Act 1, Scene 2

March, 2007

"Mr. Novak, I can't decide if I'm pleasantly surprised or disappointed to see you here right now," the counselor said, pinching the bridge of her nose in a sign of long-suffering frustration. "On the one hand, it feels like an honor that you decided to show your face in school today. First time this week, isn't it?" Castiel, toying with a hemp bracelet on his wrist, didn't bother with an answer; she hadn't really expected one. "On the other hand, despite the often entertaining reasons that usually see you sitting in my office, I can't help but think there might be better ways that both of us could be spending our mornings."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Mrs. Moseley," Cas said, wryly smirking. "You know I always enjoy our talks."

The counselor barked a short laugh. "Then bring me an apple, boy – or, better, a cup of coffee. Lord knows, I could use one. Tormenting your teachers might get you my attention, but it won't get you my respect."

"Well, that was probably a foregone conclusion, anyway. Can't respect somebody who doesn't respect themselves, right?"

Mrs. Moseley, unlike most of the teachers at the school, didn't rise to the bait. "Cut the bull, Castiel; it won't work on me. I've known you too long, young man. Honestly, I don't know if getting you into the Virtual School program was the smartest or the dumbest decision I've ever made. I knew you were never going to take your high school classes seriously, but I can't help feeling like now I've somehow given you permission to let everybody know exactly how little you care. You're only here half a day, when you do come in, and yet I see you in here just as often as before."

Castiel shrugged. He had no good response; she wasn't wrong about any of it. In a tiny high school that frequently had no choice but to cater to the lowest common denominator – which was often pretty damn low, both in ability and motivation – Cas had been beyond bored. Given the chance, he had been thrilled to opt out of the classroom setting for most of his academic courses, leaving only the few credits for which his physical presence was required to be completed in person.

"So what is it today?" Mrs. Moseley mused, reading the scribbled note that Cas had brought to her office. "Oh, Castiel. Did you really think Mr. Harding wasn't going to notice that your final art project was a big old marijuana bong?"

Cas couldn't help snickering. "No. I just didn't think he'd care. And it's technically a hookah. It was supposed to be an internationally-themed project, after all." The art teacher was widely acknowledged to be a dedicated stoner in his own right, an aging holdover from Woodstock whom time had apparently forgotten.

"Yes, well, maybe he wouldn't have cared as much if all the projects weren't going to be displayed as part of the 'Our Place in the World' showcase, which the governor's wife will be attending." Castiel snickered even harder, and the counselor rolled her eyes at him. "Go ahead and laugh, young man, but no matter how…" She glanced back at the note. "…'avant-garde' this little project is, you can't turn it in."

"Can I take it home?"

"No. It's been confiscated." Probably going into Mr. Harding's personal collection, Cas thought without much irritation. He just wished he'd been able to get a bigger reaction out of his teacher. Cas had been trying all year to get a glimpse behind the man's near-constant state of mellow.

"At least your online classes appear to be going well," the counselor was saying. "All advanced courses, plus a couple introductory college classes. Getting a head start, there. Good."

The mild words of approval carried more significance than might have been obvious to a casual listener. Cas knew that the counselor was remembering their first meetings, when he was starting high school and reaching the limits of his tenuous hold on the anger and bitterness he'd been suppressing. It was maddening to realize that no matter what he did, nobody really cared. He could have been at the top of his class or the bottom; the teachers were dismissive of the quiet boy with few friends, and his mother was oblivious to anything happening under her roof that didn't involve either medical bills or law enforcement. The only regular attention he received was from his brothers – which was to be avoided whenever possible – or from the Winchester family. But sometimes that felt like pity, which made him feel even more bitter.

Mrs. Moseley had not pitied him. "You think you're the first bright boy with a chip on his shoulder ever to come through my doors?" she'd asked the first time they'd met. She had known about his background, had known his brothers when they'd made their noisy, chaotic way through school ahead of him. The only acknowledgment she paid to that, when he'd tentatively raised the subject, was to take his hands and tell him, firmly, "You might come from a place, but that place doesn't have to come with you."

She'd helped him chart a course through school that fit his fierce need for independence, and he'd finally found the courage to tell her just how very much he dreamed of simply getting out. "I don't even care where," he'd said. "I just know that if I don't leave, I never will." Cas had never allowed himself to think of college, but when Mrs. Moseley told him she could work with him on his escape plan, he decided to humor her confidence.

"But Mr. Novak," she now said, shaking her head, "colleges do care about more than just grades. Graduation isn't for another few months, and straight-A grades and a bad attitude will only fly in hipster novels and Hollywood. Stop antagonizing your teachers, you hear me?"

"Yeah, sure." Cas stood, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, nodding his goodbye as he sauntered out of the office. He was technically done with his classes today, now that it was lunch hour, so he was considering grabbing something to eat from a vending machine before heading to the library to work on his online classes; he had a creative writing assignment that had been lurking at the back of his mind all day, nagging for attention.

Before he could get the loose change free from his pocket, however, he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. Dean's casual grin loosened tension he hadn't realized he was carrying in his shoulders; somehow, just being in Dean's presence always made him feel more relaxed. He grinned back at him.

"So, I heard rumors that somebody was running a drug empire out of the ceramics studio," Dean drawled, cocking an eyebrow. "Know anything about that?"

"Nothing so high-reaching," Cas said, feigning seriousness. "Your top drug lords, they have to focus on so many details – budgets, marketing, public relations. Who has time for all that?"

Dean broke first, laughing. "Dude, but seriously? Are you even trying anymore?"

Cas tilted his head to the side, shrugging. "I'm not sure why I should. I don't need the art credit; I was thinking about dropping the class, anyway. Moseley seems to think that I need to be putting in at least a little bit of face time here, just for looks, so I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel for the classes with the least amount of actual work required."

"Well, I'm glad you're putting in time here, too," Dean said, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "I feel like I hardly get to see you! I've got all these practices and assignments, and you're basically living at the library these days. Not that I blame you." Besides offering the broadband internet access that was hard to come by in their rural area, the library had the added benefit of being somewhere Castiel's brothers avoided like the plague.

"You could have done Virtual School, too," Cas argued, though they both knew that would never have happened. Dean thrived on social activity, always in one sport or another, diving into group work in classes. The isolation of online studies would have driven him insane inside of a week. Cas marveled at their differences sometimes. He fought the impulse to curl into Dean's side, enjoying the warmth and weight of the one-armed hug.

"Anyway, what do you think you're doing?" Dean said, jerking a thumb at the vending machine. "Cas, snack cakes are not lunch."

Cas frowned. "One could argue that the filling might count toward the fruits and vegetables group, and the crust is clearly a grain."

"The only food group they belong to is the chemical one. There's more artificial coloring than fruit in there. If you're not going to care about your health, man, I'll do it for you." Dean smiled as they stepped into their long-standing argument. Years ago, when they had huddled together in Dean's room overnight and shared their dreams for the future, Dean had insisted that he was going to be a doctor someday. No matter how often Cas changed his own mind, from soldier to news reporter to beekeeper, Dean had never wavered, and he joked that his career ambitions had been born out of the near-constant need to patch up Castiel's various scrapes and injuries.

Cas had never found it necessary to inform Dean that most of his hurts weren't merely the product of poor coordination and bad decision-making. Dean knew that he didn't get along with his brothers, but he was content to dismiss them as "a bunch of dicks" and assume that they simply bickered like typical siblings who lacked supervision. That assumption was fine by Castiel.

He trusted Dean, possibly more deeply than he had ever trusted another person in his life. That probably was related to Dean having been the only person never to break that faith, either through indiscretion or taking advantage. His friend knew more about him than anyone, including Cas's own family, and, far from taking it for granted, Dean seemed to feel honored by it – an attitude that made Cas feel awkwardly undeserving at times.

Dean was naturally protective over people about whom he cared, and Cas definitely fell under that umbrella. That was fine; he protected Dean, too, even if Dean never realized. There were just some things, some details, which would be too painful for Dean to know, simply because he wouldn't be able to help.

Dean knew the Novak brothers fought. Cas kept to himself the ugly slurs they hurled at him, the physical bullying, the reasons he avoided wearing short sleeves in even warm weather. Dean knew Cas's dad wasn't around much. Cas didn't mention that the last time his father had come home, he was unable to immediately remember Castiel's name.

When Cas had mustered the courage to say it out loud, Dean was the first person he had told that he was gay. What Dean didn't need to know – would never need to hear – was that it wasn't so much "boys" that Cas found attractive, so much as it was one boy in particular. Dean had hugged Cas that night, told him he was grateful to be his friend, and Cas felt the secret burn in his veins. I love you, Dean; it's always been you . He'd take those words to his grave. This friendship was the most important thing Cas had, and it was too much to risk.

"Fine," he said, pulling his mind back to the present and sighing dramatically. "If it will make you happy, I'll eat the chemicals offered by the school cafeteria instead of those offered by the vending company. I'm sure 'meatloaf surprise' is much more wholesome." He allowed Dean to steer them down the hallway toward the cafeteria, feeling slightly awkward when frequent greetings were called to Dean from other students passing them. Dean waved and hailed all of them in return, and Cas felt simultaneously proud of his best friend and unworthy to be by his side.

Sometimes, Cas had real trouble fathoming how Dean Winchester had become so central to his life. Actually, when he really thought about it, which he tried to avoid, the more difficult concept was how Dean seemed to put Cas in a similar position of priority. Ever since the day Cas had laid eyes on the boy, wandering through the woods that had been his favorite refuge from angry words and angrier hands, he had felt drawn to him – drawn to the sense of peace and optimism that Dean seemed to exude, which was unlike anything he'd ever felt in himself. Dean was spontaneous, trusting that all would work out just fine, whether the situation involved a torn pair of Sunday pants or an angry neighbor yelling at them for a prank gone wrong. Dean operated under the belief that if the world was going cock-eyed, it would eventually right itself, or, failing that, that he himself could find a way to right it, given enough twine, duct tape, and determination.

Dean never seemed to understand that there were things in the world – things in Castiel's world – that a grin and a scheme couldn't fix. Something like shame over his own powerlessness churned Cas's stomach when he thought of what Dean might think if he ever truly did open his eyes and see him for who he really was. He'd either turn his back, as he rightfully should, and find other, less broken friends to occupy his time, or else he might try to help – to fix what could never really be fixed.

To see Dean's confidence broken over his mess of an existence – no. Cas couldn't bear that. So he kept his walls fortified, told jokes instead of truths, and tried his damnedest to keep Dean smiling. Someday soon, they'd promised each other, they'd finish school and leave this town together. Dean was destined for big things, and if he believed Cas was also running toward something instead of simply running, well, Cas would never disillusion him.

As they approached the lunch room, Castiel's contemplations were interrupted by a low voice purring from behind. "Hey, Clarence."

He turned his head, smirking at the girl lounging against the wall by the lockers. "Hey, Lucy." It was a longstanding joke between Meg and Castiel, instituted years ago when they had inadvertently chosen the same hiding place behind the school when skipping classes. Meg called him "Clarence" after the famous movie angel; Cas called her "Lucy," after the bad girl subject of the Blood, Sweat, and Tears song "Lucretia MacEvil." Castiel was no angel, and Meg was not a whore. Both were somewhere in the muddy middle, and they enjoyed the perverse caricatures of the teasing nicknames.

"Meg," Dean said, frowning a bit. For no reason Cas had ever been able to understand, Dean and Meg had always rubbed each other the wrong way. Now Dean eyed her metal band tee-shirt disparagingly. "Didn't expect to see you there. School hours, would have thought you'd still be in bed or something."

"What can I say? I was feeling peppy today," Meg said with a sarcastic lilt. "Or maybe I just couldn't resist trying to catch a glimpse of your pretty face." Dean huffed and rolled his eyes, and Meg turned away dismissively, focusing on Cas. "Wanted to catch you before you left, Clarence. Got a smoke?"

Cas felt Dean tense beside him. He was about to tell Meg he didn't have time today, but he noticed a minute twitch around her eyes. Meg was very good at concealing her feelings, just as he was; secret-keeping was another thing they had in common, and seeing her control slip, even slightly, made him change his mind. "In my locker," he said. "I'll meet you." She quirked one side of her lips in a tiny smile, nodding as she sauntered away, and Cas turned to face Dean's disapproving scowl.

"I know," Cas sighed. "But the meatloaf is disgusting, anyway."

"Not the point."

"If I promise to find some kind of vegetable tonight, will you – "

"You can eat what you want, Cas," Dean interrupted. "Hell, I'm not even going to say anything about the cigarettes this time. I just don't know why you keep hanging around with Meg, of all people."

"She's my friend," Cas said, frowning.

"She's an evil skank, is what she is."

Cas folded his arms defensively. "You know, you throw that out there, but I'd love to know on what you're basing it. Even if she got around half as much as you seem to believe, what would make her any worse than the parade of dates who've been in and out of your backseat this year alone?" Dean flushed hard. It was a low blow, and Castiel immediately regretted it, but he was sick of hearing rumors about his friend, particularly when they were so unfair.

"Cas," Dean began, but Cas interrupted this time.

"No, that was uncalled for. You know I've never judged you like that." Well, it was sort of true. He hadn't really thought badly of Dean for the number of partners he'd had since girls had begun to appreciate his slow grin and his broad shoulders. He couldn't blame the girls, either. Who could resist the temptation of a flirting Dean Winchester, after all? Who, indeed – that was the heart of the real problem, and one for which there was nobody to blame but himself, in his darkest, most brutally honest moments. How pathetic can you be, his brain hissed. Falling for the guy who's completely out of your league, straight as a post, and who thinks you're his best friend.

Dean ran a hand over his face and scrubbed it through his hair. "No, I know you haven't. Just…wow, man. I don't want to fight. You wanna hang with her, you go ahead, and I'll try to play nice." He wasn't meeting Cas's eyes, and the avoidance made Cas deeply uncomfortable. He'd crossed a line with his jab. It hadn't been long ago that, sitting by a fire in the Winchesters' backyard, Dean had opened up about his mixed feelings over his Casanova reputation.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said. "Really. I just…" I just don't want you to judge her. I'm just afraid you could be judging me, too. I just hate that we all have to act like other people all the time, and we still get condemned for the things we haven't even done.

"Relax. It's fine." Dean smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and he put his arm back around Cas's shoulders for a moment. The electric thrill Cas had felt from the earlier hug felt dampened this time, under the tension of the argument. "I'll call you tonight, okay? Gotta go grab lunch now." With a last squeeze, he dropped his arm and headed into the cafeteria. Cas sighed again and rubbed his eyes before walking the other way.

Meg was waiting for him behind the shed next to the gym. Shivering slightly in the early spring chill, she was sitting on the ground, knees drawn up to her chest with her chin resting on them. Her earlier coolness was gone; stiffness radiated from her posture, and her eyes focused steadily into the distance. Cas put his back against the shed and slid slowly to the ground beside her, pulling the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and holding it toward her. She regarded it for a moment before laughing.

"Actually, no," she said. "And isn't that a kick in the teeth. I don't think I've ever wanted a smoke more than I do right now, but…"

"What is it?" She didn't immediately respond, and he didn't push. Other than Dean, Meg was the one person he knew in whom he could confide almost anything, and she'd done more than her share of confessing in exchange. There was no fear of condemnation between the two of them; the demons with which they each lived were too familiar for that.

Finally, she dropped her forehead to her knees and shrugged harshly. "Knocked up," she said succinctly.

Cas winced. He wasn't sure how to respond, but he was pretty sure it began with comforting his friend. "Meg," he said, putting his arms around her. She wilted, rigid shoulders collapsing sideways into him, and he could feel her breathing turn ragged, but she made no sound, and she didn't cry. It was long minutes before she finally lifted her head and exhaled fiercely.

"The dad's name is Christian, if you can believe it," she muttered. "Cousin of a friend. Honestly, I don't even want to tell him. We were only together the once. Turned out to be some kind of sadist freak. Pretty sure the names he was using meant he wasn't looking at me as the future mother of his children, either."

"Do you think you'll…?" Cas prompted hesitantly. He certainly wasn't going to criticize any decision she made, or even imply that she needed to make one right now. It was a raw moment.

"What makes you think I'm even going to get that choice?" she said, beginning to laugh. It was a gut-wrenchingly painful sound. "You know my uncle. If I'm even still pregnant by the time he gets through with me, he'll have me at the clinic as soon as I can get up off the floor."

Meg's uncle Crowley was a nightmare from which she couldn't wake. Her parents had died when she was thirteen, and her uncle had "generously" allowed her to live with him – in exchange for acting as maid, cook, and full-time punching bag. She had confided to Cas, in a cynical tone, that she kept doing calculations, weighing the time she had left before turning eighteen against time it would take for the legal system to do anything about it. Uncle Crowley had plenty of connections, which she figured meant that the system would move even more slowly than usual.

"Meg, no." Castiel's terror made him hold her even more tightly. "He can't…there's got to be…"

"I'm still seventeen," she said. "Won't be eighteen until after the baby would be born. And…maybe it's best. Who'd be stupid enough to let Uncle Crowley anywhere near a baby?" Her voice broke slightly at the end of her sentence, and Cas pulled her head into his shoulder.

"You aren't stupid," he said firmly. "And you should be able to decide for yourself what you want to do." They both knew the worth of "should." Meg's shoulders tightened again, and Cas rocked her, stroking her hair. On impulse, he softly sang the words to the song from which her nickname was drawn.

"Devil's got you, Lucy, under lock and key,

Ain't about to set you free…"

It was a long time before they spoke again, and during the silence, Castiel's thoughts had raced. Life was so very rarely fair, in his experience, and he had grown used to accepting that with little more than a bitter feeling in his gut. Now, for Meg, he wanted to fight.

"Honestly, I don't want to let Uncle Crowley near me anymore, either," she sniffed into his shoulder. "It's weird, but I kind of feel, like… protective . Like, I don't know if I want to be a mom or anything, but I don't want to let him have that power. But he already has it. If I run, he'll find me, and he'll do what he wants." She shuddered.

"Don't do anything," Cas urged. "Just for right now, hold on. I'm going to figure this out. Please, trust me." He couldn't bear the thought of letting Meg face this alone.

That night, Cas stayed at the library until it closed, though no coursework was touched. He pored over every legal and crisis network resource he could find, searching for a solution.

By the next morning, Friday, he had a plan. It was undoubtedly the most stupid, reckless plan he'd ever had, but he could see no other choice. The fact that Meg agreed – both to how stupid it was and to try it anyway – strengthened his resolve. Instead of going to school that morning, they took a borrowed car across the state border into Kentucky, fingers crossed and jaws set.

"Where were you?"

Cas was so very tired, bleary eyes having difficulty staying focused by the time he was climbing out of the car in front of his house Saturday morning. Meg was asleep, head resting against the window. It took him a few seconds to register Dean sitting on the porch steps, watching him. "I was…out," he said, gathering himself. It was strange seeing Dean there; he could probably count on his fingers the number of times Dean had come to his house instead of the other way around. When they were children, Dean's mom had made it gently clear that she preferred having the boys spend time at the Winchester house instead, and it was a habit that had stuck.

"Yeah, I can see that much," Dean said. "I tried calling, but you weren't answering. When I came by this morning, one of your brothers – I assume, anyway; the guy's passed out on your sofa – said you hadn't been in since yesterday morning. You go on a bender or something?" His tone was sarcastic, but his eyes looked worried.

"It's a long story." Cas knew he'd have to tell Dean eventually, but he didn't want to, not yet. In truth, telling Dean was going to be one of the hardest parts of what he had to do, though it shouldn't be, he knew. He'll be disappointed and angry, but only because he'll think I was stupid, not for any other reason. That's all on me.

"So talk. I've got time."

"Dean, I'm so tired. Can it just – "

"Sure, man. Whatever." Dean threw up his hands. "Why don't you and your girlfriend just go sleep it off, sober up? The sofa's taken, but I think the kitchen table is available."

"We're not drunk!" Cas snapped. He was exhausted, losing his temper, losing his hold over the wild emotions he'd been trying to contain for days.

"Then what ?"

"We're married !"

A long silence fell between them; Dean blinked in surprise. Finally, he said. "Is this some weird joke about the 'girlfriend' thing? Because correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you come out to me our freshman year?"

"Strangely, that was not a question on the marriage application," Cas sighed.

"You're serious. She's…you…what the fuck , Cas?" Dean's face was white; his eyes were huge and wild.

"Dean, please stop shouting," Cas said, closing his eyes. There was nothing, nothing , that he could think to say that would make this easier for Dean to understand. He didn't like Meg; he wouldn't understand why the thought of letting her suffer through this alone at the hands of her uncle was something Cas couldn't bear. Dean wasn't a bad person, but he simply wouldn't get it. In his view, there were always good ways out of bad situations.

"Well, maybe I'm drunk, then," Dean muttered, starting to pace. "Last time we talked, your weekend plans involved writing an English paper, not – and how did you even manage to get married so fast, anyway? And isn't she still underage? Is this even legal ?" He stopped pacing to jab a finger in the direction of Meg's head, still pressed against the glass.

"It's legal in Kentucky," Castiel said, grimacing preemptively, "if the girl is pregnant."

Again, nobody spoke. This time, though, the silence was broken only by a final, sharp exhale, and Dean turned abruptly to walk toward his car.

"Dean, wait, please!"

"No, I don't think there's else anything to say." Dean reached his car door and would have opened it, had Cas not caught up and put his own hand on the handle first. Dean rolled his eyes. "You knocked up Meg. Great going, man. Call me when the baby shower is set."

"I did not knock her up," Cas interrupted. "It's not my baby. Dean, please; I didn't lie about being gay. She's just my friend."

"She's your wife."

"Technically." It hadn't been intended as a joke, and neither boy laughed, though Dean rolled his eyes. "It was an emergency. This was the only way to protect her and her baby from her Uncle. He would have hurt her severely, and he would definitely have stopped the pregnancy, no matter what she wanted."

"Come on, Cas. You know there had to be another way. Did you think about calling the police? A lawyer or a social worker?"

"We're talking about Fergus Crowley. He keeps the town justice system on retainer." Even Dean couldn't deny that; it was common knowledge that Crowley had deep pockets and a solid history of investing in his own protection.

"Okay, I get that she was desperate, Cas, but what about you ? You threw yourself into this, and now what? You're married, gonna be a dad? You're still in high school! What about your future?"

"I'll still have one," Cas argued. "Now maybe she will, too."

"All right, all right. Forget social workers, forget the police. Did you think of, I dunno, calling me?" Dean crowded into Castiel's space, reaching out to grab his forearm. "I'm your best friend, man! How could you think of doing something this big without even talking to me? We could have figured out something!"

"Dean..." Cas didn't know how to say what he was thinking; he couldn't explain how or why it had become so crucial to keep Dean shielded and away from the most painful parts of his life. Part of him knew with certainty that if he had to, Dean would throw himself in front of a bus to protect Cas, without hesitation. Cas had been willing to make this sacrifice for Meg, but he would be damned if he'd let Dean give up any part of his own plans. "This isn't your problem," he finished.

"The hell it isn't!" Castiel had expected anger, but Dean's agitation was bewildering. A thousand emotions seemed to flicker across his face, none of which Cas could quite interpret. "You just did this without even...Cas, you and me, we...I never even..." He struggled, flushed with intensity. "We were going to leave here, together! Go off and change the world!"

"You'll still change the world! You don't need me for that."

"You're wrong," Dean said, voice suddenly hoarse. "You don't know – I didn't know – and I never said...Cas, I..."

Suddenly, in a blinding flash of prescient clarity, he knew what Dean was going to say, and the impact hit him in his gut like a bullet. The emotion in his eyes, the clench of his jaw – he'd seen these tells before, in rare moments where Dean had allowed himself to pull back the curtains around his heart and throw caution to the wind, to be vulnerable. When he had whispered into darkness that he was afraid to go to sleep because of bad dreams. When he had confessed his torn feelings and fears about leaving behind his home and his brother after graduation. When he had admitted that he was only dating his way through the cheerleading squad because being a known playboy gave him an excuse for not getting close to anybody in particular. It was the expression he'd worn the moment when Cas had finally decided that no amount of harassment was worth the headache and heartache of pretending any longer and had come out as gay, telling his best friend before anyone else.

He knew what Dean was going to say, and he knew that it wasn't true. It wasn't real, and hearing him say it would destroy Cas, just as the regret of saying these words that he wouldn't really mean would destroy Dean.

"No, Dean," he interrupted harshly. He had to cut him, hurt him, get him to go. "You don't need me. You've been trying to make me fit your big dreams for so long, but you never stopped to see that maybe it's not what I wanted. You're the one who's going to go change the world. My world is right here. I was never meant to leave!"

"No, that's not true, Cas – "

"Yes, it is." Cas felt the cruelty in his voice, more so because he was almost allowing himself to finally open up about all that he'd kept hidden for so long. "You don't even know the half of what my life is. You never bothered to look!" Maybe if you'd tried, you would have seen. I didn't want you to, but maybe I needed you to try. "You've been making plans, and I've just been surviving. Well, I'm going to keep on surviving, right here, and I can make my own plans without your permission." And you're going to leave, and part of me will die. But you'll never know.

Dean was staring, mouth slightly open. Cas was breathing hard, fighting back the urge to cry. Finally, Dean nodded hard. "Okay. I'm...I never meant to..." He closed his eyes. "Congratulations, I guess." He grabbed for the car door handle, and this time Cas moved out of the way to let him climb in. Dean didn't meet his eyes again as he threw the car into reverse and quickly peeled out of the driveway.

Cas felt as though he would shatter into pieces if he moved. He stood rooted, staring at the ground. A minute later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Meg was quiet, coming around him and studying his face. After a moment, she said, "You love him."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"He loves you, too."

"No, he doesn't. And I said I don't want to talk about it." He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, trembling.

She sighed. "Come here, Clarence." She pulled him into an awkward hug, his arms too tense to reciprocate the embrace. "You're both idiots, and I kind of hate you now for ruining our lovely honeymoon with a big gay love triangle." A strangled laugh escaped his throat, turning into a choked sob. Then he was clinging to Meg, the dam broken and tears soaking her shoulder as she swayed back and forth with him.