CHAPTER 2

Dean heard Sam coming down the stairs, but didn't look up from the book he was reading through until Sam asked, "Dude, have you been here all night?" Only then did Dean glance up and blink around the room, suddenly realizing that yeah, it was already six in the morning and light was streaming in through the giant window on the other side of the room.

"Yeah," Dean said, and rubbed his eyes, trying to suppress a yawn. Geez, that explained why the words were swimming in front of his eyes so badly.

Sam frowned and sat down on the table in front of Dean, facing him. "I thought you were coming to bed right after I did," he said. "Seriously, I never would've left you down here if I'd known that you were going to be here all night. I would've come down here and dragged your ass to bed."

Dean shook his head. "I slept in the car yesterday, remember?" he said. "For, what? Six hours? That's enough to cover me for today."

Sam's frown deepened. "Um, no, it's definitely not," he said. Dean just ignored that, turning down to look at the book in his lap again, and after a moment, Sam asked, "So, have you found anything?"

"No," Dean snapped, then shook his head and switched to rubbing his temples. "I tried three other spells to try to find him, and nothing. Either my witchcraft just sucks, or else-"

And just like last night, he still couldn't finish that sentence, so he just grimaced and went silent.

Sam nodded. His expression didn't change, as if that had been exactly what he had expected, and the look in his eyes was grim. "What are you looking at now, then?" he asked.

For a moment, Dean didn't move, just glanced down at the book in his hands, not sure if he wanted to show it to Sam or not. Researching it himself was one thing, because then he could shove the book back onto the shelf later and pretend that it had never happened. Telling someone else? That seemed more… final. Still, though, after a moment, he lifted the book, just enough that Sam could see the cover.

"Demonology and the Afterlife," Sam slowly read out loud, then lifted his eyes to look at Dean. For a moment, he looked like he was going to ask why Dean would be looking at something like that. Then Dean saw the exact moment that he understood.

Dean swallowed, and looked away. "The spells would have found him if he was, you know, out there somewhere. And it's just-" He swallowed again, then finished, "I've never heard of demons being able to drag your soul downward unless you made a deal, but since the demons were the ones to take Cas- And, you know, it was kind of special circumstances. I just wanted to be sure."

"We don't know that that was what happened," Sam said at once, since he basically had to – what else was he supposed to say. "The spells could all have failed for other reasons." He didn't offer any suggestions for what those reasons could be, though. Dean hadn't expected him to.

Because Dean wanted to think that Cas was okay, that he was somehow wrong about what had happened to him. That this was another case like the shapeshifter one, where they'd find Cas somewhere and everything would be okay.

He didn't think it would be. Hell, he'd been lucky enough to get a miracle like that once. No way was the universe going to be kind enough to let it happen again.

"I just gotta make sure that he's not somewhere bad, wherever he ended up," Dean said in a low voice. He didn't exactly believe in Heaven, and he definitely didn't believe in God. But, well, people had to end up somewhere after they died, right? And Hell couldn't be the only option, or else the demons wouldn't be so eager to buy up souls and drag them down there. Meaning that Cas could be somewhere else, in the Great Beyond or wherever the fuck it was, and no way did Dean want to even think about that, but it was at least better than the alternative.

"I gotta be sure," Dean repeated, then scowled, his hands balling into fists. "Especially since whatever happened to him, it was my own fucking fault in the first place."

That got Sam's attention, and made his shift forward, the worry in his eyes growing stronger. "Dean-"

Dean shook his head. "Don't even try to give me a free pass on this one," he said, a warning in his voice. Because it was his fault, and he knew it, and if Sam tried to say otherwise, then Dean was pretty sure that he was going to lose his shit completely. "The demons came to drag my soul to Hell, and he ended up being the one to get taken away. That kinda makes my fault, don't you think?"

Sam shook his head, and said, "You couldn't have known that this would happen."

Dean took a deep breath, and didn't say anything. He didn't need Sam to bullshit him to make him feel better. He knew the truth.

He'd been the one to keep this a secret, thinking it was just going to affect him, that nobody else needed to get hurt. And that had been so incredibly stupid that just thinking about it made him feel like he could barely breathe.

About a minute passed in silence, and then Sam shifted in his seat again, and said, "I want to talk to you about something." He paused for a moment, hesitating, then amended, "About you selling your soul."

Dean let out a low groan. "Seriously, Sam? Not a good time for this."

"I know," Sam said, in this low voice that was all filled with pain, and made it sound like maybe he did actually know, and continued, "but I'm going to say it anyway." Dean didn't respond, but apparently Sam just took that as an invitation, because he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together, watching Dean with that intense look he always got, then said, "You said that we can only talk to you about this if we'd rather that I stayed dead instead of you getting dragged down to Hell," he said, then paused for a moment before he added, "Which means that I'm pretty much the only one who can tell you about how wrong you were."

That sure as hell got Dean's attention. "What are you saying?" he demanded, lifting his head to look over at Sam.

Sam shrugged and spread his hands. "I'm not saying I want to be dead, because I don't," he said, sounding way too calm for this conversation. Obviously he'd planned this out ahead of time. "But seriously, Dean, what were you thinking? Spending an eternity in Hell to bring me back from the dead? You gotta realize that that's not okay."

"I saved your life," Dean snapped. "You could at least be grateful."

"And I am," Sam insisted, leaning even farther forward. He took a deep breath, and said, "Seriously, man... Thank you for doing it. But you gotta know that if I could go back and change it all, there would be no way that I'd let you do it again. I'd rather die when I was twelve and go to Heaven or whatever it is that's out there, instead of letting you rot in Hell for all eternity." Sam's voice broke a little on the word Hell, and he glanced away, taking a deep breath like he was trying to keep himself under control.

And honestly? Dean had never regretted selling his soul, not even when the Hellhounds had been coming for him and he'd been sure that he was seconds away from death. Now, though, he was starting to feel shitty.

"I had to do it," he insisted again. "Jesus, Sam, you know why I had to do it. No way could I live with you dead."

Sam didn't say anything. But slowly, he nodded. "Yeah, I get that," he said after a long moment of silence. "And honestly? If the positions were reversed, and you were the one who had died, I'd probably do the exact same thing."

Instantly, Dean stiffened, and he shook his head. "Don't you dare," he said, voice low. "Don't even think about it. Don't you dare think about doing anything crazy to try to get my soul back, or try to trade places with me, or something stupid like that."

Sam just looked him in the eyes. "I'm not," he said. "I'm going to find a way to kill Azazel and get your soul back for you, so that neither of us have to die. But that gives you an idea of how I feel about you selling your soul for me, doesn't it?"

Sam stood and walked away without saying anything else, leaving the living room without even looking back. Dean's hands clenched, just thinking about how he'd feel if Sam got himself killed to save Dean somehow. God, even the thought of it hurt like a fucking stab wound, he couldn't even imagine what it'd be like if Sam actually went through with something like that.

And okay, maybe it had been a dick move on his part to do the same thing to Sam, and to make Sam actually feel like that for real.

But he'd had to do it.

"Here," Sam said a minute later, reentering the living room. He bent down and set a cup of coffee and a bagel onto the table in front of Dean. "I figured there's no way that I'll convince you to actually get some sleep, so this is the next best thing."

For a moment, Dean just stared at them, his throat feeling strangely tight and his eyes wet. Which was ridiculous. He'd made it through the hellhounds' attack, and Cas getting taken, and every other thing that had gone wrong without bawling like a baby. He wasn't going to lose it over coffee and a frickin' bagel. It didn't matter if this was just the tipping point, like Sam doing one nice thing was enough to make him wanna break down about all of the other shit. It was still a sissy thing to do, and he wasn't going to give in. So he just nodded. "Thanks."

Sam didn't say anything, but he did go and drop down into one of the other chairs, facing Dean. And he had that look on his face again, like he wanted to have another Important Talk. Dean groaned and grabbed the coffee cup, gulping down half of it even though it burned his throat, until he felt a little steadier and less like he was going to break down over a stupid breakfast food. Then he could look at Sam and demand, "Okay, what is it this time?"

"I was thinking," Sam began.

"Well, shit," Dean said, taking another swig from the coffee. "That's always a really bad sign, isn't it?"

Sam didn't even look mad about that. That was how Dean knew this was serious. Instead, Sam bit his lip, looking hesitant as he said, "It's just, I had talked with Cas, right after we had found everything out. We'd been thinking about doing some research, to try to figure out where he had come from. And, you know, if he is still out there somewhere, then this would be a good place to start. And even if he's not-" Sam paused there, sucking in a long breath through his teeth, then said, "Even if he's not, I thought that you might want some answers."

It was about Cas. Of course it was about Cas.

"Fine," Dean said shortly, since he didn't think that he'd be able to make it through a longer answer. "Go ahead and do what you want. Just don't tell me about any of it."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, leaning forward with that concerned look on his face again. Well, that look had never exactly left Sam's face – it had pretty much become Sam's default expression ever since the Hellhounds had come – but now it was amped up to top volume again. "I could do all of the researching for you, if you'd rather not-"

"I don't want to know, okay?" Dean snapped.

He didn't want to know about where Cas had come from, or where he had lived for the thirty years before he and Dean had met, or even about what had made him lose his memories in the first place. It was just… Well, he'd feel stupid if he said that those memories were sacred, except that they were. Dean didn't want to learn anything new about Cas. He just wanted Cas to keep existing in his mind, exactly the same as he'd been when they'd known him.

Yeah, that was definitely stupid. He wouldn't even say it out loud to Sam. But that was how he felt.

Sam studied his face for a long minute, then nodded. "Alright," he said, and stood, heading over to the ancient computer that Bobby kept in the corner. "But you know, if you change your mind…" He didn't finish that sentence, just let the words trail off, then sat down and got to work booting up the computer.

For a moment, Dean just sat there, not saying or doing anything. Then he sat the coffee back onto the table in front of him – not bothering to even touch the bagel, even though it would make Sam throw a bitch fit later – then reached for his book again.

The two of them worked in silence for about another hour before Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and practically dragged him to bed. And Dean was sure that Sam would have literally dragged him, too, if it wasn't for the fact that Dean's leg was still busted up and he didn't want to risk doing more damage.

And Dean hadn't exactly wanted to go, but he didn't kick up a fuss, either. If anything, it gave him an excuse to do something else besides stare at the page in front of him without actually reading a word.

Except that sleeping sounded like it would be even worse than just sitting on the couch and thinking, because now, he didn't even have something in front of him that he could pretend to focus on. He finally changed out of his torn-up, bloody jeans, peeled his jacket away from his sweaty skin, then pulled on a smelly tee shirt and pair of sweat pants that Sam had grabbed from the mass of dirty clothes that had piled up in the trunk of the Impala – the only clothes that they had, besides their FBI suits and other costumes, since the rest of their stuff had been left behind at the motel. Not that Dean cared, honestly. At least these clothes were almost cleaner.

But after he'd changed his clothes and crawled into the bed, there was nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling, with the hellhounds flashing in front of him every time he closed his eyes, their growls echoing in his ears. And even when he wasn't thinking about the hounds, he was listening to Cas' voice in his head again and again, like he was afraid that he was going to forget it if he didn't keep replaying the sound of it. He couldn't even be embarrassed about something so cheesy, either. It hurt too badly for that.

And when he did sleep- Well, that just meant that the hellhounds had full, uninterrupted access to his thoughts, and trust him when he said that they were getting their kicks. He didn't think that he slept for more than five minutes at a time, but his nightmares sure made the most of the time they had to work with. By the time that Dean stumbled back out into the living room a few hours later, he felt more exhausted than he had been when Sam had sent him to bed. But at least he'd lain down for long enough that Sam should stop giving him so much crap.

Sam was still sitting at the computer, but he didn't look like he was doing any more research. Instead, he was turned sideways in the chair, facing Bobby, the two of them in the middle of a deep conversation that cut off when Dean entered the room.

At least, that's what Dean thought was happening. It was hard to tell, because the hallucinations were getting worse.

Dean took a deep breath, grabbing the doorway for support, and glancing back and forth between the creepy monster-looking things that had to be his brother and Bobby. They had to be, because there was no way that two demons could've gotten inside Bobby's place, and if they had, then they wouldn't have been just sitting around so calmly. It was hard to remember that, though, when their skin looked like it was gray and peeling, and their eyes had been replaced with gaping holes, like their eyeballs had been gouged out and replaced with bottomless pits.

Another shaky breath, and Dean made himself enter the room. "Have the hellhounds found us yet?"

"No," Sam said, and his voice was deeper than usual, more gravelly, the words twisting until Dean could barely understand them.

So he was hearing voices now, too. Great. Having demons coming after his ass officially sucked.

"Bobby and I were just talking about that," Sam said, glancing over at Bobby, whose skin was starting to peel away, revealing the muscles and bones underneath. Dean grimaced and turned away, moving over to drop down onto the couch. "If the hex bags didn't work on the demons back at the motel, then it'd make sense that the demons would still be able to find us here," Sam continued. "But there's no sign of them."

"Maybe we just haven't been here for long enough," Dean suggested. Maybe the hounds wanted to drive him insane before they dragged him to hell, as punishment for getting away.

Sam shook his head. Or, Dean thought that Sam did, and that it wasn't just the hallucinated face warping and twitching. "Demons can teleport to wherever they want. If they knew where we were, it'd take them less than a second to reach us. So, why haven't they?"

"Don't know," Dean said, then decided that he was way too tired to say anything more, or to think of it further. He just slumped back against the arm of the couch, propping his injured leg up in front of him and closing his eyes, then quickly reopening them, since the stuff he saw behind his eyelids was way worse than anything that he saw in front of him.

"You okay, boy?" Bobby asked, and even with the hallucination warping his voice, Dean could hear the concern in the words. "Because you've been acting strange ever since you walked in here."

"I'm fine," Dean snapped. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Bobby didn't respond, just paused for a long moment, then asked, "You having any hallucinations?"

Dean stiffened, and wanted to lie. Except that his reaction was probably answer enough, so he just let out a slow breath. "How'd you know?"

"Because that's what happens when there are hellhounds on your trail," Bobby said, as if that should've been obvious. And, well, Dean had already known it, since he'd done all that research in the years leading up to the demons coming to collect, but he hadn't realized that Bobby knew about that, too. "Wasn't sure if it'd still be happening after you got away, though. There's not exactly a precedent for this kind of thing."

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm still seeing things," he said. "But it's fine. I'm dealing."

"Did you even get any sleep?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded again. "Yeah, I slept," he said, and glanced over at Sam, hoping that the hallucination would be better by now. They were, barely. Less of the twitching-writhing-demons thing and more of just a gray face with a gaping mouth and hundreds of teeth, which actually wasn't as creepy. And technically, Dean was telling the truth. He had slept. Just not well, and not for more than a half an hour combined time. Still, it counted.

"Dean," Sam said. He'd been doing that way too much lately. Dean turned and glared at him, and that must've been enough to make it clear that Dean really didn't want to hear it, because after a moment, Sam just turned and started typing something onto the computer again.

"You sure you're doing alright?" Bobby asked. "I mean, you know that you don't have to hide it if you're not. Hell, none of us expect you to be okay right now."

Dean shook his head. "Come on, Bobby," he said. "Don't start getting all sentimental on me now."

"I'm just telling you," Bobby said. But he thankfully didn't add anything after that, so Dean could just ignore him, and pretend that nothing had been said.

He didn't deserve sympathy for how fucked up he was. Not after he'd gotten Cas screwed up in this mess. Just the thought of someone feeling sorry for him made him feel like he was going to be sick.

Nobody said anything for a while, which was exactly how Dean liked it. Then, suddenly, Sam stiffened. "Dean," he said, voice urgent. "Look at this!"

Dean frowned. "What is it?" he asked, pushing his way to his feet. Which made pretty much every part of his body protest, and he was exhausted enough to make him unsteady on his feet, even without the limp making it worse. But, well, Sam wouldn't have called him over if it wasn't important.

"Look!" Sam said again, gesturing toward screen and looking at Dean. And Dean couldn't see the expression on Sam's face, not with the hallucinations getting in the way, but he thought that Sam's voice sounded almost… hopeful? Excited? Something like that?

So Dean took a look. Sam had pulled up some online news article with a headline reading MISSING MAN FOUND ON SIDE OF THE ROAD EARLY THIS MORNING. Dean scowled. "I swear, Sam, if you think we're going to jump into a case right now-"

"Just keep reading," Sam said, and his voice didn't sound any less urgent, so apparently the headline wasn't the thing that he was so excited about. So Dean sighed, but decided to humor his brother, and kept reading about this thirty-two-year-old man who was discovered lying unconscious on the sidewalk next to Main Street at about two o'clock this morning. Police have been looking for James Novak ever since his disappearance roughly two months ago-

Dean froze.

And he still might not be able to see Sam's face, but this time, he knew that his brother was smiling. Not a happy, la-dee-da, everything-is-perfect-now smile or anything like that, but he still looked way happier than Dean had seen him since the attack.

"Is this-" Dean said, and didn't say anything else. But part of him couldn't believe that this was actually a real thing, that Cas could possibly be-

But no, Sam was already nodding his head. "I confirmed it on another site," he said. "I wanted to make sure before I got your hopes up."

Dean swallowed. He probably should thank Sam for that. Instead, he just said, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go."

"He's in a little town in Illinois," Sam said, and he was already standing and reaching for his jacket, which had gotten thrown to the floor the night before. "It'll take all day to get there."

"Then we'd better get a move on now," Dean said.

He started to turn away, but Sam reached out and grabbed his shoulder, bringing him to a stop. "Wait," Sam said.

Dean looked back at his brother, but Sam didn't say anything more, and it was impossible to read his face and figure out what the silence was supposed to mean. Dean scowled and rubbed his eyes, hard, squeezing them shut for several seconds. The he opened his eyes, and blinked, but his vision seemed like it was more or less back to normal. No telling how long he had before the hallucinations hit him again, but for now, at least he could see.

Except maybe that wasn't such a good thing, after all, because now that his vision was back to normal, Dean could see the frown on Sam's face, and the way that the worried look was back on his face. Shit, that was never a good sign.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"I did some research on Cas- Or, on Jimmy Novak," Sam said slowly. "And I know that you didn't want to know, but I really think that I should tell you."

Yup, no way was this anything good. Dean's stomach twisted, wondering what the hell could be so bad that it would make Sam still look so worried. Cas was fucking alive, and in Dean's book, that beat out anything that Sam could have possibly discovered.

Which was why Dean just said, "Fine, but you're gonna tell me after we hit the road."

"I really think-" Sam began.

Dean shook his head. "Seriously, Sam," he said. "We're going now. I swear, if you don't get your ass to the car in two minutes, then I'm taking off without you."

For a moment, Sam just stared at Dean, not saying anything, with that worried look still stuck to his face. Then he nodded. "Okay," he said, and pulled the keys from his jacket pocket. "But I'm driving." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off. "You still look like you're going to pass out any second, and you just told me that you're having hallucinations. There's no way that I'm letting you behind the wheel."

Okay, Dean hated to admit it, but Sam kinda had a point. He scowled to show that he didn't approve, but he nodded. "Fine," he said, and turned and limped off as fast as his busted leg would let him. "Just don't be a baby about not wanting to break the speed limit, you got that?"

Honestly? He didn't mind so much. Cas was alive, and they knew where he was, and they were able to see him again. That was all that mattered, and Dean was going to get to him as fast as possible. Hell, he'd fucking fly if that was what it took.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you two?" Bobby asked. And it was a nice offer, but it was also the third time that he'd made it, and Dean had to bite his tongue before he snapped.

It had been maybe seven or eight minutes since Sam had told him about Cas being still alive, which wasn't as fast as Dean would have wanted, but at least they were finally in the Impala. Or, Dean was in the Impala. Sam was still standing outside, talking with Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said, "but we'll be okay. Call us if you find any more info on how to gank Azazel."

Bobby frowned, but nodded. "Someone's gotta find a way to kill that bastard and keep you boys safe," he grunted. And honestly, the fact that he had all of his books gathered in his house already was probably the only reason why he hadn't insisted on coming with them. It was obvious that he'd wanted to come along and protect them but, well, that was kind of a pointless task, wasn't it? The demons were going to be coming for Dean's ass no matter what they did, and he wasn't going to be safe until Azazel was dead and Dean's soul was back where it belonged.

Sam nodded and clasped Bobby on the shoulder, and then finally climbed into the car, taking a moment to wave one more time before driving off.

Dean relaxed slightly once they hit the highway. Or, he relaxed as much as he could, considering the hallucinations and the lack of sleep and the fact that Cas had woken up on the side of the road, and that was a hundred percent better than being dead, but it still wasn't exactly awesome, and they still didn't know why he'd been taken or what had happened to him or-

So, yeah, Dean could definitely keep freaking out if he let himself. But they were on the road, and they'd reach Cas by tonight, and the hellhounds hadn't found them. Those were good things, right? And Dean was absolutely not going to lose his shit over this, not now. So instead, he just cranked up his radio until KISS was blaring at full volume and stared out at the fields as the car practically flew down the highway. Okay, so maybe Sam's driving wasn't so bad, after all.

They'd probably been driving for about twenty minutes when Sam suddenly reached over and turned the music off, then glanced over at Dean.

Dean frowned. "Dude, I know that I made that driver-picks-the-music rule," he said, "but you weren't supposed to be able to use it against me."

Sam just shook his head. "I already told you," he said. "We need to talk."

Dean swallowed. "Right. Something about what you learned from Cas."

"Yeah," Sam said, and holy fuck, his voice was grim. Seriously, whatever it was that Sam had to say, how could it be that bad?

Honestly, Dean didn't actually want to find out. He was almost tempted to tell Sam to stuff it, he didn't need to hear about any of this. Cas was alive and that was all that fucking mattered. Except he knew that Sam was too stubborn to leave it at that. He'd definitely keep at it until Dean gave in and just listened.

And, well, if it was a big deal, then that meant that Dean should hear it. To be prepared, or whatever. To make sure that if Cas had any problems, then Dean would be able to help him with them. Which was why he took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay," he said. "Hit me. What's the big secret that you figured out?"

For a second, Sam didn't say anything, then, "I don't think it was a secret. You heard Cas – he didn't remember anything from before he'd ended up on the streets. I think that he genuinely didn't know anything about this."

"Well, yeah," Dean said, because he didn't actually think that Cas would've deliberately kept secrets. Maybe that was stupid on his part, and he was being way too trusting, considering how long Cas had been letting them call him Jimmy. Not to mention the fact that Cas had come right out and said that he had another secret, one that Dean still didn't know the slightest thing about. But... Well, it was hard to explain. Dean knew that Cas hadn't been telling him something, but at the same time, he trusted that Cas wouldn't have kept some super huge secret, like whatever it was that was making Sam look so serious and upset. And if Sam thought that this was the kind of thing that Cas wouldn't have kept from them, then, well, there you go.

Of course, it'd be a hell of a lot easier to decide that if he actually knew what Sam was talking about. "Gonna need some details here, man."

Sam nodded, and kept his eyes locked on the road, his hands clenching around the wheel. "I started by doing research into Cas- into Jimmy Novak's disappearance," he said, and glanced over at Dean for a moment. "That was definitely the name that he was using before. Jimmy, I mean."

"Okay," Dean said slowly, eyeing Sam warily. So far, it all sounded like par for the course. "So, he goes through some weird shit that makes all of his memories vanish, and he decides to give himself a new name. Still not hearing the horrible part."

Sam's mouth pressed together into a thin line, and he continued, "Jimmy Novak was from Pontiac, Illinois, originally. From the sound of it, he was in Idaho for a cousin's wedding when he went missing from his hotel room, and nobody heard from him until early this morning, when someone found him unconscious on the side of the road." He glanced at Dean again. "The article didn't say if he had any other injuries, just that he'd been taken to the local hospital."

"Okay," Dean repeated, still staring at Sam, waiting for him to get to the bad part. When a minute passed without saying anything more, Dean finally said, "Okay, so the guy does have some family, after all. That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah, he has family," Sam said, in a voice that made Dean think that this family of his had something to do with whatever it was that Sam had been trying to tell him.

"What?" Dean finally said. "He's got an evil twin who cursed him and erased his memories? One of his little siblings was attacked by Azazel and that's why Cas knows so much about him? Seriously, man, if you're going to tell me, then just come right out and tell me."

Sam nodded once. Then apparently he decided to follow Dean's advice, because he took a deep breath and said, "Jimmy Novak's married."

For a second, Dean didn't say anything. Neither did Sam, though Dean saw him giving Dean worried glanced every couple of seconds, so many of them that there was no way that he could be paying attention to whatever was happening on the road in front of him.

"He's married," Dean repeated, and shook his head. "What, he's got a husband out there that he just forgot about?"

"A wife, actually," Sam said, and based on the look on his face, it was obvious that there was something more that he wasn't saying. Dean didn't even bother to ask, just narrowed his eyes and stared at Sam until Sam gave in and added, "And a seven-year-old daughter."

Dean just blinked. He didn't even know how to respond to that. How the fuck did you respond to figuring out that your boyfriend was apparently married and with a freakin' kid.

What he finally did was take a deep breath, and nod. "You're right," he said tightly. "There's no way that Cas knew about any of this." For one, Cas had said that he didn't have family – or, specifically, he'd said that it was some super complicated situation that he didn't want to explain. And, okay, maybe that was suspicious. Maybe Dean should think back on how Cas obviously didn't want to answer those questions, and maybe he should conclude that Cas had had something to hide, and had been lying this whole time.

Except that no, there was no way that he could make himself believe that. Cas wasn't the kind of guy who would walk out on a wife and. And let's say that there was some reason that he had to avoid them – some noble reason, like he was trying to protect them from demons or shit like that, because that sounded like something that Cas would be willing to do. No way would he have started this whole relationship with Dean when he had a family somewhere. No fucking way would he go around saying that he loved Dean if he'd known that he had a wife at home.

Cas had only said it once, that last day before the hellhounds had come. Dean was pretty sure that Cas thought that Dean hadn't heard. But he had, even if he hadn't said anything about it.

So, just, no way had Cas known about any of this.

"Dean," Sam said, giving him yet another one of those stupid concerned looks, and Dean was just about getting ready to punch him if he kept this up. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Dean said – standard answer for everything, and it'd work now. Didn't matter if it was actually the truth or not. "I'm cool. It's just-" His voice broke off, and he didn't know what to say after that, so he just shook his head. "Fucking wife, man. And a kid. Just, how the hell?"

"I don't know," Sam said slowly, then said, "So, what do you want to do?"

Dean leaned forward, hand covering his face, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. "What do you mean?" he finally asked, and took a deep breath. "We keep heading to this hospital, wherever it is that Cas is staying. We work the case, figure out what exactly the demons had done to him, and why he'd ended up missing his memories in the first place."

"And what about- everything else?" Sam asked, hesitating for a moment like he wasn't sure what words he was supposed to use.

Dean didn't have a clue. It wasn't the kind of thing that there were easy steps to dealing with. And sure, he'd gotten it on with married people before – not that he'd known that until after the fact, because he wasn't that sleazy, but it'd happened. A quick hookup with a girl that'd been wearing a ring the next time he saw her. A brief experiment with a man in the back of a dark and smelly bar, the two of them just trying it out to see what it was like, and they'd been interrupted in the middle of the action when the guy's wife had called and ordered him home. It'd always made him feel shitty afterward, but it hadn't been his fault that they'd decided to do it, so he hadn't really thought about it much.

This was completely different, because Dean had actually been dating Cas. Seriously, he never saw someone more than once, unless it was for an encore performance of what they'd done in bed the night before. And the one time that he'd decided that he actually wanted to be with someone, and Cas turned out to be fucking married.

"It'll be fine," Dean said, and Sam just gave him a look, recognizing that answer as the bullshit it was, but at least he didn't say a word.

Dean wasn't sure if he meant it or not, not exactly. But, well, there wasn't exactly anything more that he could say, so instead he just turned toward Sam and asked, "Anything else that you need to tell me?"

Sam didn't say anything, but after a moment, he shook his head.

"Awesome," Dean said, and reached forward to turn the volume all the way up, letting the music drown out any of his thoughts.

It didn't exactly work, but at least it was loud enough that they wouldn't be able to talk about it. That was going to have to be good enough.