Cas couldn't remember how he'd made it home. He must have walked, but his mind was all in chaos.

He had just heard everything he could wish for and yet had never wanted. If Dean had been in his right mind, if he had been himself...

It was useless to speculate, but he couldn't stop. He knew those ten minutes would haunt him for the rest of his life. Not just because Dean didn't mean it, couldn't mean it, but because he could have had him, could have had something resembling a relationship, even if it would have been a farce.

He still wanted to go back, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to apologize, to accept Dean's love, move closer –

Dean knew he was in love with him, Dean wouldn't be his friend anymore when he remembered –

Dean looking at him, eyes wide and sad and confused, pleading for a chance to be with him –

He'd begun to cry, he realized, when he felt something wet on his lips and tasted salt.

He took out his phone. He had to talk to someone.

Balthazar was his friend, but not what he needed.

Right now, he needed his older brother.

He glanced at the watch. 8 am. He hoped he hadn't had a shift at the bar and was sleeping now.

Gabriel picked up immediately, to his relief.

"Brother of mine! I thought you'd forgotten all about me! In case you're cuddled up with the little patient, I forgive you everything, of course – "

"Gabriel," he pressed out, and his brother fell silent before questions came pouring out.

"Cas? Are you okay? What happened? You sound awful. Is it Dean?"

He nodded before remembering that Gabriel couldn't see him and tried to explain between sobs.

"Dean told me he's in love with me".

A pause.

"I fail to see how that's a bad thing," Gabriel said finally. "Why aren't you with him?"

"Because it's not true".

"Are you sure?"

"He never – he's straight. And if – there should have been something – before. But he never showed – and yesterday he touched me and smiled at me and flirted with me, and he only thinks he's in love with me because I've been there for him and he can't think he's in love with his brother, so it's me, and maybe he wants to get back at his father, I don't know, but – he can't be, Gabriel. He just can't. Years – I would know".

His brother realized that he hadn't called for opposition, but sympathy.

"I'm so sorry".

Cas made an appreciative noise.

"Does he know – "

"Yes. I told him." His eyes filled once again with tears. "He won't be my friend anymore when he remembers".

"Then he'd be a fool," Gabriel said firmly. "Relationship or no relationship, you've always been there for one another. I can't think so badly of Dean to believe that he would throw it all away because you have feelings for him."

"Thank you, Gabriel," he said softly.

"No problem, bro. Listen, my boss has said that I can have a vacation in two weeks – once the holiday rush runs smoothly".

It was something to look forward to, at least.

After they had said goodbye, Cas realized he couldn't stay at his apartment. There was too much that reminded him of Dean; pictures, books he'd given him as presents, that ridiculous bee plushie he'd found at a sale and pressed into his hands with "He's got just as big baby blues as you", the very furniture his best friend had helped him assemble.

He called Balthazar.

"Listen, can we meet? I don't want to be alone..."

Dean was still trying and failing to understand what had happened. Cas was adamant that his feelings were imaginary, but how could they be? He'd felt something for Cas ever since he laid eyes on him.

Sam and Jess were probably still asleep, and he didn't want to bother them or Bobby. Maybe he could have called Benny, but to be honest, he didn't really wish to talk about how badly he had screwed up...

He looked once more over what he had written. He hoped it was convincing. That it would be enough. If not –

Cas had looked so lost, so sad. Cas shouldn't look like that. Cas should be happy. Once he remembered, he would dedicate his life to make his friend believe what he had told him.

If he was right. If Cas was wrong. If...

He decided to take a walk to clear his head.

The sun of early July shone down on the city, and Dean thought that it would have certainly put him in a good mood if he hadn't just been completely honest and open and gotten his heart broken in the process.

He was still baffled that Cas could have been so blind. He had seen his friends, and they all seemed to think it perfectly natural that they were always together; and Jess had said that it frustrated her and Sam that they had been "dancing around each other".

That could only mean one thing.

But had they really been in love for years without either of them realizing? Dean, sadly, could believe it of himself.

He didn't think he was a bad man. Far from it. Nor did he believe himself dumb or unkind; all evidence pointed to the contrary. But nobody had known that he liked to read. He had hidden his bisexuality, especially from himself. He had never attempted to go to college or improve the shop.

He had trained himself to be the man he was expected to be – trained himself to make someone proud who'd never given him a second glance. Who had never wondered what he wanted.

He hoped his idea would do the trick. He hoped it would change things.

He hoped he could convince himself.

He didn't know how long he walked, but he eventually found himself at the salvage yard.

He went in.

"Cassie, are you certain – "

"Gabriel already asked me. If he had feelings for me, I would know".

"If he had feelings for you, he'd be in so much denial it would be no wonder that you didn't realize."

"I am not going to speculate. It hurts enough as it is".

"Castiel".

"Balthazar, that's it".

He fell silent. There was no arguing with him when Cas was like this, and he had convinced himself that Dean's infatuation with him was imaginary when, in truth, Balthazar had seen signs of it ever since they'd been introduced.

Cas would never believe him, though. So he did what he could – invite him to spend the day at his apartment and hope that one, or both of them, could eventually get their head out of their ass.

"He did what?" Bobby all but growled, and if Dean hadn't known his anger was directed at Dad, he would have been concerned for his safety.

"He came to my apartment, drunk, and – you know what he said".

"Yes. I. Do." Bobby enunciated every word, and Jody gripped his biceps.

"So help me God, if I have to arrest you, I'll shoot you".

"You heard what he – " Bobby broke off, breathing heavily. Dean couldn't imagine what he must be feeling; it would only add to the guilt he already carried for not getting him and Sam away from their father when they were younger.

At least they were focusing on Dad and not on what had happened afterwards. He'd only given a very short explanation and hoped it could stay that way –

Of course it couldn't.

And of course it was Sam who looked at him and said, "I'm sorry about what happened with Cas".

At this, all thoughts of their father seemed to flee Bobby's mind.

"I'm sure he'll come around. He worships the ground you walk on. He won't stay away for long".

"I sent him away," Dean replied. "I couldn't deal with the rejection, and I sent him away – "

Jess touched his arm. "It wasn't a rejection. He told you he reciprocated and doubted your feelings. Anyone would be angry".

"What if – what if he never – "

What if he never contacts me again. What if he does, and we can't deal. What if everything falls apart.

"The bond you share is too strong to break over something like this," Jess answered his unspoken question. "I don't know you two that well, and even I can see that".

"And I've been watching you ever since you became friends, Dean," Sam interjected. "I'm sure it's going to be alright".

Dean tried to smile at them. But he wasn't sure.

"Sam," he said slowly, because he had to tell someone. Had to ask someone to do it.

"Yes?" he asked, and when he saw that Dean didn't want to speak in front of the others he went into the living room. Dean followed, and the rest stayed behind, feeling they wouldn't be welcome.

"What is it?"

"It's just – there's something you have to tell me if – when I remember."

"Sure – what?"

"There something in my bedroom drawer. Next to my eBook reader. I have to look at it".

Sam repeated the message. "That's all?"

Dean nodded.

His little brother didn't ask, and Dean decided that he'd raised an awesome human being.

And they rejoined the others, Dean hoping that everything would turn out alright, but doubtful.

And as days passed without a word from Cas, he began to despair.

He worked, he spent time with his family, he took his cell phone out to call him at least ten times a day, but never did, he talked to Benny for hours until he got tired of holding his phone and decided to finally install Skype, he had sessions with Doctor Moseley.

He suspected that she was slightly annoyed that he wouldn't tell her why he was so sad during his last two appointments.

It just wouldn't feel right to discuss his and Cas' relationship with her. Like it was a symptom. Like Cas was right.

He hadn't had any memory flashes, and even her optimism was beginning to run a little thin. Dean was physically healthy; the amnesia hadn't had a negative effect on his mind (oh the irony, Dean thought); there was no reason for him not to remember.

She talked about hypnotism and more invasive therapy methods. Dean didn't feel comfortable with any of it.

At the same time, he was desperate to remember. He had to remember, and then he had to convince Cas.

But the more he tried, the more he found that there was simply nothing when he tried to think of the times before he woke up in the hospital. No cloud, no darkness – just nothing.

In the end, on the tenth day after his fight with Cas, it was the simplest of things.

He'd had a bad night – little sleep and frustration at not being able to remember making him cranky in the morning – and he was pouring coffee when Sam stumbled in. Jess had already gotten up, intent on jogging; but it seemed that today was one of the days his little brother hadn't wanted to accompany her.

Either that or they wanted to babysit Dean. He didn't dwell on it.

Sam accepted the cup of coffee he handed him gladly and gulped down half of it.

Dean laughed.

"Careful, Gawain, it's not the Holy Grail".

"I always liked Lancelot better," Sam murmured.

"Yeah, that's because you don't know what's badass. Plus for reasons I never understood you had the biggest crush on Guinevere, too," Dean answered, putting another spoonful of sugar in his cup.

He turned when a deafening silence was all the answer he got.

"What?" he asked when he found Sam staring at him wide-eyed, his cup halfway to his mouth, forgotten.

"What did you just say?" his little brother asked.

Dean frowned. What had he said that could have his panties all up in a twist?

"That you had a crush on Guinevere, don't try to deny it, we both know it's true – "

He realized. He put down his coffee cup slowly and slumped against one of the kitchen drawers.

He remembered. By God, he remembered.

Reading Knights of the Round Table to Sam, over and over again. Begging Bobby for a job when he was thirteen because they needed to eat. Cas in school, the strange quiet kid nobody talked to. Sam leaving for college. Dean taking over the shop.

Days, nights spent with Cas.

He hadn't realized he was shaking until Sam pulled him into a hug, and he was fairly certain that his brother was crying. He hugged back and didn't care that he sobbed as well.

They pulled back and Dean rubbed the tears away.

"Good to see you, too, Sammy".

"Good to see you too" he managed, then clasped him on the shoulder. "You have no idea – Dean, just like that –"

"I'm angry it didn't come back sooner too" he tried to joke, but it fell flat.

"Wait till the others hear," Sam said excitedly. "Jess, Bobby, Cas – "

Cas.

And every single idiotic thing he'd done since he'd woken up with amnesia came rushing back.

Dean let himself fall on the kitchen chair and buried his head in his hands.

Did he really tell Cas he was in love with him? He was straight. He didn't like guys. And yet, what he'd done – the flirting, the touching – thank God Cas had put a stop to it.

He suddenly remembered that Cas was in love with him. Oh please God, no. That made everything complicated. How could he hang out with him as always, when he knew Cas wanted him that way? It would be cruel to pretend he didn't know. But he could never reciprocate. Cas could have taken advantage, but he hadn't because he was a good man, better than Dean could ever hope to be.

He would apologize, and perhaps they could recover from this. He was nothing special; surely Cas could get over it. He didn't buy the "in love with you for years" thing. People didn't fall and stay in love with him.

And hopefully Cas wasn't too angry at Dad –

Dad. He'd treated him abominably. Yeah, he hadn't been around much, but he'd done the best he could. And he had given Dean the shop. And when he thought about it, his dejection before he'd lost his memory had probably come from his fight with Dad to begin with. If he'd paid more attention, he would have known the drawer was feeble.

He stood up abruptly. "Be back soon, Sammy; I have to apologize".

"Say hi to Cas for me" he said, nodding eagerly.

"To Dad," he corrected him and was surprised at the fury in his brother's eyes.

"You can't be serious".

"I am".

"Dean – he didn't even pay attention to you when you were in the hospital!"

"That's not true, he visited me – "

"And who was there all the time? Cas. Me. Bobby. Remember how you called him 'Dad'?"

Dean groaned. Another memory he would rather have been without. Bobby had told him afterwards that he didn't mind, amongst all the other crap of wishing he was Dean's father. No one would wish to have fathered him, that was sure. It was nice of Bobby to lie, though.

"You're just going to let everything slide," Sam stated, astonished. "You are going to ignore that he treated you like a broken machine instead of an injured human being, what he said about Cas, that it was his fault that drawer fell on you to begin with – you are going to ignore it".

"I should have known – "

"If you had, he wouldn't have allowed you to change anything anyway, and you wouldn't have. Dean –"

Sam stopped; he hoped he was done, but then he began again.

"Bedroom drawer. Next to the eBook reader".

"What?" he asked, even though he knew. The stupid letter he had written to himself when he'd been convinced that he was smart and worth something and gay for Cas. He wouldn't read it. He'd throw it away and pretend all of this had never happened. It had always been his preferred coping method.

Sam gave him a bitchface.

"You are supposed to look at it. And I'm not letting you leave until you do".

Dean sighed. He supposed he could pretend, close his bedroom door and come out after ten minutes –

Sam was doing the puppy dog eyes now, and he was screwed.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll do it. But afterwards, I'm going to apologize".

Something dark flashed across Sam's face, but he was all smiles again the next moment.

Dean sighed after he had bedroom door. Freaking nerd. What did he think would change?

Yet he opened the drawer, as always with a tinge of guilt. This eBook reader had been expensive. He could have used the money to keep the shop running. And it wasn't like he read that much anyway. Okay, so he did every day. But he still could have done without it.

He shook his head when he saw the envelope.

To be read after I regain my memory. Properly labelled and all. Amnesiac him had been just as bad as Sam and Cas.

He knew what he had written, and it would make no difference at all. He'd been confused, he hadn't seen things as they were. But Sammy –

Reluctantly, he opened the envelope.

Dear former (and I assume current) Me.

Dean almost snorted, even though nothing about this was funny. He didn't remember his "other self" being so polite.

You are reading this because you have regained your memories and I, amnesiac Dean Winchester, have ceased to exist. I am merely stating a fact, not asking for sympathy. If it makes you uncomfortable that I consider us as different persons, I apologize; but I'm certain you feel the same way.

Yeah, he did. And the style didn't help. This didn't read like anything Dean would write.

Five minutes ago, Cas and I had a fight and I told him to leave. I do not now possess the composure to reflect on how much damage has been done to our relationship; but I do know that it largely resulted from several life choices of yours that I wish to address.

Seriously, he wrote this? He distinctly remembered grabbing a pen. He remembered writing. But he didn't remember sounding like a pompous smug.

Please do not consider this assessment condescending. In truth, I only wish to be happy; which of course makes it indispensable that you are happy.

And I have little reason to suppose this was the case before I lost my memory.

God damnit, he'd been a self-righteous bastard. Dean was happy. Not super-happy, but content. And he was going to get his life back on track. He just had to talk to Dad and tell Cas he'd been right. He could ignore Cas being in love with him (if it was true), just like he'd kept it a secret all these years.

He didn't want to continue reading, but he knew Sam would be able to tell that he hadn't.

I've come to the following conclusions based on what I've been told and what I've deduced.

"All power to you, Sherlock Holmes," he mumbled.

I have a wonderful family. I knew this almost as soon as I woke up.

No argument there –

This family does not include Dad.

He read the sentence again, completely gob-smacked. Did he really write that? Could he really have... It was Dad. Their father.

I am aware this statement upsets you, but before you reject my opinion (as I fear you might), I ask one thing of you: compare. Compare Dad and Bobby. Compare what they have done for you, compare how they reacted to your amnesia.

He'd clearly not been in his right mind when he wrote this. True, Dad hadn't been around much, but he had been grieving, and they hadn't really been alone, he could always call Bobby and more often than not, he did when they needed help –

He sat down on the bed heavily. What did he just think?

When their dad left them alone and he got scared or they didn't have enough food, he didn't call Dad. He called Bobby.

And Bobby always came.

His mind darted to what Bobby had confessed to him – that he wished he had gotten them out, that he wished he could have raised them –

Bobby, who'd almost patted his shoulder off in the hospital –

Bobby, who'd looked after the garage and cleaned it so he wouldn't have to see his own blood anymore –

And Dad, Dad, who'd constantly asked when he was going back to work and had been annoyed that they got rid of the drawer, who'd never really seemed anxious whether he'd be okay, who'd called Cas a fag

Dean tried, he desperately tried, to come up with something, anything that Dad had done for him. He'd given him the Impala. Because Bobby had told him flat-out that he shouldn't drive anymore and threatened him to keep the car in his salvage yard. He'd given him the shop. While insisting that he should change nothing.

He'd –

What had he done? Dean had even moved out just so Sam could still visit.

Dad really wasn't part of his family, and instead of coming to the conclusion on his own, he'd needed a letter written by himself to himself when he hadn't even known himself to do it.

He took a deep breath and continued, feeling shaky. The realisation had been a long time coming, really; his fight with Dad before he'd lost his memory proved that; and yet it felt enormous.

I hope you did think about it. If you did, you are reading on.

I must admit that it feels strange writing to myself.

I have been told that Dad "put me down" repeatedly. Benny was most vocal on that point.

He never knew Benny knew so much, Dean realized, going through their conversation. He'd been completely honest with him. He owed Benny big time. Maybe he'd visit him in Louisiana or invite him for a few weeks.

As to Dad "putting him down" – he'd done that. He couldn't deny it. But then, it wasn't like Dean was very smart or anything like it; he'd never been as clever as Sammy; so not catering to his silly little dreams could be seen as careful parenting.

Although, considering his "deductions", as his – other self would have called them, he considered this doubtful.

He wasn't aware of the decision to continue reading.

Everything I have learned indicates that you don't think you – that I think I am not particularly intelligent.

A little girl ran into me in the hospital and I talked to her in Spanish, fluently I might add, despite never having learned it at school and instead having picked it up through soap operas.

I have never found a subject "above me", despite Sam using legal vocabulary and Cas talking passionately about his studies.

There are hundreds of books on my eBook reader. Many of them open on the last page, which indicates they've been read. They range from Vonnegut to Joyce, from LeGuin to Austen.

Dean blushed as he recalled that he'd spent hours reading in front of Sam and Cas in the last two weeks.

He had never bothered to tell people he liked to read because he didn't want to look smarter than he was. He was actually pretty dumb –

I fix cars. I restored the Impala. I can easily read people and situations.

None of this points to me being "dumb". My intelligence may be different from Sam's, but that doesn't mean it is entirely absent.

Okay, so maybe he had a point there. Come to think of it, he'd never really been lost when Sammy had started babbling about his cases, even though he'd liked to pretend to be –

The word struck him. Pretend.

How often had he acted like he didn't like something, or wasn't interested in something, because Dad wouldn't have wanted him to? He'd laughed with him about college even though it had hurt; he had really wanted to go to McPherson, and how could he know that he wasn't made for it if he'd never tried –

His whole world was rearranging itself and Dean wasn't sure if it was a good thing.

But one thing still remained to be discussed. He swallowed as he saw there were still two unread pages.

I hope I have convinced you, but there is still something else. Something else to write and read about. We both know why I've started this letter to begin with.

Dean did know. God, did he know. He wanted to just throw the letter across the room and never think about it again, but it would hardly be worth it if he left out the whole point of the damn thing to begin with.

And he couldn't have come up with anything that would convince him his feelings for Cas had been anything but a delusion. He was straight. He always had been.

He wasn't less sure of this point than he had been in a long time. Definitely.

Cas.

The whole line consisted of that one word, right in the middle of the page, written a little larger than the rest, and Dean wondered why it should be enough to make his heart flutter.

Cas loves you.

And you love him.

And no matter how strongly you deny it, it is not familial or brotherly love. It's romantic love.

Dean swallowed.

I figured out I was bisexual almost as soon as I woke up, and Cas helped me make that decision. I have no problem with it whatsoever. I do not define myself over who I am attracted to.

There is was, the big, scary word – bisexual. But Dean was heterosexual. He was attracted to women.

You have apparently been very careful to maintain your facade as a stupid manly mechanic who has sex solely with women. I don't doubt that you've never allowed yourself to ponder your attraction to men.

Because it wasn't there.

Please do me the favour to think of the following: Doctor Sexy, Harrison Ford, Bruce Willis.

That was unfair. They were the heroes, everyone was supposed to be rooting for them and looking up to them. That what was fiction was for. He supposed they were good-looking in a manly kind of way, but still...

And I have to admit that Benny is very attractive – not as attractive as Cas, but still.

As if the whole fiasco with Cas hadn't been enough. Now his amnesiac self had to think Benny was hot, too?

Well, Benny had the whole huggy bear thing going for him, and he had muscles, and nice eyes, although not nearly as nice as...

He was not going to think like that about his friend.

But he'd never bothered to write down a list of men he may find attractive, and somehow it seemed... more real that way. But it didn't have to mean anything. He had eyes; some guys were attractive; that was all.

But Sam didn't turn around when a guy in uniform walked by. Benny didn't wink at cute male waiters when they brought their dinner.

Cas, of course, did look and flirt when he wanted, but Cas was bisexual. And Dean had never had a problem with that.

When he realized he was asking himself why he should have a problem with himself looking at other men like that then, he had to admit the damn letter had won again.

But there was one point on which he wouldn't be convinced.

He was not in love with Cas. He had known him for far too long, they were too good of friends...

So maybe it hadn't kept from Cas falling in love with him, but why should Dean reciprocate? He was happy with them being best friends.

Cas' face appeared in his thoughts and he smiled. How could he not? Despite their fight, he was one of the most important people in Dean's life, he was kind, smart, always there when he needed him, and then there were his eyes, and the permanent stubble he had going, and his hair –

Oh God. Oh God no.

I have asked you to compare Bobby and Dad. Now I ask you to compare your own feelings. In a memory flash, the only one I had, I still felt the same for Cas; I simply interpreted it differently.

Feelings were feelings regardless of interpretation. Dean rolled his eyes. Did he really think –

And then the memories came crushing down on him.

Vonnegut. The weird quiet guy was reading Vonnegut and that was why he had run into Dean. And Dean had never met someone who read Vonnegut for fun before.

He picked up his book and stood up, handing it to him.

"Hi, I'm Dean".

The guy looked at him and man, those were really blue eyes. Dean felt a strange heat in his stomach.

"Castiel," he replied in a surprisingly deep voice. "Castiel Novak. Hello, Dean".

"And he's named after an angel" Dean explained excitedly at dinner. "And he's smart, like crazy smart, and he has – "

"Dean, we're eating," Dad interrupted him. "I'm sure you can tell us all about your new friend later".

Something about the way Dad said it made Dean uncomfortable.

They were watching TV, and Cas was leaning back and laughing at something ridiculous Dr. Piccolo had said, and Dean was feeling warm and happy and content all over...

"Sammy's leaving for college," he said, and he tried to make it sound like the good thing it was.

Cas saw right through him.

He hugged him, and Dean knew everything was going to be alright.

Sam was gone, and he was bummed, but Cas and he went fishing, and as always he knew just what to say.

He let his gaze wander to the last guy in the hospital room.

When their eyes met, he felt a stirring in his gut. He didn't think they were related, or at least he didn't hope so; he was way too hot to be –

His eyes travelled to Cas; he hadn't asked him if he had a significant other. He probably had. He couldn't imagine someone not snatching him up.

Dean could only stare at the hand that was suddenly atop his, gently squeezing it. He had no idea if that was normal in their friendship or not, and when he found himself wondering about the possibilities, he harshly reprimanded itself.

It didn't help with the soft, warm hand still on his.

He spent the next few hours pressed against Cas' side, occasionally sinking his voice to a whisper when he wanted to speak only to him, gentle touches underlining his intentions; when he refilled Cas' glass and found it necessary to brush his arm; when he stood up and a finger trailed over his shoulders; when he casually swept a hair back that had hung in front of Cas' eyes.

None of the memories felt different. It was true. It was completely, definitely true that his feelings for Cas after and before the amnesia were and had always been the same.

He was in love with Cas.

His hands clenched, rumpling the paper.

He was in love with Cas.

He was in love with Cas.

No matter what you choose to do now, I hope the letter has had some positive effect. I am sorry for continuously mixing "me" and "you"; due to the strange circumstances, I couldn't help it.

I only hope this will give Cas (and me) the happiness we deserve.

Dean.

He barely registered the end of the letter; he let it fall on the floor, too astonished by the new perspective it had given him.

He'd never thought Dad was such a deadbeat parent. But thinking about it, he had to admit that was exactly what he was.

He'd believed he was dumb. But he'd never had problems accomplishing anything he'd chosen to do.

He had been certain he was heterosexual. He wasn't. He was attracted to guys as well, and it was okay.

And he was in love Cas.

And he'd been about to crawl right back to Dad, back into his life that, to be honest, he had never really wanted, had pictured very differently when he had been a child.

No more. He wasn't going to let anyone dictate to him how to live his life anymore.

And he was going to talk to Cas, to apologize, and once he had forgiven him...

They'd make it up as they went. They always had.

He stormed out of the room, ran past Sam and grabbed his jacket.

"I don't know when I'll be back," he called over his shoulder.

"Dean – "

"I'll be at Cas'".

He didn't see Sam's smile.