One day passes. Then another. And then a third.

Dean gets up and goes to work, then goes back to the motel he's staying at - The Roadhouse, run by a scary woman named Ellen whom he avoids like the plague - and sleeps. His voicemail is full with messages from Cas which he can't bring himself to listen to, and his mailbox is jammed with text messages. He does read a few of those, but deletes them with tears in his eyes. He needs time to cool down, collect his thoughts, and tether the feelings of panic associated with seeing his brother again. None of the messages mention Sam, so Dean feels sure that his little brother hasn't shown up. Maybe, hopefully, he's changed his mind and is at this moment heading back home.

He hurts. Mentally, physically and emotionally, he's aching. He just wants things back the way they were, before he found out what Cas had done. He wants to hug his boyfriend, play with the kids, cook dinner and laugh together like they always do. He wants it all back. He writes down everything he wants to say to Cas - something Benny taught him to do back home when things were bad, as a way of clearing his head - and reads the list over and over again, scribbling and adding and editing and rewriting. It always ends with the same two phrases: I hate you. I love you. And he always, always crosses out the first.

Meg and Gabriel have kept their distance at work, trying and failing to cheer him up and eventually just letting him get on with things. He relies on coffee to get him through the day and beer to help him sleep at night, but he dreams of Cas and Sam and wakes up exhausted. Day one was tough, because he was still clinging to his anger, still felt numb and detached. But day two was harder, because that's when the hurt and upset started to seep in, and all he could think of was the letter and Cas' distraught face as he cried. He can't sort through his feelings, can't separate fury and betrayal from love and family and home no matter how hard he tries. He wants to. God, he wants to. A deep-seated instinct inside him is nudging him to go, just leave, start over again somewhere else. But something stronger has him bound to this town, to Cas and Jimmy and the children, and he knows it will take something much more catastrophic than this to destroy it. (What could be more catastrophic he can't quite imagine right now, but he's sure there must be something.)

Day three dawns rainy and cool, and he lies in bed for ages without moving a muscle. He misses the sound of the oceans outside as he wakes. He misses the cloud-like comfort of Cas' bed. And he misses sweet smiles, warm skin and morning kisses. His throat tightens and he wants to cry. Should he go back today? Talk to Cas, sort all this mess out? Has he been away long enough to give himself time to calm and to make a point to Castiel? What his point is he doesn't honestly know, but he's sure he's made it. His phone blinks at him and he steels himself, hoping for the first time in three days that it's Cas. He's ready to hear his voice.

But it's a text message, not a call, and it's not from Cas. Cas hasn't been in touch for over twelve hours now, an eternity in both their minds.

Dean, we need to talk. Meet me before your shift tomorrow at work.

Anger and hurt flares inside him at the bossy tone, and he types a reply. No, Jimmy. Leave it for now.

Dean. This isn't just about you and Cas. The kids are involved too. Stop being selfish.

Selfish? Selfish! Fuck you, Jimmy.

He collapses back down on his bed and tosses the phone across the room where it hits the wall and breaks apart. Shit. Now he has no way of contacting Cas at all, nor Jimmy to tell him to keep his nose in his own business. He barks out a laugh into the empty room at that: Cas is Jimmy's business. So are the children. And, by extension, so is Dean. Why did he have to mention the children? The sweet, innocent, beautiful kids that Dean has fallen in love with and is missing so much it hurts. He would give anything to have Lexie in his arms right now, or Billie clinging to his leg and grinning up at him. And Cas, watching them with that warm, affectionate half-smile of his... no. He mustn't think about Cas

He drags himself to the bathroom and showers, and somehow makes it to work. The place is immaculate and spotless as usual, the light bouncing cheerfully off the glass cabinets housing delicious baked treats and the chrome espresso machines lining the back wall. Glass jars sit above them, stuffed with chocolate flakes, cinnamon, vanilla pods, M&Ms, glacé cherries and all sorts of little additions to drinks that people seem to crave these days. The smell of sugar and butter and richly ground coffee assaults him and he breathes deeply, listening to the happy jingle of the bell above him as he walks through the door. The floor is shining from him scrubbing it on his hands and knees after closing time the previous evening, an effort to clear his mind and put his hands to work doing something - anything - that isn't texting Cas or punching the nearest wall. He can hear Gabriel singing out of tune through the back, and Meg is bustling about with her hair tied up and an apron on, clattering trays and pressing keys on the cash register. She grins when she sees him.

"Morning, Dean-o. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?"

"I guess…" He eyes her warily. She's never normally so cheerful.

"Good. You have an early customer." She turns to walk away, gesturing with the shrug of a shoulder to a table tucked away in the corner. "I'll leave you to deal."

Then she's gone, and Dean is turning to see who it is, heart in his mouth. Cas? Sam? But no, it's neither. A dark-haired man glances up from the newspaper on the table and pins him with a look. Dean groans. Audibly.

"Dean." Jimmy stares at him with an unreadable expression and gestures to the chair opposite him. "Please. I won't keep you long."

Fuck. When did he hand control of his life over so completely to these infernal Novak twins? Muttering curses under his breath he strides over and yanks the chair out, its metal legs screeching on his newly-polished floor. Jimmy raises an eyebrow and sips his latte. He's wearing dark-framed glasses and, oddly, a sweater belonging to Cas. It doesn't suit him, and it's jarring seeing a mix of Cas and Jimmy staring at him from across the table. Dean shakes himself mentally, folding his arms and arranging his face into an expression of neutrality.

"What's up, Jimmy?"

The other man is silent, sipping his drink again and breaking off a piece of croissant with elegant fingers. He's so different to Cas, who does everything at once: Cas would have his drink in one hand, his food in the other, have one eye on the newspaper and the other on one child while the second, no doubt, would be climbing on him and asking to share. It ruffles Dean, how composed and serene Jimmy looks. Does he know? Like, really know? Has Cas been honest? Or has he pulled the wool over his eyes, like it feels he's done to Dean?

"'What's up?'" Jimmy mimics, and there's a slightly caustic edge to his voice. "You tell me, Dean. Tell me why I've just come from yet another sleepless night at Cas', sleepless because he's so distraught and downright fucked from what's happened between you that he can barely function. Tell me why he needs me to tend to the kids because he can't collect his thoughts, why he can't sleep or eat or barely speak because of what's happened. All he does is cry, Dean. He's making himself ill." For a moment, Jimmy's mask slips a little and he looks haunted. "I'm… we need to talk about this."

Hearing that Cas is in pieces burns his raw nerves. It sears them like boiling oil hitting water. His chest tightens and the walls move in a few inches. Keep your head, Dean. Focus.

"I know what he did." Jimmy continues, composed once more. "And I know why. And I hoped you'd understand why as well."

"I… Jimmy, it isn't that simple." Dean plants his hands on the table and tries to articulate is all as best he can. He doesn't know exactly what Cas has told his twin, but he assumes it's probably everything. Or almost everything. He can't even be mad about that; he's all out of mad. "I told him things. In confidence. And he betrayed that confidence."

"He was trying to help."

"Well, he didn't. He screwed it all up, instead. It was stupid of him."

"Stupid, maybe, but stupid for the right reasons." Jimmy leans forward. "Dean, you know Cas. As well as I do by now, probably. My brother is a dreamer and an idealist and a romantic at heart. He's a writer, what do you expect? They're all the same. So focused on spinning the fairytale that little details fall through the cracks."

"'Little details?! Jimmy-"

"Let me speak." Jimmy holds a palm up to quiet Dean and, nettled, he allows himself to be silenced. "He wants you to be happy so badly. And you are, anyone can see that. But Cas is so fixated on every aspect of your life being perfect that he can't see the wood for the damn trees. I'm not defending what he did - far from it. He got the lecture of the century from me when he was composed enough to actually take it in. And he feels horrible about it all. He loves you, Dean. Please tell me you can work this out."

For the first time since Dean has known him, Jimmy looks scared. His eyes, blue and glittering and lined with fluttery dark lashes just like Cas' are dark and imploring. He's frightened. Frightened for his brother and his nephews.

"I don't know if you remember," Jimmy's voice shakes with emotion. "But I warned you. Warned you that if you ever hurt Castiel…" He stops, and for one terrifying moment Dean thinks he's going to cry. "Can you work all this out? Can you try?"

"I trusted him, Jimmy!" Dean hisses through his teeth, forcing himself not to shout. "And he just went behind my back and-"

"And he trusted you!" Jimmy doesn't have the same restrictions on shouting; he raises his voice and from the door to the kitchen someone subtly turns the radio up to drown them out. "He trusted you too, Dean! You don't know how hard it's been for him to let you in so completely, do you? I bet he made it look like a fucking breeze!"

"He- what?" Thrown, Dean's rebuttal dies on his lips. "I knew it wasn't easy, not after Cole, but…"

"No, it fucking wasn't. Do you know how many nights I would lie awake and talk to him while you slept on blissfully ignorant? How many times he crept outside to seek my reassurance on the phone that he wasn't betraying his kids or his dead husband by falling in love again? How he was freaking out about his kids and you and whether he was going in too hard and whether he would end up hurting you in the long run? Do you know how painful that was, to hear him be so afraid of being happy again that he had to question it, over and over, and hide his fears away and deal with them alone? No, you don't know, because he didn't want to scare you or make you feel unwelcome. But it was hard for him too, Dean, to let someone in. He loves you so much. Just… fix this, Dean. Be mad at him, be livid with him, shout, scream, whatever you have to do." Jimmy is gathering his things now, his eyes definitely tear-filled. "Because out there-" he points out of the window in the direction of the coast road. "Is someone who would pull down the moon for you. Who would cross oceans for you. He's your family, Dean. He fucked up epically, but he did it because all he saw was a way to your happiness. Family means so much to him and he thought he could make it better. It was foolish and stupid and romantic and idiotic. Punish him if you need to, but then forgive him. Please, Dean. Try."

Without another word, Jimmy scoops up his newspaper and heads for the door without a word. The jingle of the bell signals his departure and Dean just sits staring into space as his parting words bounce and echo around his mind.

He gets through the day. Gabriel, infuriated by his constant zoning out, dismisses him to the kitchen and tells him to deep clean the entire place, which he does gratefully. As he cleans, he thinks. He thinks about Sam, possibly still on his way here. Will he be shocked to see Dean? Definitely. Angry? Probably. Can they work their shit out? He doesn't know, and he wishes he shared Cas' rose-tinted view of the situation. He thinks of Cas, crying every night. What has he told the boys? What do they think has happened? Do they miss him? Because he misses them so much that he aches for their presence. Their smiles, their cuddles, their tiny hands clutching at him and the way they make Cas laugh so much. He thinks of the letter he read, then thinks of the one Cas sent. What would he have written back to Sam, had he gotten the chance? How honest would he have been in his second letter? How honest should he have been?

He finishes up his shift, realising that eight hours have gone somewhere and that he's tired and his fingers are sore and red from the cleaning products (Gabriel had chewed him out for forgetting to wear gloves) and he walks back to the motel slowly, Jimmy's words ringing in his ears.

The weather has a chill to it now, the air cool and damp and the sky threatening rain. It's Cas' birthday, he realises with a rush of horror. And Jimmy's, too. And he isn't there. They're fighting. Cas hadn't been joking a few weeks ago when he swore birthdays were cursed for him and his family. A slow wave of guilt rises in Dean and he tries to shove it away. This isn't his fault. Not all of it.

Fuck.

He's exhausted by it all.

Back at the motel he packs. Slowly, and with care. He folds his clothes and the clothes belonging to Cas that he had scooped up in his frenzy. He checks out, and heads to the bus stop to wait for the next service, one that takes him almost as far as the beach house. He gets out, thanks the driver, and walks the rest of the way. The forest is loud and animate, the wind rustling the trees and darkness pulling in quickly. He walks fast, not wanting to end up disorientated in the woods at night - it reminds him too much of the last time he walked this road. Alone, numb, frightened and guilt-ridden. Those feelings are here now, but for different reasons. And this time, things don't seem so insurmountable. He has a faith he didn't have before. He has something worth fighting for. And someone he needs to see.

He sits on the beach for a while, watching the house from a distance. Low light burns in the kitchen window, and he swears he hears the sliding doors open and close a few times. The bedrooms are in darkness, and he doesn't know whether that means everyone is asleep or that nobody has gone to bed yet. He waits. An hour passes, then a second. He doesn't hear the doors again, and eventually all the lights go out.
Then, when the desperate urge in his heart becomes too much, he gets up and walks towards the house.

He lets himself in quietly through the sliding doors, setting his rucksack down silently next to the sofa, trying not to wake the Novak twin sprawled out on it asleep, glasses askew and hair a mess, his lips tinted from glasses of red wine. The kitchen is a wreck, plates strewn everywhere from dinner and the smell of Thai curry in the air, one of Cas' favourites. The kids' toys are underfoot and he has to sidestep them. The place is never this messy, and it hurts to see everything in disarray.

He pads quietly down the corridor, struck suddenly by the memory of walking down this hallway in the dark many months ago, feverish and nervous, heading for the same bedroom he's going to now. He pauses, changing his mind for just a second. He nudges open the door to the children's bedroom and as his gaze falls on Billie's bed he's gripped by panic. It's empty. But then, glancing at Lexie's bed, he sees them. Curled up together fast asleep, their faces illuminated in pink, then green, then blue from the colour-changing night-light Cas had found at the thrift store. They love that light. And he remembers Cas kneeling by their bedsides in the dark, his face cast into shadows of various shades by the light as he strokes their hair and kisses their foreheads, just watching his children sleep. He loves watching Cas watch his kids; he gets this beautiful soft look in his eyes and his whole face just lights up with love. It's the same look he's caught directed at him before and he swallows, closing the door on the twins quietly. He can wait until the morning to see them; there's someone else he needs right now. He has a million things he wants to say to Cas, and hopes he can get at least some of them out without them starting to fight. He goes over his opening words in his head as he turns towards the master bedroom. But before his hand touches the doorknob, he hears it. Someone crying, very quietly. Low, sad, resigned sniffles and cries, and he pushes the door open in trepidation.

Cas is curled in a ball on the bed, the sheets piled on top of him like a barrier to the outside world, and he's crying. Softly, a painful, pathetic sound of despair, and for a moment Dean is frozen in place. He almost pulls back and closes the door, chilled and guilt-ridden, knowing he's caused such despair. Well, partly his cause. But he can't leave. He can't walk away again. Everything he wanted to say vanishes from his mind in the presence of his lover as he watches his shoulders shake with each inhale.

He approaches the bed quietly and kneels on the edge of it, simultaneously reaching out and touching Cas gently on the shoulder. The other man starts, jerking in shock and twisting to look up at him. His eyes widen and for a moment he doesn't speak a word. Then he sits up, slowly, the covers falling away to reveal an old band t-shirt of Dean's clinging to him, damp with sweat, and he reaches up to touch Dean's cheek.

"You're… you're home." His voice is ragged and harsh, and it sounds like it hurts to speak. Cas is too warm, his eyes too bloodshot and glassy, and sounds full of cold. Jimmy was right: he is making himself ill. His eyes study Dean's and it's as though he can't quite believe what his senses are telling him.

Dean pushes back the covers, unable to stop himself, and climbs into bed fully clothed, taking Cas in his arms and holding him tightly against his chest. He buries his nose in Cas' hair and inhales, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla flooding his senses and assaulting him with all the memories they've made together. In this moment, he doesn't feel anger at Cas, or pain or fury or betrayal or any of it. He just feels home. Where they can be together, and work this whole mess out. Together.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm home."