Thick smoke forces its way into his mouth, winding down his throat, and he coughs and retches at the lack of fresh air until he feels like he's going to burst. Somewhere, a baby cries.

"Take your brother outside!"

His skin is crawling, but the more he scratches the hotter he feels. The flames lick at his heels as he realises there's nowhere to run.

"Dad!"

The flames are in him now, under his skin, and his feet more of their own accord as he carried the bundle that has appeared in his arms outside. He doesn't know what it is, but he knows he has to protect it – has to keep it safe.

It's dark – too dark – and he can't see where he's going. He stumbles blindly through the maze of corridors until eventually he sees a faint glow. He falls to his knees as he crawls towards the light, the bundle still in his arms. He knows what it is, now; it's a baby – his baby. Except once he reaches safety the baby crumbles in his arms.

"No!" he shouts as he tries to pull the baby free.

But all that's left is ash and bones.

"No!"

. * * * .

"No!"

Dean awoke with a start, blankets tangled around his lower half and his when he reached for the bedside light he fell out of bed with a dull thud.

He was shivering despite feeling like he was burning, his body covered in sweat. He tried to focus, his breathing fast and shallow as he tried to get himself orientated. He was at home. He was home. He was alone, and there was no fire.

Beyond his door a floorboard creaked.

Cas.

Not so alone after all, then. He closed his eyes, hoping that Cas would go away if he stayed quiet, and he began to wonder if he'd imagined it when there was no further sound. He disentangled his limbs from the bed covers and got shakily to his feet, leaning on the wall with one hand to support himself as he moved to the door. He pulled the door roughly open to find Castiel standing there, hand raised as if he was still trying to summon up the courage to rap on the door.

When it became apparent that Castiel wasn't going to say anything, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Castiel's fist, lowering it from where it was frozen in place.

"Oh," Castiel breathed. "I was going to knock."

"Go back to bed, Cas."

"I heard you."

"It was a bad dream. That's all."

"You were shouting for help."

He was... Oh. That was new. He'd woken himself up a lot over the years shouting out, but he'd never been aware of shouting for help before.

"Are you alright?"

Dean forced a smile onto his face. "I'm fine, Cas. Good night."

He shut the door once Cas turned to go, letting his head fall against it with a tired sigh. Every year at around about this time the nightmares came back. He'd gone to bed every night this week expecting to wake up, sweating and screaming, but they hadn't come. In hindsight he should have perhaps told Castiel this would happen, but then that would have led to questions that he didn't want to answer. He'd been stupid to think that maybe this year it would be different, because the dreams were back and worse than ever.

. * * * .

When Dean's alarm clock jolted him out of another nightmare the next morning he was still tired. He trudged, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen and found a freshly brewed pot of coffee waiting on him. He smiled and poured himself a cup. Castiel didn't really drink coffee all that often, which meant that he'd done it for Dean.

"Thanks," he said, raising his mug when Castiel padded through.

"I figured you could use it," he replied. "Given the amount of shouting you did last night I'd be surprised if you got much sleep."

Dean's mouth went dry as a chill ran up his spine.

"You didn't know?"

"No. The only time I woke up was when you came through."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No... No, it's fine. I'm gonna go shower," he said, shoving his untouched coffee into Castiel's hands and leaving the room.

"Dean?"

Dean started stripping before he'd even closed the door, leaving his boxers in the middle of the floor as he stepped into the shower. He turned the dial right down, shuddering as the warm spray turned cold. Traditionally he spent the day in bed until late afternoon, and would spend the rest of the day drinking himself into a stupor.

But Cas was here, now.

Now Dean didn't stay out as late and didn't sleep in as late.

He shivered as he scrubbed at his body; the cheap, scentless soap failing to lather on his skin. He didn't even like this soap. He just bought it because it was the type of inexpensive soap he'd been used to growing up. Over the years he'd changed his toothpaste and deodorant from a value range store label to a branded variety, but he'd never done the same for his soap. Perhaps it was about time he did, because it even smelled cheap - and it never seemed to take away the smell of oil and grease.

When he ventured back into the kitchen fully clothed Castiel looked up at him.

"Your coffee's cold."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Are you alright?"

Yes. No. Maybe. Three answers rushed into his mouth at the same time - one lie, one truth, and one half-truth - but he swallowed them all down again. He wasn't alright. Not by a long shot. But at least he was alive.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you were alright."

"I'll be fine," he said, not really answering the question.

He tossed his cold coffee down the sink and poured himself a fresh cup.

"Is that mine?" he asked, pointing at the bacon sitting in the frying pan.

"If you want it."

"Awesome," he said, tearing open a roll and lavishing it with butter.

He was aware of Castiel watching him carefully as he piled the bacon on his roll, leaving the fat Castiel had already trimmed off in the pan. He was acting weird, he knew, but he didn't want to talk about it. He bit into his it and started chewing as he carried his breakfast over to the table.

Cas slid the sports page over to him as he lowered his gaze back to the rest of the paper.

Dean tried to ignore the way Castiel's eyes occasionally flicking up as if to check up on him as he read the baseball scores. When he was done he folded the paper in half, the date jumping out at him even though it was the smallest font on the page.

November 2nd.

He scowled and threw the paper across the table to Cas a little too roughly.

"Sorry. There you go."

He glanced at his watch, the number two above the six telling him the date catching his eye.

"I've got to get to work."

"I guess I'll just amuse myself today," Castiel muttered.

"You do that," Dean agreed, his disinterested tone a result of him only half listening to Cas.

Castiel frowned. "Tell Bobby that I'll be back tomorrow, whether he wants me or not. I'm getting cabin fever."

The front door slammed shut and Castiel sighed. Whether it was because Dean's nightmares had disturbed his sleep or he had something on his mind, Dean wasn't behaving like his usual self.

. * * * .

Dean jogged down the three flights of stairs to the front door, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest and the blood pounding in his ears. He nearly bumped into one of his neighbours at the bottom.

"Sorry," he called over his shoulder, not stopping to see if the guy was alright.

He picked a few stray leaves off the windshield before getting into his car, and as the engine roared to life the radio came on.

"—unseasonably warm today, with temperatures reaching as high as 55°. We might see some light rainfall in the early evening, but that shouldn't spoil what will be a beautiful November second!"

Dean hit play on the cassette player a little too roughly, patting the steering wheel softly in an unspoken apology. The opening to Shoot to Thrill blared out of the speakers, the music wrapping himself in its familiarity, but failed to soothe him as it usually would.

He changed tapes when he stopped at a red light, but Zeppelin was equally unsuccessful at raising him out of his bad mood. When Bon Jovi failed he gave up, opting to complete his journey in miserable silence.

A minor collision between a motorcycle and a Volvo at a junction caused delays, worsening the rush hour traffic. As Dean checked his watch to judge just how late he was going to be the he couldn't help but see the date. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the wheel. What he wouldn't do for a drink. All he wanted to do was get drunk - really, really drunk.

He ignored Bobby's shocked stare when he turned up at work, and kudos to the old man for letting Dean work in peace for forty minutes before coming over to say his piece.

Bobby had known Dean's dad since before Dean was born, though they'd lost touch after Mary's death, and Dean tried not to think that John might have been a part of why Bobby had been willing to take a chance on him when no-one else would. He knew that it was why Bobby never said anything about him not turning up to work on the 2nd, even if it caused problems in the garage, so he didn't blame Bobby for being surprised to see him.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice was hesitant, like Dean might suddenly bolt.

Dean gritted his teeth.

"Are you alright, boy?"

"I'm fine, Bobby," he said without turning round to look at his boss.

"Okay..." Bobby paused, before carefully asking, "How's Cas doing?"

Dean thought about Cas spending the last seven days complaining that he wasn't an invalid so should at least be allowed to make himself a mug of coffee without Dean chasing him back to the sofa to and huffed a small laugh.

"Cas is healing up just fine. He'll be back tomorrow."

"If he needs more time off—"

"That's the last thing he needs."

"Okay."

Dean could hear Bobby fidgeting behind him.

"Well, if you want to take off early, you can. I'm just saying," he said, in a please-don't-start-a-fight-with-me tone. Then he walked away.

Some of the tension in Dean's shoulders drained away, and he leaned over the engine with a tired sigh. Maybe coming into work had been a bad idea. He still had tonight to get through, after all. He huffed an empty laugh as it finally clicked why Bobby had told Cas to take another day to recover – he hadn't expected Dean to come in.

. * * * .

Dean buried himself in his work all day, distancing himself even further than usual from his workmates.

Or maybe they were distancing themselves from him.

At the end of the day Bobby shouted after him as he was about to leave. "Dean!"

He shut the Impala door again and turned around.

"Am I gonna see you tonight?"

"Of course."

"Good. I just didn't know if you and Cas had... plans... or something."

Dean frowned, and when he responded it was a little too roughly. "No."

"Okay."

. * * * .

It seemed like Castiel was waiting for him, appearing in the hallway as soon as he'd opened the door.

"So how was work?"

"Busy. Bobby says he'll see you tomorrow."

"Good," Cas smiled. "I thought... after dinner... the Alien sequel's showing? If I promise not to make any comments about sex, of course," he added with an awkward, teasing smile. "And then maybe we could go out. Perhaps it's time I learned how to play pool."

"No."

"N—" Castiel took a step back and nodded. "Okay."

"I have... a thing."

"That's okay," Castiel said, turning moving into the kitchen. "You don't have to justify yourself to me." Castiel was obviously trying not to sound as upset as he felt, and Dean felt a little guilty for being too short with him. "I should start on dinner."

Dean stopped in the doorway. "Do you want a hand?" he offered.

"No," Castiel said sharply, before adding, "thank you."

"Well I'm just gonna take a shower."

"Okay."

Dean turned to leave, but then poked his head through the doorway. "Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine, Dean."

Cas didn't sound fine, but maybe that was down to being cooped up indoors for a week. Dean hoped he'd perk up again once he got back to work.

He let the thought fade as he locked the door, quickly stripping off and running the shower hot. The water was too hot but he didn't bother to turn the temperature down, instead grimacing until the burn faded. He ran the bar of soap across his skin, thinking that he was definitely going to pick up something different next time he passed the store.

He halfheartedly stroked his cock, hanging limp between his legs. He couldn't get hard, though, and he cursed. It had been too long since he'd been with anyone. He wanted the relaxed feeling that came with relief, but he wasn't really in the mood to jerk himself off. He gave up and lifted his face up to the spray, dragging tired hands down his face as he wished he could just wipe the date from the calendar. He stood under the spray far longer than was necessary, unsure if he was just close to crying or if he was actually crying as the water ran down his face.

When the water started to run cold he stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the steamed up mirror. Dragging a hand across to clear it he examined his reflection. He looked exhausted. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into the palms of his hands. Barely giving himself enough time to secure the towel around his waist, for Cas was busy in the kitchen, he headed to his bedroom to get dressed.

When he stepped back into the kitchen Castiel was tossing a small salad in some sort of dressing.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah. You need me to do anything?"

"No, I've got everything under control. There's wine in the fridge."

"Wine? " Dean echoed. "When did we start drinking wine?"

"Since I needed a wine for the sauce," Castiel explained, drizzling a creamy white sauce over two pieces of fish. "And it says it goes well with fish."

"I'll stick with beer," Dean said, taking both bottles to the table.

"Suit yourself."

Dean watched as Castiel dished up boiled potatoes and dumped the saucepan in the sink. He cut himself two thick slices of bread and spread butter across each one. "Want some?" he asked.

"No," Castiel replied as he carried his plate and the bowl of salad to the table.

Dean dropped the bread onto his plate and carried it over. He didn't touch the salad, except to pick out a couple of tomatoes, and his plate was empty in minutes.

"That was nice," he said, dragging the last piece of bread across his plate to mop up the sauce and stuffing it in his mouth before it could drip.

"You don't want any salad?" Castiel asked, placing a second helping on his plate.

"Nah. I don't eat rabbit food," he grinned, wiping his hands on his jeans.

. * * * .

"Two whiskeys," Bobby ordered when Ellen came over to their table.

"Make them doubles," Dean told her.

"Hey, just 'cause you ain't payin' for them!" Bobby snapped, but nodded to Ellen.

"Nuh-uh, not tonight," she said, refusing to take Bobby's money. "First round's on me."

Dean leaned back in his seat, casting a glance around the bar at the various groups of people laughing and joking. He turned back to Bobby and picked at a score in the table.

"So, no Cas tonight?"

"No."

Bobby looked a little surprised, then disappointed. "He didn't want to come?"

"I didn't invite him."

At that Bobby looked confused. "Why not?"

"Because it wasn't his dad that died! Because I didn't want to make him uncomfortable! Because I didn't want him here! Pick one!" Dean growled.

Bobby glared at him. "That damn boy is the best thing that's ever happened to you!"

Dean faltered. "What?"

"You've got no life, boy! You come into work with lipstick on your collar and smelling of cheap perfume, and it's never the same shade twice!"

Dean looked lost for words, before saying, "You paid attention to the lipstick?"

"It's a metaphor, idjit!"

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth formed a silent 'oh' of realisation, before realising that he should probably be offended and scowling.

"I'm tryin' to say that if you let that boy in, you could be happy."

"What— No, I'm not—"

"You haven't got any friends, Dean. Don't shut out the best one you could pray for."

"Now you boys aren't going to start a bar fight on me, are you?" Ellen asked, setting three drinks down in front of them. "Because I'll have you out on your ass sooner than you can cuss me out."

"No, we're good," Bobby told her.

Ellen smiled. "You just keep it that way, Bobby Singer."

"I try. He don't make it easy, though."

"Hey!" Dean objected.

Ellen picked up one of the glasses and raised it high. "Here's to your mamma, kid."

Dean and Bobby raised their glasses, and she clinked her glass to each of theirs in turn before knocking it back. Dean grimaced at the drink burned on its way down, but Bobby didn't bat an eyelid. She gathered their empty glasses together. "Same again?"

"You know us."

"I sure do," she said, pouring them both another and taking her empty glass away, leaving the bottle on the table between them.