The click of the laptop keyboard was the only sound in the cavernous bunker as Sam sat in the brightly lit library, searching for a new case. Even after a year alone, the silence still weighed heavily on him. He found himself thinking about Cas, as he often did when he felt lonely. He took his cell phone from the back pocket of his worn jeans and texted him.

- you okay?

He waited for a reply, tracing a scratch in the otherwise pristine mahogany table with his thumb. A few seconds later his phone vibrated, and he read Cas's one-word reply.

- Yes.

-really? Sam typed back.

- No, not really.

-I'm sorry

-Don't be. It isn't your fault.

-you coming over later? Sam asked.

-Yes. Is it my turn to choose the movie?

-yeah

-Okay.

Sam sat his cell phone down on the polished table, straightening himself up in an effort to coax himself back to work, but sympathy for Cas and concern for Dean prevented him from concentrating. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair to look up at the ceiling, feeling the satisfying click of a few of his vertebrae as he stretched his spine. But he was suddenly upright once more when he heard a heavy pounding on the bunker door; the low thumps reverberated unhindered through the large rooms. Sam picked up the gun lying on the table beside him and approached the spiral staircase that led to the door. He crept up the stairs as quietly as the metal steps and his heavy boots would allow, before readjusting his grip on the gun, holding it up with one hand and unlocking the latch with the other. The door creaked open loudly and he relaxed his hold on the weapon when he saw his brother standing there in the rain.

"Why are you knocking?" Sam asked.

"Can I come in?" Dean's voice was flat and his eyes expressionless.

"Don't be an idiot, you live here," Sam said with a half-concerned smile. "Come in," he added when Dean didn't move. They walked together towards the library in stony silence, but the relief Sam felt to have Dean back was tangible. Once they sat down at the table, Sam broke the awkward quiet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked tentatively, hoping his brother was moving back home but not daring to believe it.

"She didn't love me," Dean said, as soon as Sam had spoken, as though the words had been hanging on his lips for hours; paused there, waiting until there was someone he could talk to.

"Who, Annabelle?" Sam frowned. "Of course she did, Dean."

"She told me," Dean looked at his hands, his voice quiet and his expression unreadable. "She never loved me and she said I don't love her either."

"Well, do you?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.

"I do," he said. "I really do. It just…"

"Isn't enough?" Sam finished.

"I don't know," Dean said, sighing deeply and looking up at the ceiling as if hoping he would find some guidance written there. A low buzz came from the table and Sam's phone lit up, alerting him to an unimportant email and illuminating the background image on his screen. It was a picture of him and Cas, grinning at the camera, standing on either side of a man dressed as Santa Claus; it was the first day since Dean had left that Sam had seen Cas in a good mood. They had gone to a Christmas market together in Pennsylvania, wandering around the stalls, neither of them buying anything but enjoying the atmosphere all the same, and it was the first time in months that Sam had seen Cas smile. Dean looked down at the picture almost sadly.

"You and Cas got pretty close, huh?"

"Well, what did you expect?" Sam asked. "When you left, we suddenly had a lot more in common; we were both trying to get through a life without you in it. I was okay, because I could come and visit, but for Cas…you were gone forever."

"I really messed up, didn't I?" Dean groaned, resting his forehead in his hands.

"It wasn't your finest moment," Sam replied with a sympathetic smile.

"What do I do now?"

"What do you want to do?" Sam asked.

"I want to fix this," Dean said earnestly. "Whatever it takes." Before Sam could ask him what he meant, Dean had pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial. He sat very still for a few seconds, but Sam could see the fear behind his eyes.

"Hey, Cas," he said at last. "Listen, you were right, I need to face up to everything. You deserve the truth, so I haven't broken the curse. Come to the bunker tomorrow at midday and I'll tell you everything. Whether I like it or not," he added, with a small attempt at a laugh, but then his smile fell and he went back to looking anxious. "Just call me when you get this. Please." He lowered the phone on to the table and looked up at his little brother, thoroughly defeated.

"You didn't break the curse," Sam mused. "But I thought Cas brought you the Flood water?"

"He did," Dean said simply, indicating the brown leather bag by his chair that contained the spell ingredients. Sam waited for Dean to elaborate, but no more words came.

"Well, now what?" Dean shrugged.

"Pizza?" Sam suggested, but Dean shook his head.

"I'm not hungry."

"Beer?" Sam queried. Dean shook his head again, and Sam raised his eyebrows, suddenly even more concerned than he had been. "I guess we just wait, then." Sam sat back in his chair, and Dean hunched over the table, chewing on his thumbnail and staring at his cell phone screen. The seconds dragged by and they turned to minutes, then hours, both of them watching the clock, seeing the time edge closer and closer to the moment that Dean would finally have to stop hiding.

Dean woke just before six a.m. after a fitful sleep, just as tired as he had been the night before. He felt a pit in his stomach and it took him a few seconds to realise why; a few blissfully ignorant seconds, before he remembered that he had just six hours until he voluntarily turned his life upside down. He sat up, inadvertently knocking over a bottle of water by his bed that landed with a crackle and a thump on the floor. He left it lying there, staring emptily at the blank wall, trying to imagine what the day would hold. A moment later, his bedroom door clicked open quietly and Sam peered in.

"I thought I heard you," he said, seeing that Dean was awake and coming to sit next to him on the bed. They sat in familiar silence, and Dean felt Sam glance at him a couple of times before he spoke again.

"You really don't know what you're going to say today?" Sam asked gently. "You don't know what your biggest secret is?" Dean let out a long breath and shook his head.

"All I know is that for as long as I can remember I've had a truck load of feelings that I can't explain; like I'm carrying around a bucket of bricks inside me. I'm kind of hoping the curse will get rid of that...get everything off my chest, y'know?"

Sam nodded slowly. "I'm proud of you, you know," he said. "This can't be easy."

"What have I told you about the chick flick moments?" Dean said dismissively, straightening up and doing his best to act aloof, though he couldn't help the little surge of pleasure and relief he felt to hear that he hadn't disappointed his brother quite as much as he had thought. "You think Cas will come?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Sam said.

"Just tell me you think he'll come," Dean pleaded.

"Okay," the corner of Sam's mouth pulled up in a compassionate smile. "He'll be here."

"I don't believe you," Dean said; Sam laughed and patted his brother on the back.

"Come and get breakfast," he said, and Dean was about to decline when Sam continued. "No excuses, you'll feel better." Dean did as he was told, following his brother from the room, the nervous pit in his stomach swallowing any traces of an appetite.

He managed a few pieces of bacon and cup of coffee before his stomach began to churn. They had both showered and shaved, got dressed, and were now sitting in the library again; Sam working half-heartedly on a spate of vampire attacks in North Dakota, Dean once again watching his cell phone closely for any contact from Cas.

As it neared midday, Dean found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the ornate, wood rimmed clock on the wall. He watched as the second hand clicked around in circles, the minute hand moving closer and closer to twelve. He felt very hot, then cold, and his palms began to sweat. When the anxiety threatened to overwhelm him, he stood abruptly and laid his hands on the table, trying to steady himself while Sam watched him with concern.

"Dean?"

"I can't do this, Sammy," he said. "I thought I could, but I can't."

"C'mon, Dean, you can't keep hiding your feelings."

"I'm not," he insisted, straightening up and looking his brother in the eye. "I just…I can't do it. Not like this." He hurried to his room, finding his bag and tipping the ingredients for the spell out on to his bed. He laid out the stones, the herbs, a cat skull, and that godforsaken nickel, piling everything up in a circle on his desk. He rummaged in a drawer for five small candles and placed them in a circle surrounding the assortment of supplies. He was about to pour the Flood water on top when Sam entered the room, grabbing his arm.

"Don't even think about it," Sam warned, his voice unnaturally steely.

"What are you doing?" he asked, angered and surprised by Sam's sudden intensity.

"Cas deserves an explanation, you don't get to back out now." Dean pulled his arm out of his brother's tight grip and moved to complete the spell, but Sam's hand darted out to snatch away the coin.

"Sammy, no!" Dean grabbed it a split second before Sam could touch it, their hands colliding forcefully. Dean looked at his brother incredulously. "What the hell are you trying to do to me? This is my goddamn decision, that's what you said!"

"I assumed you would do the right thing anyway!" Sam shot back. "Since when were you a coward?"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Dean snapped, "You spend a few months with Cas and you think you know everything about him? You don't know him, Sam. I'm doing what's best for everybody."

"No, you're doing what's easy." Dean sat the coin back on the pile, poised to grab it back if Sam made another lunge, but his brother remained still this time, even as Dean poured the water on top of the coin, and it began to fizz and smoke, the metal dissolving before their eyes. Sam sighed in exasperation and walked from the room, leaving Dean irritated and uncertain. His attention was diverted, however, when he felt a cold sensation on his hand like someone was holding an ice cube to his palm, and when he looked down he saw that his circular burn had disappeared.

He felt his shoulders relax a little, and he glanced down to his watch to see the time flick from 11.59 to 12.00. There was a soft noise behind him, and Dean turned to see Cas standing in the doorway, looking at him with frustration and disappointment.

"Cas, let me explain," he started, but Cas turned and walked away. "Damn it," Dean muttered, running after him and catching up with him in the bright library, pulling him around by the arm.

"I knew it," Cas said, resignedly, before Dean could speak. "I knew you'd back out, I should never-"

"Let me explain," he said again, and Cas fell silent, watching him expectantly. "Okay, well give me a minute," Dean said, not actually expecting that Cas would listen to him. Cas shook his head and pulled his arm from Dean's grasp.

"Cas, please, I still want to talk to you," Dean insisted. "I just wanted to do it on my own terms. I was speaking to this woman, Mrs. Barber, and she said that her only regret was letting the curse do the talking for her."

"Fine," Cas conceded, turning back. "Talk."

Dean faltered again, and Cas grew angry.

"What do you want from me, Dean?" he asked acidly. "Do you want me to tell you that I forgive you for walking out on me after I told you that I loved you? Or do you want me to tell you that I didn't mean it? Or do you want me to say that I've spent the last twelve months pining for you, waiting for you to walk back through the door? Because none of that is true. I told you that I loved you and you ran, but I got over it, and when I finally thought I could face you, you hurt me again. So tell me what you want Dean, because I don't think I have anything else to give you."

"Nothing," Dean said, fighting to keep his voice steady as he met Cas's eyes. "I don't want anything from you. I've been…awful. I hate what I did to you. You don't owe me a damn thing, but I owe you the truth at least." Cas stared at him icily, and, scared that the angel would walk out, Dean said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Do you ever think about the inside of your brain?"

Cas was thrown off by the question. "What are you talking about?"

"The inside of your brain. When I imagine the inside of my head, it's like…a big white room with dozens of doors leading from it."

"Okay…"

"And whenever something bad happens to me, I put the memory behind one of the doors so I don't have to think about it. If I ever start to remember any of the bad experiences, I imagine myself shoving them back behind the door and locking them away. It might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it works."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, that's what I did with you."

"So I'm a bad memory?"

"No," Dean shook his head quickly. "That's not what I'm saying. I mean, when you told me you loved me, I was terrified; all I could feel was fear, and I didn't even stop to think where that fear was coming from. I just panicked and locked it away so I didn't have to face it. I thought I was scared because I didn't feel the same way and I thought I was going to hurt you, but-" he paused and steadied himself, feeling a rush of that familiar panic that he had worked so hard to restrain. "-in reality, I was scared, because I knew deep down that we had become so much more than friends, and admitting that would mean changing my whole life; risking our friendship, putting my heart on the line, giving you the power to tear me apart. I knew for certain that if I let myself love you, and then I lost you, I could never, ever come back from that. So I ran before I could hurt either of us anymore than I already had." As soon as he finished, he felt like a weight had been lifted from him, but it was quickly drowned by fear as he waited for Cas's reaction. Seconds passed and Cas looked at him a little curiously.

"That's it? You were scared?" he asked.

It wasn't the reply Dean had been hoping for at all.

"I'm not making excuses," Dean said hastily. "I've been an almighty douche, and nothing justifies that; no matter how freaked out I was, I should have put your feelings first." Cas remained silent again and Dean felt the uncontrollable urge to keep filling the silence. "I don't expect you to excuse what I did, I know I ran out of chances a long time ago, but if there's anyway you can forgive me…"

"I have a pit in my stomach whenever I look at you,"Cas finally said. "I feel sick because looking at you reminds me of how stupid and humiliated I felt when I bared my soul to you and you ran away." Dean struggled to keep his face neutral as every one of Cas's words hit him like a bullet. Cas paused for a second, and then seemed to calm himself a little. "I don't want it to be this way. I want things to be okay between us again, but right now I can't do that, so I'm going to go."

"Okay," Dean croaked.

"I appreciate your honesty," he said, meeting Dean's gaze for a split second. "But I really could have used it twelve months ago."

"I know."

"Goodbye, Dean." Dean watched Cas ascend the spiral stairs and leave the bunker, only then noticing that there were hot tears on his cheeks. He heard footsteps behind him and saw Sam emerging from the corridor, calling after Cas and catching up with him outside the door. Dean couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could hear the low mumble of their voices, and as he stood in the middle of their enormous bunker, he realised that he had rarely felt so alone.

At least he's in the same room as me, Dean consoled himself as he and Sam sat at separate desks in the library, each holding a beer, although neither of them had taken a sip. Dean felt sick with guilt, and he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't so much as move when his cell phone rang. Thirty seconds passed with the shrill ringtone filling the air before it went quiet. A moment later, however, it rang again, and Sam glared over at him.

"Are you going to answer that or not?"

"No," he said. Sam stood up, swiped the phone from the table and answered it curtly, still watching Dean in exasperation, but as the person on the other end began to speak, he met Dean's eye and his expression changed to worry. "What is it?" Dean asked.

"Hold on," Sam said to the person on the phone, lowering it from his face to speak to Dean. "It's Mrs. Warren, Annabelle's mom."

"Annabelle's parents are dead," Dean frowned.

"Well, I have a lady on the phone who sounds pretty confident she isn't dead," Sam snapped, his earlier annoyance at Dean filtering through into his words. He raised the phone to his ear again and listened, occasionally making little noises of assent or understanding, his frown becoming more and more pronounced as the conversation continued. Meanwhile, Dean tried to work out why Annabelle had lied to him about her parents. If her parents weren't dead, it meant none of her story was true; she hadn't just moved in with Dean for protection, she actually loved him, and she had sent him away anyway.

"Dean," Sam said after another moment, and that one word carried the weight of a hundred, and Dean's heart plummeted.

"What's wrong?"

"Annabelle was hit by a car about an hour ago."

"Is she okay?" Dean found himself suddenly on his feet, cold dread clenching his chest.

"She's still in surgery, they reckon she'll be in there for another six hours at least. Her parents are stuck in Alaska, and they won't be able to get to her for a while. The hospital had you down as an emergency contact so Mrs. Warren wants to know if you can be there for Anna when she wakes up." Before Sam had even finished, Dean had pulled his car keys from his pocket and was halfway to the door.

"Wait for me!" Sam called, hastily reassuring Mrs. Warren that they were on their way and rushing to the door after Dean.

A/N Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have a couple of alternate endings in mind for this story and I'm conflicted. Has Dean hurt Cas too badly to ever repair their relationship? Could he ever be happy without him? Or by some miracle can they still get their happily ever after? What do you think?