Dean was never the same again.

Cas noticed it most acutely- Sam was used to Dean shutting others out, but Cas missed Dean's jokes and familial teasing. There was a shift after that night, and slowly Sam and Cas came to worry about him. Finally, Sam pulled Cas into the library to talk.

"How often does he eat?" Cas solemnly questioned Sam.

"Honestly, I don't really notice. I'm usually reading or sleeping in my room. This is a big place." Sam's mouth drew down, his lips puckered in anxiety. "But the fact that I haven't seen him or heard him much in the past few weeks is evidence that he's not doing well."

"Should we talk to him?"

"He's going to deny it."

"What exactly happened, Sam? I never was officially informed."

Sam rested his scarred arms on the old table they sat at. "We were out on a hunt while we thought she was asleep. She saw some research on my computer and got freaked. Dean tried to explain this life to her and she went nuts, she called him psychotic, told him he should have left her back at the hospital. She asked him to not contact her again, just leave her for foster care."

Cas held the edge of the table as he listened, confusion forming in his taut face. "What kind of research?"

"I have- had- a theory. Ashton was in that nest for a while, being fed on by several vamps. I thought she could have gotten bit, and I wanted to see what people had to say about the early signs of a vampire. I didn't close the tab and she saw it." He ran an agitated hand through his hair. "It's my fault, Cas. I should have closed the tab, locked my computer, something."

"Sam, how could you know she would look at your computer? And perhaps you should have considered this possibility if what you say is true. But Dean's frustration is understandable. Had he never known his daughter he could have never lost her in such a way. Maybe we should continue to give him space?"

"Or maybe you guys should just mind your own business and shut up about me." Dean leaned against the doorway to the library, his arms cross and jaw set in anger.

"Dean, I'm sorry but we're worried about you," Sam tried.

"I don't care. I don't care if you are worried about me. I don't give a crap. And I'm not gonna. I'm not going to explain myself to you guys or try to justify why I've been distant." He began advancing to the end of the table. "And I'm not sure you can argue that I have been, because, let's be honest here, I'm stuck with you two day in, day out. Maybe I just need a break from you helicopter parents. So here's an idea- back off and stay back." He slammed his hands on the table in emphasis. He glared down at his brother and best friend, before turning back to his bedroom.

Sam hesitated before knocking, his hand paused in midair, a folder tucked under his arm.

"Just come in." Dean's tone was flat and hard- he was still angry.

Sam shoved open the door but stayed in the doorway. "Hey."

Dean sat with his back to the side of his bed, his gun in pieces around him a rag in hand, a leather bound book tossed to the side. "What Sam?" He didn't look up.

"I know you don't want to talk."

"Ding ding ding. Show the man his prize."

"So I found us a case." The folder landed soundly on Dean's carefully made bed.

"No." He didn't even glance at the folder.

"No?"

Finally he turned to his brother. "Yeah Sam. No."

"What are you talking about Dean? It's a case. It's a job." Incredulously he stared at Dean, mouth parted in shock.

"What was the girl's name again Sam? Emily? Amy?"

"Her name was Amelia, Dean. What does she have to do with this?" Anger forced him to stand up straighter, made his muscles tense up. Sam had been patient, he'd waited three days until after Dean had walked in on him and Cas, he'd bought cheeseburgers and french fries and pie and beer and left it in the fridge for him. He made a point of leaving Dean alone, giving him his space.

"Right, Amelia. Remember when you took a year off with her? Just, you know, left me on my own to fight out of purgatory?"

"Yes."

"Consider this my year off." He went back to cleaning his gun.

"What?" Sam stared down at his brother.

"You keep on doing your cases and solving your mysteries and killing bad guys. I'll be right here." He shoved a loaded mag into the reassembled gun.

"Dean, what are you talking about?" Sam slumped onto the bed.

He aimed the gun at his wall, shined a scuff mark on the handle. "Just that. I'm done. Call this my spring break. I think it's way overdue."

Sam scoffed, what was anger turning into confusion. "That's, Dean… is this about Ashton?"

Dean leaned forward, slamming the gun onto the shelf in front of him. "Nope." He turned to Sam. "Maybe I'm tired Sam. Maybe I'm exhausted. Maybe this life has taken it's toll on me and need a break. Ever think about that?"

"Well is that true?"

"Sure. So can you be okay with that and let me get drunk and sleep with hot girls and enjoy my spring break?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, I guess. What about the case?" Sam was lost, and even more concerned, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Why don't you take your new best friend and go gank some monsters?" A new gun was being examined and unassembled.

"You want me to hunt with Cas," Sam said, mildly shocked.

"I don't want you to anything. Do you need my permission? Because I don't care what you do."

"Fine, okay. Well, I'll see you later then I guess." Sam grabbed his folder and left, dumbfounded.

After the door shut soundly, Dean tossed his gun to the side and grabbed the leather book he'd quickly abandoned when he heard Sam coming. He took the pen that marked his last page and continued where he left off.

...I don't know what to do Mom. I feel physically sick because of this. When Sam left for college, and I came back and found nothing but a note and I had to deal with Dad, even that was bearable. There's some sick comfort when inner pain is matched by physical but now, I have nothing. I lost her. I hurt her. And every fiber of my being feels wrong. A father is supposed to protect their daughter, not hurt her. I keep thinking of how she looked at me when she told me to leave. Yeah I mean she was angry but there was so much disappointment, too. She looked like you. A lot like you actually. I wish you could have seen her. She was fierce too, a fighter. Probably had to be with the crap she's dealt with.

I keep imagining life if I'd married her mom. Picket fence and soccer games and potlucks. I could see her take her first steps and learn her first words and graduate and fall in love and walk her down the aisle. I keep looking into this future like there's any point, any meaning to all of this. In the end it's worthless. It's stupid. I'm not her dad. I'm just a guy who fooled around with her mom. I'm just the guy who broke her. And it's a damn shame she has to share blood with me.

Dean began journaling when he was with Lisa. She knew he couldn't talk to her about everything he'd gone through with Sam, and all he was going through without him, and she knew he wouldn't go to therapy. So she asked him to journal, to get his thoughts out and breathe and work out what he was thinking. And because he loved her with all his heart he'd done it. After a few weeks he'd found he'd been writing to Mary, and it made him happy to know that in some way he still got to talk to his mom.

Sam threw the bunker door open, Cas right behind him. "Dean." There was no response. "Dean!" He sprinted down the stairs, a yellow note on the dining room table caught his attention. The duffel bag hit the floor as Sam strode to the table and grabbed the note. Dean scrambled handwriting read- "off clubbing be back maybe". Sam scoffed and handed back the note to Cas.

"What does clubbing mean?" Cas asked as Sam ripped the note from his hands. He crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.

"It means he's having fun and he won't be back soon." Sam sighed. "I need coffee."

Light broke through one of the windows of the bunker, and Dean followed quickly. "Sammy! What a turnout tonight! Who knew there were so many bars nearby? The bar crawl started at eleven and will never end!" Dean careened down the stairs, the smoothed metal railing guiding him and supporting him. Muddling around the bunker he found his room, missing his handle several times before he finally shoved open the door and slumped onto his bed. The sun was setting before he was up again, throwing open the door to his bathroom as he emptied the entirety of his night into the toilet. Leaning over the sink, he rinsed his mouth out before stumbling into the kitchen where Sam and Cas were already eating.

"Dude, are you hungover?" Sam gulped his beer. He received a frustrated grunt and glare in reply. "I haven't seen you hungover in years. How much did you have to drink last night?"

Dean shrugged as he grabbed aspirin from the shelves. He slumped next to Cas and grabbed Sam's beer to wash down his pills.

Leaning into him, Cas sniffed his arm and frowned. "You have a blood-alcohol level of .378."

Sam scoffed. "That's like 25 drinks in four hours."

Dean shrugged again. "I'm not one to say no to free whiskey shots. Not that I care, but how was the case?"

"Straightforward shapeshifter. Took care of it fast." Sam replied.

Dean forced himself to steal some of Cas's fries, trying to keep some food down. "Swell. I'm going to shower. I'm meeting some my good friend Jack for another night of fun." He moved to the door, not even pausing from Sam's protest.

"You're going out again?"

"Spring break Sammy. Spring. Break." An hour later he roared out of the bunker's garage.

Sliding into the counter at the first bar he saw, he waved for the bartender. She sauntered over, looking skeptical at his request of 'a fifth of whiskey shots'. "Honey, that's sixteen shots, you ready for all that?"

"Don't question me, sweetheart. I know what I'm going in for." The bartender shrugged and poured him his drinks. He threw back six in the first five minutes, slamming them upside down on the table. "Woooh." The bartender was back, watching him gulp more shots.

"There's always tomorrow, hon. No need to drink us dry in one night. And tomorrow morning's not gonna be fun if you carry on like this all night."

"I don't need a psychiatrist, I need someone to keep the whiskey coming," he frowned at her, unimpressed.

"Fair enough." She nodded and refilled half his shots. "But between each fifth you're drinking a glass of water."

Three water glasses later Dean caved. "I lost my daughter."

The woman paused, watching him whither as the words took meaning. He'd lost his daughter. But it was even worse than it sounded. There was no closure like there was in death. There was only the emptiness that came from knowing she couldn't stand to be around him and he'd never get to fix it.

"You want to talk about it?" She asked.

He scoffed. "No. No it's too hard to explain." He tossed back the remaining shots. He stayed there, switching between shots and beer for the next two hours, before the bartender threatened to take his keys if he kept at it.

One very precarious drive later, he busted through the dark bunker. Making his way into his room, he dropped to his knees, head falling into his hands as a sob escaped his lips. Silently tears poured down his cheeks, the total weight of the last couple weeks breaking him. He hadn't completely shut his door however, and Cas, drawn by the sounds, peered into the dark room.

"Dean?" He stepped into the room where his friend knelt and leaned over to check on him, a hand on his shoulder.

A broken face turned to him. "I miss her, Cas. How could I have thought I could be enough for her? But I miss her so much."

Cas sat on the bed, watching over his closest friend. After a moment of speculation he spoke. "I could check on her."

"What?" Pain morphed into frustration as Cas's words sunk in. "No. No how would you explain that? She said stay away I'm not going to break my last promise to her."

"She wouldn't know I was there. I could just see where she is, if she's happy." It had taken years but finally Cas's voice had changed from the deep monotone into one of feeling, of compassion. "Dean, let me help you."

"Yeah. Okay. Just for a minute." Silently Cas was gone.