Author's Note: So...hi? Is that an appropriate way to return? Probably not. Anyhoo, since it's labor day weekend, I'll try to post as many stories as possible. I'm trying to post complete ones only so you guys don't die on me. Like I did on you..._

WARNING: mentions of cancer, some self hatred though it is mild, and just general angst. Oh, and m/m so if you don't like don't read. (you never know what triggers someone)

"I would say about three to six months, a year maybe if we really up the chemo," said Dr. Singer, who watched with weary eyes as the blond-haired husband of his long term patient stiffened.

"That-that little-I mean, there's nothing-nothing at all? No other treatments? Nothing at all?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. We've done all we can for Castiel," Dr. Singer replied softly, ignoring the way the younger man's eyes almost broke with the amount of pain in them.

"Thank you, Dr. Singer. For all you've done for us," Castiel finally spoke, clutching Dean's hand like the life saver it was.

"Call me Bobby, Cas. Been tellin' you to for the last six years," Bobby said, his voice almost breaking at the running joke between the three of them.

Cas managed a small but genuine smile as he nodded wearily. He turned and shared a deep look with the man beside him before he let his husband help him down from the examination table. Together, they walked hand in hand to the classic '67 Impala sitting in the parking lot of the clinic. No words were spoken, nothing but reassuring touches or loving gazes needed.

The drive home was silent, until Cas put in a soundtrack CD from an old musical he had seen long ago in college when he had still been majoring in art and religious studies. As the singer's soft voice filled the car, Cas found his hand entrapped in his husband's rougher one once again.

"...You know I love you right? That'd I'd die for you?'' Dean asked, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

"Of course, Dean."

"Then would you hate me if I ask you why you don't want to continue chemo? You heard Bobby. He said a year-"

"He said maybe. If we do it regularly," Cas interrupted, holding his husband's hand tighter. But the thing is, I'm already too sick. I'm already dying."

"Don't say that! There's got to be some other way. Maybe Dr. Shurley-"

"Dean, please..."

"No! I'm not giving up on you! Even if you have!" Dean said, pulling the car into their garage roughly. Out of habit, he went around to the other end and opened the door for Cas. Helping him out, he stopped and tilted his husband's head up, staring into vulnerable blue eyes. He wiped the involuntary tear that fell from his own eye as he pressed a kiss to his husband's ever present chapped lips.

"You don't understand..."

"Forget it, Cas. We'll talk about it later," Dean said, pulling his husband inside from the chilly Kansas twilight. He helped his husband take off his trenchcoat and put it on the coat rack next to his own, just like he had for the past ten years.

Cas migrated to the kitchen, where he had begun to reheat the beef stew from the night before. Dean opened a water bottle and a beer bottle before setting them on the island. He helped grab bowls and utensils while Cas moved around the kitchen in his usual manner. It was always the same routine. Grab the seasoning, put them by the oven, grab any fresh herbs, put them by the seasons in order. Then add everything, herbs firsts then seasoning. It was a routine that Dean had witnessed countless times and it only hit him right then that he might only see it a few more times in his life.

"Dean, let go of the bottle."

Blinking, the mechanic looked up at his husband, only just noticing that he had been clenching the beer bottle in his hand so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He slowly let it go and allowed for Cas to come and sit in his lap, ignoring the heating stew on the stove. He wrapped his arms around his husband's back, wincing as he traced Cas' spine through his thin navy blue shirt.

"What are you thinking?"

"How unfair it is. You don't deserve this."

"No one deserves this, Dean. It's just something that happens. Fate decided it."

"Well fuck Fate. Who is she to tell us what we can and can't do with our lives?"

"You said that once, a long time ago," Cas murmured against Dean's adam's apple. He moved a finger in abstract motions along Dean's bicep. "Back when you first asked me to marry you. I told you that our parents would hate us."

"I remember. Your parents thought I was an out of control rebel and my dad was a homophobic bastard. May he rest in Hell."

"Dean," Cas softly admonished.

"It's true," he said without shame.

"Anyway, I understand where you are coming from. But you know what I'm going to say."

"Then don't say it. Let's just keep living how we've been for the past decade, damnit."

"Dean, I'm dying."

"No, you're not."

Cas sighed and pulled free from his husband's vice-like grip. He went back to the boiling stew and took it off the stove. He shook his head at Dean's stubbornness as he poured the stew into the bowls and sat them on their place mats. "You can't ignore this forever. If I'm only going to have three to six months, then I have a lot to do."

"Maybe a year, Cas. If you start chemo as soon as possible, then your odds-"

"No more chemo."

"Goddamnit, why, Cas, why?"

"Because I'm TIRED! I'm tired of it all, Dean!" Cas erupted, knocking his water bottle over. He was flushed, his eyes wild and his expression heartbreaking. He ran a shaking hand through his already messed up hair and continued. "You don't think this has been horrible on me? Having to feel terrible after having a treatment that's suppose to help me? Watching you and Sam and the others waste away as you wait for me to get better or to die? Don't you think I feel bad about the fact that every time the adoption agency sends a rejection letter it's because we're drowning in debt from my hospital bills? Or that we can't have a child because I'm dying? That you can't be a father because of me? I see all of that, Dean, and I hate having to watch that!"

"Stop it, Cas! You know that Sammy and the others care about you just as much as I do! We're not wasting away! And when have we ever given a damn about the hospital bills? I'd pay a million dollars to make sure you are healthy! And yes, we can't adopt a child, but I don't care about that! You know why? Because I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND I NEED YOU!"

"You love a dying man!" Cas sobbed out as he sat down on the stool, his energy drained from the emotional burden that had been resting on his shoulders for too long.

Dean took in a deep breath and wiped his hands down his face, collecting himself. Once he did that, he cleaned up the spilled water and went to the living room. When he came back, he saw Cas had put his head in his hands and was sobbing almost painfully. He wrapped his husband in the warm blanket Jo had gotten them last Christmas, the one with the grumpy cat picture Cas had found and been obsessed with.

Rubbing his back softly, Dean waited until Castiel had completely calmed down before saying, "I love you too much to lose you. But I know what you mean. We'll do this together, okay? No matter what happens okay? Because we're family."

Cas sobbed before nodding and looking up through dark-circled ocean eyes. "Yes, Dean."

The two men sat at the table for most of the night before heading to bed together, each lost in the other as they fought to keep in the present and not think of the impending future.

Across the sleepy town of Lawrence, Dr. Singer picked up his phone and began dialing an old contact from his first years as a doctor. He knew it was a long shot, but the Winchester-Shurley couple were a well known and well liked pair throughout all of Lawrence. Dean's mechanic school was a respected throughout Kansas, and Cas' hamburgers were a favorite at all tailgate parties. Those boys deserved a happy ending after everything they went through.

"Harvelle residence."

"Ellen? It's Bobby. I need your help."

"You have a lot of nerve calling, Bobby. I'm guessing this patient needs a miracle if you're willing to call me up. Who is it?"

"It's Mary Winchester's boy. The one who married the shy Shurley boy."

"Dean and Cas? Holy Hell, why didn't you call me sooner?"

"Everything was going well, but Castiel started getting worse last year and now, well he ain't got much time left."

"How long, Singer?'

"Three to six months. A year with chemo, but he's denying it."

"I'll be there soon. You better not screw anything up until I get there."

"Yes, ma'am." Bobby paused. "It's good to hear your voice, Ellen."

"Don't get all sappy on me, Singer. Wait 'til I see if I can help Winchester's boy."

With that, Dr. Singer heard the dial tone and he put the phone back with a small smile on his face. If there was anyone who could bring any hope to Dean and Cas, it was Ellen Harvelle. Now all they could do was wait and hope Death was gorging on some junk food while they tried to save the only person Dean Winchester had ever loved.

Author's Note: So there will be a second installment in this. That's all I'm saying on that though.