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Dean frowned. “That’s not really supposed to make me feel better, is it?”

“Give it a little thought, and maybe it will make you feel better. You’ve got to forgive yourself for being human. We’re all flawed.”

“You sound more like a therapist than a tech guy,” Dean observed.

Marco leaned back, mock preening. “Well, as your senior, I have some life experience under my belt. I’ve accumulated a bit of wisdom in my time.”

Dean snorted, swatting Marco’s chest gently. “You’re a whole three years older, don’t start.”

Marco caught his hand, standing up. “I mean it, though. Stop punishing yourself for this and go talk to him. If you ask me, you’re both going to be really awkward. Try to talk about it, and realize you simply want your friendship back. You’ll do it, and things will get back to normal, and when they are, you can deal with the problem at hand.”

“You make it sound a lot easier than it feels.”

Something unreadable flicked across Marco’s eyes and was gone before Dean could register what it was.

“You two are incredibly close, and that sort of bond doesn’t get thrown away over one fight.”

Dean chewed his lip, unsure, considering the parts Marco didn’t know.

Marco squeezed his hand again. “Just give it some thought. Can you promise me that?”

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Without drinking?”

Dean looked up, narrowing his eyes. “Without drinking.”

Marco bent forward, kissing his cheek gently. “Good, you’ll be doing yourself and your liver a favor.”

Dean smiled, watching him go even as his mind ran over everything they’d discussed. He desperately wanted Marco to be right and for him and Sloane to ultimately find a way to get beyond what had happened. Dean wanted to believe his and Sloane’s friendship was strong enough to move past even Dean’s surprise revelation and that he wasn’t going to lose the best friendship he’d ever known and one of the greatest people he’d ever known.

Hope flickered in Dean’s chest, even as he wondered why it felt as though Marco was slipping away.

SLOANE

Stumbling through his door, Sloane cursed as the bottle tucked into the crook of his arm almost dislodged itself. Fumbling, he wiggled his arm up and caught it before it shattered on the floor. Struggling with the plastic bags in hand, he made his way past the living room and into the kitchen.

Sloane dropped the bags, grumbling as he grabbed the liquor and set it on the counter, where it would no longer be in danger. As he bent down to grab the bags to unload them, he froze, his mind finally catching up with what his eyes had seen as he came through the door.

Backing up, Sloane stepped into the dining room and leaned back so he could see into his living room. Sat in the big plush chair against the far wall, staring intently at him, was a nervous-looking Dean.

“Hey,” Dean said.

Sloane blinked. “Hey.”

He wanted to feel relief that Dean was there, but Sloane was still trying to process the reality of Dean’s presence. Normally, there was a sign, shoes kicked off, and in the way, a jacket haphazardly thrown over the chair, an empty water bottle left on a table, anything to mark Dean’s presence. Yet Sloane hadwalked right past him, spotting him but not registering that he was there.

“Sorry to drop in like this. I wanted to call first, but I’m kind of shit at making phone calls, so I just made myself come here and wait instead,” Dean said, his hands clasped in front of him.

“You’re always welcome here, Dean,” Sloane said, stepping into the living room.

Dean looked up, searching Sloane’s face. “I know, but after...well?—”

Sloane nodded, noticing the dark circles under Dean’s eyes and the stubble on his face. Dean wasn’t the most organized or neat person when he was off the clock, but he took care of his appearance. He certainly didn’t look a mess, but Sloane could see he was off-kilter.

“Not been sleeping?” Sloane asked.

Dean looked as though he might deny it and then shrugged. “Dreams.”