Sam stared at his brother, whose eyes were fixed on the spot where Cas had been standing just a few seconds before.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam asked viciously.

"Hey, I told you not to call him," Dean said, pulling his eyes away from the empty space and fixing his brother with a cold stare that made him almost unrecognisable.

"Don't try to make this my fault," Sam snapped. "What you just did to him is not on me."

"I didn't do anything. It's not my fault if the guy reads too much into things."

"You deliberately hurt him and you know it," Sam bit out, but Dean remained stubbornly silent. "Well, what's your Plan B?" he pressed. "Because you just screwed up Plan A. We have no way of getting back to 5600 BC for that Flood water."

"You know what my plan is?" Dean asked, tossing the remaining ingredients into his bag and grabbing his jacket from atop the ugly duvet. "I'm going to take this stupid coin, shove it somewhere at the back of my closet and forget all about it. If I can find a way to break the curse, fine. If not, the coin ain't gonna do any harm if it's hidden."

"That's your solution for everything, isn't it?" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Out of sight, out of mind."

"Go home, Sam," Dean said wearily, picking up the coin and dropping it into his back pocket. "God knows I am."

"This is not your home, Dean," Sam argued. "You don't belong here."

"You know what?" Dean barked, turning on his brother and pointing an accusing finger at him. "You're jealous."

"Jealous?" Sam echoed incredulously, but before he could throw back a sharp retort, he forced himself to sit down and take a breath. "Okay, maybe there was a time when I wanted this kind of life, I wanted a normal family, and friends, a job...but not anymore. I know terrible things happen to us all the time, but I still wouldn't give up what we have. We were born to hunt."

"No, we were forced to," Dean corrected. "And there is nothing wrong with wanting a bit of normality."

"A bit? Seriously, Dean, every single thing in your house is beige. It's actually kind of frightening." Dean glared at him, annihilating his small attempt at humour. "This isn't you," Sam finished, exasperatedly.

"You're such a hypocrite," Dean said. "Comin' in here and judging me for trying to have a normal life, when you left me to rot in Purgatory for a year because you were too busy playing house with a vet and goddamn collie."

Sam fell silent, holding himself back from saying something he might regret.

"You're right," he said at last. "It's time for me to go." He collected his things in stony silence, feeling his brother's eyes on his back. He felt a stab of sadness, almost like loss as he packed his bags, and he realised that, even though he was standing three feet from Dean, he missed his brother.

Sam stuffed his laptop into his bag, walked to the door and nearly left without another word, but he dragged himself back around. "You know the door's always open, whenever you decide to come home. I don't know about Cas, but I'll be there. Anytime."

"Bye, Sam."

Dean watched the door close and his cold exterior crumbled almost immediately. He dropped his bag and sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, pressing his face into his hands and trying to block out the image of Cas's face, confused and brokenhearted.

"Damn it," he muttered, pressing his shaking fingers harder against his bruised skin, in the hope that the dull pain might distract him from the sickening, empty pit in his stomach. He didn't realise he hadn't been breathing until he was forced to take a sharp, gasping breath. "God damn it."

After sitting there a while longer, he ran his hands through his hair and stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the motel. It was raining slightly; the sky was a light grey, and a mist of water covered his black car. He automatically looked up and down the row of motel rooms, futilely searching for any sign of Sam or Cas, but as he retreated into the dry interior of his car, he knew that he had single handedly driven them both away.

He drove the few miles back into town, but when he reached Maple Street, he drove straight by, watching his house fall away in the rear view mirror. He drove on down the street lined with trees, each side of the road a mirror image of the other. White houses with white fences, their silver cars parked parallel with the straight edges of the neatly manicured green grass out front. He kept going and the houses became gradually larger until he pulled up outside an attractive two-story house, perhaps twice the size of the one he shared with Annabelle. The front yard was full of flowers, still bright and colourful despite the cooling weather. Dean knocked three times on the front door. A moment later, a woman answered.

"Mrs. Barber?" he asked.

"Yes?" she replied, her eyes scanning his bruised face and blackening eyes. She looked quite different framed in the doorway of her impressive home, in a knee-length cream dress, her brown hair pulled back. She was almost unrecognisable as the slightly haggard looking woman he had seen in the restaurant the day before. Dean was about to reach for his FBI badge in his inside jacket pocket, but he decided against it.

"I need your help," he said.

Five minutes later, he was sitting in her living room on a long, red couch, being presented with a large mug of coffee and a slice of cake. He left the cake uneaten but sipped the hot drink, watching Mrs. Barber as she came and sat down, joined a second later by a man around the same age.

"Mr. Barber?" Dean inquired. He had been so busy trying to avoid getting involved in the situation at the restaurant that he hadn't even looked at the man who had been sitting with Mrs. Barber at the table beside them.

"Yes," he said with a friendly smile. "And you are?"

"Dean," he reached out a hand, "Winchester."

"Ah, you're Annabelle Warren's fella," Mr. Barber shook his hand, nodding in recognition. "Sweet girl. Took my appendix out."

"Yeah, she's a keeper," Dean agreed, a little impatiently. He wanted to get some answers about the curse, but he wasn't sure if he should start talking about it in front of Mr. Barber; having to give him "the talk" about the supernatural was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Instead, he pulled the coin from his pocket and laid it on the table as casually as he could, waiting to gauge their reaction. Mr. Barber gave a small laugh, and Mrs. Barber sighed.

"So you know it was me," she smiled apologetically.

"Yes."

"It's funny," smirked Mr. Barber, looking at the innocuous nickel with an expression of mild amusement, "how something so small can have such big consequences."

"Hilarious," said Dean, dryly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mrs. Barber gasped, catching sight of the circular burn that was still red and inflamed on Dean's palm. "It got you, too, did it?" Dean just murmured his assent. "I really had no idea that the curse could affect more than one person," she continued. "But I had to find out who killed my niece. She was so young…such a beautiful girl…It's been almost a year since she was killed, you know. And not knowing what had happened to her was driving me insane, not to mention ruining my marriage." At this point, Mr. Barber put his arm around her. "You understand, don't you?" she asked.

"Sure," Dean said automatically, not fully listening to her, just waiting for her to pause so he could find out what he wanted to know. "Do you know how to stop it?" he asked.

"The curse? No," she shook her head. "If I had known how to stop it, I'd have done it myself, before I could tell my husband I was cheating on him. The way I blurted it out in the middle of the street…it was cruel. I may not have loved him anymore, but I still respect him a great deal." Dean watched Mr. Barber with confusion, wondering why he was still sitting there so blithely with his arm around a woman who was telling a near stranger that she didn't love him.

"Oh," Dean realised finally, looking at Mr. Barber. "You're not…you're not the husband?"

"No," Mrs. Barber shook her head again, "this is my husband's brother, Jack. Oh, don't look at me like that; I never planned for any of this. I would have stayed with my husband until the day I died because it was the right thing to do, but you know what I've realised? You need to stop doing the right thing for everyone else, and start doing the right thing for you." She smiled warmly at Mr. Barber, and he took her hand, gazing into her eyes like a lovestruck teenager.

"It doesn't seem like I've been doing right by anyone lately," Dean muttered, putting his mug down next to the untouched cake to avoid looking at the infatuated couple. "You really have no idea how to stop the curse?"

"I found the ingredients for the spell on some strange website," she recalled, her attention moving back to Dean. "I didn't really believe in any of that nonsense, I never imagined it would actually work, so I never thought to look for a way to reverse it, I'm afraid."

"Thanks anyway," Dean said, standing up and showing himself to the door, dodging between boxes of clothes that he could only imagine belonged to the first Mr. Barber, whose whole life had just been turned upside down by the most important person in it. Dean looked back at Mrs. Barber and her brother-in-law. Sure, the truth had made them happy, Dean thought, all cozy in each other's arms, but things hadn't worked out so well for her husband.

Dean sat in the comfortable safety of his car, mulling everything over and watching the raindrops gather and slip down the windshield for a few minutes before the rain began to ease. He could carry on with his life here, safe and ordinary with Annabelle, as long as he kept the coin out of sight. Maybe they would get married one day, maybe even have kids. He could forget all about his old life and just be normal. Maybe he'd be happy. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and was slightly surprised to see a message from Sam flashing on the screen. He opened it to see a screenshot of one of the old books from the bunker. It read:

If by noon on the fifth day the curse has not manifested, it will move to another vessel, relieving the current owner of both the object and his darkest secrets. Underneath the picture there was a curt message from Sam. Good luck with that.

"So much for Plan B," Dean muttered, tossing the cellphone on to the passenger seat. Of course there was a time limit on the curse, just being able to hide it away was far too simple a solution. "What I wouldn't give for something just to be simple for once."

It had only been two days since he had met Sam in the restaurant, although it felt much longer. That meant he had three more days before the curse would make him blurt out his secrets. What if he told Anna all about his secret past as a hunter? Would she leave him? But what if he told her something even worse? Maybe he should leave, just head out into the middle of the woods and wait for the three days to be up. Maybe if there was no one around, there would be no one for him to admit anything to. But even as he thought it, he knew it was no good. The curse would just do it's weird mind-control thing and force him to walk straight back into civilisation, ruining his own life, like a man walking to the gallows.

With no idea what to do next, he drove back to Maple Street, pulling into the driveway of his red-roofed house just as the sun emerged from behind the clouds. He looked at their little house, and wondered how many more times he would be able to pull into this driveway before the curse screwed everything up. He grabbed his bag and climbed out of his car into the mild air. He was halfway up the path, still damp with rain, when the front door opened and Cas stepped out into the afternoon sun, Annabelle closing the door behind him. The angel's expression barely changed as he caught sight of Dean standing in the yard.

"Cas?" His voice came out in a cracked whisper.

"Dean," he nodded curtly.

"What are you doing here?" Dean was nervous, but he was also pleased to see Cas's face again; he was so sure that he had driven him away forever.

"I brought this," he said, holding out a jar of murky water. "I believe it's the last ingredient you need to break the curse." Dean reached out and took the jar and felt the warm glass where Cas had been holding it.

"Why did you do this?"

Cas's words were empty as he replied.

"I may not agree with everything you have said or done in the past year, Dean, and I can't help but see this curse as an opportunity for you to stop hiding from whatever it was that drove you out here in the first place, but you at least deserve the choice." He spoke flatly, as though reciting a practiced speech, but then his eyes dropped to the ground as he continued. "Deciding to say something that will change your life forever is…well, it's terrifying. Knowing that a few words can demolish everything you thought you had, destroy the solid ground you thought you were standing on…it's a risk and it's frightening. All I'm saying is, you should have the choice."

Dean stared at Cas, his mouth slightly agape. He wanted to apologise. He wanted Cas to look him in the eye again so he could tell what the angel was thinking, but at the same time he was terrified to see the pain that he had caused.

"Goodbye, Dean," Cas said, and there was a finality in his words that made Dean's stomach plummet. Cas walked around him towards the gate.

"Cas, wait," he blurted, but before Dean could turn around, there was a rustle of wings and Cas was gone. He gazed at the empty yard for a moment, before he remembered the weight in his hands. He looked down at the Water of the Deluge and placed it carefully into his bag, completing the set of ingredients he needed to break the curse. He was home and dry, but there was no feeling of relief, just guilt and an uncomfortable, twisting doubt.

Annabelle was sitting in one of the leather armchairs in the living room, leafing through a medical journal. She looked up at him when he entered.

"Hey," she said, a little quietly.

"Hey." Dean sat on the dark wooden coffee table opposite her, their knees touching, and he tried to figure out how much Cas might have told her about his life. "So…Cas was here?"

"He was. He was looking for you."

"What, uh…what did you guys talk about?"

"Not a lot," she said. "You, mostly."

"Oh," he said, a twinge of panic in his chest.

"He cares a lot about you."

"I know," he said, watching her carefully, but there didn't seem to be any hidden meaning behind her words as she continued.

"And so does Sam. Honestly, I'm not really sure what you're doing, living all the way out here."

"You kidding? I'm here with you, we've got a life here," Dean gestured around the living room with one hand, taking her hand with the other.

"You have a life back in Kansas, too," she said gently. "And it seems to me like you've got a choice to make."

"I'm staying here," Dean said abruptly. He didn't have the curse to worry about any more; staying here was the simple choice. She smiled, but shook her head slightly.

"Please don't do that for my sake," she said. "Don't just stay to avoid hurting me."

"I'm not," he insisted, "I want to be here." Annabelle didn't look convinced.

"We've both kept a lot of secrets, Dean. I think it's time I put some of them out in the open." She closed her eyes and took a slow breath, and when she opened them again, her eyes were shining with tears. "When I was eight, my parents were killed..."

"Oh, God, Anna, I'm so sorry," he started, but she cut him off.

"They were killed by a Shifter, and I would have been dead too, if a hunter hadn't come along and saved me."

"A hunter?" Dean echoed. She smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"I know all about hunters, Dean, and about the monsters that hide under the bed; I've been terrified of them ever since. I've got to admit though," she added, "the whole angels and demons thing was news to me."

"Anna, I-"

"What I'm saying is, it didn't take me very long to figure out that you were a hunter too."

"How?"

"I don't know, I could just tell," she shrugged, and if Dean hadn't been so blindsided by all of this, he might have detected the evasiveness in her answer. "The point is, when I realised you were a hunter, I wanted to keep you around so I wouldn't have to feel scared anymore."

"Oh," Dean said. The tears were falling steadily from her brown eyes now. She had never talked about her parents before, and Dean guessed that this was why. It obviously still hurt her to think about them.

"You don't love me, Dean," she stated, her voice catching slightly.

"Anna-"

"You don't love me," she said again, "but that's okay, because if I'm really honest, I don't love you either. I was just scared and I wanted someone to keep me safe." She wiped her cheeks and forced a small laugh. "Now, you need to go. Go catch up with Cas."

Dean was lost. All that time trying to protect Annabelle from the horrible knowledge of the evil that lurked in the dark, and she had known all along. She had experienced it in the worst possible way, and all the while she had known exactly what he was. Dean stood and lifted Anna from her chair by the hands, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. He kissed her hair and felt her hands hold on to his shirt, felt her shaky breath against his chest. At last, he let her go, kissing her once more on the forehead.

"I'm sorry," he sighed.

"Don't be," she said with a reassuring smile. "It just wasn't meant to be."

Dean stood in the middle of the familiar room, and was suddenly frozen, weighed down by the magnitude of everything that had happened in the last few days. He felt like he was being swept downriver by a series of events that he had no control over, and in the space of two days, everything he had known had changed. There was so much he wanted to say, but standing there in front of Annabelle, who was encouraging him to go back to the very thing he had been running from, he just couldn't find the words.

"Go on," she said, giving him a little shove. "Get out of here, you've got a life to get back to."

Dean took one last look at Annabelle, and she gave him one last smile as he picked up his bag and his keys, turned to the door, and left.

Annabelle walked out into the hallway, her footsteps echoing through the empty house. She stared at the door, and she listened as the familiar sound of the Impala's engine faded into the suburban silence. She remained there, overwhelmed and unmoving for several minutes, before she reached out for the bannister behind her, and lowered herself on to the stairs with trembling hands. He was gone. Just like that, the person she thought she was going to spend her future with was suddenly just a memory, consigned to the past forever. She held back the tightening ache in her chest by reminding herself that Dean could be happy now, and really, that was all that mattered. She only wished she hadn't let herself love him.