I was shaking in my car. The whole thing had been a disaster. I felt terrible for abandoning my brother, for not explaining a thing, and for the words I had thrown at Dean—even though they weren’t rude ones, they were angry ones. I had been so angry at him.

I still was.

But more than that, I was tired.

I missed Dean. I missed laughing with him, the way he smiled so sweet, or told jokes that had my stomach aching and my heart soaring. Dean didn’t want to be with me anymore—and I didn’t know why, but I didn’t blame him. I was quiet, a bit unassuming. I worked hard but I didn’t do much else. My closest friend was my brother. My whole life revolved around being a good, kind employee—I could see why Dean didn’t want to be with me.

But Dean made me better. He made me sharper, more fun. He made me want things that I had never really considered before. And even if Dean didn’t want me, I wanted him—at least as a friend. I deserved to have a shot with him, at least as a friend.

I repeated that to myself over and over again as I spun the wheel, making a u-turn in the empty street and driving to Dean’s apartment. At least as a friend. At least as a friend. At least as a friend.

Dean made my life good—I hoped that in a small way, maybe I made his better, too. Although my stomach was in knots and I could feel my heart palpating against my skin, Dean was worth it. Dean was worth all I had to offer. Dean was worth trying even when it felt pointless.

I heard the sirens before I saw them.

Something ice cold and heavy filled my gut. I knew, just knew, what I was going to see before I got there.

My brother’s car was abandoned on the street, the driver side door open.

I gunned the gas pedal, skidding to a stop in front of Dean’s apartment. I threw the door open and was running toward the ambulance nearly before the car had turned off, the keys still in the ignition.

I stumbled and fell, hands stinging against the pavement. My eyes were locked on the front door of Dean’s apartment complex.

There was blood—so much blood. The red pool of it was illuminated by the streetlamp. It was bright, too bright, so bright it hurt and then everything was blurring and I couldn’t see anything and my throat was hurting and—

“Breathe, come on, man, fuck, breathe Jimmy.”

I gasped, blinking rapidly. Tears were streaming down my face and I looked up, confused, at my brother’s face.

It was white ashen and he let out a string of expletives when I said his name.

“Fuck,” he said, hauling me up to my feet. “You scared me.”

“What—who—that blood—”

I felt like I was floating out of my body. I was drifting away, into the sky, only to slam back hard into the ground when Joey said, “It’s Dean’s.”

I pushed past him and ran to the ambulance. “Dean! Dean!”

“Sir!” A female paramedic caught me by the arm and practically threw me away from her. “Sir, please stand back, this is an open crime scene and—”

“Where is he?” I couldn’t see him. I could only see the blood and my own vision tunneling into black. I saw a flash of pale skin and red blood on a gurney. An arm was the only thing showing of the black sheet covered body. I shoved past the woman.

“Sir, stop!”

I ignored her and when Joey started yelling, I ignored him, too.

“Dean! Dean!”

The gurney stopped moving and a paramedic looked at me. “Who are you?”

“Is that—” I couldn’t finish. Every nerve in my body was on fire and I was burning, charring, I felt like I was screaming.

“Sir,” the paramedic said. “do you know him?”

My hands trembled when I reached them out. I don’t know what I was reaching for, what I expected to find. All I knew was that Dean could be dead on that—

“My—my—Dean Cannon,” my head snapped back up to the paramedic. He was watching me with sympathy, head tilted to the side, as I struggled to get Dean’s name out. “Please, where is he?”

The woman I had knocked aside came over and whispered something to the other paramedic. Then he started to push the gurney away again and I nearly screamed.

“Wait! Please, please, is that—Dean!”

The woman held her hands up. “That is not Dean.”

My butt fell to the ground with relief. I let out a choked sob. “But—but my brother—he said—”

I felt Joey’s hand on me, pulling me up. “Come on, buddy. Dean’s at the hospital. I’ll take you.”

The relief was heady and I could have choked on it. I let Joey lead me to his car, buckle my seatbelt.

“He’s okay,” I heard him say once we were driving. I felt sick to my stomach, like the nausea would make me vomit if I focused too hard on it, and my whole body was shaking. “He was okay. He’s gonna be okay.”

Tears still streamed down my face. They and the nausea were the only things I could feel.

Dean had been shot. Someone died. Dean was shot. Someone else was shot and killed. Dean would be okay. Dean was shot.

Nothing made sense. I couldn’t figure out how to make sense of the agony inside of my chest.

“What—who—”

Joey cut me off. “We’re here, man.”

I didn’t wait for him to park. Once he slowed the car enough, I threw the door open and my seatbelt, running in through the first exit.

“Dean Cannon,” I gasped out. “Where is he?”

The nurse arched an eyebrow at me, her expression entirely too calm for the situation. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Dean Cannon! He was shot, where is he!?” I slammed my fists on the counter between us.

She sighed, extremely put out. “What is your relation?”

“He’s my—” nothing. He’s my nothing. My boss. Not even my friend, not yet.

The tears came back. I hadn’t been able to ask him if he wanted to be my friend.

“I—”

I could feel the fear and heartache and adrenaline swirling around me. I felt dizzy and nauseous and quietly, I leaned my head into my hands, and whispered, “Please. Where is he?”

The nurse took pity on me. “He’s through the blue curtain over there.”

I looked up and took in her sad expression through the blurring effect of my tears. “Thank you,” I offered, sincerely.

When I got there, I hesitated with one hand wrapped in the blue fabric. I didn’t know what I’d see—if he was going to be awake or a—anything. I—

Fuck, fuck. I dropped my chin to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut. Lord, let him be alright.

I pushed through the curtains.

The sound I made was barely human.

“Dean!” I crossed the space in two quick strides and had my arms around him, my head buried in his neck. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” I crooned his name over and over again.

After a moment, Dean’s hands raised and touched my back, hugging me. “Jimmy?”

I pulled away. He looked incredulous. He looked—fine. He was fine.

I let a choking sound that was halfway a sob and halfway a laugh. “I—you were shot!”

“Oh,” Dean’s face was flushed and his arm was bandaged and wrapped. He had it in a sling on his chest. “Yeah. Just a graze. I’m okay.”

“You’re okay?” I could hear how loud my voice was getting. “You’re okay? You were shot! Dean! You were shot and there was so much blood and a gurney and they wouldn’t—I couldn’t—Dean!”

I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking. I couldn’t tell if it was from the sobbing or the leftover adrenaline turning my body into a trembling leaf. It didn’t matter. He was okay.

Two hands wrapped around my wrists and slowly pulled them down. His eyes flickered across my face and down my body, as if checking me for damages.

“Dean, I thought—”

Dean interrupted me. “They were going to fire you.”

I hadn’t known what to expect—it certainly wasn’t that. “What?”

“They were going to fire you, if anyone found out we were together. That’s why—”

He shrugged, then winced. I took a step closer on instinct, raising my hands to cup his face. “Who shot you?”

“Oh,” Dean frowned, shaking his head. “Some disgruntled employee. Marcus White?”

For the third time that night, my stomach bottomed out and I felt like I was choking on air. “M—Mar—Marcus?”

Dean titled his face in my hands. “Yeah. You know him?”

I couldn’t help it. I started crying anew.

Dean called for the doctor when I couldn’t slow down my tears, when I couldn’t catch my breath. A tall police officer came with him.

“It’s my fault,” I gasped out when I finally caught my breath. “It’s all my fault.”

“Babe,” Dean said, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?”

I couldn’t look at him—this was all my fault. I turned to the police officer instead. “Marcus White was my old boss. From Boston. He—he was fired in the merger of our two branches and he called me the other day,” I could feel the lump in my throat and swallowed hard around it, trying not to lose it again, “he called me and asked me who was the boss now.”

I forced myself to look at Dean. My heart ached worse than it ever had.

Dean had been right. I wasn’t good for him. I never should have come here.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” I said, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “I never—I didn’t—I’m so, so sorry.”

I let my head fall, hanging it down. I clenched my eyes closed and waited, bracing for Dean’s anger.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I wondered if he’d punch me. He was right handed—it would hurt him to use his left. I couldn’t stop hurting him.

“Jimmy,” I looked up when Dean said my name. It was the least I could do. “This isn’t your fault.”

The police officer interjected. “He’s right, son. The guy could have just gotten Mr. Cannon’s name off the company directory. There’s no reason for you to feel bad.”

I shook off their kindness. “No, no, I—Dean, he knew about you because of me. I’ll just go. I’m so sorry. I’ll—you won’t have to see me again and—”

“Jimmy Swan,” Dean’s voice was finally angry. I froze, waiting. Then his tone softened, and he turned to the doctor. “Can we have the room—-or, weird curtain tent thing? Please?”

The doctor sighed, looked between us, and then sighed again before leading the officer out of the room.

I waited until they left to look up at Dean. God, he was beautiful. And strong, and brave, and everything I didn’t deserve.

Dean pat the bed he was sitting on, scooting over. Slowly, I lifted myself up to sit next to him.

“Jimmy,” Dean said softly, “this isn’t your fault.”

“It is—”

Dean interrupted me. “I’m the one who got shot. I get to decide who’s fault it is. And I say it’s that crazy White guy, not yours.”

He rested his forehead against mine.

“I was so scared,” I admitted.

Dean smiled. His eyes were closed and when he lifted his head and pulled away, they fluttered open. “Me, too.”

I scooted closer to him until our sides and thighs were touching. The contact soothed half of the uproar inside of me.

“I was—I mean, he shot me, and it was just a graze, but then he shot himself, and it was over quick, but there was this moment—all I could think about was how much of an idiot I’d been.”

My heart was slamming now. I tried to ignore it. “Yeah?”

“I broke up with you,” Dean’s voice cracked at the end and then his left hand slid down to mine. I intertwined our fingers. My hand burned that sweet, cooling heat that soothed out the aches in my body. It almost hurt, how much being around him made me feel better. Like when I would lay in bed and relax my muscles that had been too taut for too long—it felt so wonderful, it had to hurt a little, too.

Dean continued. “I broke up with you because they were going to fire you. But I was staring at that gun and, fuck, all I wished was that I had that last week with you.”

I looked up at him. At least as friends, I told myself harshly, trying not to get my hopes up.

“Jimmy, I know I hurt you, and I—fuck, I’m so sorry. I—I’ll quit. Singer-Paulson, I’ll quit, and then you can keep your career—hell, they’ll probably promote you to my job, and then we can be together. If you want. If you still want me.”

Dean’s eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily. I thought it probably had very little to do with the gunshot wound.

I dropped his hand and wrapped my arms around his waist, hugging him to me, careful to be gentle with his arm.

I pulled back. “No,” I said. Dean’s face fell and I quickly elaborated. “You’re not quitting. We’ll—figure it out. The company won’t want to lose us both.”

Dean’s eyes flickered over mine, boring hard into me. “Are you sure? Really sure? I know I hurt you and—”

“Dean,” I interrupted. “I almost lost you tonight—I—thought—but you’re here. And you’re saying you want me, and I know that things have happened fast, and I know that this is a crazy night, but, if you want me. I want you.”

Slowly, I closed the space between us. I waited until he surged forward, lips pressing against mine.

This kiss was everything all the others had missed—it had the incredible passion, the hope, the adoration that I always felt with Dean. But this kiss had something much better—sureness. I could taste my future on Dean’s lips and when he pressed hard against me, tongue flickering across my bottom lip before sliding between my lips, I was sure that he could taste his on mine.

I didn’t know what the future would hold for us. I didn’t know what would happen at work, or how Dean would feel about the attack with more time, or what new hurdles life would throw at us—all I knew was that Dean was here, and so was I. All I knew was that for the first time in my life, I knew without a doubt that things were exactly as they were supposed to be. As long as Dean and I had each other, we were going to get through it.

I pulled back from the kiss and Dean chased, placing one last chaste kiss on my lips.

“I missed you,” he said.

I was breathing evenly for the first time in a week. “I missed you, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

I shook my head. “Me, too.”

“I was trying to do what was right for you.”

“You’re what’s right for me.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean kissed my cheeks, then my forehead, one on my nose, before pressing his lips lightly against my lips again. “After my near-death experience I’ve decided I’m selfish. You’re stuck with me.”

I grinned. “Ah, it’s you that is stuck with me.”

He grinned right back. It softened to something no less happy, but a little more timid. “Jim, I’m all in. For you. I know it’s early but—I’m all in.”

I pressed our foreheads together, our hands finding their way back to each other. “I’m all in for you too.”

The curtain flew open and Joey stared at us, his mouth open. “Well, if I knew all it would take to get you two together was to lightly shoot Dean-o here, I would have done that ages ago.”

Dean laughed. I glared at my brother. “Can you please, if you don’t mind, fuck off?”

Dean nuzzled my neck. Joey’s eyebrows raised but he held his hands up in defense. “Dean is ready for discharge. Thought you’d want to know. I’m gonna assume you’ll need a ride.”

Well, that was a good point. Neither Dean nor I drove here.

Reluctantly, we signed Dean’s discharge papers quickly, since he was being let go into the care of his boyfriend—I was a bit giddy at that, even if Dean blamed it on my nerves.

We climbed into the back of Joey’s sedan, refusing to let go of each other. My brother complained but kept flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror to smile at me.

Joey drove to my place and I thanked him, ushering Dean inside with me. Thankfully, Joey said nothing, just promised to call to check on us tomorrow.

My apartment was just as I had left it, nothing changed. It was a bit preposterous to think that after all that had happened, nothing had changed.

“Jimmy,” Dean said, as he shucked out of his dress pants. His shirt had been cut off of him in the ambulance. He climbed into bed, wincing a little as his arm was jostled.

I slid in between the covers, joining him quickly. I started to run my fingers through his hair and he smiled, leaning into the touch. “Yes, Dean?”

“I just—I know we went through a lot to get here but—” he hesitated.

I knew what he was saying anyway. “I’m so glad we landed here.”

He smiled wide at me. “Yeah. I... I’m glad you let me stay.”

My heart slammed in my chest from what Dean didn’t say. I kissed him wordlessly, trying to tell him what we were both too afraid to say this soon.

I didn’t mind that it was with lips and tongue that we told each other we loved each other that night. I knew that Dean and I would have plenty of time to say the words to each other later.

There was a future between us and now, we were going to get to live it.