Chapter Eleven

The buzz of anticipation kept Dean awake and functioning during his shift on Tuesday, but when he arrived home to find that Castiel still wasn't back yet all of his energy drained away in an instant.

He slumped down on the couch and exhaustion swiftly dragged him under.

His dreams were filled with weird glowing symbols and blood and black goo. Castiel was there, looking at Dean with sad blue eyes, apologising and promising to redeem himself. But he didn't keep his promise.

Castiel waded out into the lake. Dean was on the bank, too far away to reach him in time. Before Dean had the chance to call out to him, beg him to come back, his head vanished beneath the water. A stain of black spread beneath the surface before disappearing as if it had never been.

Dean felt a deep sense of foreboding, but it was nothing compared to the grief that threatened to drown him.

A tan trench-coat washed up on the shore. Dean pulled it from the water. He knew what it meant. Cas was gone.

Dean woke gasping. He was mortified to discover that his cheeks were wet.

He tried to tell himself that it was just a dream. Castiel was fine. He was alive, he was right here-

Only he wasn't.

Dean realised that maybe his subconscious was trying to make him face the reality that Castiel had left and wasn't coming back.

Broken promises. He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be the first time.

Dean wanted to call Sam and demand that he tell it to him straight, but it was the middle of the night and Dean knew he was in no fit state to be given confirmation that Castiel wanted out. He had to cling to the hope that Castiel had just been delayed by whatever work they were doing or he'd probably have a complete mental breakdown.

It had to be unhealthy, being so dependent on someone else that the thought of living without them was unbearable. But he couldn't help it. Castiel was the only thing he knew for sure about his past; without him he had nothing. He was nothing.

If Castiel didn't come back, it would destroy him. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Resigned to his fate, Dean heaved his lethargic body off the couch and plodded into his bedroom. He collapsed on top of the covers, knowing that his mind would conjure images of Castiel to torment him with while he slept. He was too tired to fight it.

But when he woke up to the first rays of sunlight streaming through the gap in his curtains, he felt bizarrely well-rested. He snuggled contentedly into the solid warmth at his back-

-and froze in shock.

There was someone in the bed with him.

Heart in his throat, Dean hardly dared to breathe as he turned over.

He was stunned to discover that Castiel was curled up beside him, snoring softly. He was still fully dressed, with his shoe-clad feet dangling off the edge of the bed, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, his coat skewed awkwardly around him and his rucked-up shirt revealing a thin band of warm skin. His face was turned into the pillow and his hair was sticking out in every direction.

He was beautiful.

Dean reached out a trembling hand and laid it gently on the top of his head, needing concrete proof that this wasn't some figment of his imagination. Castiel nuzzled into his palm and a small sound escaped his lips, but he didn't wake. Dean slipped his fingers through the loose strands of hair, marvelling at the fact that Castiel was really here.

He had come home.

The hope that had been dwindling rapidly flared back into full flame.

Dean dared to slot his body in closer and every atom of his being hummed with contentment. For the first time since he had woken up in that hospital bed, he felt like everything was as it should be.

He exhaled a happy sigh and let his eyes fall closed.

"Dean?"

Castiel was pulling away from him and Dean wanted to wrap his arms around his waist so he couldn't go anywhere. But if he pushed the boundaries Castiel would retreat even further and that was the last thing Dean wanted.

"Morning," he mumbled, trying to sound like he was still half asleep. Maybe Castiel would decide it was okay to cuddle for a little longer.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

Dean caught his hand. "I don't mind." He opened his eyes, wanting to drink in the sight of those baby blues.

Instead he was confronted with a mess of battered and bruised flesh.

Alarmed, Dean jerked upright and dragged Castiel up with him so he could get a better look at his injuries. "What the hell happened to you?!"

"I'm fine, Dean-"

"It looks like someone tried to smash your face in!"

"The – uh, job – was more difficult than we anticipated. But I'm fine, really…"

Dean tugged him towards the bathroom and forced him to look in the mirror. "That is not what 'fine' looks like."

Castiel's reflection looked back at him, and suddenly Dean was staring at another image in another mirror.

He heard the sound of fists pounding into flesh, bones cracking under the onslaught. He felt the hot gush of blood against his knuckles.

"Dean. Stop."

He wouldn't stop. Cas wasn't fighting back but he wouldn't stop. He drove a knee into his gut, threw him across the room, slammed his head against a desk. There were smears of blood left on the wood. Cas collapsed but Dean went after him. He flipped him over, seized a fistful of his shirt. Held a blade poised over his heart.

"No. Dean. Please."

Dean staggered backwards.

"Dean?"

"That didn't happen. Tell me that didn't happen!"

"Dean, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Did I do that to you?"

"What? No, Dean it was a – it happened on the job."

"Not now. Before. Did I – did I attack you?"

Castiel's expression immediately became guarded. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh my god. I did. Why the hell- god, Cas, that's not okay! How could you still want to be with me after I-"

"Dean, you're remembering something out of context. You can't-"

"I hit you! God, I tried to kill you. That is so messed up, what the fuck was wrong with me? What kind of monster was I? No wonder you don't want me to remember who I was before-"

"No, Dean, it's not like that. You were a good person."

"I beat my boyfriend bloody!"

"We weren't actually dating at that point-"

"Like that matters! I hurt you. I did it deliberately. I liked it." He felt sick. He was disgusted with himself, with who he had been.

"Dean, you don't understand. You were under the influence of – uh. A drug. It wasn't your fault-"

"So, what, now you're telling me I was a drug addict?"

"No. Dean, just – stop. There were extenuating circumstances. We were okay. You have to trust me on that."

"I don't think there is anything that could possibly justify what I did to you."

"Dean, I have dealt out my fair share of hurt. We've been through a few rough patches, but we came out the other side stronger for it."

Dean shook his head. He could still feel the blood-lust that had burned through his veins.

"I don't want to remember," he said. He had thought he wanted his memories back, but he was wrong. If he had been the kind of person who could do something like that to his best friend, then the world was better off with that part of him being dead and buried. "I won't be that guy again. I won't ever hurt you like that, you hear me?"

"Dean…"

"This is what you wanted, right? For me not to try to remember?"

"I – guess."

"Good. We're on the same page. You may have married a dick, but this time around I'm going to actually earn it. If you're willing to give me another chance."

"Dean, I loved you without reservation. You weren't perfect, but neither was I. We fit."

"And we will again. Better this time. Please, Castiel. Let me try."

There was a beat of hesitation before Castiel finally gave in. "Alright."

Dean nodded firmly. "Okay. I have to go to work, but I'm taking you out for dinner tonight."

His smile was a little uncertain, but he wasn't saying no.

Dean felt a surge of relief. He squelched the remnants of his flashback, determined that this was going to be the start of something new.

"I'll see you when I get home," he said.

"I'll be here," Castiel replied. This time, Dean believed him.

ooOOoo