I'm pretty sure I promised no more angst but...Dean really likes to beat himself up and stick his foot in his mouth, doesn't he? Well, at least the plot does thicken, like I also promised...(only a few more chapters left, really)

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profits. Warnings: may contain small spoilers, AU and probably a really bad plot-twist-ending with a small "crossover". Some crude language. Mentions of Dean/Castiel with brief details.

Dean pulled out the bar seat a little shakily. He actually surprised himself by not tipping the chair onto the ground or falling flat on his ass before sitting into a cushion numerous others have sat in before him. A cushion numerous others would sit in after him.

He sighed, rubbed his face wearily, and tapped the wooden bar table for a drink. He used to be a happy drunk, a little more sloppy version of his usual self with a sly, incorrigible grin present at all times. Now it seemed things have changed. He wouldn't have known either way. Castiel made him stop drinking excessively while they were...whatever they were.

It didn't matter right now. He was in too much pain and loathing to bother burning himself with the light of happy memories. The ones Castiel didn't have any more. The ones Castiel blames him for hoarding and not sharing.

He felt the acid slid down his throat and could easily trace its path from start to finish into his stomach and almost hear it eat away at his vital organs. He could die a slow, painful death this way. It wouldn't be anything less than what he deserved.

Dean rubbed his face again, absent-mindedly noting someone filling in the seat next to him with a lot more ease. It was only 10:15 PM and he had bar-hopped his way down to this one, his fourth. He was a little surprised he wasn't being denied service yet. Surprised, but not ungrateful.

"Bar'enderr," he slurred, waving one arm. "Hit me 'gain," his arm started to misbehave. "Dammit," he muttered before the glass was set down before him with a heavy thump. His partner next to him stole it and downed it with ease before he could even reach out for it.

"What the fu-" he hiccuped and swayed as he turned in his seat to face the bastard who stole his drink. "Do you thin' yer doin'?"

"Dean," said the blurry Sasquatch in a voice that just screamed 'I'm-a-buzz-kill'. Dean laughed at his own private joke.

"Sammy-boy, what're you doing here?" he asked again, politer and a little less slurred with a half-grin.

"I came to find you and sober your ass up," Sam turned to the bartender. "Coffee, black, please,"

"How'd you find me?" Dean squeezed the handle of his cup of coffee, inhaling the steam through his nose. He sipped at it gingerly, punishing his tongue with heat and ugly taste like he just punished his liver with poison.

"You must be drunk if you ask me that," Sam laughed. "Dude, you're like the only person who drives an Impala in the entire world,"

"Don't mock my baby," Dean mumbled. "How's Cas; where is he?"

Sam gave him a weird look, then frowned and shook his head. "He went somewhere to cool off, I guess. Bobby said he'll handle him when the time comes. If he even comes back," He paused. "You really pissed him off, Dean." This was said softly and not for the sake of his blooming headache, he guessed.

"Yeah," he whispered, staring off in the distance. "I never thought that trying to do the right thing would make me more of a douche-bag. I am doing the right thing, aren't I?" Dean glanced back at Sam with a pleading look radiating so intensely.

"What... what are you doing?" Sam asked with some hesitancy. He wasn't sure he wanted to know any more details of his brother's relationship. He still couldn't get rid of the image of his brother lying naked beneath the angel on their dining table. God, there it was again-

But Dean needed his help, idiot that he was to get himself here. Maybe he'd finally listen for once.

"Castiel-" Dean bit his lip and looked into his drained cup. This wasn't the sort of thing he was accustomed to discussing with his little brother. He sighed and decided to let it all out in one breath. "Castiel wants to fuck me and he's pissed that I won't let him until he gains his memories back," The tips of his ears started to burn tellingly.

"Oh, um," Sam stammered, running a hand through his hair. "Well, in that case, you're doing the right thing. God, that sounds so weird," he tapped for his own drink and shovelled it down as fast as he could.

"Now you know why I'm here," Dean chuckled a bit morosely. His breath left through his nose heavily as he stared into his empty coffee cup. His tongue was nagging at him to apologize. It sounded a bit like Castiel.

He was drunk, he was drunk, he was so hungover that his eyes were welling up because of some reaction to his drunkenness and not the domesticated-Cas reference in his head.

"Dean..." his brother trailed, arm reaching out to the back of his cushion just as the dam overflowed. The weird, semi-hug that was so-totally-awkward was Sam's misreading him.

He simply decided to play along. That's why he sobbed into Sam's shoulder quietly. That's why he said "God, Sam, I just miss him so much," in a raw, broken way. The way someone would speak if they couldn't have the one person, or angel, they loved most.

That's why Sam said "I know, Dean, I know," back. It was all just an act to play, one little scene.

That's why it didn't really hurt so fucking much feeling like he missed his chance for a hunter's happily ever after. Feeling like he missed his chance to have his Cas.

"You know," Sam said, breaking the silence as they walked to the Impala. Or as he all but carried Dean to the Impala depending on whose point of view. "I'm glad that you actually opened up without me having to threaten you with something first-like we usually do,"

Because none of this real, simply a rehearsed stage that he would also completely forget about it in the morning, Dean said "Yeah, me too."

He woke up that morning, afternoon really, back groaning in time with his mouth. His whole body complained about last night. "And I didn't even have sex with anyone," he grumbled as he sat up, giving himself another generous minute to stretch and fully awaken. Hangovers really sucked.

"Indeed you did not," Castiel answered his thought he didn't even realize that he spoke out loud. Dean jumped.

"Fuck!" He muttered, rubbing his eyes. He was not ready for a snarky, upset Cas this early in the morning. "Where's Sam?" he asked, just so the angel couldn't continue with some awkward-because-they-both-so-wanted-it comment.

The angel cocked his head, tilting in the direction of the floor. "Samuel is downstairs. It is nearly noon. I was sent to see if you were awake and watch over if you if you were not. He and Bobby decided to pick up with the mission if you did not wake soon,"

Dean snorted. "Right. I'm sure that's their only reason," But even as he said it, his mouth dried and his heart began to hammer thinking about all the things the two of them could do with no one around. He had to close his eyes hard and think even harder to banish those images away. And they still left behind a warm feeling in his stomach and an echo in his heart.

"Enough," he told himself. Maybe he hadn't come to terms fully with the evils, one in specific, that he had done to Cas and himself, but he was tired of battling the stupid emotions. He was a Hunter, he didn't have time for any of this shit. He needed to be on his A-game at all times.

"If only Cas wasn't here, I could..." he muttered to himself again, unsure of what exactly he meant to end it with. He looked up and turned around, jumping again when he found himself face-first with a whole-lot of sad angel.

"Dean, I do not wish to cause you more turmoil but," he gestured flatly with his hands and Dean softened again. The power this angel had over him was infinite. "There is so much I...don't understand. It is causing me...great pains,"

"Believe me, I know," was all he could squeeze out. "We better join the party heading out," he said over his shoulder after a cough. It didn't hurt as much to speak to him if he wasn't facing him. Although, it took a little more repetition before he could actually convince himself of that.

"Dude, you're wearing the clothes you had on last night," Sam greeted as soon as they arrived. He wrinkled his nose. "Oh, God, and you stink!"

Dean and Castiel gave him a mild once over. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain," they said at the same time, Dean mocking and Castiel serious as ever. Castiel cocked his head at Dean, frowning thoughtfully as Dean rolled his eyes at the absurdity. He hoped he wasn't showing how nervous Cas' stare was making him.

"Great, we've got our two Jesus freaks back again," Bobby muttered, shutting the trunk and moving to the driver's side of his car.

"Anyway, if you just gave me some time, I could've showered and changed before we left," Sam bit back the comment he was going to make at the glare that Dean sent him.

"Oh, and by the way," Dean continued, pulling his brother in closer. "What the fuck were you trying to do?"

Sam looked down. "Dean, after what you said last night-"

"Fuck," Dean grumbled, breaking away and rubbing his face. He kicked the ground up a little. "You aren't supposed to remember that,"

"You have to do something, Dean," Sam pointed out, his voice giving him no terms of refusal. "This situation is tearing you apart. You're back to where you were at the beginning. Maybe if you'd just-"

"No, I can't do that to him," he said, his voice just as low. "Anything but that. I thought we discussed that last night,"

"We did," Sam conceded awkwardly. "But, sometimes, doing the right thing hurts too much," He glanced at Bobby, then Castiel and at his feet before looking at his brother in the eyes. "It hurts everyone too much,"

"Don't I fucking know, that's why I need this," he laughed bitterly. "I need something to take my mind off him for at least a few minutes whenever I can. And if that means staring at a fucking wall trying to find some clue to whatever the hell we've found ourselves in, so be it. I really don't think you're in a position to judge coping methods, Sammy!"

Sam frowned and his eyes darkened. "Dammit, Dean. I fought with you at the end of the world. I was willing to sacrifice myself to fucking Lucifer and jump into a cage for all eternity and I still haven't proven myself to you for a mistake that I regret with all of my heart. And I really don't think you are in a position to judge yourself," he sneered.

"God, Sam, that's not-I didn't mean, fuck it!" he cursed at his retreating brother's back, watching him angrily slam the door to Bobby's car. "I'm just one big screw-up after the next forever and always, aren't I?" he muttered to the ground.

He heard their car rev to life and squeal as the tires gripped on the loose dirt to spin off in the direction of the house they were investigating and sighed. He took a look at the ruffled angel beside him glumly and decided that yes, he probably was.

When he said that he was going to "stare at a fucking wall" as part of his coping methods, he didn't really think he was going to stare at a fucking wall the entire time. Much less, talk to it like he was some sort of crazy person. But there was something that called him back into the room from before. His fingers returned to probing the crack in the wall, caressing it delicately as he mulled over his thoughts again. He wasn't in as deep of a lull as before, trying to be alert on some level so that a repeat of yesterday didn't happen.

"What did you do to keep the people you love?" he asked the wall. Something dripped and creaked in the silence following him. He rested his forehead against its old frame.

"What would you do if those people came back desperate to fix you-could you let them, even if you knew it would and could easily cause more destruction? More destruction than you could take at first, but at the same time, know that maybe everything would get fixed? New plumbing, new furniture, decorations, knickknacks and all that shit.

"But it wouldn't matter because you would be happy and he would be happy and everybody would be happy again and this time you wouldn't mess it up for the world; you'd take care of yourself and of him, put him first and treat him perfectly forever. But then, but then, what if all that happens, and he-he suddenly stops wanting you and you realize he never really wanted you because there is so much better out there than you and nothing you do can make him content any more? What if he leaves, what if you let him leave to go back to where he belongs even though you know it's not going to be with you? Could-could you take that chance?"

He waited, feeling silly as he did so, and listened with a shiver at how much more quiet it seemed now that his voice stopped rambling into the empty, dusty air. Dean sighed and closed his eyes. The house wasn't going to share any more with him, and he couldn't find the answer for himself inside himself yet. He wondered if he would any time soon.

"This place is freaking depressing," he muttered to himself, letting out an ironic, half-hearted chuckle. He removed his contact from the wall and left the room reluctantly still.

He found Bobby gingerly combing over the dusty and cobwebbed book shelves for answers while Sam and Castiel stared uncomprehendingly at the image of stained wings. Dean plopped himself into an empty chair and sighed.

The only sounds in the entire house were Dean's sneeze at the dust particles flying into his nose from the motion of his sitting down and the house's own endless creaks and groans from their presence.

Bobby slammed a book shut a moment later. Sam glanced over at him but Dean watched the sad and confused look frost over the angel's face. He flinched every time Cas shut his eyes and winced faintly himself, as if receiving a ghost punch to the ribs.

"Well, I've got a stinking pile of absolutely nothing," Bobby said with finality. "If it weren't for those damn wing-marks and traces of sulphur, this house would be completely clean...or at least, normal," he added with a dark look around the messy home. "Any ideas?"

"Some up and coming hotshot takes on an angel to prove his dominance-" Dean started, tossing out the only thing that sounded somewhat plausible.

"But that would suggest a time frame in which the passing of this sister of mine clearly overshoots," Castiel said over him, shaking his head and feeling sick to his stomach. "This death happened decades ago, before our time and yet not,"

Dean sucked in a breath at his inclusive syntax and stood up slowly. Less dust that way. "But that can't be. She's still alive,"

"When she should not be," Castiel pointed out, biting his lip and narrowing his eyes.

"But a demon could not have killed her, we saw her die! Right, Sammy?" he cast a look at his brother.

Sam just crossed his arms and glared at him. "Sorry, but I have no clue what you're talking about,"

"God," Dean rolled his eyes. "I forgot you were still pissy at me," he mumbled. "Anna, Sam. We watched Raphael kill her,"

"I don't even want to know how you two do it," Bobby muttered to no one. "So what does this mean?"

Dean snapped back to Castiel and shook his head slowly. He swallowed and stepped closer to him. The world around them shrunk to fit only the two of them. "No...No, Cas, you can't-" his voice broke on him and he fell back on his eyes to implore him.

"Dean, there was once a time when I would take you on your word for anything," Castiel looked down, frowning at the vague feelings of memories stirring inside him. The Breaths seemed to be losing their hold. He closed his eyes briefly and looked back into those dark green eyes that so quickly captivated him. "I need to do all in my power to return to that time."

"Cas," Dean tightened his hold on the angel's forearm, straining to pull him closer. "Please, listen to me. Something's not right about all of this and I don't-" he stopped and sighed, crumpling in the face of futility.

"I can't let you go," he whispered. "Not again,"

"But you must," was the firm answer and the arm he held tight vanished out of his grasp.

He fell to his knees, his head bowing with the momentum and struggled not to sob. He was the house and he hated how he felt like this was his last chance for repairs.

The house groaned with him in sympathy. But that wasn't enough.

Not nearly enough.