played a part in it.

"This is ridiculous, you can't just tell me that – "

"It's about more than sex, Cas," Dean rolled his eyes. "Do I really have to explain this to you? When I woke up in the hospital, I thought you were hot". Cas blushed. At least he'd gotten a different reaction from him than this cold, empty stare.

"And then I got to know you, and – you're awesome. You're awesome and kind and intelligent and friendly and badass and funny, and I can't understand why no one's snatched you up yet. You are amazing".

Cas swallowed. This certainly sounded like Dean was... No. Not it couldn't be.

"So why can't I be in love with you?"

Cas was about to reply when Dean realized. He'd feared he would.

"Why are we only talking about me being in love? What about you? You never answered my question".

"Dean – "

"Cas, are you in love with me?"

Lie. He should have lied. He should have told Dean that he had never seen him as more than a friend, but he looked so sad, he was so open about his feelings, even if they were misguided –

"I have been for a long time".

Dean's face lit up. He took a step forward; Cas moved away until his back was against the door, looking everywhere but at Dean. He couldn't stand the joy on his face, knowing it meant nothing.

"Cas –"

"No, Dean. You don't love me. You never have, you never will." Cas' voice was shaking. "I have accepted that, lived with the truth for years. Please do me the favour and do it as well."

"Just because you tell me?"

"No, because you don't know what you're saying. You're confused, you have amnesia, and you don't know –"

"Are you telling me I got brain damage?" Dean demanded, growing angrier by the second.

"I am telling you that you are confused," Cas explained patiently, in the tone of forbearance he knew drove Dean mad. He wanted him angry. Angry was better than understanding and telling him he loved him. Angry was better than perpetuation the lie.

"I ain't confused. I know exactly what I want."

"You know what you think you want. There's a difference".

Dean stared at him, incredulous. After everything he'd done, every glance, every chance, how could Cas doubt him?

"So I'm in love with you and you're in love with me and we're going to do nothing about it? That's it".

"You're not in love with me," Cas stated in a voice that brooked no argument, and Dean could only stare at his best friend, who was studying him as if he was an interesting specimen, devoid of all emotion.

"You – " he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to beg. He did none.

"Get out," he said, closing his eyes, "just get out".

He had never thought he'd treat Cas like he had treated Dad just a short time ago.

The door closed, and when he opened his eyes, Cas was gone.

He'd made it. Cas stumbled down the stairs and out of the house.

He'd made it. He had done the right thing. Dean wasn't in love with him and would soon realize. He'd done the right thing.

And he felt like his world had crumbled around him.

Dean managed to get to the sofa before collapsing on it. What had just happened? Cas had told him that he was in love with him but had refused to accept Dean's feelings. He had ignored everything he'd said, had treated him like a child who didn't know what he wanted.

Why would Cas do that? True, he had all the memories of their friendship that Dean was lacking; but these couldn't be new feelings. He couldn't have been friends with him that long without falling in love.

He thought of his dream. The feeling in his chest – it had been the same he experienced now when he looked at Cas. He must have interpreted his feelings differently. He remembered what others had told him. Through his father's education and his own desire to please his parent, he must have done everything to be the man his father wanted him to be, manly, dumb, discontented.

Not again. He didn't want to be that man again. He didn't want to deny his feelings for Cas, he didn't want to have the garage fall to dust around him, he didn't want to be just a mechanic for the rest of his life.

But how could he prevent it? How would he see things if he regained his memory? Maybe he'd laugh about it and hurt his relationship with Cas irreparably.

The promise he'd made Benny came to his mind.

Promise me you'll remember this.

How could he? How could he make sure that he saw people, feelings as they were, not as he had been taught, as he had taught himself?

He had an idea, as cliché and pathetic as it was. But if it fixed this mess, if it allowed him and Cas to be happy...

He found a pen and a few sheets of paper and began to write.