Holy crap guys look at that! I'm finally done editing, this is a brand new chapter (Also, i kinda sorta changed the ending of the last chapter, but just a tiny bit). I actually know where I'm going with this now. I've got this chapter and I'm going to try and push out the last couple or few here real quick because I've been working on this damn thing for a good year and a half, and I think we're all ready to be done with it. Thank you all, I really mean it, from the bottom of my heart. You're wonderful people, so keep it up. As always, enjoy.

Dean was not dumb. He realized that downing an entire bottle of bourbon on a nearly empty stomach was not a smart thing to do. Especially not with everything on his plate, but he just couldn't help himself; his world was going to hell in a handbasket and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He eyed the nearly empty bottle dangling from his hand and sighed to himself. Bobby had taken Sam somewhere, on some kind of hunt or something, but that was hours ago, back when Dean had locked himself in the guest room. He looked around the tilted, dark room that was Bobby's living room; there was a broken lamp on the floor and a sizeable dent in the wall, next to it was a dark red smear. He brought his hand up to his head, noticing the fresh blood caking his knuckles on his broken hand, his bandages were MIA. He thought hard for a moment, trying to remember what exactly had happened the last few hours and, unsurprisingly, he had no idea. He dropped the mostly empty bottle with a dull thump and stood, leaning against the wall for support. "Cas?" He called out to the empty room. He waited, nothing. Not even the sound of a damn mouse in the walls. He ventured a step forward, but immediately lost his footing and fell two steps back into Bobby's couch. "Castiel?" He called again. After a few more moments with no response he sighed to himself and lay down on the couch. He just needed some sleep. Maybe he'd wake up and everyone would have a good laugh over how drunk he had gotten. As he swept his eyes across the room again at the shards of glass and metal littering the floor, he realized that it wasn't likely that anyone would be laughing. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the spinning under his lids and the pounding in his head. What the hell happened?

"C'mon Sam," Bobby called wheeling himself into the hallway. Sam and Castiel were currently trying to coerce Dean into opening the guest room and coming out, but it wasn't happening. Sam looked over at the old hunter and was met with stern, weathered eyes. "I found us a job to do."

Sam looked back exasperatedly. "Bobby, I-"

Bobby cut him off firmly. "Don't make me tell you again boy." He threatened and Sam hesitated before turning fully to Bobby, as he walked away he cast a hopeful look over his shoulder toward Cas, who nodded. Soon enough Castiel heard the front door open and shut, and a car started up and drove off. He sighed to himself and raised his hand to knock again.

"Dean, I have been standing here for twenty minutes." Silence. He knocked again, more forcefully this time. "I am not above trying to break the door down." More silence. The angel stepped back against the wall and readied himself to run at the door when he heard a click of a lock, and the door opened a sliver, revealing Dean's red face.

"What?"

"I think we need to talk, Dean." Dean snorted and moved back to shut the door again, shaking his head. Castiel used the opening and pushed the door open, sending Dean stumbling back into the bed. "It was not a request." He stepped over the threshold and Dean grabbed the bottle by the bed, drinking deeply. He pulled the bottle from his lips and sucked in a breath before looking at Cas again.

"I don't think so."

Cas sighed again and shook his head. "Dean," He began as the aforementioned hunter pushed past him, bottle in hand and reeking of liquor.

"I said no, man." Cas stared after Dean's retreating back for a moment before leaving the room. Instead of following Dean directly into the living room though, he detoured to the kitchen and stood at the lip of the sink. He stared through the dirty window over the dusty lot littered with dead cars; everything was tinted in the soft blue of early evening. He watched a leaf skitter over the ground until it finally came to rest at the tire of a car. He shook his head and stepped back before rifling through the cabinets for a glass, which he found and filled with water. If Dean had been drinking, he would need water to fend off the hangover Castiel knew was coming. He turned around, fresh water in hand and walked to the doorway to the living room.

"Cas…" Dean said wearily. He was a shadow against the corner of the living room. His head rested against the wall, his arm draped over his propped up knee, between two of his fingers dangled the square bottle filled with amber liquid. He looked up through his lashes at the figure in the doorway and Cas felt his heart skip a beat. He strode forward to where Dean sat on the floor and offered him the glass.

"Dean, I know-" But that was all he was able to say before he was slammed against the wall knocking the wind out of him, and the glass out of his hand, he heard a dim shatter and felt something splatter against his leg. He tried to move, but he was pinned by Dean, they were so close he could taste the bourbon on Dean's breath when it brushed his lips. Before he could react, Dean's mouth was on his, hot and urgent as he stepped infinitesimally closer, pressing them flush together. Cas felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room as Dean slipped his hand under his many layers of clothing, running calloused hands over Cas' firm skin. When Cas finally regained some control of his body he pushed Dean back to arms' length, which Dean allowed, but he didn't let go of his loose grip on the lapel of the tan trench coat. "Dean," Cas began breathily, looking into the hunter's half-lidded eyes. "You don't want to do this."

Dean laughed then, a bitter, humorless laugh. "That's the thing though," He slurred, wobbling slightly on his feet. "I do, I really do." He closed the distance between their mouths again; Cas could taste the whiskey so strongly it felt like he was actually drinking it. He pushed the hunter away again, and shaking his head sadly.

"No, you don't Dean. You're inebriated."

"I do Cas, okay?! I do!" Dean shouted and punched the wall directly next to Cas' right ear. He pulled his hand back and ripped the bandages covering his hand off as though they burnt him. He glared down at his broken hand and punched the wall again, leaving behind a small blood smear. The former angel stared back at the righteous man, unflinching. "I've got a big gay crush on you, okay? Is that what you want to friggin hear?!" When Castiel only shook his head sadly Dean gave an exasperated sigh and leaned forward until his forehead was in the crook of Cas' neck. "Please let me do this." His voice dropped to a whisper and Cas felt wetness on his neck. "Please Cas." He was going to, just then, he was about to give Dean everything he ever wanted and more, but he just couldn't allow himself to live through that kind of pain.

"I can't Dean." He said softly, placing his hands on Dean's upper arms and pushing him away gently. "You are intoxicated, and you will forget this conversation, whereas I will remember everything." He smiled sadly at the hunter. "It would be a torturous experience for us both." He stepped to the side, effectively putting space between the two of them. Dean's shoulder slumped and he gave another bitter laugh, looking sideways at Cas. He may have been smiling, but Cas could see the frustration, resentment, and grief just beneath the surface.

"I just don't get you man." He straightened and turned to Cas. "You've been cut off from heaven for what, a month Cas? A month, and you've already fallen in love? Can't you see what's wrong with that?" His voice was steadily rising, nearing hysterics. "How do you just fall in love with someone like that? I mean, you barely know me man! But you decided I was good enough to deserve your attentions and what? I reciprocate and you're suddenly not interested?! What kind of screwed up logic is that?!"

"You're drunk."

"I KNOW I'M DRUNK!" Dean grabbed the lamp on the table and threw it on the ground where it crashed into a million tiny pieces. He stood over the light, huffing. He breathed in deeply and looked at Cas levelly. "It's not real okay?" He carded a hand through his hair, "It's not real. I don't know what it is, but you don't love me. You can't. I mean, don't tell me you do then- then do that." He gestured at the wall, noticing for the first time the Cas-shaped dent it sported.

Cas looked over at the wall and back to Dean, unsure what to do. "You're not making sense Dean." He said lamely. He couldn't give Dean what he wanted, and he couldn't calm him down. He looked around helplessly before sighing. "I do love you."

"You don't." Dean slumped to the floor, his voice cracking over the last word. "I'm messed up man, and the whole world's going to hell if we can't stop this thing; which we won't. So what's the point?" He looked up momentarily, but just long enough for Cas to see the wetness shining on his face. "What's the point of loving someone if they can't love you back?" Castiel stepped back, feeling as though he had felt a physical blow. His eyes stung and burned at the same time, his heart was squeezing painfully, and his stomach felt like it had been filled with lead. He reached up to feel a wetness on his cheeks, he was crying. He nodded curtly at the man on the floor, then turned and left, ignoring the soft calls of the hunter behind him.

"Crowley!" Dean called out to the still living room, he had woken up a few hours after he had fallen on the bed in Bobby's living room. He looked around at the still empty room, cursing under his breath. In the blink of an eye Dean wasn't alone in the living room anymore.

"You called?"

"Yeah," He rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I need your help."

Crowley looked shocked. "You need help from me? Oh, I'll have to write home about this."

"Enough." Dean glared at the demon and put his head in his hands. "I need you to tell me what happened last night."

"And how would I know anything about that?" Crowley responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. Dean looked up and glared. After a moment Crowley's smile faded and he sighed. "Right, the coin." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the hunter with an almost sad expression. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Dean grunted, unmoving.

"Well, let's start from the beginning then, shall we?"