Dean remembered having sight, once upon a time. He had been young and everything was bright, colorful, everything had been special. Colors had been one of his favorite things, and blue most of all.

Dean remembered losing his sight. Well, not so much actually losing his sight. He remembered going on a trip with his friends, remembered getting a little hammered and letting a friend drive, because they hadn't had anything but soda and despite being teenagers they were responsible, or at least tried to be. He remembered getting in the backseat and watching drowsily as his friends talked in the front. He remembered searing pain as the semi hit the side of the Impala, slamming his head against the driver's seat despite the seatbelt and blacking out his vision, blacking out everything.

Dean found out, later, that he had been in a comatose state for almost two weeks. The doctors hadn't been able to run many tests because he still had alcohol in his system. Apparently, he was the only one seriously injured - the eighteen wheeler had hit them just right, crushing the rear driver's side in and missing almost everything else. The others in the car made it out with hardly a scratch, no matter how traumatized they were. Dean wasn't so lucky.

After he woke from his coma unable to see a thing, Dean just assumed that his head was bandaged over his eyes. He felt the weight and pressure of a bandage - it just made sense. Besides, it made it easier for him to sleep. No worries. He didn't bring it up to anyone because it didn't seem to matter, at least not until the bandage came off and everything was still dark. That was when he began to panic. The doctor that was there at the moment - Pamela Barnes - checked his vision. Nothing responded, and Dean was officially listed as legally blind. He would never see colours again, never see anything again.

Dean's world lost all sense of light and happiness.

Sure, Sam would cheer him up sometimes, managing to bring him out of his depths of darkness for a few days, sometimes even a few weeks at a time. Still, it was always obvious that Dean was just missing something. He had a hole in his heart that couldn't be filled. It didn't help that John was not the most supportive father, and just when things began to change between the two, for the better, he died. A heart attack. It took away Dean's last living connection to his mother, because Sam had never really known her. Any videos had been destroyed in the fire that took her life. Dean couldn't see to look at the pictures, to look at her grave, to identify his father's body in the morgue.

After that, Dean finally took a turn for the worse - Sam took him to therapy, where Dean would sit for an hour at a time and say nothing. At least, that was how it would go with each therapist until they found Cain. Never 'Doctor' or 'Sir', just Cain. Somehow, just his presence would get Dean to speak - he vented his problems, sometimes ending up crying until he got bloody noses, curled up in a ball on the couch. Cain seemed to help, and Dean seemed to get better.

Eventually, Dean started to try more things. He learned to play guitar, piano, and finally managed to get the hang of braille. He got a computer with braille lettering, one that read the screen aloud to him as long as he was wearing headphones. He managed to get a phone, too, and eventually, Sam got him to find a service dog. She was a golden retriever that Dean ended up naming Krissy. Krissy got him plenty of luck with the ladies, and a few gentlemen, but nothing ever lasted. No one wanted to put up with the depressed blind guy for long periods of time.

Then, Dean met Castiel. Everything seemed to change. Dean was happy more often, he went out, and no one really cared that he only ever seemed to go with Cas. The fact that he went at all was enough for his friends and family. The problem, though, was that Castiel was a soldier. He had to leave from time to time, minor trips and business, and Dean would stay happy until he got back, but it was clear that he wasn't the same.

Castiel got deployed to Afghanistan. Dean knew that it would be some time before he could see his boyfriend again, and did his best to stay positive. He had Krissy, and Sam, and Benny and Charlie. His family and friends were his support group for as long as he was blind. Still, no support group could prepare him, or help him through, the letter that came through delivery of an NCO that Castiel Novak was missing in action. Dean was almost catatonic for days after he had Sam read him the letter - he only ate under threat of being brought to the hospital. His days were spent in a constant, unsurmountable lethargy that threatened to consume him - his only exercise was walking Krissy around their neighborhood and getting out of bed to eat or use the bathroom. Sam sometimes forced him out of the house, bringing him to parties or out to dinner with their friends, just to get him to interact with people. Dean didn't care about it anymore. Without Castiel, he was nothing.

Dean's listless energy eventually turned him back to his music. Within a week, he had written two songs - one for piano, and one for guitar. Technically, it was more like three songs - he had made it so the two could be combined to form a melody that suited them both. They were songs about Castiel - even if it wasn't explicitly stated, it was clear that both songs held a sense of honor and melancholy of someone lost. Sam pushed him, and Dean ended up submitting him playing both songs to a recording company - he was picked up as a new artist, and no one seemed to care that he was blind. There was something he could do that didn't involve sight and it was nice. Still, the hole that Castiel had filled was raw and aching and empty once again. Dean missed his boyfriend. There was something he hadn't even told Sam. He had done some shopping online, having the descriptions of things read aloud to him from the computer, and had picked out a ring. He had it delivered to the house and everything.

Dean had been going to propose to Castiel when he returned, and he still carried the ring in his pocket everywhere he went. When they held a funeral for all those missing in action, Dean had gone in a tuxedo, and the ring in his hand. He had been going to bury it with the empty casket, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself let go of his link to Castiel. They gave him the folded flag, no one seeming to care that he was a man, or that his service dog sat obediently by his side as his hands trembled on the red, white, and blue that he would never again see during the twenty-one gun salute. Dean kept the ring with him on every stage he went to, and made a point of putting it on when he knew that his hands were being recorded. He didn't want any proposals from anyone.

Things changed for Dean, for everyone, once his music began to get out there. There was suddenly more money to work with, but more problems - paparazzi and news stations and radio shows suddenly all wanted Dean to appear. He had gotten used to having someone else answer the door simply because he was tired of hearing shutter flashes that he would never see, tired of getting hit in the face with microphones because he couldn't see them to lean back. This knock was no different from the rest, and since Charlie was over, she got up to answer it. Dean was sitting on the couch, ring in his hands, twisting his fingers and wishing that Castiel were there, that his angel weren't missing, that he was alive and there. Charlie's shriek from the door had him standing, rushing towards her, and how shaky her voice was when she called his name.

The next voice he heard was one that he had gone almost a year without hearing. A voice that he had been convinced he would never hear again. Dean's knees buckled at the intensity of the voice, and he felt the hand on his arm holding him up before he ever felt the pain. He spoke for the first time in days at that oh-so-familiar touch.

"Cas?"

He could almost hear the man's smile, and his shaking fingers reached up to trace the outlines of that familiar expression.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel's voice was the same as ever - rough, like he'd been gargling sand, but the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. Dean's sob of relief as he clung to his boyfriend's shirt - a dress shirt, he could feel, because there was no mistaking the military feel of the starched fabric - was something that expressed all of his sorrow and relief and utter happiness all at once. "I'm sorry I took so long. I'm proud of you, you've done so well without me..."

Dean shook his head, breathing in Castiel's scent. It was long since gone from all of his clothes and Dean could hardly remember it anymore. He was realizing now that that had been nothing like the real thing, no true replacement. "I missed you," he breathed into his boyfriend's shoulder, and just like that the floodgates were opened. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Dean clung to Castiel, not caring that he couldn't see him, just happy knowing that he was there, he was alive, that he wasn't going to leave again. "I... I had to go t-to your funeral... I have the flag still... It... I don't..." Dean stopped there, cutting himself off and ignoring the tears still running down his face as he stood and pulled Castiel through the house. Krissy got up and barked for a minute before sniffing the air and rushing Castiel. She was leaned up against the man almost like a cat, begging for attention from one of her favorite humans. Dean ignored her, though, and navigated through the hallways to their room.

Dean had never stopped thinking of it as their room, and he had always kept part of Castiel with him, and part of it there. Some nights Dean slept in the living room with Krissy because he couldn't handle the memories. Most nights, he knelt on the bed and cried. But now, with Castiel home, the tears were of a different kind. "You made it home," he finally breathed against the man's chest, hoping that Cas didn't mind the tears staining the shirt. He still had plenty. "Cas... Can I look? It's... It's been a long time..." He blushed at Castiel's chuckle.

"Close the door, Dean. We can talk while you 'look'." Dean could hear the air quotes in Castiel's voice, and he smiled. He did as Castiel asked, and then started taking off his boyfriend's clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on the floor next to the bed. He sat next to Cas on the bed, letting his fingertips flutter over his skin, looking him over in the only way he had.

"You need to eat more," Dean chastened as he felt how thin Castiel was. There were a few new lines of smooth skin, new scars that Dean knew hadn't been there before. A few were stitched over still, and he winced every time his fingers passed over one of those. "I...Cas, I.." Dean trailed off for a moment, thinking hard. "Cas, you say what you have to say first. It'll probably make what I gotta say easier." Dean sat back, putting his weight on his hands while he relaxed on the bed. He could wait to see exactly what was wrong.

Castiel's frown was almost palpable, and Dean knew he was doing it even without touching him. "Well," he started, a little awkwardly, "I'm sorry I was away for so long. We were caught in an attack and... Well, I was captured. I was kept there for a long while... I had lost my memory. I helped people, though, after I had been released. No one wanted a prisoner that knew nothing. They called me 'Emmanuel'. Eventually a platoon found me, though not my own... I was the sole survivor. No one knew me. Everyone thought I was dead. Still, they knew that I was one of their own - I still had my tags. Not my name, but my rank, my superiors, and I had my uniform. I didn't even remember you, Dean, not really. I just knew that I had to get back to someone. One of the women that found me - her name was Daphne - she briefed me, got everything I knew, and brought me back. This was a few months ago. It took that long just for me to get back my memory. They... I asked them not to tell you, I didn't want to give you false hope. What if I had never gotten my full memory back? I didn't want to force you to live through that. I-"

Dean cut Castiel off, smiling softly as he pulled back from the kiss. "I forgive you," he assured. He missed Castiel's saddened frown.

"You shouldn't be cheating on them, Dean. Whoever it is that you're with. I was just trying to say that I understand that you've moved on, and I'm going to stay out of your way."

Dean's face fell at those words. "You... you're leaving? But... Cas, no, you can't leave, I just got you back, you can't leave me again..." Then Castiel's words registered. The ring... it was on his finger in all of the videos, all of the pictures, hell, it was on his finger right now. "That's not what you think it is," Dean tried to explain.

Castiel sighed. "Please, Dean, don't make excuses. You've fallen in love with someone else, and you don't deserve me getting in the middle of that, I'm not going to keep ruining your life."

Dean was trying not to cry again as he felt Castiel beginning to gather up his clothes, pulling on his pants and belting them. He didn't know how to explain without giving it away, but he gave up trying to avoid it. "It... It's yours, you idiot," Dean exclaimed after a long moment of silence save for Castiel pulling his clothes back on. "I ordered it while you were gone, and I was the only one that knew about it - Sammy doesn't even know, hell... I was gonna propose when you got back." He couldn't see the broken expression on Castiel's face, but the sudden intake of breath once he fell silent told him that it was there.

"You... you were going to propose?" Dean nodded. A soft laugh escaped Castiel's lips, and he dropped his shirt on the floor, not caring as he pulled Dean into his arms, wiping away his tears and kissing him softly.

Dean smiled, pressing his face into his lover's hands and curling his fingers around those on his cheek. "I...I still was," he admitted. "I mean... nothing special... since I'm not that great with cooking anymore and I can't exactly reserve dates at a fancy restaurant and surprise you by driving there... I was just gonna order in, and probably make chocolate covered strawberries and just put it on the middle of the plate. But... well, since you know now..." Dean took off the ring, pulling Castiel's left hand to where he could put it on his finger. "Castiel Novak, would you do me the honor of putting up with my blind ass until the day that we die?"