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Chapter Text

It was dark, it was cold, and Castiel wondered if there was a storm approaching, for the night air was damp, giving the wind a bitter bite. He pulled his over-sized beige trench coat tighter around him as he walked up the hill; he was so far out of town that there were no paths to walk on, so he stuck tightly to the left hand side of the road so he could be seen and easily avoided by any oncoming traffic.

He could hear the river rushing past him at the bottom of the embankment, and he slowly started to make his way across the bridge. Now he was here he wasn't feeling quite as confident as he'd been when he'd started walking up here. He let the small hold-all he'd been carrying drop to the ground, and a shiver ran up his spine as he carefully negotiated his way over the railing. At this late hour no-one should be passing by, and for that Castiel was relieved. Everyone should be safely at home, tucked up in their nice warm beds. How Castiel wished that was where he was right now.

* * *

"You are a disgusting sinner, and I want you out of my house!"

"But father, where am I—"

"SILENCE!" his father bellowed, and Castiel flinched at the harshness of his tone. "I don't care where you go, just that you do not return to this house again until you are willing to seek the good Lord's forgiveness."

Castiel's elder brother, Michael, hovered at the doorway.

"Father," he started.

"Upstairs, Michael," their father cut him off. "Pray to God that your brother here sees the error of his ways and repents, before it is too late for him to do so." He turned to Castiel. "Pack your bags – take only that which you need and is yours, and do not return. You are no longer welcome here."

* * *

What Castiel wouldn't give to be able to go home and slot back into his old life – but he couldn't. He couldn't change who he was, no matter how much he might wish to. Fresh tears began to fall as the enormity of his decision finally hit him.

This wind stung his cheeks where the cold air met with damp trails, but Castiel couldn't feel it – not really. It was nothing compared to his father's vicious attack on him. He allowed himself one final glance up at the heavens, as he prayed through tears to a God who hated him; prayed that He would look after his family, and for His forgiveness.

"I'm sorry." Castiel looked down at the river below, black under the night sky, oblivious to the black car that had just started driving across the bridge. "But I just can't go on alone any longer."

"Hey! Hey, you on the bridge! Hey!"

Castiel's hand involuntarily clenched tighter around the railing as he flinched in surprise. He turned to the stranger's voice, astonished at both that anyone else would be up here so late at night, and also that they would take the time to notice him.

"Hey, wait! Don't!" the man continued, as he got out of his car.

Castiel gripped the railing behind him tighter as he viewed the strange man who walked hesitantly up to him.

"I'm Dean," the man introduced himself.

Cas just looked at him, as if unsure of what to say.

"Uh, never mind. Can I..?" Dean trailed off, motioning closer to Castiel, who nodded after a moment's pause. Dean didn't fail to notice the way his knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the railing, as if afraid Dean would grab his hand and prise it off. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but slowly does it.

"So, uh, you're a long way from town."

"So are you," Castiel replied.

Dean laughed emptily. "True." When he saw the man was waiting for more, he elaborated. "I was on my way home."

Castiel nodded at that.

"What about you? Can I offer you a lift home?"

The man shook his head.

"No? Okay, then."

They both stood in silence for a moment, Dean unsure of what to say next.

"You got a name?" he asked eventually.

"Cas..." The other man swallowed. "Castiel."

"Castiel? Strange name."

"My family is very religious."

"Oh, right. So it's some Biblical name, then?"

Now it was Castiel's turn to give an empty laugh. "Something like that, yes."

Dean pulled his collar up to keep the chill off. "Listen, it's getting cold up here..."

"Then go home – don't let me keep you."

"No, that's not what I..." Dean sighed. "Look, I'm not just gonna walk away from this. From you."

Castiel looked Dean in the eye for the first time, then, and Dean found himself temporarily lost in sea of blue. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't stop himself as he drowned in the young man's confused gaze.

"But you don't know me," was all Castiel said.

Dean hesitantly put a hand over Castiel's. "That's not how this works, Cas," he said gently. "I'm a part of this, now – I walk away, I might as well be the one to shove you off this bridge."

"Don't say that, Dean. You are not responsible for me."

"Well someone has to be." Dean immediately realised his mistake when Castiel turned away from him. His stomach clenched as he watched Castiel look down at the swirling river. "Look, uh, I'm not really good with the whole talking thing, I know that – but if you want to talk I can listen?" he pressed desperately.

Dean didn't know when the rain had started to fall, but when Castiel shivered he realised that the poor man's shirt must be soaked right through.

"Come on, Cas. Let me take you home."

"I haven't got a home to go to," Castiel admitted quietly; so quietly that Dean barely heard him. His hurt and broken expression hit Dean like a punch in the gut.

"You do now," he found himself saying, and he gave Castiel's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Let me take you home," he repeated.

Castiel stared at him as if unable to comprehend why Dean was being so nice to him, and it was all Dean could do to hold his gaze.

"That... would not be a good idea."

The smile that had slowly started to spread across Dean's face quickly disappeared. "Will I tell you what's a worse idea?"

Castiel looked at him.

"Dying," Dean said simply.

"That would be my choice to make, Dean."

"Take it from someone who knows what it's like to lose people you care about." Dean could feel tears pricking but he ignored them. "I won't believe there aren't people who'll miss you if you die here tonight."

Tears were falling down Castiel's cheeks. "Then there is nothing more I can say to you, Dean, for I have no-one. Not any more."

"You got me," Dean said gruffly, clenching a hand around Castiel's wrist. Dammit, he was going to save this guy's life if it killed him. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't be standing here freezing my ass off."

Castiel looked at him and Dean stared at him right back, unwilling and unable to look away. He must have seen something in Dean's eyes in which to believe, for he turned to climb back over the railing. Dean let go of the man's wrist so he could wrap an arm around his shivering waist instead to pull him over, but whether it was the sudden gust of wind that threw Castiel off balance or the wetness of the railing that caused him to lose his grip, Dean's hand clenched around air. It felt like time had stopped as he watched Castiel flail for a grip on something, anything – but then the man was falling backwards with a scream into the choppy waters below.

Chapter Text

Dean frantically scrambled down the dirty, grassy slope beside the bridge and barrelled his way along the edge of the river.

"Cas!" he yelled. "CASTIEL!"

He thought he could make out a figure in the water, but if he leapt in now he could get them both killed. He knew the river widened out up ahead, and the water wouldn't flow so fast there. If he could just keep up with Castiel as he was swept downstream, he'd have one chance to haul him out of the water. He shoved rogue branches out of his way as he leapt over exposed tree roots, and stumbled over several slippery rocks. The current was actually drawing a floundering Castiel nearer to the shore, so Dean waded into the shallows to make a grab for him.

"Come on, Cas," he grunted as he pulled the man ashore.

Collapsing on the shingle on the riverbank, he lay down beside Castiel to catch his breath.

"You alright?" he asked, looking over at the other man's motionless form. "Castiel?" he asked. "Shit!"

He scrambled onto his knees and rolled Castiel over onto his back to begin a cycle of compressions.

"Come on, man, don't make me kiss you," he grunted as he counted to fifteen. He checked Castiel's breathing: nothing. "Oh, fuck you."

Pinching Castiel's nose and tipping his head back, Dean exhaled twice into the other man's mouth. He paused to check if Castiel was breathing, and was rewarded by him choking in his ear. He rolled Castiel's rather limp form over onto his side as he wretched up water.

"Don't ever make me do that to you again," Dean complained, cupping Castiel's cheek with one hand as he looked at him. But he wasn't mad – he was smiling; the relief that Castiel was still alive was evident in the way his face lit up.

All Castiel could do was nod in agreement as he let Dean pull him to his feet.

Dean took one of Castiel's arms around his shoulders and wrapped an arm around Castiel's waist as he helped him back up to the car.

"That yours?" he asked, nodding at the small bag propped up against the railing.

"Yes," said Castiel. Everything he owned, save for the clothes on his back, was in that small hold-all.

"Alright, get in."

Dean helped Castiel get in the passenger seat and tried not to think about wet seats. He tossed Castiel's bag in the trunk, wondering how someone could end up with only a small bag of belongings to their name.

Out of habit he hit play on the cassette player as he drove off, before realising how rude it was. He was about to reach over and switch it off when he realised Castiel was absently drumming his fingers in time to the music.

"You like AC/DC?" he asked, surprised.

"I have never heard this before," Castiel admitted. "It's rather loud."

"I can switch it off," Dean said, stretching a hand across.

"No!" cried Castiel a little too quickly, grabbing Dean's hand in midair. He blushed, and pulled his hand away. "You don't have to do that – I don't dislike it."

"You sure?"

"I would like to hear more."

Dean nodded, and flashed him an approving grin. "Okay, then." His legs were freezing, and he knew Castiel had to be as well, so he turned the heating up and reached behind him to grab the blanket off the back seat. Hoping it didn't smell too much of sex, he offered it to Castiel. "Here."

"Thank you," Castiel whispered, shivering as he cocooned himself in the blanket so only his head was visible.

Dean chuckled to himself, and focused his eyes ahead of him. He saved the guy's life from the river; the last thing he needed was to kill him on the road.

Forty minutes later they pulled up outside Dean's apartment. He turned to Castiel and placed a hand on his shoulder, aware of how Castiel tensed at his touch.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you inside and warmed up."

Castiel stared down at his hands and nodded.

"I'll grab your stuff out of the trunk."

Dean was aware that Castiel stood beside the car door once he had shut it, somewhat unsure of himself. He slammed the trunk shut and jogged up the steps to the apartment block entrance. The key turned easily in the lock, and he pushed the door open. He held it for Castiel, who was hovering several steps behind.

"Dude – you're not planning on running, are you?"

"Running?" Castiel echoed.

"Yeah. Running away."

Castiel blinked. "Where would I g-go?" he asked, shivering, and he stepped past Dean and into the foyer without waiting for an answer.

"Up the stairs," Dean instructed, as he shut the door. "Third floor."

The walk upstairs was silent, except for the slight echo of footsteps that reverberated within the cold, concrete walls. Castiel found himself watching Dean as he followed him up the stairs – watching the way he moved. He could feel his own feet trudging along, his legs getting heavier with each step he took, but Dean didn't seem to tire the way most other people did after walking up so many stairs. After a brief struggle with his front door, Dean dropped Castiel's bag on the floor as soon as they were inside his apartment.

"Come on. I'll run you a warm bath. Don't want you getting hypothermia."

Castiel nodded absently, obediently following Dean down the hall to the bathroom where he stood, still clutching the blanket around his shoulders, as Dean filled the bath.

"You got a change of clothes in your bag?" he asked Castiel over his shoulder.

Castiel nodded at Dean's back.

Dean turned to him. "Cas?" he prompted.

"Yes."

"Okay. You get in and I'll go bring your bag."

When Castiel didn't answer, instead only looking at him, he took that silence to be agreement.

Before retrieving Castiel's bag from where he'd left it, Dean hurried to swap his uncomfortably wet jeans into a drier pair. When he picked up the tattered bag a small part of him was tempted to look inside; to see what few items Castiel possessed, but he knew that would be a breach of the trust Castiel had placed in him.

Or had he? Did he trust Dean, or had Dean just given him no other option?

He knocked on the bathroom door. "Cas?"

"Yes?"

"You in the bath yet?"

He heard the gentle sloshing of water as Castiel tentatively stepped into the bath tub and sat down, then, "Yes."

He slowly opened the door and stepped around it. Placing it beside the bath, he then pulled a towel out from the cupboard under the sink and draped it across the radiator.

Castiel eyed him carefully, his legs bent slightly at the knees.

"You don't say much, do you?" Dean commented.

"What would you like me to say?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know. Anything." Dean dropped the toilet lid and sat down, trying not to stare at the bruises that covered the other man's body.

"Are you going to watch me take a bath?" Castiel asked.

"I want to make sure you're alright. Last thing I want is for you to pass out and drown in my bath tub."

"I think one drowning is enough for tonight, don't you?" Cas asked softly, as he lay back in the tub.

"Cas, that isn't funny. You scared the shit out of me."

Cas blinked. "Why?"

"Why?" Dean repeated, his voice nearly a shout. "I thought you were dead, Cas!"

"But why should that scare you? You don't know me."

Dean stared at him. "You're really asking me that?" When Castiel didn't answer, he continued. "Fuck... Cas, just because I don't know you doesn't mean I don't care if you die or not."

"My father knows me, and his only concern is whether or not I repent my sins before I die, not whether or not I actually die," Castiel said quietly.

"What?" Dean couldn't believe someone's father could be so callous. "Cas, I'm sure your father loves you—"

"He loved me. But then I disappointed him. Now he hates me. I... disgust him."

Dean noticed the way Castiel subconsciously fingered the bruises on his arm as he spoke, and swallowed. "That can't be right," Dean said, shaking his head.

"I think I know my own father, Dean."

"But what the hell could you do to make him hate you?"

Castiel said nothing.

"Cas?"

Castiel suddenly found the ingredients listed on the bottle of shower gel incredibly fascinating.

"Cas!" Dean said, a little too sharply, and he leaned forward.

Castiel jumped and sat up, dropping the bottle with a splash.

"Did your father give you those?" he asked gently.

Castiel looked down at himself, then drew his legs up to his chest so he could rest his chin on his knees.

"Sorry," Dean apologised.

Castiel shook his head. "It's alright. But yes. Some of them."

Dean took a deep breath, judging Castiel carefully before he asked his next question. "Was your father the reason you were on the bridge?"

A knot suddenly twisted itself so tightly in Castiel's stomach that he thought he'd be sick, and he couldn't stop the pained expression that clouded his face.

Dean held his hands up and sat back. "Whoa, cool it there, it's alright – you don't have to tell me."

Castiel wished that if he pulled the plug right now, the water would carry him away. When he fell from the bridge he was scared, yes, and he fought to survive, but that was an instinctive reaction. He hadn't quite been prepared – Dean had turned up out of nowhere just as he'd been about to let go. But none of that meant that he didn't want to die anymore.

Tomorrow, perhaps, he'd have his chance. He had the feeling Dean wouldn't let him leave tonight – would insist on making sure he was 'okay' before he felt comfortable letting him go.

"Cas?"

He suddenly realised Dean was talking to him.

"Cas, buddy – are you okay?"

No. No, he wasn't. He'd intended on being dead by now, but Dean had deemed his life worth saving. He'd change his mind if he knew the truth about him, though – of that, Castiel was sure. So no, he was not 'okay'.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You're shaking – if you're cold just add more hot water. I didn't make it too hot, 'cause I didn't want you to go into shock."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm fine."

Castiel lay back in the bath as Dean lapsed into silence. He counted the tiles on the ceiling, wondering briefly if that had been Dean's strange idea or if had been a previous tenant's, as he tried to divert his attention from the fact that Dean was trying not to stare at the bruises on his body. Please don't ask about them again, Castiel thought to himself. He really didn't want to talk about them. About anything.

Dean wasn't usually one for talking, but the silence in the room was unnervingly awkward. He kept shooting glances at Castiel, wanting to know exactly how badly hurt he was, but feeling weird for looking at a naked guy. He knew that if his brother had bruises that bad, he'd want to gank the son of a bitch who'd given him them. He couldn't quite understand why he felt so strongly about the strange man who now sat in his bath tub – maybe Castiel reminded him of Sam when he was younger – but there was an undeniable part of him that wanted to look out for him, to make sure he was okay. He wanted to press him for answers, wanted to understand what it was that had brought him to the bridge that night, but at the same time knew that if he pushed too hard too fast, the guy would run a mile.

It was rather pleasant lying there, Castiel supposed, providing he ignored the fact there was another person in the room. He closed his eyes as he realised he was no longer cold, letting himself enjoy the quiet, when Dean's voice startled him. Perhaps he'd been about to drift off.

"I'm going to call my brother, and then I'll turn the kettle on. Will you be okay?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded.

"Okay. You a coffee person?"

"Not really."

"I haven't got tea," he apologised. "I can't stand the stuff."

"I'm really not thirsty."

"It's not about being thirsty, Cas, it's about getting you warmed up." Dean stood, keeping his gaze directed firmly at the floor. "Erm... Oh! I've got some hot chocolate in the cupboard. Everyone loves hot chocolate," he muttered to himself as he left the room.

Castiel could hear Dean chattering to himself about where the hot chocolate actually was as he entered the kitchen, and smiled in spite of himself.

Grabbing the bar of soap that sat on the edge of the bath he gave himself a quick scrub, aware that his skin was starting to wrinkle having spent so long submerged in water. Unsure of where Dean kept his shampoo, Castiel just ducked his head under the water and gave his hair a quick rub. At least that would get the worst of the dirt from the river out.

Satisfied that he was now as clean as he could be, he curled his toe around the chain and pulled the plug out. As he lay back, feeling the water level recede, he imagined that he was free; that his soul was floating up, up, and away – for a moment forgetting that he was going straight down to Hell when he died.

Once the water was gone he started to feel a little cold, so stepped out of the bath and wrapped himself in the towel that Dean had looked out for him, and it was pleasantly warm after having sat on the radiator for a good quarter of an hour. Crouching down beside his bag he gave the zip a sharp tug, and the damn thing got stuck. He gave it a yank, and a twist, but with a cry of frustration threw it away and collapsed to the floor, letting the tears flow down his cheeks.

He was pathetic. He couldn't be a normal person, he couldn't kill himself properly, and he couldn't even open his bloody bag! He didn't know where everything had gone so wrong; just that he couldn't do a damn think to fix it.

He still didn't really understand why this man was helping him – it's not like Castiel had asked for his help. Sure, it was Christian thing to do, but Dean didn't really strike Castiel as the religious type – and no-one was ever that nice for nothing, were they? Castiel sighed. He'd barely even met the man and he was already trying to second-guess him.

If Dean wasn't ready to give up on him just yet, it would be rude to just throw his hands in the air and say 'I quit', so perhaps he should give him the benefit of the doubt, for now.

With a sudden bout of determination, he wrestled the zip of his bag free, breaking it in the process, and pulled out a fresh t-shirt and a rather ratty pair of old jeans. He stared at the broken zip. Damn it! Now he needed a new bag, as well as some clothes, and a place to live, and... And he couldn't afford any one of the above, let alone all of them. To hang with it – he'd worry about it tomorrow. He was too miserable to dwell on any more disappointment tonight.

In the kitchen Dean was pacing, waiting for Sam to pick up the phone. He hoped Jess wouldn't answer, because he really, really wasn't up for another fight about what a shit brother he was, and how Sam deserved better, and how he should be more grateful whenever Sam had to bail him out of yet another one of his messes.

He stopped pacing as there was a click on the other end. "Sam?" he asked.

"Dean."

Sam's voice was emotionless, so Dean took a deep breath before speaking. "Dude, I need money."

"Dean, we've had this conversation before," Sam said, his voice tired.

"This is different!"

"It's always 'different', Dean! I give you money and you drink it away. We buried our mom, and then we buried our dad – I'm not going to bury you, too."

"I'm not asking you to, Sammy!" Dean could almost hear Sam flinch at the other end.

"Don't 'Sammy' me, Dean! Jess and I have talked about this—"

"What's this got to do with her? We're brothers, Sam – I am asking for your help!"

"You're always asking for my help, Dean. She's my girlfriend, and this affects her as much as it does me. And don't roll your eyes at me!"

Dean looked at the phone in his hand. "I'm not," he lied.

"Whatever. So what's the story this time, hmm? No, wait, let me guess – you're short on either your rent, or your electric bill. Which is it?"

"Neither."

"The car?"

"No, she's fine," Dean said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Then what is it?"

"I've got a friend staying with me for a while – indefinitely. I need a bit of extra money for food."

"You don't have friends, Dean – all you have is people that you owe money to."

"And you."

"And me."

"Then help me!" Dean was sure Sam was close to giving in, but there was a pause before Sam spoke again and Dean could swear Jess was telling Sam not to back down. Bitch.

Sam sighed. "This friend..."

"Cas. Well, Castiel."

"Castiel? What sort of a name is that?"

"His name, Sam."

"Dean, is this even a real friend?"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed in frustration. "Are you calling me a liar, Sam?"

"No, but you're not exactly the most honest of people, Dean: I've represented criminals less dishonest than you."

"Screw you, Sam!"

"I thought you wanted my help?"

Dean screwed his face up as he tried not to blow it. Castiel was unfortunate enough to walk into the room at that moment. "Talk to my brother, Cas," he snapped angrily.

Castiel, startled, grabbed the phone thrust at him without thinking. He hesitantly raised it to his ear, and asked, "Hello?"

"Hi. Castiel?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Sam, Dean's brother. You're a friend of his?"

Dean, listening, started nodding frantically.

"I, eh, yes," Castiel said, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You don't sound sure," Sam prompted.

"I – no, we're friends. Yes, we're friends."

Dean covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. Stupid, stupid idea.

Castiel tapped him lightly on the arm and held the phone out to him. "He wants to speak to you."

Dean grabbed the phone a little too roughly, and Castiel backed away. "Yeah?" he said gruffly.

"Is this some random guy you've paid to pretend to be your friend?"

"If I could afford to pay a guy to pretend to be my friend so that I could get money from you to spend on drink, don't you think I'd be spending that on drink instead?"

"I had to ask, Dean."

"No, you didn't have to ask Sam, you chose to ask me that."

Sam was silent at the other end of the phone.

"So? Are you gonna help me out or not? It's not like you'll miss a few hundred bucks."

"That's not the point, Dean––"

"Sam!"

Sam sighed. "I'll transfer the money into your account tomorrow."

"Thank you, Sam."

"But so help me, Dean, if I find out this is just some bullshit scam—"

"It isn't."

"—I'm cutting you off. You hear me? You'll lose this number, and I won't have a brother."

"I hear you." Dean swallowed thickly. He didn't think Sam meant it, not really – but he didn't know what he'd do without Sam. Hell, he didn't want to have to think about what he'd do without Sam. "Thank you."

"Goodbye, Dean. Unless there was something else you wanted?" Sam almost sounded hopeful.

"No, that was it."

"Text me and let me know you get the money okay." Sam's voice was emotionless again, and Dean knew he was being unfair on his brother, but he just didn't know how to make things right.

"Thanks, Sam. I owe you one."

"You owe me a lot more than that, Dean," Sam said, and hung up.

Dean had stormed around the kitchen, banging drawers and doors as he'd made a coffee for himself and a hot chocolate for Castiel, and Castiel had done his best to stay quietly out of his way, passing him things that he's absently put down only to need again five seconds later.

"You and your brother do not seem to be very close," Castiel observed, as he took a delicate sip of his hot chocolate. "I'm sorry," he said, as he noticed the slump in Dean's shoulders. "I should not have said anything."

"No, it's alright." Dean sighed. "You're right."

Castiel waited. People who wanted to talk didn't need much prompting.

"Sammy and me... We used to be as close as two brothers could get, you know?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Oh. You an only child?"

"No."

"You got a sister?"

"No, a brother."

"But you said—"

"We are not close."

"Oh. That's too bad. Me and Sam..." Dean swallowed. "Well, shit happened. Things changed."

Realising Dean didn't want to say any more, Castiel didn't press the matter. "I'm sorry," he said.

"'S fine, Cas."

The two sat and finished their drinks in peace.

"You keep calling me Cas," Castiel broke the silence.

Dean looked at him. "Sorry – would you prefer it if I called you Castiel? Just it's a bit of a mouthful, you know."

"No, it's not that, I just... Why?"

Dean shrugged. "Why not? When we were kids I called my brother Sammy. Hell, still did, right up until..." Dean trailed off. "Anyway."

"Cas is fine," Castiel assured him. "It's nice, actually – sometimes I feel that Castiel sounds too... I don't know... stuck-up, for want of a better word. Too serious, too formal, almost. My father told me to stop being so stupid and vain, and to accept and be grateful for the name he and my mother gave me. So I've always been 'Castiel'."

"Man, I can't believe no-one's ever shortened it before."

"I was home-schooled for many years," Castiel explained. "I suppose that's why I don't always know how to react around people, and can sometimes say or do the wrong thing. It makes things difficult, I find, and can often lead to misunderstandings."

"You never had any friends?" Dean asked in disbelief. "Not one?"

"Where would I meet them?" Castiel replied. "We lived in a small town, where there were not many children. The only time we really saw anyone who wasn't family was at Sunday school, but we weren't there to socialise."

"You went to Sunday school?"

"Every week, until we were old enough to attend the main church service," Castiel replied. "And then our father would expand on what we had learned that afternoon until the family sat down to dinner."

"Man, and I thought it was bad being dragged to church at Easter and Christmas," Dean exclaimed.

"You only went to church twice a year?" Castiel asked, shocked.

"Cas, if I could have gotten away with it, I'd never have gone."

Castiel didn't know what to say to that, for religion had always been a large part of his upbringing. He'd say as much to Dean, except he'd already said too much - he didn't know what had made him tell Dean as much as he had.

But Dean made a big deal out of yawning at that point, eager to avoid a fire and brimstone lecture about his soul was damned. Castiel didn't know jack shit about his soul. He carried their empty mugs through to the kitchen, and Castiel could hear him bumbling around. He took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. Looking around him, it was obvious that Dean didn't care a lot for his apartment everything was plain, simple, and functional. There was no clutter, no decoration. In fact, there were no 'homely' touches at all. A single photograph sat atop the mantelpiece, but it was lying face down. A quick check assured him that Dean wasn't coming back in the next few seconds, and he quickly crossed the room and picked it up. A rather handsome man stood with a beautiful woman and two children. Judging by the intensity of the young boy's green eyes, Castiel would guess that the young boy was Dean.

As Dean's footsteps approached the living room, Castiel placed the photo back on the mantle and sat back down. To Dean, it would look as if he hadn't moved. He looked up as Dean came back in, arms laden with blankets and pillows.

"It gets cold in here at nights," he explained, as he tossed the blankets on the sofa. "This thing pulls out as a sofa-bed – I'm just sorry I haven't got a proper bed for you to crash in."

"That's fine," Castiel said. "I wasn't really expecting—"

"There's no way I'm throwing you out onto the street, Cas – so just don't even start, okay?"

Castiel nodded, and shot Dean a small smile. "Here – I'll do that."

"You sure?" Dean asked, as Castiel took the blankets from him.

"Yes. Don't worry about me."

Dean looked at him.

"I can manage, Dean."

Dean held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, well, my room's down the corridor just past the bathroom if you need anything. You know where the kitchen is if you get hungry – not that there's much in the cupboards, but I'm sure you'll be able to find something."

Castiel shook his head. "Right now, all I want to do is sleep."

"Well, alright then. I'll see you in the morning. 'Night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean," Castiel whispered to the empty room, once Dean had left him alone.

Chapter Text

Castiel stretched out beneath the covers, before remembering where he was. He sat up quickly, to see Dean glancing up at him over the sports section of the morning paper.

"Good afternoon," he joked.

Castiel turned to look at the clock, shocked to see that it was quarter past eleven. "I am so sorry," he apologised, hurriedly grabbing at his clothes from the night before. "You should have woken me."

"No, it looked like you needed the sleep," Dean said, looking back down at the football scores from the night before. "I only took the morning off work, so I'll have to head out shortly after lunch," he grumbled. "Unless..." He looked back up again. "Are you going to be okay here on your own?"

"I should really be going," he said, his sleep-addled brain still trying to digest everything that Dean had just said to him.

"Going where?" Dean asked. "You said it yourself, you've got nowhere to go. Stay here. At least until you get yourself sorted out."

Castiel's blood ran cold. His father had wanted to 'sort him out' and now this stranger, who had barged into his life last night, thought he could do the same? How dare he? How dare they both? Just because he wasn't made like other people didn't them the right to walk all over him.

"I do not need to be sorted out, as you so delicately put it," Castiel spat defensively.

Dean looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise at Castiel's sudden and unexpected outburst.

"You think that you have some sort of hold over me, because you saved my life? Just because I tried to—" Castiel closed his eyes and took a breath. "My problems are none of your concern," he stated, much more calmly this time. "Thank you for taking care of me last night, but I shan't impose upon your hospitality any further."

Dean tossed the paper on the carpet and strode across the room, and Castiel took an involuntary step back as he got closer. Two firm hands gripped his shoulders as green eyes stared into his.

"Now you listen to me, Castiel – I don't know who you are, and I don't know where you've come from, but I am offering you a roof over your head and a bed, of sorts, to sleep in – are you really going to walk away from that?"

Castiel didn't know what to say, but Dean didn't really give him a chance to answer, anyway.

"And besides," he went on, dropping his hands to his sides, "when I said about getting you sorted out, I meant a place to live. I told you last night, I'm not really great with the whole talking thing."

"Oh," Castiel breathed, as he realised what a complete idiot he'd just been, jumping to conclusions about the man who'd been nothing but kind to him. "I'm so sorry, Dean, I didn't mean to be rude, I just—"

"Hey, it's ok. You don't need to apologise for standing up for yourself."

"I'm just so used to people – well, my father – telling me what to do," Castiel admitted.

"Well you don't have to answer to your father any more, Cas. And you certainly don't have to explain yourself to me."

Castiel looked at him, the picture of concern and sincerity, and green... His eyes were so green... He screamed at himself internally to stop staring as he fought to make his mouth work. "You're really alright if I stay here?" he asked, aware that Dean had started looking at him like he'd grown a second head the longer he'd stared at him.

Dean raised his eyebrows. He hadn't been expecting Castiel to give in quite so easily.

Castiel suddenly worried that the invitation didn't stand any longer seeing as he'd just insulted the man in his front room and was about to apologise again when Dean spoke.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Oh, and Sam's money came through – he keeps his promises, I'll give him that – so I thought we'd hit the supermarket at the weekend. As much as I hate shopping, I hate being hungry even more. You in?"

"It's not really my place, is it?" Castiel asked slowly.

"You're living here now, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," Castiel said, still gathering his things together, because clearly it was the answer Dean was expecting. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"My coat – I don't remember seeing it last night."

"Eh, yeah," Dean mumbled. I kind of lost it when I was pulling you out of the river."

From the look on Castiel's face it looked as though Dean had just told him he'd run over his dog.

"We'll get you another one, and you can borrow one of mine in the mean time if you want to go anywhere. Sam always gives me twice as much as he says he will – I think it's 'cause he expects me to drink it away, and he wants me to have some let over for the important things. It doesn't matter what he says – he's always got my back." Dean knew he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Castiel, but the truth was it didn't matter how often he lectured Dean about money and drinking and whatever else, he'd never threatened to cut him off before – and the thought of losing Sam terrified Dean more than he would care to admit. "So yeah, we'll get you a new coat, and not that I was looking or anything, but you could probably use some new t-shits as well. Honestly, dude, those threads are not cool."

Castiel shook his head. "Dean, I can't let you do that – your brother gave you that money, not me."

"But how I spend it's up to me. And I want to help you out." He wanted to do a better job of helping Cas out than he'd managed with his own brother.

"No, Dean. I won't let you do that."

"Cas—"

"No, Dean," Castiel repeated firmly. "I am indebted to you enough for your generous hospitality – I do not wish to be any further in your debt."

"Dude, I'm not asking you to pay me back – I just want to make sure you'll be aright."

"Nevertheless, Dean, I cannot allow you to waste your brother's money on me, when he meant for it to be yours."

"Fine!" Dean held his hands up in surrender. "If you want to be doing laundry in the sink every other night, be my guest. But I've got to go get some lunch sorted – you hungry?"

Castiel's stomach chose to speak up at that moment, and he nodded.

"Sandwiches okay?" Dean yelled from the kitchen. "You'd be struggling for much else."

"Whatever you're having will be fine with me," Castiel called back, not really caring what he ate so long as he ate something.

Lunch (or in Castiel's case, breakfast as well) was a silent affair. Castiel would barely look at Dean, and every time Dean opened his mouth to say something he'd close it again without saying a word. He just didn't know how to broach the subject of Castiel's suicide attempt last night. Could it even be called an attempt if he fell? The intention was there to jump, but maybe he wouldn't have been able to go through with it?

Dean sighed, and blue eyes glanced up and back down again so quickly he thought he'd imagined it.

With Sam it had always been easy – neither were really the talking type, so they just found a way to deal with whatever it was through actions rather than words. Even if those actions meant avoiding the problem altogether... But how did you ask someone you'd only just met what was so bad in their life that they felt they needed a way out? Maybe he'd ask Bobby. Maybe. At any rate, when he got back from work tonight he should probably say something to Cas. If he could figure out what.

* * *

Later that afternoon Dean was lying on his back underneath a silver Audi and wondering why he couldn't seem to get Castiel out of his head. The past few years he'd pretty much just kept himself to himself, so why he had suddenly offered his couch to some random guy who had more problems bottled up inside him than even he himself did he had no idea. Dean had always looked out for Sam when they were growing up – it's not like he raised him, for their dad was always around in varying states of inebriation – but he had certainly taken care of him. If he was being honest ever since things had become difficult between him and Sam he'd just kind of let life pass him by. Maybe he just missed having someone to look after, which was just freaking selfish given the way he'd almost fucked everything up with him. His sighed. Castiel wasn't his responsibility. Shouldn't be his responsibility. And yet... He just couldn't let the guy leave without anyone or anywhere to go to. For all he knew, Cas was just some con guy looking for his latest target – and Dean had given him a key to the place and left him home alone. He tightened his grip on the wrench he was using. If he got home and his TV and stereo had gone... He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Cas didn't seem like the type. And he had honest eyes. And getting those bruises must have hurt like crazy—

"You plannin' on stayin' here all night, boy?"

"Huh?" Dean looked at his watch. "Shit, sorry Bobby. Kind of lost track of time there."

"Yeah, yeah. Get goin' before I have to start paying you overtime!"

Dean grinned at Bobby, who shook his head and muttered, "Idjit" under his breath, but Dean knew the corners of his mouth would be turning up.

But as it turned out, Dean didn't have to worry about coming home to finding half his possessions gone. But there was something missing as he walked through his front door and stepped on a key that must have been slipped under the door.

"Cas?" He flicked on the light switch in the living room. "Castiel?" he called, louder this time.

A quick check of the apartment revealed the place in darkness and Castiel nowhere to be seen. Though the TV and stereo were still there, Dean noted with a wry grin. Looks like he was right about the guy's eyes. He felt an odd pang of disappointment knowing that he'd never see the guy again, and knew he'd be checking the papers for weeks for any unidentified bodies that had been found. Poor guy. He really did hope everything would turn out okay for him.

There was no point in hanging out by himself and being miserable on a Friday night, he decided as he viewed the contents of the nearly-empty fridge, so he reheated some of the pie he'd bought at lunch, washed it down with a bottle of beer, and jumped in the shower before heading off down to Ellen's for the night. He figured he might manage to hustle a few games of pool first, and then he would see about picking up a girl for the night – in his experience, the first female crowd were out to get drunk. It was the ones who came out later who were looking to get laid, so getting too drunk was not on the cards. He grabbed his keys and cast a last look around the place. All going well, he wouldn't see it until tomorrow.

* * *

As he trudged home at one o'clock in the morning he let out a bitter laugh which misted in the air in front of him. Well, it was certainly tomorrow, alright. He'd won a shitload of money off some college students and spent it all on beer, getting himself drunk to the point that no girl was going to take him home that night, and to top it all off Ellen had kept his keys claiming he was too drunk to drive.

"Bobby would have my head if I let you drive home in the state you're in, even if you made it there on one piece!" was all she said before kicking him out after he'd refused her offer of a cab.

Dean was still a good twenty-five minutes from his place, but he could knock a few off if he cut through the park. If he'd been sober he'd never have done it, because the people who hung around there at that time of night were the type to gank you as soon as look at you; however the beer had left him feeling particularly brazen.

He was halfway through when even in his drunken state he was beginning to think taking a shortcut had been a bad idea when he noticed a figure on one of the benches. Slowing down, he considered turning back because this was a really stupid idea. But he could see the gate, and home was only fifteen minutes from there to his bed. He sped up, intent on walking past really quickly, but his foot caught something and he went flying – a bag with a bust zip, he realised when he saw the contents spilling out onto the path. The guy on the bench hadn't moved, so Dean was about to go when he took a second look at the bag. There was nothing special about, except for the fact he'd put it in his trunk the night before.

"Cas?" he asked quietly, stepping closer to the man on the bench.

Middle of the night or not, Dean recognised the mess of dark hair that contrasted with his pale skin.

"Cas," he said again, moving to shake the guy's shoulder.

In a second Dean was flipped around and on the ground, a knee pressing painfully against his lower back. He couldn't help but think that it was embarrassing how easily he'd been overpowered, but told himself that if he'd been sober he'd have come out on top.

"I don't want any trouble," Cas growled in his ear. "And I have nothing of value, or else I wouldn't be sleeping on a park bench. Now be on your way."

"Cas..." Dean choked out, and breathed a sigh of relief when the knee eased up slightly.

"Dean?" Castiel asked cautiously.

"Dude, I still got an empty couch – why are you sleeping on a park bench?"

He got to his feet when Castiel moved away, and brushed himself off. When he turned, Castiel was right in front of him, staring into his eyes.

"Uh, Cas?" he said, slightly nervously. "Personal space, man – ever heard of it?"

"Why do you keep helping me?" he asked, not moving from where he stood.

And when Dean tried to step back, he found he was prevented from doing so by two hands gripping his elbows tightly.

"I have nothing to offer you, so why?" Cas asked again.

Dean shrugged. "It's the right thing to do?" he asked.

"You don't even know."

"No," Dean agreed, and when Castiel released him he bent to pick up his bag. "Come on, let's get you home," he sighed.

Fingers brushed against his as Castiel moved to take his bag from Dean, and Dean let him; also draping his own jacket around Castiel when he shivered.

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Dean replied, and when Castiel stumbled he grabbed him around the waist to hold him up. He didn't take his arm away once Castiel had righted himself, but felt oddly reassured by the way Cas seemed to lean into him.

When they got back to Dean's apartment, however, it was Castiel carrying Dean through the front door – and straight down the corridor to the bathroom where he promptly threw up down the toilet.

"You're drunk," Castiel stated.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Do you do this often? Or only when your houseguests leave?"

"Only most nights." When Dean turned back to the toilet and started retching Castiel rubbed a soothing hand on his back. "Man, I feel hot."

Castiel said nothing and moved away, but a moment later a cool wet flannel was pressed to the back of Dean's neck.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have drunk so much," Castiel suggested in concern.

"Cas, you need to lighten up. We'll go out tomorrow, have a good time."

That was the last thing he wanted. He just wanted to be left alone to figure out if there was even a point in living any more. "Dean, I don't think that's—"

"I'm not taking no for an answer." He saw Castiel's reluctant expression and mistook it for disapproving. "Look, I promise I won't drink. Much. You shouldn't have to sit here with me, anyway. I'm not a pretty sight right now." He leant back over the toilet and retched once again.

Castiel slid his had down Dean's back and rubbed him gently once again. "You offered me a place to stay when I had nowhere. You offered your support when I had no-one else—"

"Alright, alright – don't turn this into a freaking chick flick moment," Dean protested, but the corner of his mouth had risen in a smirk.

"This is the least I could do after all you've done for me, Dean. Do you need anything else?"

"Right now death would feel good," Dean groaned without thinking.

Castiel's hand stilled.

Dean turned to him. "Shit, Cas, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to make light of what happened with you or anything—"

"That's alright, Dean. But I think, if you do not require anything further, I shall retire for the night."

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

"Good night, Dean."

"'Night. But Cas – tomorrow night, yeah?"

"Perhaps," he conceded, mainly just to shut Dean up about it. Hopefully by tomorrow Dean would forget about it or, if he was still insisting on it, he'd be able to make his excuses.

Chapter Text

Dean's eyes were still half shut when he got in the shower the next morning. (He could call it that – there was still ten minutes before it officially became 'afternoon'.) He'd woken up at nine and promptly gone back to sleep without another thought, but as the warm water helped clear away the cobwebs in his brain he was suddenly hit with the memory of finding Castiel again last night. He jumped out of the shower and gave himself a quick rub down, wrapping the towel around his waist before he sprayed his underarms with a quick burst of deodorant. The sound of the TV greeted him as he walked into the living room.

"The parents of a seventeen-year-old school girl are asking her to come home. Samina Abdul hasn't been seen since she left for school yesterday morning – though she never arrived there. It wasn't until she didn't come home that night and that her parents found out and raised the alarm. A note left behind indicated her intention to meet up with an online boyfriend, who parents say had been at the centre of several recent family arguments."

"I half expected you to have done a disappearing act by the time I got up," Dean grinned.

Castiel looked up at Dean. "The thought had crossed my mind," he admitted, his eyes darting over Dean's body as he shuffled awkwardly in his seat.

Dean's grin faded. "So what stopped you?"

"I don't know," Castiel replied, switching the TV off. "No-one has been this kind to me in a long time, so maybe that has something to do with it."

Dean sat down, droplets of water dripping from his still-wet hair. Most fell onto his shoulders and down his muscled chest, but some ran down his freckled cheeks like tears. He figured if Castiel kept busy, maybe he could forget whatever it was that was getting him down – even just for a few hours – because he knew he sucked at the whole talking thing, and distraction used to work great (some of the time) with Sam.

"I hope you don't mind that I put the TV on," Castiel said, running a hand up and down his arm as Dean watched him. "I've never had the opportunity to watch it much, before."

"No, it's cool, Cas. Whatever you want. Treat this place like your home."

"Thank you, Dean. I'll do my best not to be too much of an inconvenience."

"Dude, it's fine. Really."

Castiel held his tongue, for the last thing he wanted to do was start an argument and annoy Dean. He didn't know him, so he wasn't sure how quickly he might change his mind and ask Castiel to leave, so he figured that the better behaved he was the longer he might have a roof over his head.

"So you got any plans for today?" Dean, sweeping a hand through his hair to brush it back.

Castiel looked at him blankly, his neutral expression disguising the fact that he thought that was a really stupid question to ask someone who had intended to jump off a bridge two nights ago. "No, no plans," he said, thinking unless you're still thinking about taking me out, because he dearly hoped Dean had forgotten about his drunken offer. "What about you? Do you have work today?"

"No, not today," Dean said. "And no plans until later tonight."

Crap. "I don't want you to feel that you have to spend your entire weekend with me," Castiel said hurriedly. "If you have friends or family that you'd like to see, then please, don't let me stop you."

"You mean you don't want me to babysit you all the time?"

"I... Well... Yes, I suppose. Though I hadn't thought of it quite like that."

"Well, no friends and no family – at least that I'm on speaking terms with – so it's just you and me."

Castiel's shoulders slumped slightly, and Dean noticed. A hand subconsciously moved to rub the back of his neck. Of course Castiel was disappointed – just because he thought Dean was kind didn't mean he wanted to spend all day hanging out with Dean. Or all weekend. "Well, I mean, if you want to do whatever by yourself I've got some stuff I could do, I'm sure, and—"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said suddenly.

"What?"

"That you have no-one."

"Oh."

"I know how alone that can make you feel."

"Well, yeah, I guess, but I usually try to keep myself busy."

"Or drunk," Castiel said, somewhere between being a question and being teasing, like a child testing his boundaries. Something told him that last night hadn't been a one-off.

"Or drunk," Dean echoed, chuckling.

Castiel relaxed then, safe in the knowledge that Dean wasn't upset by his comment.

"What did you do yesterday, anyway?" Dean asked him.

Castiel shrugged. "I just sort of... walked around."

"'Walked around'?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted.

There was an awkward silence as neither looked at the other, until Dean said, "Look, I meant what I said yesterday."

Castiel looked at him.

"You've got nowhere to go, I've got an empty couch..." Dean trailed off. "Just... think about it, okay? It's not a marriage proposal – just a roof over your head."

Castiel managed a smile at that, but then his face fell as a thought occurred to him. "But I have no money, so I can't—"

"Don't sweat it, Cas – it'll be fine."

"I don't want you to have to rely on your brother to—"

"I don't rely on my brother, Cas!" Dean protested.

"No, I don't mean it like that." Castiel said quickly. "I just meant that I want to be able to pay my own way, without you having to borrow money from your brother so you can afford to keep me."

"Jesus Christ, Cas, you're not a pet!" Dean laughed.

"I know, I didn't mean—"

"You don't mean a lot of things you say," Dean teased.

"Everything I try to say comes out wrong!" Castiel exclaimed in frustration, burying his head in his hands.

"Cas, Cas – I get it," Dean said, his smile fading because he didn't want to get Castiel all worked up. "Don't worry. But I'll figure something out. We'll figure it out," he amended when Castiel opened his mouth to protest.

Dean took it as agreement when Castiel nodded. There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he wasn't good with words and he didn't want to insult him. An awkward silence fell between the two of them as he tried to find the right thing to say.

"Cas," he started hesitantly. "Can I just ask..."

Castiel looked at him, waiting expectantly.

"You don't have to answer, but, when did your dad kick you out?"

Castiel was surprised. He'd expected Dean to ask why; what he'd done that was so dreadful his father had disowned him. And for Dean to inevitably revoke his invitation.

"I mean, how many nights have you risked your neck by sleeping on park benches?"

"A few weeks ago," he said. "Maybe a month? Maybe a bit longer?"

"A month?" Dean echoed in shock. "Cas, please tell me you've had a roof over your head in that time."

"Sometimes. Sometimes I'd manage to get a bed in a homeless shelter, but other nights I'd be sleeping rough on benches or in shop doorways."

Dean looked simultaneously angry, horrified, and sympathetic. "Castiel," he said sadly, "don't you have any friends that would have helped you out?"

"None that I could turn to," he admitted carefully. Dean was getting perilously close to asking why.

"I know me and Sam have had out difference over the years, but we've always been there for each other," Dean said. "I can't believe that none of your friends would help you out."

"I brought my situation on myself, Dean."

"Bull. They should still help you!"

"Dean, please. Just let it go," Castiel pleaded.

Dean frowned, wanting to know why Castiel had been turned away; why no-one who knew him would help him. But the desperation in Castiel's eyes made him bite his tongue – for now – and he let the matter drop.

"Go shower, Cas. Shave. Get dressed, then we'll go out and grab some lunch."

Castiel automatically moved to follow Dean's instructions, but then paused in the doorway. Dean was not his father – here he was allowed to question.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Could we just have lunch here?" he asked hesitantly.

"If you want," Dean said. "I just thought you might like to go out. Do something, you know?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I was going to think about that when you were in the shower."

"Okay."

"I mean, if you want to stay in it's no big deal!" Dean hurried to reassure him.

"How about we have lunch here, and then we could go out for a bit?" Castiel asked, seeking a compromise. "How does that sound?"

"Like a plan," Dean grinned. "I'll see what I've got in the cupboards – there's not much, but I should be able to scrape something together that'll survive the cooking process."

"Survive?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I'm not the best of cooks."

"Well you might want to start by putting some clothes on first," Castiel noted, his gaze travelling down to where the towel rested just below Dean's navel.

"Yeah, else you'll cop an eyeful if this drops!" Dean laughed, and Castiel flushed. "Alright, alright. But clean razors and stuff is in the wall cabinet, okay?"

Castiel averted his gaze from Dean as he stood up to leave and nodded. Either Dean was a gift from God – a gift he didn't deserve – or more likely he was temptation from the Devil.

* * *

The water was warm when Castiel stepped under it, and it made a pleasant change from trying to wash up in a café restroom (or not at all). When the tears ran down his cheeks – tears of shame, of relief, and of fear – he stuck his face under the spray, letting them mix with the water until he could almost convince himself that he wasn't crying. He ran the bar of soap over his skin, hating himself for the bruises he wore.

He thought of Dean: of his fear when he found Cas on the bridge; of his concern when he found Cas on the bench; of his relief when he found Cas on his sofa. Maybe Dean really did want to help him – he seemed genuine enough, and he'd certainly been kind to him so far. He was trying to decide if he could trust Dean, and with how much, when he absently reached a soapy hand between his legs.

He dropped the bar of soap when his dick started to swell. "No," he said to himself, shutting the shower off. "No, no, no, no, no."

He stepped out of the shower and hurriedly dried himself off, then wrapped the damp towel round his waist. One hand wiped a streak through the steam on the mirror, just enough to see himself, and he studied his reflection for the first time in weeks.

He barely recognised the man he saw.

His hair was longer than it had ever been, and needed to be cut. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked tired – but not the kind of tired that could be cured with a good night's sleep. He picked up the razor he'd looked out before he got in the shower, and ran a thumb over the blade. A thin line of blood oozed where it cut the skin, and Castiel thought how easy it would be to end it all there and then.

"Cas!" Dean's voice carried down the hall. "This'll be done in like two minutes!"

Castiel started, and the razor dropped into the sink with a dull clank.

"Cas?"

"I'll be five minutes!" he shouted back.

Shaking his head, he took the shaving gel and massaged it into his face and neck before giving himself the quickest shave he could. He looked much younger without the beard that had been building up since the last time he'd been able to shave, but it didn't make him look any less tired. He instinctively reached for the deodorant that sat out and it wasn't until he sprayed it and he thought it smelled different that he realised it was Dean's; his was still in his back in the living room, with his clean clothes.

"Yours'll be cold by the time you get in here!" Dean laughed as Cas hurried past the kitchen to the living room.

"I don't mind – I'll just be a minute."

He got dressed as quickly as he could and when he got to the kitchen he found that Dean was nearly finished. He sat down and looked at the... meal... that was on his plate.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food.

"Nothing!" Castiel said quickly, grabbing his fork. "It looks..."

"Like a dog ate it and threw it up on your plate?" Dean supplied. "Yeah, sorry about that. But I can promise you it tastes better than it looks."

"I thought you were going to say it tastes better than vomit," Castiel said quietly, and stared at Dean when he burst out laughing.

"That too!" he grinned.

Castiel smiled back at him, and took a bite. It was rather good, for whatever it was.

"It's supposed to be an omelette," Dean said, as if he could read Castiel's mind. "Don't ask me what's in it, though – I just threw in a few things that were sitting around."

Castiel's shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh.

"What?"

"For what looks like a culinary disaster, it tastes really good."

"Uh, thanks, I think."

"No, thank you."

Dean shoved the last of his lunch in his mouth.

"So what did you want to do this afternoon?"

Dean swallowed and reached for his orange juice. "I thought we could just go for a walk or something. I mean, it's free and all, so..."

"Okay."

"I know you said that you spent yesterday walking around, though, so if there's something else you want to do, then just say."

"No. I like walking."

"Okay."

Dean sat and watched Castiel finish his lunch – which wasn't weird or anything – and when he was done he reached for Castiel's plate.

"I've got that," he said, standing up before Castiel could protest. He dumped them in the sink and ran some water over them. "Right, I'm going to clean my teeth and take a piss and I'll be ready to go. What about you?"

"Same."

"Good."

When Dean left, Castiel moved to the sink and removed the dishes, pouring out the water and refilling the basin – this time with washing up liquid. It took no time at all to wash and dry the few dishes there were, and Dean came back just as he was hanging the damp dish towel over the radiator.

"Bathroom's all yours if— You didn't have to do that, Cas!"

"It's the least I could do," he shrugged.

Dean moved to put them away but stopped behind Castiel, who stiffened instinctively. Dean seemed to sniff the air around him.

"Wearing my deodorant already, I see!" Dean laughed. "Well it didn't take you long to make yourself at home."

Castiel relaxed slightly. Dean wasn't mad at him. "I'm sorry, I left mine in my bag."

"Don't worry about it. You'll get a toothbrush in the cabinet if you need one. You know, I usually just leave these," he added, motioning to the dishes.

Castiel watched him as he put the last of them away, paying attention to what went in which cupboard.

"You know, the quicker you go to the bathroom the quicker we can leave," Dean joked.

Castiel hurried down the corridor.

* * *

Less than five minutes later they were standing outside. It was warm, and Castiel was relieved for it meant that he didn't have to borrow a jacket from Dean. Not that there was anything wrong with his clothes, but he would have felt bad about it.

"Shit," Dean said, suddenly realising that his car wasn't parked outside his apartment, but rather outside the Roadhouse.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, immediately concerned.

"We've got to go get my car first."

"I thought we were going for a walk?"

"We are."

"Then why do we need your car?"

"Because we need to drive to where we're going to walk."

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

"Just... come on," Dean sighed, reluctantly walking off.

Not having any other choice at this point, Castiel followed him.

It was a good forty minute walk from the Roadhouse to his apartment (when he was drunk) so Dean was surprised to find that it was a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes shorter when he was sober and actually able to put one foot in front of the other without tripping himself up. They didn't talk much on the way, though Castiel made a comment about how nice the weather had been the past couple of weeks - something which he'd been grateful for when he found himself sleeping rough. The first time he'd slept in a shop doorway it had rained all night and another person looking for a place to sleep had beaten him until he'd vacated the step, and for the rest of the night he'd missed what little shelter it had offered (though he didn't tell Dean that part, of course).

When they reached the Roadhouse Dean turned to Castiel. "The Harvelles own this place. They're good people," he told him, and walked straight up to the door and hammered his fist on it. "Ellen! Jo! Keys!" he yelled.

Castiel waited beside Dean's car, and he thought the woman who answered the door - Ellen, he guessed, assuming that Joe was her husband - looked rather intimidating, even from across the parking lot. There appeared to be a heated exchange of words, and she glanced over at Castiel, who tried to make himself look as small as possible, before disappearing back inside and reappearing with Dean's keys.

"Get in," Dean said as he unlocked the car.

Castiel obediently climbed into the passenger's side.

Once they were out of the city Dean hit play on the cassette player.

"Do you mind?" he asked as a drumbeat started to fill the car.

"No," Castiel shook his head.

"Good. I hate driving in silence."

Castiel looked out the window at the scenery, reading all the signs they passed. He wondered where Dean knew where he was going, or if he was just going to stop somewhere that looked nice. He imagined that it would be nice to live like that – always on the move and see new things. He found the thrum of the engine reassuring, and he smiled whenever Dean started singing. He'd suddenly fall silent, as if self-conscious of his audience, but occasionally he'd just belt it out and grin. Castiel supposed it depended on the song. At the moment he was drumming his hands off the steering wheel and singing something about being wanted dead or alive. He really hoped Dean was a good driver, for he didn't look like he was paying that much attention to the road.

"Dead or alive. Dead or ali-i-ve! Dead or ali— Oh, shit." Dean suddenly stopped and hit the stop button.

Castiel's face fell. "It's alright."

"No, it's not."

"What do you think I'm going to do? Throw myself from the car just because you're singing a song?"

"No, but—"

"I was rather enjoying listening to you singing, actually."

Dean's cheeks reddened. "We're nearly there anyway," he said gruffly.

"Where's 'there'?"

"Here," he said, pulling into a small parking lot.

Castiel climbed out of the car as Dean went to feed the meter. Wherever they were, it was beside the sea – he could smell it in the air. After ensuring that the ticket was securely displayed on the dashboard, Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on!"

Castiel followed him as they made their way through the small town.

"They have a market," Castiel noted.

"Yeah, they do that about once a month or something. They sell a bunch of fruit and veg, home-made jams and shit..." Dean trailed off as he realised that Castiel had stopped to look at a second-hand book stall. He moved to stand behind him as he flicked through various paperbacks. "See anything you like?"

Castiel dropped the book immediately. "No."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're a pretty shit liar, you know."

"Lying is a sin."

"Then I've got a one-way ticket downstairs," Dean commented. "What the hell were you looking at, anyway?" He picked it up and turned it over. "The Bible?"

"My father made me leave my copy at home. He said I didn't deserve it."

Dean looked from the book to Cas, and then over to the woman running the stall. "Hey, lady – how much for this?"

"Everything's three dollars," she said, pointing to the sign in front of him.

"Oh, yeah." He dug his hand in his pocket and dropped the coins in her hand.

"Do you want a bag to carry it in?" she asked.

"No, thank. I'll just go stick it in the car just now," he said to Cas. With a smirk, he added, "Don't disappear on me."

"Dean," Castiel started, but Dean was already jogging back to the car. He turned back to the books and amused himself until Dean returned.

"Still here I see!" he joked.

"You didn't need to do that, you know," Cas told him.

"I know. But I wanted to."

"I owe you enough, Dean."

"It was only three dollars."

"That's not the point."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not going to argue with you. I just wanted to do something nice."

Castiel immediately felt guilty. "Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it."

Dean left Cas to look through the books and moved over to the DVD stall that was set up. A few things caught his eye, and he might have bought them if he didn't have Castiel staying with him now. Money-wise he'd be okay for now, but he wasn't so sure about in the long run. When Castiel started hovering around behind him, he figured Cas was ready to move on but was too damned polite to say anything. He walked away and led Castiel down a narrow side street, and Castiel's face lit up when they reached the beach.

"Dean, it's beautiful!"

"It's just some sand and water, dude," Dean shrugged.

"But look at the birds bobbing around on the water!"

"They're just gulls. They'll shit on you and steal your food when you're not looking." But nothing he said could wipe the grin from Castiel's face. "Have you ever been to the beach before?"

Castiel shook his head.

"What – never?"

"No. My father saw no point in frivolous excursions."

Dean grabbed his arm and positively dragged him onto the sand. "Come on – we're going to build sandcastles and jump in the waves and look for shells and whatever else it is that kids do on the beach."

"Dean, we are fully grown men, not children!" he protested, but nonetheless allowed Dean to lead him onto the sand and to the shoreline.

They walked along the shoreline for a bit, and Dean would periodically pick up pieces of shell and tell Castiel what they were.

"Limpet. Mussel. Cockle."

"What's this one?"

Dean looked over to see Castiel holding a long straight shell.

"Razor clam," he told him.

Castiel turned it over in his hands. "I like this one."

"So keep it."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. That's what some people do."

Castiel slipped it into his pocket.

Dean resumed his commentary of the shells they came across, more often than not just repeating names until Castiel joined in and it became a race to see who could name the shells first.

"I much prefer it here than in the city," Castiel told him.

"Yeah? I mean, I like it here, but I'd get bored. There's less to do."

"I suppose," Castiel conceded.

"But you were right," Dean said, giving Castiel a friendly nudge in the ribs and causing him to grimace in pain. "Shit, sorry dude! I forgot you were kind of sore—"

"It's alright, Dean," Castiel cut him off.

"No, it's not alright. Man, I'm sorry – I can be such a douche sometimes."

"Forget about it, Dean," Castiel said. "You were saying?"

"Oh, just that you were right about it being kind of beautiful, I guess."

Dean fell silent after that, but Castiel didn't want them to fall into an awkward silence. He liked it when Dean talked.

"You said you wanted to go in the water," he reminded him, bending over to untie his shoelaces.

Dean laughed, and kicked his shoes off with ease. "Race you!" he shouted, and set off when Castiel was still struggling with the knot of his other shoe.

Eventually Castiel got his shoes off, by which point Dean was nearly in the water. He gathered their shoes and socks and hurried after him.

"Just leave them on the sand and get in here!" Dean cried as he threw his jeans onto the sand.

Castiel hesitantly removed his trousers as well, but he took the time to fold them.

"Come on, Cas!"

"It's cold!" he gasped as he stepped into the water.

"Of course it i!" Dean laughed.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Dean grabbed his hand. "You're the one who wanted to!"

"I've changed my mind!" Cas laughed even though he was shivering.

"Just wait for a wave... Wait for it... Jump!"

"People are staring!"

"Let them stare, Cas. Here comes another."

They jumped again, and then Dean was pulling him further out.

"No. Dean!" he cried as Dean's sudden movement pulled him forwards. A wave hit him in the chest, knocking him off balance and his hand slipped from Dean's. He choked as the water went in his face and he closed his eyes instinctively. "Dean!" He moved in what he hoped was the direction of the beach, and was relieved when the water level around his waist receded.

"Cas!"

Castiel sank to his knees on the sand, small stones and pieces of broken shell digging into his knees but he didn't care as he coughed and tried to regain control of his breathing.

"Cas!" Dean crouched down beside him. "What happened, man? It was just a bit of water and you started freaking out."

Castiel shook his head, and Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"I couldn't breathe."

"You're alright now," Dean said to him, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades.

"When I fell from the bridge the water kept pulling me under and I couldn't breathe."

Dean wrapped his other arm around Castiel and held him close. As usual he fucked everything up. Sam always told him he needed to start thinking before he acted. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is. I dragged you further out. Cas, I don't even know if you can swim."

Castiel nodded. "Not brilliantly, but I can stay afloat."

"Okay, so no more water," Dean said. "Check."

Dean rolled onto his back and stretched out on the sand, allowing the hot sun to dry him off, and Castiel did the same. He dug his feet into the hot sand and curled his toes, chuckling at the fact that just three days ago he'd never have considered doing something like this.

"I like having you around, Cas," he said suddenly. Clearing his throat, he added, "I'm just saying."

"I like being around you," Castiel told him.

Dean turned to look at him.

"That came out wrong," Cas said, his brow furrowing slightly.

Dean just laughed softly. "You know what? I really fancy some chips. You can't come to the beach and not have fish 'n' chips."

"Dean, we've just had lunch."

"So? I can still eat some more," he said as he sat up and reached for his jeans.

Castiel ran his socks between his toes to get the worst of the sand out.

"Dude, I'd never have thought of doing that," Dean said, copying him.

They headed back the way they'd come once they were fully dressed again – though walking in damp boxers didn't rank highly on Castiel's list of things he'd like to do again! – and Castiel was surprised at just how far they'd walked.

"Oh, hey, let's go in here," Dean said suddenly, once they were back on the street.

'Here' was a small, free-entry aquarium in what used to be a coastguard station that consisted of two small rooms – one which held several tanks of fish, and the other which was the small gift shop. The took their time as they looked at the creatures in each tank; Dean enjoying their antics while Castiel studied the fact sheets about them like it was a school outing.

"What's your favourite kind of fish, Dean?" Castiel asked, once they'd looked in all the tanks in the room.

"You mean that's not deep-fried in batter?" Dean joked, but Castiel didn't find it funny. "I, uh, I guess the little nemos are kind of cute," he said, flushing slightly.

"The..." Castiel looked at the sign that had the species list on it, but didn't see any identified as 'nemos'. He looked at Dean. "The what?"

"The little orange ones," Dean pointed.

"The clownfish!" Castiel exclaimed. "I like them as well. But why did you call them nemos?"

"You've never seen..." Dean trailed off, remembering what Castiel had said to him this morning about not having seen much television, and figured that went for films as well. "It doesn't matter."

Castiel watched in delight as a crab sidled out from under a rock, and Dean thought to himself how easily pleased he was. He didn't know anything about Castiel's family, but the fact that Castiel had been denied simple pleasure such as TV and family trips to the beach when growing up – things that Dean had taken for granted as a kid – made him hate them.

"Come on," Dean said. "Let's see if we can catch ourselves a deep-fried fish."

This time Cas did smile.

They left the aquarium and walked towards the small café with a flashing neon sign in the window that appeared to read 'Fsh 'n' chips'.

"I wonder if they know their sign is damaged," Castiel wondered aloud.

"Hey, that reminds me of a joke," Dean said.

"About a broken sign?" Castiel frowned.

"No," Dean said. "What do you call a fish with no eyes?"

Castiel contemplated this for a moment. "Blind?" he asked.

Dean chuckled. "No – a fsh!"

But Castiel was still looking at him as if he was waiting for the punchline. "You know – eyes, the letter 'i'..."

"Oh," he said. "Oh!" His eyes widened, and Dean could pinpoint the exact moment he got it.

Castiel laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, and Dean laughed at how hard Castiel was laughing. But then it hit him that that was just another example of how much he seemed to have missed out on growing up.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm not hungry."

Dean didn't believe this for a second, so ordered a portion of fish 'n' chips to take away.

"Are you really going to eat all that?" Castiel asked when he saw the size of the fish.

"Nah," Dean said. "I won't have room for dinner otherwise. We'll share it."

"I told you I'm not really hungry, Dean. You could have just bought some chips for yourself."

"And I told you you're a terrible liar."

Twenty minutes later they were standing on the pier, burning their fingers on their freshly cooked supper.

"You know, we never built sandcastles," Dean said suddenly.

"That's quite alright, Dean. Unless you were looking forward to that?"

"No," Dean said, stuffing another couple of chips in his mouth. "But we'll need to remember to do that if we ever come back," he said as he chewed. "I swear, they do the best chips."

"I think the bird wants some," Castiel noted, looking down at the seagull in the water.

"Of course the gull wants some," Dean told him. "They'll eat anything."

Castiel tossed a chip down to it, which it gobbled down greedily.

"Don't feed it!" Dean cried as several gulls overhead started cawing, but it was too late – soon no fewer than twenty gulls were swimming around on the water beneath them, watching and waiting.

"Oops," Castiel said quietly, unable to hold back his guilty grin.

"Oops is right," Dean said. "Come on – let's get out of here."

The gulls all squawked their displeasure at not being fed as they binned the paper wrapper and walked back up to the car, wiping their greasy fingers on their t-shirts. Most of the stalls were being packed up, now, and Dean ran ahead to catch one guy.

"Hey. Hey! Hang on a minute!"

Castiel didn't hurry to catch up to Dean, and the guy clearly wasn't impressed with whatever Dean had said to him, but he turned and rummaged around in a couple of boxes before handing something to Dean.

"Thanks, mate," Dean said, giving him some money, but the man just grunted and continued packing his van.

"What did you—"

"Nuh-uh. You'll find out later," Dean said, hiding it behind his back. "It's a surprise."

* * *

"I have a surprise for you, Castiel."

"Father?"

"Put a shirt on. Look smart."

"Yes, Father," Castiel replied in confusion.

"Well don't just stand there!"

Castiel jumped, and immediately moved to his wardrobe.

"Two minutes, Castiel. Be downstairs in two minutes."

His father shut the door shut behind him and Castiel pulled his t-shirt over his head. He had the shirt buttoned half-way up when he glanced in the mirror and realised that the short sleeves didn't quite cover the bruises on his arms from where his father had gripped him the day before and shaken him roughly. He swallowed, and shrugged the shirt off in favour of a long-sleeved one. He could roll the sleeves up and button them so they sat neatly, and they would still be longer enough to hide the purple fingerprints.

"Castiel!" his father called as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm here, Father," he replied.

"Well come here, boy – I'd like you to meet Rachel."

So this was his Father's surprise – yet another blind date. "It's a pleasure to meet you," Castiel said politely.

"You, too," she smiled.

She was pretty – even Castiel could see that – and prettier than Hester, his father's last failed attempt at a set-up. As he fixed his false smile in place for the rest of the night, he could feel another little part of him die inside.

* * *

It seemed to take less time to get to Dean's than it did to get to the beach, but then again Castiel had been distracted on the way back.

"I'm going to go shower," Dean announced as they walked through the front door. "I think I've got sand in my ass." He walked down the corridor to the bathroom, one hand pulling at the ass of his jeans.

Castiel could quite honestly say that he had never met anyone as brazen as Dean. And, he decided, he really needed to get out of his underwear because although common sense told him his boxers had dried out hours ago, the paranoid part of his brain was telling him that they felt like they were still holding half the ocean.

When Dean got out of the shower he wouldn't tell Castiel what it was that he'd bought, despite him asking several times.

"You'll find out once I bring the pizzas back," was all Dean would say. "And don't bother trying to cheat, because I'm taking it with me."

Castiel collapsed on the sofa as Dean left to get their dinner, and glanced at the Bible Dean had bought him. He reached out and rested his palm over the front cover, too afraid to open it. His father had told him he didn't deserve it, and his father was always right. He jerked his hand back suddenly like he'd been burned, and he snatched the newspaper up and turned to the crossword to take his mind off it.

He was halfway through when Dean returned – he didn't hear him come in because he was preoccupied trying to figure out what a six-letter word for an African antelope, but the smell of pizza interrupted his train of thought.

"One meat feat for me, and one Hawaiian for you, plus a side of garlic bread."

"What's an African antelope? Six letters."

"Impala," Dean answered immediately. "Why?"

"How did you know that?"

"I read," Dean shrugged. "Plus they've got the same name as my car, so, I guess I just remember these things."

"It fits," Castiel informed him while filling in the boxes.

Dean nodded to himself. "Good. Now put that down and I'll put the film on."

"Film?"

Dean took the disc out and tossed him the box.

"Finding Nemo," Castiel read as he examined the front cover with interest. "Dean, I believe this is a children's film."

"And?"

"And nothing. Is this what you bought today?"

"A-ha."

"It has a clown fish in it."

"It has two."

"This is why you called them nemos."

"Yeah," Dean said, sitting down next to him. "Now shut up and enjoy the film," he grinned.

Castiel gasped when Nemo's mother died along with the rest of her eggs, and Dean didn't think anything of it. But when Nemo was taken from his father Cas let out a choked sob. Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the sofa. He was an idiot for not thinking about Cas's problems with his dad. A fucking idiot.

"Do you want me to switch it off?" he asked quietly.

Castiel shook his head as he reached for the box of tissues. "Just tell me it's all going to be okay."

Dean let out a low huff of laughter. "Cas, it's a kid's movie. They all have happy endings." He paused. "Except Bambi."

Castiel blew his nose. "Don't let me see that one."

"I won't." Dean swallowed. "If you ever meet my brother and tell him this I'll kill you, but the first time I saw Bambi I cried." He didn't know what had possessed him to tell Castiel that, for he classed that as one of his most embarrassing memories. He'd been drunk, so he'd put it down to the booze. And what had a kid's movie been doing on at three in the morning, anyway?

But Castiel just put a hand on Dean's knee and squeezed it gently in a silent promise.

* * *

"Well, what did you think?" Dean asked once the credits began to roll.

"I liked it," he said.

"Good," Dean said, gathering the pizza boxes. "I'll go toss these in the trash."

"What about the leftovers?"

"Oh, that'll be lunch tomorrow. Or breakfast."

Castiel had the sneaking suspicious that Dean wouldn't see breakfast, if this morning had been anything to go by. "Today was... really good," Castiel told him when he came back.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I had more fun today than I've had in a long time."

"It was nice to forget, just for a little while."

"Good," Dean said, thinking that there was probably something more that he could say. "So much for going out tonight, eh?"

"This was a much preferable choice of evening, I think. But if you still want to go out, please, don't let me stop you."

"I might. Just for a quick drink."

"Alright," Castiel said as he began to make up his bed on the sofa.

"Are you going to sleep already?"

"I might watch some TV for a bit, if that's okay?"

"Sure. I guess this is your home, now, so treat it as such. But we'll go out another night though, yeah?"

"Maybe."

"Okay. Well I'll, uh, see you in the morning."

"Good night, Dean."

"Good night, Cas."

Castiel heard Dean as he brushed his teeth and grabbed his keys.

He heard Dean shout, "Bye!"

He heard Dean lock the door and run down the stairs. A minute later heard him drive away.

But though he stayed up for a couple of hours to watch some rubbish film on TV, he didn't hear Dean come back.

Chapter Text

Dean groaned as he opened his eyes and was blinded by the light streaming through a gap in his curtains. It must be about two o'clock, he reasoned. As he trudged, bleary-eyed, towards the kitchen, he glanced at the clock that hung next to the front door, which proudly announced that the time was eleven forty-five.

"Fuck..." he groaned. It was too early after the night he'd had. What had her name been? Nikki? Natasha?

There was light coming from under the living room door, which meant that the curtains were open, which meant that Castiel was up. He opened the door.

"Cas, do you want some toast? I'm going to—"

He looked around the empty room.

"Shit."

He walked back down the corridor and tried the bathroom.

"Cas?" he asked, knocking lightly on the door, but it swung open and the bathroom was empty. Dean had expected that Castiel would still be there this morning, considering how well they'd gotten on the day before. Had he done something? Said something to offend him? He couldn't think of anything, but then he couldn't think of much at the moment. Maybe Cas just didn't like him. He trudged back to the kitchen for a caffeine hit, seriously contemplating going back to bed, when he saw the note taped to the coffee pot.

Good morning, Dean!

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

I haven't left, if you were wondering. I've gone to church. (I'm not sure what it's called, but we drove past on the way to the beach yesterday. Perhaps you know the one?)

Dean knew exactly which church to which Castiel was referring, and shook his head. It would have taken the guy well over an hour to get there on foot. He looked at the clock again, thinking about going to pick him up. What time would he get out? Scratch that – what time did church even start? He glanced back at the note.

I expect the service shouldn't finish much later than half past twelve, so I should be back around lunch.

Castiel

Half twelve. Plenty of time for a bite to eat and a quick shower, he decided.

An hour later he was running late and doing a u-turn on the street, before telling a surprised Castiel to get in the car.

"Thank you, but I could have walked."

"I know," Dean said, flipping the bird to the irate driver behind him who was honking impatiently at him.

"So how was it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Church – how was it?"

"Oh. Yes, it was good. They're organising a fundraiser to raise money for the local home for the elderly."

"Well that's nice of them, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Well, I don't make it a secret that I'm not religious. Don't they usually preach against drinking, gambling, and premarital sex? I mean, that's basically ninety percent of my personality. They don't want you to have any fun. And I haven't even started on the fact that some of them are child-abusing homophobes."

"I hope you're not going to tell me that's the other ten percent of your personality," Castiel said quietly.

"What? No! I like women, not—" Dean cut himself off and cast a sideways glance at Cas, noticing the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Did you just crack a joke?"

Castiel smiled tentatively, but it was only when Dean laughed that it became a fully-fledged grin.

Dean shook his head, still chuckling to himself. "Damn it, Cas. Don't look so serious when you're joking."

"My apologies."

"And quit apologising, man."

"Sorry."

"Aha," Dean grinned. "Caught you out there."

Castiel settled back in his seat and looked out of the window the rest of the way back to Dean's, absently tapping his feet along to the music that Dean put on to fill the silence.

When they got back to Dean's apartment they sat down in the living room to eat the leftover pizza from the night before.

"So did you have a good night?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah," Dean answered through a mouthful of crust.

"What did you do?" He was very interested to know exactly what kind of a man he was now living with for the time being.

Dean grinned. "Oh, you know – I drank, gambled and got laid! And she was legal," he added with a cheeky wink. He knew he was good in bed, but she'd certainly shown him a thing or two. Nancy? Natalie? He was sure her name began with an N. "Do you mind?" he asked, waving the remote at Cas.

"Not at all," Castiel said, picking up the crossword he'd abandoned the night before. He chewed absently on the top of a pencil as he puzzled over the clues, brow furrowed in concentration, as Dean settled down with a beer to watch the football game.

Sunday afternoon was a lazy one, and Castiel managed to finish the crossword puzzle in between Dean trying to explain the rules of football to him.

* * *

The next morning Cas awoke to a loud bang.

"Dean?" he called.

There was no answer. He lay there and listened, barely breathing as he concentrated on the smallest of noises, and a moment later he heard the sound of a car driving away. He recognised it as Dean's, or so he thought. Now that he was awake there was no reason to stay in bed, so he tossed back the covers and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The linoleum floor was cold, but he hardly noticed as he read the note that Dean had taped to the kettle.

I'm at work. You're living here now, so treat this place like your own and I'll see you between 4 and 5.

– D

For a moment Castiel wondered how many times Dean was going to tell him the same thing – make yourself at home – but then he realised that he was still tiptoeing around like he didn't belong here. He was conflicted, because he desperately wanted to believe that he could make a fresh start here, but on the other hand he'd never be able to start over so long as he was lying to Dean – and by not telling him the whole story he was lying to him.

He shook those thoughts from his mind and dropped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. If Dean wanted him to treat his apartment like his home, then he'd start by cleaning it. It wouldn't be enough to make up for everything Dean was doing for him, but it would be a start. And he didn't like living in the midst of such untidiness.

* * *

Dean took the stairs up for a change even though the lift had been repaired the day before, eager to work off his irritability before he walked through the front door. Sometimes he wished he had Bobby's lack of tolerance for idiots – some jerk had brought their car in five minutes before closing and instead of Dean telling them to bring it back tomorrow he's agreed to 'take a quick look at it' there and then. Forty-five minutes later he'd finished the job and was billing the guy two hundred and forty bucks for parts and labour.

"Cas?" Dean called as walked through the door.

"In here!"

Dean followed the voice into the kitchen where Cas was slumped over the table, head rested on his crossed arms, hair even more mussed than usual. He looked around the spotless room and whistled.

"Wow, Cas. Did the house elves drop by?" he laughed as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"No," Castiel answered, looking around the room as if to check he hadn't left anything lying around. "Just me."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel's serious response, but let it slide. "So apart from cleaning the kitchen what else did you do all day, anyway?"

Castiel gestured around the room.

"You spent all day cleaning the kitchen? Dude, you need a hobby!"

Castiel shrugged. "It needed to be cleaned."

"I'm not going to argue with you on that one, but you didn't have to do it."

"But now you don't have to do it."

"True, but Cas – I didn't ask you to stay so that you could clean, alright?" Dean hurried to assure him.

"I know. I just wanted to do something for you."

Dean just looked at Castiel, because it had been a long time since someone had done anything for him. "Come on, let's get dinner sorted," he said eventually, moving towards the food that Castiel had left out on the counter.

"They're all past it's sell by date," Castiel said.

"Really?" Dean asked in surprise. He checked a few tins and packets and pulled a face. "Yeah, okay." He started looking through a few cupboards. "Dude, did you go through every cupboard?"

"Yes – they've all been thoroughly cleaned."

Dean nodded. "Everything's so... tidy."

"Oh, there was a mug in the back of a cupboard that was broken. It's by the sink."

"Broken?" Dean repeated, moving towards the sink. Castiel watched as Dean examined the destroyed mug and dumped it in the trash. "Why didn't you just put it in the bin?" Dean asked. "I mean, it's beyond repair."

Castiel looked at the table. "It's not mine to get rid of."

"I don't even know what's in half these cupboards. Some of it's mine, some of it's..." Mom and Dad's, he finished in his head. After the accident, he'd gutted the house and sold it, but had been unwilling to part with a lot of stuff so had moved it all into his small apartment. He should probably have a clear out. "A lot of this stuff could probably go, you know. It's just taking up room."

"You have three sets of kitchen scales," Castiel offered.

"Three?"

"Yes."

"I didn't even know I had one set – I never use them. Well, why don't you put two into that church thing you're doing?"

Castiel seemed to perk up at that. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean said, knowing that the church sale thing would be the perfect distraction for Cas from whatever problems he had. "It would be better off with someone who was actually going to use half the stuff I've got lying around. Tell you what; anything I've got more than one of just look it out. I'll go through it, but I reckon you'll probably be able to take most of it."

"Dean, that's very generous. I'm sure the church will be grateful."

Dean waved him into silence. "I'm not doing it for the church, Cas."

"But even still... Thank you."

"I'm going to jump in the shower – do you want to get pizza tonight?"

"Again?"

"Chinese, then?"

Castiel nodded. They couldn't live off of takeout forever, but at the moment there wasn't that much in the cupboards.

* * *

Dean may have told him that he didn't have to clean the apartment, but Castiel threw himself into doing just that over the next couple of days.

When Dean came home on Tuesday, the living room had been dusted and vacuumed, and the stain on the carpet that had been hidden under a foot stool for several months had been scrubbed clean. Also, it turned out that the small table sitting beside one of the sofas that the phone sat on was actually a magazine rack, so a lot of the magazines that had been lying around had been neatly filed away.

Castiel had also managed to scrape together enough ingredients to make a spicy pasta sauce for dinner instead of takeout again, which Dean said was delicious but would have benefited from some chicken.

On Wednesday, the bathroom was practically gleaming, and Dean tripped over the cord that was trailing behind Cas as he vacuumed the corridor when he walked through the door.

Dean flicked the switch on the wall socket, and the machine whirred into silence. He watched as Castiel froze before hitting the power button on the machine twice, but nothing happened.

"Dude, enough," he said.

Castiel turned to him, and saw the plug swinging from Dean's hand.

"You can't keep doing this."

"I like keeping busy," Castiel insisted. "And I want to earn my keep."

"You're not my housekeeper, okay? Cleaning the kitchen was one thing, but the whole damned apartment? It's too much."

"What's wrong with wanting to help? You've helped me."

"Cas, you're a guest here. You don't have to clean up after me."

Castiel looked at him, with eyes slightly narrowed and his head tilted to the side in confusion.

"What?"

"Either I am a guest here, or I am to treat this as my home – which is it? Because I cannot be a guest in my own home."

Dean couldn't argue with that logic, so he dropped the plug and groaned loudly as he walked into the kitchen and sat down. He rubbed one hand across his face as he tried to figure out what to say. He looked up at Castiel, who was hovering in the doorway as if awaiting judgement.

"Sit down, man. You look like you're getting ready to run."

Castiel sat down obediently.

"Look," he sighed. "You want to do something to earn your way, then I don't have a problem with that."

"Good," Castiel said, standing. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish the hall before we eat anything."

"I haven't finished either, Cas."

Castiel sat down again.

* * *

"I haven't finished, Castiel."

"Yes, Father," he said, dropping his gaze to his feet.

"Not only are you going to withdraw from your college course until you are feeling better. It's probably for the best in the long run, anyway – I don't know why you even wanted to go in the first place. Twenty-four is too old to be going through a teenage rebellion phase. And anyway, college is probably where you developed your... condition."

His 'illness'. His 'condition'. His 'affliction'. All words his father had used to describe a part of who he was. He could feel the truth of it in his bones, no matter how much he wanted, or tried to deny it. But Castiel sat silently, listening to his father's every word and feeling the life being choked out of him with each one.

"You are also going to resign from your job. The Potters are nice people and they would lose a lot of customers if your condition were to become public knowledge. Do you want them to go out of business? That shop has been in their family for three generations, boy."

"I know, Father." Castiel hung his head. "I'll hand in my resignation first thing in the morning."

"Good. I'm glad you're being so reasonable about this."

Castiel rubbed his arm absently, still sore from where his father had grabbed him the day before.

* * *

"Cas?"

Castiel looked up at him.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes."

"'Cause you don't have to do everything for me. I managed before you moved in."

Castiel nodded.

"But maybe you're right. Maybe you should be doing something to earn your way."

"I can try to find a job or something," Cas said quietly. "I don't have many skills, though."

"Sure. Great," Dean agreed. "But if you can't, it's not a problem."

They both fell silent for a moment.

"I enjoy cooking," Castiel offered eventually, when it was clear Dean didn't really know what to say next.

"Alright, then," Dean said, sitting back in his chair. "So how about you cook and keep the kitchen tidy, and we go week about cleaning the bathroom. Everything else you leave to me, okay? Sound fair?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Good." It was then that Dean noticed the boxes sitting in the corner that were filled with seemingly random stuff. "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"What's all that stuff?"

Castiel looked over. "You asked me to look out everything you didn't really need and was just taking up space."

"Oh, yeah. Right. I'll take a look through it later."

He didn't, however – after dinner he just sat in front of the TV and introduced Castiel to Star Wars as he drank an entire six-pack of beer.

Chapter Text

Dean glanced at his watch. It was nearly lunch time, and then he could get home. Thursdays were his favourite day, because although he loved his work he also loved having some time to relax, so getting to finish up at the yard at lunchtime was a good thing.

He slammed down the hood and wiped his hands off on his overalls. "Bobby, that's me done!" he announced as he dropped the keys back into the office.

"Good! Now get out of here!"

Dean grinned as he stepped out of his overalls. Bobby wasn't the tough nut he appeared to be. He flipped his phone open and called home as he walked over to his car.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Cas. That's me heading home now, okay?"

"You told me this morning that you would be finishing at this time and – I quote – 'pigs will fly before I leave so much as one minute later', so I am not entirely sure as to the purpose of this phone call."

Dean laughed. "I'll see you soon, Cas."

"Goodbye, Dean."

Castiel seemed happier, Dean had noticed. Well, maybe more settled was the word. He supposed the fact that he had given him a place to stay would have helped a little, but he figured the church had probably had a lot to do with it. When your life was going to shit, it helped to have something else to focus on. He turned the key in the ignition and drove home.

* * *

When Dean had found that the cupboards were practically empty that morning, he'd bitten the bullet and announced that they would go shopping. But as he'd been about to leave he realised that Cas was in charge of the cooking, so should also be in charge of the groceries. So he'd told him to write a list of anything he thought they'd need (thinking it would give Cas something positive to focus on, and distract him from whatever it was that he was dealing with) and the rest they could just make up as they went along.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Castiel was reluctant to spend Dean's – or rather Dean's brother's – money, so when he got home the list consisted of milk, bread, and eggs.

"Really? The cupboards are empty and you think all we need is milk, eggs and bread?" Dean grinned, internally screaming because a short list meant more time wandering around looking for things, and more time spent wandering around meant Dean got more irritable because he hated shopping.

Castiel shrugged. He hadn't wanted to seem greedy by writing out a full shopping list, especially when he wouldn't be the one paying for any of it, and he didn't know how long he'd be welcome to stay – especially once Dean found out the truth about him – but now he realised that perhaps he'd gone too far in the other direction by only writing down the bare essentials. "I didn't know what you liked," he said quietly. That was true enough.

"I guess you're right," Dean acknowledged. "Well, come on – let's go."

Dean drove around the parking lot three times as he waited for a woman to finish loading her bags into the trunk. It was right on the end, and far away from the shop door, so there was less chance of his baby being knocked about by idiot drivers.

At first Castiel tried to ask Dean what he liked, but when Dean had answered with burgers and beer Castiel exclaimed, "You can't live off of burgers and beer!" before apologising for telling Dean what he could and couldn't do, but insisting that he was only concerned for Dean's health. (He wasn't too impressed when Dean joked that he got his vegetables on pizza.) However, they quickly fell into a routine that involved Castiel seeing something and deciding what he could cook with it, and then asking Dean if it sounded like something he liked, or would like to try, eating, but the time they were halfway round the store the contents of the cart were probably five times what Dean would usually buy for himself.

"How much do we have to spend again?" Castiel asked for the fifth time.

"Enough, dude. Just get what you think we'll need to last us the month."

Castiel chewed on his bottom lip.

"You know, I don't even know what half this stuff is!" Dean joked, because Castiel was radiating tension you could cut with a knife. "When I said 'get whatever you want' I thought you might buy something I actually recognise – fruit and veg, or something. You know, healthy stuff to improve my diet."

"This will improve your diet. Anything is an improvement on the lack of one you already have," he said, before his eyes widened in shock at his cheek.

But Dean just laughed and slapped him on the back. "Well you're not wrong there."

Castiel tensed as Dean struck him, expecting pain that never came. "Besides," he added after a moment, wondering if perhaps Dean was a bad influence on him, "you don't need to know what it is. I'll cook it, you just need to eat it and tell me if you like it or not, so I know whether or not to make it again."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to ask you to become my little housewife, or anything," Dean frowned.

"Well, hardly," Castiel said. "For one, we are not married, and two, I'm a man."

"Cas, that's not— Never mind," Dean sighed. "Look, you don't have to take everything I say so literally all the time, okay?"

Castiel nodded absently. "I'm glad I'll get to cook for you. Well, for us." He turned to him, eyes wide and sincere. "I like having a way in which to repay your hospitality."

"If I'd let you carry on the way you were going I'd have felt guilty about using you as slave labour!" Dean told him jokingly. "It'll make a change from burgers, anyway – it's about the only goddamn thing I can cook."

"Would kindly to not use the Lord's name in such a way?" Castiel asked. "At least not in my presence."

"Fine, fine! I'll just stand here and keep my mouth shut, while you spend all my brother's money on a load of groceries, half of which I have no idea what they are, so you can cook us up a bloody banquet and I—"

"I'm sorry," Castiel interrupted him hurriedly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Dean exhaled, mentally berating himself for getting all worked up and worrying Cas. "I'm not upset, Cas. I just don't like shopping."

Castiel looked in the cart. "I could put some of this back if you think your brother's money isn't going to be enough. I do not wish to impose on you."

"For the hundredth time, you're not imposing," Dean insisted, slinging an arm around Castiel's shoulders and hating the way his immediate reaction as to tense up at his touch. If Dean ever met Castiel's dad, Dean couldn't promise that fists wouldn't fly. "And for the fiftieth time, buy whatever you want to cook. I really don't want to have to come back here for at least— What the hell?" he asked, as Castiel suddenly dropped to the floor.

He looked up at Dean and pressed a finger desperately against his lips, motioning for him to stop staring at him. Dean shrugged, and pretended like he was suddenly very interested in – he looked at the shelf ticket – a butternut squash. After a moment he carelessly tossed back onto the pile (for Castiel had already added one to their shopping cart) and risked a glance down, to find Castiel was now peering over the trays of vegetables at a short blonde man who was selecting apples, with a basketful of chocolate and candy at his feet.

"Dude, what the hell?" he repeated in a whisper.

"My cousin," Castiel explained, gesturing in the direction of the man as he ducked back down again. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap...

"And we're avoiding him because?"

"I do not know what, if anything, my father has told him."

"Riiight," Dean said, as if that explained why Castiel was crawling on the floor like a two-year-old.

"I do not want to get involved in a confrontation here – it would be embarrassing, for there are rather a lot of people here."

"And playing a one-man game of hide and seek isn't embarrassing?" Dean pointed out with a smile.

Castiel seemed to suddenly realise that other people were looking at him strangely, and when he looked up at Dean again his fear was obvious.

"And I... I cannot bear to see the look of crushing disappointment on his face if he knows the reason my father threw me out," Castiel said. Which was near enough the truth – if his cousin confronted him it would be embarrassing, but there would then be no way to avoid Dean hearing everything and Castiel couldn't put into words how much he didn't want to end up on the street again.

Dean looked over at Castiel's cousin again, waiting until the man wasn't looking. "Ok, look, stand up and walk beside me – if he looks over it won't be obvious it's you, because he'll just see someone walking beside me."

Dean gripped Castiel's arm tightly and held him close as they continued up the shop and turned into the next aisle. Once they were out of sight of Castiel's cousin the other man visibly relaxed.

"Thank you, Dean. I am sorry if I embarrassed you back there."

Dean shrugged off his apology. "I've done a lot worse to embarrass myself, believe me. Just don't ask what."

Castiel smiled.

Eager to change the subject from his embarrassing misdemeanours, Dean motioned to the overflowing shopping cart. "Dude, we've barely been here twenty minutes, and I swear you've bought half the shop!" he laughed.

"Well there are two of us now, Dean." Castiel cast a sideways glance at him. "For the time being, at least."

"Okay, would you stop with that!" Dean exclaimed, a little too loudly.

Castiel flinched at the harshness in Dean's tone.

Dean placed a reassuring hand on Castiel's arm, and when the man didn't tense at his touch he spoke again. But this time he spoke more softly, in the voice he used to use when he was a kid and Sam was too scared to go back to sleep after having been woken by a nightmare. "I said you could stay as long as you wanted, Cas, and I meant it."

"Thank you. I know I've done nothing to deserve it, but I cannot adequately put into words how grateful I am for your kindness."

Dean scoffed and looked at his feet as he shuffled from side to side awkwardly, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. Every time Castiel thanked him he just felt embarrassed, but he didn't doubt that Castiel would soon see him for the fuck up he really was.

"Well, if you can cook half as well as it looks like you can, I may never let you leave!" he laughed.

* * *

The rest of the shopping trip was uneventful – unless you include the small child who ran around pulling things from the shelves and throwing them on the floor being chased by a rather harassed mother putting everything back on the shelves – and Dean was more than happy to let Castiel unpack the shopping once they got back while he switched on the TV to see how the football was going. It was ten minutes before Castiel reappeared, and dropped the latest edition of Busty Asian Beauties in front of him, and Dean had the good grace to look abashed. Castiel sat down quietly beside him, not saying a word, but Dean knew he was itching to say something. After several moments of trying to concentrate on the game while seeing Castiel fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, Dean hit the mute button on the remote and turned to him.

"Spit it out, man, before you choke on it."

"Spit— What?"

"Whatever it is you're too damn polite to say."

Castiel's gaze dropped to the floor. "I would not presume to—"

"Spit. It. Out."

"Very well." Castiel squirmed uncomfortably. "I find those sorts of magazines to be highly disrespectful to women, and it pains me to see a good man such as yourself objectifying them in such a sexual manner."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Dude, it's a porn mag. What do you expect?" He felt uncomfortable that Castiel had called him a good man, because Cas didn't know him at all.

"Still, I am uncomfortable with the idea of women being treated as objects for sexual gratification rather than as people."

"Okay, I see women as people," Dean started.

"How do you feel about women lusting after pictures of attractive, well-built men?" Castiel asked.

"I... Well... I mean..." Dean spluttered, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He narrowed his eyes. "How attractive?"

"Exactly. The women in these magazines do not accurately portray the vast majority of women in society, leaving them with unreachable dreams of conforming to the stereotypical male fantasy of what is 'sexy'."

Dean's tried to process what Castiel had just said, but he got distracted by Castiel's obvious discomfort and awkwardness as he said sexy – with air quotes. It was kind of hilarious.

"Look," he said eventually, "I know that most women don't look like that in real life – but at the end of the day, I just want something I can jerk off to."

Castiel closed his eyes and exhaled softly. His point had flown completely over the other man's head. Dean had said his brother was a lawyer, yes? So that meant Sam was intelligent, then – perhaps he'd been given Dean's share of the brains, and Dean had got the looks. But as soon as that notion entered his head, however, he berated himself for thinking such a thing.

"Come on – tell me you've never jerked off over a picture of a hot, half-naked chick!" Dean pressed him with a grin.

"I can honestly say that I have not."

"What – never?"

"Never."

"Dude..." Dean shook his head. "You don't know what you're missing."

Dean's attention flicked back to the television for a minute, just in time to see the wrong team score. He scowled and punched the arm of the sofa in frustration.

Castiel tried a different approach. "Dean. These women have mothers. Some, children – how would you feel if some stranger was 'jerking off' to a picture of your mother?"

Dean's face hardened, and fist slammed unto the table in front of him as he leaned for ward to Castiel.

Castiel recoiled, half expecting Dean to lash out at him; however he just glared at him. "I'm sorry," he apologised quickly. "That was inappropriate."

"Damn straight that was inappropriate," Dean growled. "Let's get one thing straight – you don't ever talk about my mother – ever, at all, period. You got that?"

Castiel nodded. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean rubbed a hand across his face, and cast a glance up to the picture lying on the mantle. He'd lost count of the number of different scenarios that he'd played in his mind, despite the fact he'd only been four at the time he still felt that he could have – should have – done something more. He blinked back tears and looked back at Castiel, who was eyeing him warily, and Dean could have kicked himself. He leaned across and placed a reassuring hand on Castiel's arm, hating himself for the way he tensed at his touch.

"Well as long as we're clear on that," he said, his tone softer.

Castiel nodded.

"Look, I'm not saying it's perfect," he said, motioning to the magazine, "but it's better than nothing."

"But it would be better with someone else involved, yes?"

"Oh, yeah..." Dean grinned to himself for a moment, thinking about the girl he'd had in the back seat of his car the night he met Castiel. Then he shook his head. "Although it has to be said, it's not always great. Sometimes you can feel kind of... empty, after – you know?"

Castiel didn't. Although he had been warned about the 'sins of the flesh' and taught that such practices were wrong and sinful, Castiel had indulged in the act of self-satisfaction; however sex had never been something he'd had the occasion, or the inclination, to indulge in. "Perhaps it would be more satisfying if you cared for the woman in question," he suggested quietly.

"Probably," Dean said, and shrugged. "But I'm not really the settling down type."

"You don't want a family?" Castiel sounded surprised. He thought Dean would make a good father – he was kind, and certainly seemed to have a lot of love to give if the way he had taken Castiel in was anything to go by,

"Well, yeah, I guess," Dean said. "But I know I'm not cut out for family life – I wouldn't wish me on anyone. I know how fucked-up I am inside, and it's not a pretty picture."

"You don't seem fucked-up to me."

Dean scoffed. "You don't know me, Cas. Even my own brother got so sick of my shit he left."

He turned back to the television and turned the volume up – a sign that their conversation was over – so Castiel left him and started on dinner.

* * *

Dean came through to the kitchen after the game had ended. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier," he said.

"It's my fault," Castiel insisted. "I shouldn't have pried."

"I just don't like talking about my family, okay? I want you to stay, and I don't want you to feel like you're an inconvenience or that I don't like having you here because I do. It's just..." Dean sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that the topic of my family is not up for discussion. Anything else, you can ask me about."

Castiel nodded. "Once again I'm sorry if I upset you."

"Forget it. It didn't happen." Dean said with a reassuring smile. Castiel was always so quick to apologise, and Dean wondered if that was to escape his dad's fists. "Dude, I'm not your dad," he added softly, without really thinking.

Castiel nodded, and then smiled.

Before Castiel could put up any kind of defensive wall and shut down he changed the subject. "So what smells so good, anyway?"

"Chicken and butternut squash curry," Castiel informed him as he loaded two platefuls and carried them to the table.

"Awesome!" Dean liked a good curry, but he was a bit wary of the butternut squash. He'd never had it, and really didn't want to disappoint Cas over his first cooking attempt for the two of them. He frowned and tentatively tried a mouthful. His eyes widened at the heat and he hurried to the fridge to grab a cold beer.

"Thanks!" he coughed after he downed several gulps of beer. "Wow. I didn't expect it to pack quite a punch. That's really good."

"I think I may have gone a bit overboard," Castiel said, face flushed red as he reached for his glass of milk.

"Well, maybe just a little bit," Dean agreed. "I'd like to still have my taste buds when I'm finished!" He laughed, but it took Cas a moment to join in. "Say, man – you've been here a week, now."

"Yes," Castiel agreed quietly, wondering if Dean was going somewhere with it.

"We should go out this weekend. Together. I know a few places, we can just relax and have fun. What do you say?"

"I'd like that," Castiel said automatically, and then realised that it was true. He wanted to get out of the apartment, but didn't really know his way around the area all that well, and it would be nice to go out with Dean.

Chapter Text

Castiel looked utterly miserable as he walked through to the kitchen the next morning.

"Dude, you alright?" Dean asked as he bit into a slice of buttered toast.

"My head feels like it's about to split open."

"Yeah, I get like that after a night out," Dean laughed.

Castiel just glared daggers at him, all thoughts of being well-behaved and polite momentarily forgotton.

"There should be some Paracetamol or Ibuprofen in the cabinet in the bathroom. Take two with a glass of water, then go lie down again. Watch some TV, read the paper, go back to sleep. Just take it easy, okay?"

"Dean, I have a headache, not the flu. I'll be fine," he insisted, as he poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"Still. You've been pretty busy this week. Put your feet up. Relax. I'll see you when I get back from work." Dean started to leave. "Oh, hey – I put the phone number for Bobby's yard next to the phone just in case of an emergency. I mean, it's programmed into the phone, but just in case you forget what I showed you about scrolling through the stored contacts. Okay?"

"Alright."

"See you later Cas!" Dean shouted, and when the door clicked shut behind him Castiel went to raid the bathroom cabinet. He was not fine. He felt like someone was squeezing his brain.

He moved shampoo and shower gel and deodorant and out of the way to find band aids and out several packets of pills. Removing them, he also found some condoms which he hastily put back. There were two packets of Paracetamol and a bottle of prescription painkillers. They were dated several years ago, and the container was still full. It didn't even look like Dean had taken any at all. He knew he should have put them straight back without looking at them, but he told himself that he was just concerned that Dean may have a serious illness that he might need to know about if he ever needed to call an ambulance, when in truth a small part of his mind was telling him that an overdose could be a painless way out.

The phone rang suddenly, and Castiel jumped. He took two Paracetamol out of the packet and tossed them back in the cabinet.

"Dean Winchester's residence," he said, looking at the bottle of pills as he twirled it around. Why hadn't he just put it back in the cupboard? "No, I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number. ... That's quite alright. Goodbye."

He placed the phone back in its cradle and returned to the kitchen for his orange juice before going back to bed.

He thought about Dean as he lay there. Dean had been good to him. Dean was the first person to look at him like there was nothing wrong with him since... Well. For a long time. He thought it was strange how quickly they'd developed a degree of familiarity with each other, but then he'd never had a friend like Dean before.

"Please," he whispered, staring at the ceiling and hoping that God was listening, "just give me this one thing." He knew he had no right to ask God for anything, but Dean's friendship was important to him. "Please."

* * *

Castiel managed to get another couple of hours sleep, and the next time he woke up he was feeling much better – though whether it was down to the extra sleep or the Paracetamol he wasn't sure.

He still wasn't hungry, however, but he got up and tidied the sofa bed away – because he wasn't going to lie around all day like a slob no matter how ill he felt – and jumped in the shower. He shivered even under the hot spray, and hoped he wasn't coming down with a cold. It had been awful the last time he'd caught one.

* * *

It was his second night on the street, and it was raining. It felt like he'd been walking all day. He pulled his coat tighter around him as he looked for a sheltered place to spend the night – or at least a couple of hours before the cops came upon him and told him to move along. It was another half hour before he found a shop doorway that offered little protection from the wind and rain, but it would do.

He'd barely settled down when another guy came over, and he looked like he'd been on the street for months.

"You're in my spot."

"I was here first," Castiel stuttered, not out of fear but from the cold. If it had been dry he'd have left without a fuss, but he was desperate.

"I said, you're in my spot," the guy repeated, moving closer.

"We could share?"

"What are you, gay?"

Castiel flinched.

"'Cause if you are, maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement. I prefer chicks myself, but your mouth's no different to theirs. So how about you suck my dick and we can share, hmm?"

Castiel grabbed his bag and stood. "It's all yours," he said, and ran. Laughter followed him until he crossed the street and turned the corner.

* * *

He'd slept on a park bench in the end, and woken up the next morning soaked right through with a cold that had lasted for a week. But that was before Dean had found him. Before Dean had taken him home, and wanted nothing in return. Dean was a good man.

He prayed to God for forgiveness as he jerked off under the spray, and he sank to his knees once he was done, his tears mixing with the water as they were washed away.

He got out of the shower before the water ran cold. As he went to get clean clothes from the cupboard in the living room that Dean had cleaned out for him one day, telling him that he wasn't going to keep living out of a bag like he was just going to up and leave again, he passed Dean's bookcase. There were rather a lot of books, and once Castiel was dressed he took a closer look at the titles. Dean hadn't struck him as the reading type at first, but then looks could be deceiving.

There were several authors – Kurt Vonnegut, Stephen King and James Patterson being the most common. He'd read Vonnegut in the college library, while his father had been under the impression he'd been studying late. He had no doubts that his father would have burned the books if he'd found them at home. If a book wasn't for school (or work, though that didn't apply to Castiel) then the only book a person should read was the Bible, in his father's opinion. He chose one of King's to read, and he spent the afternoon on the sofa curled up in a blanket, only getting up to defrost some soup in time for Dean coming home.

Every now and then Dean would forget for a moment that Cas was living with him because he been on his own for so long, and tonight was one of those nights. His whole body tensed, ready for a fight, when he opened his front door expecting silence instead of the sound of the TV , before he exhaled and relaxed. It was only Cas.

"Hey!" he shouted.

"Hello, Dean," came Cas's reply.

"The Green Mile, huh?" he said, looking at what Cas was reading. You reading that or watching this?" he asked pointing to the TV.

"I just wanted to hear the news," Cas said. "You can change it if you like."

"No, it's fine. I need a shower. Bobby was moaning that he's going to need to give me a day off sometime soon if I keep working unofficial overtime. Hey, are you feeling any better? You look a bit peaky."

"I feel a little off."

"Do you mind if I head out tonight? There's a pool night on and I figured I could probably hustle up some extra cash."

"Hustle?"

"Yeah, you know. Pretend I suck and then when they bet big win the game."

"That's sounds very dishonest."

"Hey, it's their own fault if they fall for it. I've been caught out myself, and it's not often the hustler gets hustled. So, you okay with it?"

"I don't want to stop you from living your life, Dean."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes. Go. Have fun."

"You still owe me a night out, though," Dean reminded him.

Castiel nodded. "Soup's on the cooker, by the way. I hope you don't mind that I didn't wait for you."

"No. You look like you needed it. Besides, I probably should have called to say I'd be late, anyway."

* * *

It was about half past midnight when Castiel heard Dean come home. He quickly pulled a t-shirt over his head and stepped into his jeans, before heading to the bathroom. He knocked quietly on the bathroom door, which swung open to reveal Dean hunched over the toilet. There was a glass next to the sink, so he quickly filled it with water and handed it to Dean.

"Thanks," Dean mumbled as he took several large mouthfuls.

He crouched beside Dean and rubbed a soothing hand on his back when he turned back to the toilet and started choking. "This isn't healthy, you know," he said eventually.

"None of the good things in life are," Dean answered.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," he chided Dean gently.

"You shouldn't have to sit here with me, anyway. I'm not a pretty sight right now." He leaned back over the toilet and retched once again.

"It's alright."

"It's not alright, Cas. You weren't feeling one hundred percent today so you shouldn't have to hold me through my self-inflicted nausea. Go back to bed."

"Very well. If you're sure I can't get you anything else."

"'Night, Cas."

Good night, Dean."

In the living room Castiel stripped down again before getting into bed, and he paused when he felt the small bottle of pills that was still in his pocket. The sound of Dean throwing up again pulled him from his thoughts and he tossed the jeans aside until morning.

* * *

The next morning Dean was surprised to find Cas whistling in the kitchen as he cooked. "Dude, can you keep it down?" he winced.

"Sorry," Castiel smiled, but stopped whistling.

"You're happy this morning."

Castiel shrugged. "I feel much better today – it must have just been one of those 24-hour things. I thought you could use a cooked breakfast this morning."

Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder as a plateful of sausage, bacon and eggs was placed in front of him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Cas said as he sat down opposite Dean. "I hardly ate anything yesterday, so I could probably use this as well."

"Well, I'll go through that kitchen stuff for you today, so I'll drop you off at church tomorrow with it. Then there's a game on."

"There always seems to be a game on," Castiel commented.

Dean laughed. "I know. But what were you planning on doing today?"

Castiel shrugged. "I'd like to read a bit more, but other than that I don't know."

* * *

True to his word, Dean sorted through all the stuff that had been cluttering up his cupboards for years. Cas helped, and then the two of them took the boxes down to the car so that they didn't have to do it tomorrow morning. After lunch Castiel curled up to read while Dean shouted at the TV most of the afternoon, and once the game had finished (and Dean had ranted until he was red in the face about the appalling performance his team had put in) they sat and ate dinner in front of the television. Dean flicked through the channels until he found some hospital drama that featured a rather good-looking doctor, and with an exaggerated sigh declared, "Well, I guess this is it, then."

Two episodes later Castiel washed up and with a bit of gentle persuasion persuaded Dean to dry.

"So, Cas," he grinned, tossing the towel on the kitchen counter. "You ready to hit a few bars?"

"No, thank you," Castiel replied, picking up the towel Dean had carelessly dumped and hanging it over the radiator to dry.

"Aw, come on, Cas! It's Saturday night! It'll be good fun, I promise," he added.

"Maybe another night, Dean," he said. "I would really rather just have an early night."

Dean's face fell. "Yeah, sure, okay." A hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want me to stick around, or..?"

Castiel was really going to have to learn how to stand by his initial decisions and not be swayed by other people. "Can we be back by eleven?" he sighed, thinking that the last thing Dean needed was another night of getting drunk.

But the way Dean's face lit up when he grinned was almost worth it.

"Yeah, course we can. There's this new club I've been meaning to try out. It's supposed to be really good!"

And so half an hour later he was leading a rather lost looking Castiel in the direction of an empty table, drinks in hand.

"I believe my father would describe this place as, 'a den of iniquity'," Castiel murmured as he sat down. He glanced around, not knowing where to look, before eventually returning his gaze to Dean.

Dean, on the other hand, leaned back and sipped his beer as he eyed up the dancers on the stage. Oh, yeah, he grinned. He was definitely coming back here again.

Castiel chanced another glance around, but no – there was still far too much flesh on display. "I do not feel comfortable here, Dean," he told Dean after a moment.

Dean looked at him, relaxing back in his seat. "What do you mean? Booze, women, what more could you— Oh," he said, as Castiel's expression became slightly panicked.

He's figured it out, Cas thought to himself as he focused his attention on his drink. He knows what I am and he'll kick me out.

"Of course, your family's the religious type. Sorry, I didn't even think."

I'll end up back on the street and— Wait, what? Castiel's eyes narrowed as he looked up at Dean in surprise.

"We'll go somewhere else, it's fine."

"But you just bought drinks," Castiel said, not sure why he was turning down the opportunity to go somewhere a lot less... sexual.

"Well, down it quick," he said, taking another sip of his beer. He froze as he watched Castiel take him literally; gulping almost his entire beer down as if it was tap water. "Damn it, Cas!" he exclaimed. "Take it easy."

Castiel could feel the flush in his cheeks and wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or the drink. He wasn't blind to the fact that for a man in his mid-twenties most people would consider him to be incredibly naïve, and he was grateful that Dean didn't seem to be the type of person to judge him for that. He had just opened him mouth to tell Dean so when a pair of arms snaked their way around his shoulders. He turned, and froze when he saw the woman standing next to him.

"Hi, baby," she whispered in his ear. "What's your name?"

His gaze wandered involuntarily down, and she was wearing the flimsiest white undergarment and – oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph – it was transparent. He didn't know where to look. He was staring, he knew, and he knew he was supposed to be feeling something right now, but all he wanted was to stand up and offer her his coat but his feet didn't seem to want to move. He became aware of her waiting for him to say something, but he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say. Had she asked him something? He looked across at Dean pleadingly, eyes wide in panic.

If Dean didn't feel so sorry for Cas he might have laughed. "Cas!" he answered her suddenly, and a bit too roughly, causing Castiel to start. Dean turned to her. "His name is Cas. What's your name?"

"Chastity," she smiled.

Dean tried and failed to stifle the involuntary groan that escaped his lips, aware that Castiel was still staring at him. Instead he covered it by clearing his throat. "Chastity?" he repeated. "Wow! That's a great name, but we were actually just leaving—"

"What could I do to persuade you and your friend to stay?" she purred, as she stroked Castiel's cheek.

A thousand lewd images flew through his mind, but Castiel's anxious whimper dragged him back to his senses. "Nothing, sorry." He stood up and stepped closer to her. "Perhaps another night, though." He winked and tucked five bucks under her thong.

She grabbed his hand and looked at him. "I'll hold you to that, tiger," she promised, as she moved the money safely into her cleavage.

Dean couldn't help but look down and she laughed. With a peck on his cheek she disappeared into the crowd to find another, more willing client.

Dean sank back into his chair and groaned into his hands. "Cas, you're going to be the death of me."

"I'm sorry," Cas said seriously.

He laughed. "Come on – I know a quieter place that's more to your taste."

"You do?" Castiel asked with a sceptical raised eyebrow.

"Hey, hey, hey, come on, now!" Dean protested. "I'm not all booze and women. Sometimes I'm just the booze."

Castiel laughed with him, though it sounded hollow even to his ears, and allowed Dean to hold onto his arm as he guided them through the crown to the exit. Chastity offered them both a flirtatious wave as they left, but Castiel wasn't looking at her and Dean pretended not to notice.

Dean drove them across town, and Castiel was vaguely aware that they seemed to be travelling back in the direction of Dean's apartment.

"This is the Roadhouse," Dean announced as they pulled up.

Castiel recognised the building from when they'd had to pick the car up before going to the beach. He followed Dean in and they walked straight up to the bar where a young blonde girl was wiping it down.

"Cas, this is Jo."

"Hi," she smiled.

Castiel suddenly became rather flustered. "When Dean said Ellen and Jo, I thought... I thought Joe was her husband."

Jo was silent as his words sank in, and then she let out a delighted cackle. "Oh my God! No! Ellen's my mother!"

Dean laughed so hard he doubled over and had to grab Castiel's arm for support. "Speaking of your mom, where is she?" he asked once his laughter had trailed off.

"She's doing a stock take. You want to see her?"

"I'll catch her when she comes out. Can we just get two beers, please? The usual."

"Sure thing."

Castiel didn't miss the way Jo looked Dean up and down, and he turned to Dean. "Are you and her... courting?" he asked quietly.

Courting? It took a Dean a second for the penny to drop. "What? Me and Jo? No!"

Castiel straightened on his stool. "I see. My mistake."

"It's cool, Cas. She had a thing for me a few years back, but really she's like a sister to me, you know? And, eh," he looked over to Jo and tried to decide if she was out of earshot. "Don't tell Jo, but Ellen scares me."

"You're afraid of my mother?" Jo grinned as she brought their beers over.

Dean cast a look over at Ellen who had appeared from the back and was frowning at him. "I think so," he admitted.

"Who's the stiff?" Ellen called over.

"The stiff?" he echoed. He glanced at Cas, who was perched stiffly on the edge of his stool. "Ellen, this is Cas. Cas, Ellen. Dude, relax."

"I'm sorry?"

"Relax, Cas. There's no strippers here."

Castiel looked down at his drink in embarrassment.

"Dean, where have you been taking this poor boy?" Ellen sighed.

"Nowhere." Dean gave her his most charming grin. "Why would I go anywhere else?"

"Maybe because I don't hire strippers and you won't find any hookers standing around the corners 'round here?" Ellen teased.

Dean looked offended. "Ellen, I have never had to pay to get laid. But I could probably charge," he added with a grin.

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Just don't keep my daughter from her work. It'll pick up in here soon."

When Ellen went to help Jo wipe down the empty tables, Dean turned to Cas. "Ellen and Jo are great, and now they know you're a friend of mine they'll always have your back."

Castiel nodded. If he ever came here alone – which he doubted – that would be rather reassuring.

* * *

In the end it was half past one when Castiel finally managed to half carry, half drag Dean into the apartment. Castiel had stuck to soft drinks once he realised that Dean wasn't going to take it as easy as he'd promised, but having never drunk before his first few beers had gone straight to his head and he was feeling distinctly woozy. All in all they'd visited three bars, and he'd sat and watched a drunken Dean hit on anyone and everyone with breasts for the past hour.

Dean willingly collapsed face down onto his bed, and began snoring almost immediately. Castiel wrestled him out of his clothes, onto his back, and under the covers; keeping his eyes very deliberately focused on Dean's face as he did so. Green eyes opened and looked at him.

"Cas?" he mumbled, confused.

"Goodnight, Dean," Castiel said quietly.

A hand latched onto his wrist to stop him leaving, and his stomach tingled nervously.

"Cas?" Dean said.

"What is it, Dean?"

"I'm sorry."

Castiel's brow furrowed. Of course he would accept Dean's apology and forgive him, but he was unclear as to what exactly Dean was apologising for.

"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean said again, more insistent this time.

"For what?" Castiel whispered.

"For scaring you the other day. I just don't talk about my parents. Not even to Sam," he mumbled.

Castiel suddenly felt very cold. He didn't know much about Dean, for he was very closed off when it came to himself, but he knew that ordinarily Dean would not have said this much.

"Cas?" Dean asked pleadingly.

"I forgive you, Dean," he assured him, and Dean smiled lazily.

"Good," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Don't want you to go..." And he was asleep again.

Castiel watched him sleep for a while, unable to move. Drunk Dean was far more open and honest than sober Dean, and to realise that Dean truly meant what he said about this being his home for as long as he needed lifted a great weight off his shoulders.

He smiled as he pulled the covers up to keep the chill off of Dean, and tiptoed down the corridor to make his bed up on the sofa. There was just something about Dean that made him... not happy, per se, but... at ease. While Castiel still thought about how much easier it would be to die, with Dean around he didn't seem to think of it half as much. His last thought before he fell asleep was that Dean was a good, kind man, and he couldn't understand why he seemed so unconvinced of it.

* * *

"You are an abomination, and will spend an eternity rotting in Hell if you fail to repent."

"Please, Father! I can't... I... I can't help it!" he choked out.

When his father threw down his belt in defeat, Castiel allowed himself to relax now that the beating had ceased. But he relaxed too soon, he realised, when his father grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet.

"You are an embarrassment to this family; do you hear me, Castiel?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel answered quietly.

"You are nothing to me, boy! NOTHING!" he spat.

And then there it was – the stinging blow; as if his words didn't sting enough. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he stared resolutely at the spot on the wall where the force of his father's hand had spun his gaze, desperately trying to hold them back because men didn't cry.

* * *

Castiel woke with a start, his breath caught in his throat and the damp sheets clinking to his bare skin. He closed his eyes as if hoping to block out the memory, and suddenly realised that his cheeks were wet. Wiping his tears away angrily with the back of his hand, Castiel let out a frustrated sigh and buried his head deeper into the pillow. He tossed and turned for hours before he finally fell back into a fitful slumber.

Chapter Text

Dean took Cas down to church the next morning, because the trunk was packed with boxes of stuff for the sale. Rather than go home, he opted to kill time browsing through the local book store, but he'd read all the Vonnegut titles they had in stock so he made his way back to the church and waited for him in the car. Castiel was first out and didn't take his gaze from the ground as he walked right past the Impala. Dean gave a short honk of the horn.

"Cas!" he shouted out the half-open window.

Cas looked over at him and silently got in the car. Apart from a mumbled "Thank you" said nothing the whole ride home.

Dean frowned. Castiel had seemed to be in a more positive mood yesterday – or perhaps that had just been because Dean had distracted him from his thoughts and given him something else to focus on. But he still couldn't think what could have reduced Castiel to this. He'd only known him for a few days, but even when the dude had been hanging off the edge of a bridge he'd never been this quiet and withdrawn. His sudden change in attitude scared Dean, and brought his protective instinct to the surface once again. But Dean was useless with words unless he was using them to beat himself up about something, so he couldn't offer up any motivational words to inspire in Castiel some of that relaxed and happy outlook he'd had yesterday; though he did place a hand on Castiel's knee and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"I can't remember the last time I was up this early on a Sunday," he said conversationally. Small talk to fill the silence that, for once in his life, Dean couldn't bring himself to fill with classic rock music.

Castiel hummed in response.

"How was church?"

Castiel shrugged.

Dean let the silence reign again for a moment. "Is there anything you want to do today?"

Castiel shook his head.

Dean gave up. If the dude didn't want to talk, then Dean would leave him be. He thought he could make out a faint rattling when he pulled away from a set of traffic lights, and he scowled. He'd fix that. His baby deserved better, and he'd treat her right in her old age.

Castiel still said nothing when they got home; he just sat at the kitchen table and traced the swirls in the wood as Dean made them sandwiches.

"You want to talk about whatever's eating you?" Dean asked eventually, when Castiel still hadn't said a word during lunch.

But Castiel shook his head, not taking his eyes off the Sunday paper that he found so interesting. Dean would have grinned if he hadn't been concerned at the sudden change in Castiel since last night, for he only got the paper for the sports section and Castiel read everything but the sports pages. They were as different as chalk and cheese, but he thought that, for some reason, they seemed to balance each other out.

Understanding that Castiel wasn't going to talk to him any time soon, Dean grabbed his toolbox and went outside to work on the Impala. One minute it was still early afternoon, and it wasn't until the light started to fade and he found himself squinting that he realised how late it had gotten. He'd fixed the problem a while ago, and was now just tinkering to kill time.

With a heavy sigh Dean finished up and headed back inside, where he was welcomed with the warm aroma of simmering spices.

"Damn it, Cas," he said as he entered the kitchen. "That smells awesome!"

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly, not turning round from where he was washing up.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," Dean said, motioning to the grease all over him. "Is that nearly ready?"

"It's ready now," Castiel told him, "but I'll wait for you before I dish up."

Dean thought that Castiel still seemed a bit off, but he didn't seem to look as depressed as he had been when he'd come out of church that morning. He didn't push him, because he figured that whatever had upset him he was working through, and instead the two of them spent the night watching the first two Terminator movies and drinking beer.

* * *

Dean had to drag himself out of bed the next morning, and he yawned all the way to the living room. Before jumping in the shower he poked his head into the living room to see Castiel curled up, still fast asleep. Dean smiled. He looked so different there – whereas he was usually so tense and uptight, lying there he looked almost peaceful, and kind of vulnerable. A sudden burst of protectiveness surged through him, which was crazy. Why should he care about a random guy he met on a bridge? Why did he care?

Castiel muttered something in his sleep that sounded like stop it, and Dean glared. Cas didn't deserve to be hurt. That's why he cared.

He let the shower run as he gave his teeth a quick brush, and swore when he jumped under the spray and it was freezing. God damn boiler! That was the third time this month Dean was going to have to fix it. He was just grateful he knew what he was doing and didn't have to call out a plumber every week, because he didn't have the money to afford the call out fee let alone the repairs, and he didn't fancy being stuck without any hot water.

He scribbled a quick note to Castiel before he left, apologising for the lack of hot water and that no, it wasn't his fault for being in the shower too long, and that he's take a look at the boiler when he got home at five. If Castiel wanted hot water for anything he'd just have to boil the kettle.

At work Bobby had a '95, seventh gen Impala with engine troubles for him to work on that day, but it couldn't hold a candle to his baby. While she was sleek and sexy and stood out from the crowd, this modern hunk of junk looked like damn near every other car on the road. Nevertheless, he was determined to have her running as smooth as silk.

As he circled round to the other side, however, he saw the scrapes and dents that ran along the right-hand side of the car. His blood ran cold as he absently trailed his fingers along the grooves – they'd been lucky; so much luckier than their dad. Sam got to go on, living his life, while he had to live with it every damned day. He punched the car door.

"Dean, that car had better not go back to its owners with more dents than when it arrived!" Bobby's voice called over.

"Sorry, Bobby!" Dean yelled back.

"Idjit."

Dean smirked, pretending he hadn't heard. Bobby was a good guy. Hell if anything, he was too good – he cared too damn much about everyone, Dean included. With his criminal record and drinking problem no-one else would hire him – but hey, who didn't have the odd drink when they got home at night... every night of the week... until they either threw up or passed out... But Bobby had given him a chance; got him back on the straight and narrow (sort of). So long as he worked hard, kept his fingers to himself, and didn't come to work drunk, Dean would be okay. He popped the hood and got to work and, completely in his element, the time flew by.

Dean spent most of the day bent over the engine, and was kept so busy that he didn't even have time to call home at lunch to check how Castiel was doing as he'd promised he would.

When he got home that night he went straight into the living room, and when Castiel wasn't there tried the kitchen. Aiming for third time lucky, he wrapped his knuckles on the bathroom door.

"Cas? You in there?"

There was no answer, and Dean turned the door handle. It was locked.

"Cas? You okay in there?"

Dean knocked louder, getting more worried at the silence on the other side of the door.

"Look Cas, buddy, if you don't open this door, or at least talk to me through it, I'm going to break it down."

He knocked one last time.

"Cas!"

The door opened and Dean immediately noticed the guilt in Castiel's eyes, not quite hidden under the layers of sadness and regret. As Castiel stepped away from the door a flash of light drew Dean's gaze down to his hand, and in an instant he held Castiel's wrist in a vice like grip away from his body, his other arm pressing across his body and pinning him to the radiator.

"Let it go, Cas," he growled. "Let it go."

The blade fell with a clink into the bath and Dean eased up on the pressure he was applying to Castiel's body.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he hissed, unable to control his anger.

"That I'm going to hell either way!" Castiel spat. "And that right now I have nothing worth living for!"

Dean let him go as if he'd been burned, his face an expressionless mask. "I thought we were friends. You don't think that's worth living for? But of course you're so eager to leave me – just like everybody else. Even my own brother didn't stick around!" Dean shouted, ignoring the tears pricking at his eyes. "You can leave any time you want – you're not a prisoner, here. So why the hell would you do it in my own bathroom AND LEAVE ME TO FIND YOU?"

Castiel stared resolutely at a point somewhere over Dean's shoulder, unable to look Dean in the eye. "People die every day, Dean."

"And most of them don't want to. To just throw your life away like this disrespects every single one of them! You don't think I'd miss you? You have no idea how stupid and SELFISH that is Sa—"

"I COULDN'T FUCKING DO IT, DEAN!" Castiel screamed. "I couldn't..." he choked back a sob, and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice only wavered slightly. "I couldn't do it."

All the anger and fear that Dean was feeling left him then at the defeat in Castiel's voice. At how weak Castiel sounded. "Good," he said faintly, still reeling from the fact he'd been about to call Cas Sam. What was wrong with him?

Finally Castiel looked at him, and Dean fisted his t-shirt in his hands and shoved him back, hard, against the radiator.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear me? Promise me!"

When Castiel nodded warily, Dean let his head fall against his shoulder, his grip on Castiel's t-shirt loosening. Damn it... It was just like Sam all over again, and he didn't think he had the strength to do it all again; being on edge all the time. If only he hadn't seen Cas on the bridge that night, then... But he had. And Dean, who needed someone to look after but pushed everyone away, had brought him home.

Castiel stood there awkwardly, uncomfortable where the radiator was pressing into his back. He felt like he should hold Dean – that Dean needed to be held – but wasn't sure that he'd want him to. He didn't understand why Dean was so closed off whenever it came to the important things, or why he seemed to determined to save him. His fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily at his sides as he mulled this over, but then Dean suddenly straightened and let him go.

"I thought you were okay. I mean, you've been pretty happy these past few days. Or at least, you've looked pretty happy."

Castiel felt a little guilty, then. Dean had been trying so hard, and not to change him. But then Dean didn't know anything about him, so he wouldn't know there was anything to change.

"Cas?"

"I'm not a TV, Dean," he said softly. "My feelings can't be turned on and off, or changed at the press of a button."

Dean nodded in understanding. "One day at a time, as if you were—" but he stopped himself before he said too much. "One day at a time," he repeated, and there was a slight question underneath his words.

Castiel frowned. Dean was almost too understanding at times. But he nodded, and let Dean lead him through to the kitchen where he sat him at the table and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of him a couple of minutes later.

"Okay, then," Dean said slowly. "So what happened today?"

Castiel shrugged, unwilling to discuss the nightmares he had of his father.

"Come on, buddy – you've got to give me something here. Or at least try to. I mean, I thought things were going good, yeah?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted. He'd allowed himself to forget what it was that had led him here. What he was.

"So, what? Was it something I did? Something I didn't do? Is there something you want me to—"

"Dean!"

Dean fell silent.

"It's not you, okay? I just... I have a lot of... There's so much..." he sighed, unable to find a way to say what he was trying to say without saying too much.

"You know what I think?" Dean asked quietly. "You waited until I came home. You wanted me to stop you, Cas. Even if you just don't know it yet."

Castiel didn't miss the hope and desperation in Dean's voice but said nothing, a part of him that wondering if maybe Dean was right.

* * *

Dean took care of dinner that night, successfully managing to defrost some of Castiel's chilli. (Well, he was counting it a success – he'd only burned a little bit that had stuck to the bottom of the pot.)

"Put on whatever you like," Dean said, tossing the remote in Castiel's direction.

Castiel immediately changed channels to the news. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. He'd said 'whatever you like', and if this was what Castiel liked, then he'd put up with it.

"The body of missing seventeen-year-old Samina Abdul has been discovered in a shallow grave in the woods on the outskirts of her town. Police are looking at CCTV footage in the area."

"There are some real freaking monsters out there, you know that?" Dean commented.

Castiel merely nodded sadly.

They ate in silence after that, neither paying much attention to the TV, and Dean washed up instead of just abandoning the dishes in the sink. When he walked back into the living room Cas was curled up on the sofa, so he took the blanket that lay across the back of the sofa and draped it over him.

"Hey," he said softly, and Castiel moved to allow Dean to sit next to him. But Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come here."

Confused, Castiel allowed Dean to manoeuvre him so he was lying down with his head on Dean's thigh – which wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd have thought it would be. Once he was settled, Dean still didn't take his hand from his shoulder; instead rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt with his thumb.

They sat like that in silence, neither paying the TV that much attention but each content just to sit in the other's company. Castiel mulled over the church sermon from the day before, and Dean talked himself out of interrupting the silence to ask the difficult questions (because he was a coward like that).

"God hates me," Castiel said suddenly.

Dean choked on thin air. "What?" he exclaimed. "Cas, I don't believe in the guy, but from what I hear God doesn't hate anybody."

Castiel shook his head in disagreement, but wouldn't elaborate any further.

Chapter Text

The next day Castiel noticed that anything and everything sharp had mysteriously vanished. He supposed it was nice that Dean was looking out for him, but at the same time it irrationally pissed him off. Who was Dean to barge into his life and try to take control of it? But he didn't say anything when Dean came home, until he was trying to prepare dinner. Well, he didn't actually say anything; he just stood between the TV and Dean with his arms folded.

"Dude, d'you mind?"

"If you want to eat, I suggest you let me have a sharp knife. I simply cannot cut the vegetables with a butter knife," he complained, showing more of his irritation than he would have liked.

Dean looked slightly sheepish as he tried to explain. "Uh, yeah—"

"Dean," Castiel sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. "Just don't."

Dean disappeared and returned with a knife. It wasn't the right one, but Castiel would make do. Dean hovered in the kitchen, totally not watching him, and Castiel briefly contemplated stabbing him with it. Instead he washed and dried it before handing it back to Dean without a word when he was finished with it.

"Sorry," Dean said, but took the knife back to wherever it was he was keeping it before returning to the living room.

Castiel sighed. He supposed he should be happy that someone cared enough about him to look out for him, but the last time someone had controlled his life under the illusion of 'looking out for him' he'd had his freedom stripped away, so it was hard to be grateful.

* * *

"Castiel, you are going to get married sooner or later – don't go thinking that by conveniently disliking every girl I bring here to meet you that you'll escape the fact."

"Father—"

"You are an embarrassment, Castiel! Why can't you see that I am trying to help you?"

And then Castiel's head snapped to the side as the back of his father's hand impacted with the side of his face. He blinked back tears as he turned back to his father.

"You should be grateful that I care enough to help you, boy!"

"You don't care about me, father – you care about your reputation in the community." The words were out of Castiel's mouth before he had even finished processing the thought.

His father's gaze darkened. "You are a disobedient, rebellious, ungrateful little child! Everything I have done for you, you throw back in my face. One day you will go too far and I shall turn my back on you, Castiel, and so will God. Mark my words, son."

"I'm sorry, Father," Castiel said. Not for his words, which surprised him, but for disappointing him.

His father slammed the bedroom door, and Castiel could hear the click of the key turning in the lock.

"You will sit in here and think about how you can better serve the good Lord."

Castiel could feel his eyes getting wet, but he didn't cry. He never cried, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to. He was just so wrong, in so many different ways.

* * *

An hour later he was stuffed full and watching Dr Sexy, MD reruns with Dean in silence. It seemed like silence was his best friend lately.

"Cas?" Dean asked during a commercial break.

Castiel looked at him.

"Have you ever, you know, talked to someone about this?"

Castiel frowned.

"Like a shrink, you know? I usually think they're full of themselves, but..." He sighed. "I'm not really making it sound like the right thing here. I'm not saying you're crazy, or that there's something wrong with you – I just think that... If you haven't got your family to talk to, and you won't talk to me, you should have someone you can talk to about it. What about the priest at your church? Can you talk to him about it?"

Castiel had suspected this conversation would come sooner or later, but it was not one he wanted to have so he shook his head vehemently. "No."

"Cas—"

"I said no, Dean!" Castiel was very definite in his decision, and his voice was almost a growl. "Can you just drop it? Please?" he added, slightly softer this time.

Dean sighed again, but nodded reluctantly. "Okay, yeah. If that's what you want."

"Thank you," he said, and they fell back into an uneasy silence.

* * *

It didn't matter that he'd told Cas he'd drop it – he just couldn't let it go because he was worried about him, so a couple of days later he spoke to the only person he had to talk to.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah? What is it?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"Have you got a minute?"

"What do you want?"

Dean shifted from one foot to the other. "I need some advice."

"Damn it, boy, do I look like Dear Abby to you?"

"Sorry, Bobby," he said, turning to leave. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Bobby sighed. "Dean... Take a break."

"But—"

"You've earned it. Come here."

Dean followed Bobby through to his office where he was ushered into a seat and a steaming hot mug of coffee was thrust into his hand.

"Okay, so talk."

And Dean did. He talked for twenty minutes and told Bobby everything. He told him about finding Cas on the bridge, about Castiel leaving and Dean taking him back home again, he told him that Castiel's father had beaten him, and he that he'd found him with a blade in his hand when he'd finished work on Monday and how didn't know what to do or how to help him, all while Bobby just sat there and listened.

When Dean finally finished, Bobby drained the last of his coffee and looked at him.

"Well?" Dean asked. "What do I do?"

"Dean," Bobby started, "I gave you a job because I knew your situation and I went out on a limb – I trusted you. Most people wouldn't have."

"I know."

"So you see where I'm going with this?"

Dean shook his head.

Bobby sighed. "You can't hope to help him until you know whatever it is that's eating him."

"Yeah, but he doesn't want to tell me—"

"You don't want to ask!" Bobby all but yelled back. "Just because you don't like to talk about things doesn't mean other people don't! It's about him, not you, so pull your head out of your ass and talk to him!"

"I know it's not about me!" Dean said defensively.

"Do you? Because it seems to me that you've done piss-poor job of actually sitting him down and asking him what's wrong! Some people don't like to be a burden. Sometimes you need to take the time to be a friend!"

"I..." Dean was speechless.

"Sit there and think about what I just said. I'm going to go finish putting the new brake pads on that Mustang."

Dean stood up. "But Bobby, that's my—"

"Sit!"

Dean sat.

"Think."

* * *

When Dean got back home that night he grabbed a beer and sat down on the sofa next to Cas. "So," he said casually. "How are you?"

"Do you mean am I liable to try to kill myself today?" Castiel replied matter-of-factly.

Dean visibly winced at the bluntness of Castiel's tone. He hadn't meant to sound so obvious. "Well, uh, yeah."

Castiel absently picked at a loose thread hanging from the cushion. "I don't think so."

Dean let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. "Good. 'Cause, you know, I'd try and stop you again."

"Yes, I do."

"Talk to me."

"I am talking to you."

"I mean tell me what you're thinking – whatever it is you're not saying out loud. You can tell me."

Castiel shook his head. "No."

Dean tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, a part of him thinking that if it were Sam he'd probably threaten to beat it out of him but knowing that that would just cause Castiel to retreat further into himself.

"Fair enough," he said instead. "But if you do decide you want to talk—"

"Thank you, Dean. But I will not burden you further by telling you all my problems."

"Dude, I asked, okay? I offered you a place to stay; I asked you how you are – that makes you about as far away from a burden as you can be."

"You don't talk about what it is that bothers you," Castiel pointed out. "Whatever it is that you keep bottled up inside you, the thoughts that you try to drown out night after night with all that beer. So don't you lecture me about talking about it – about what's wrong, and how I feel. Not unless you feel like sharing yourself!" he snapped bitterly.

Dean walked out then, slamming the door behind him.

Castiel immediately felt guilty. He went to bed early but lay awake, unable to sleep. Dean had been nothing but good to him, and yet all Castiel seemed to do was keep him at a distance and push him away when he got too close. He reasoned with himself that it would hurt less when Dean found out the truth and told him to leave, but it didn't change the fact that he liked Dean; liked having him as a friend.

He heard Dean stagger in at some ungodly hour, colliding loudly with something – possibly the telephone table in the hallway – as he made his way to his room.

"Shit!" Dean exclaimed in a hushed tone, to no-one in particular.

Castiel pulled the covers around his head as he willed himself to sleep, but tomorrow was a long, long way away.

Chapter Text

When Dean walked into the kitchen late Saturday morning he nearly walked into the drying rack Castiel had retrieved from the cupboard under the stairs. A couple of pairs of baggy white boxers and black socks were draped over the rungs.

"Morning," he yawned.

"Good morning," Castiel said, looking over his shoulder from where he was washing his t-shirts in the sink.

"There is a machine for that downstairs, you know."

"I only have a handful of things to wash - it's not worth it," Castiel shrugged.

Cas had probably washed his clothes three times already that week. Dean would have offered to lend him some, except Cas was slimmer than he was and would look too small in Dean's t-shirts. "Cas, you should think about getting some new clothes," Dean said. It wasn't the first time he'd mentioned that Cas needed new clothes - the ones he had looked tired.

"I'll think about it when I have money."

"You're not going to have money until you get a job," Dean pointed out.

Castiel tensed. "I know, I—"

Dean shook his head even though Cas wouldn't see him. "Don't worry about it."

Castiel bit his lip as he rinsed the soap out of his t-shirt. It wasn't that he hadn't been looking for a job, but he'd never finished college and couldn't drive, so his options were limited. He didn't want Dean to think that he was abusing his kindness, or taking his hospitality for granted. He was grateful. For everything that Dean had done for him.

Dean moved to the fridge and grabbed the carton of breakfast juice, drinking it straight from the container.

"So are we not talking about last night?" Castiel asked tentatively.

"What's there to talk about?" Dean asked.

"I was rather rude," Castiel said awkwardly.

"You were honest."

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, unsure how to respond to that. It was the last thing he'd expected Dean to say. He looked down at the t-shirt in his hands, thinking that it was looking rather faded and worn.

"What say you and me head out for lunch, hmm?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"If you want to," Castiel nodded, smoothing out creases with his fingers.

"And then we could go clothes shopping," he chanced.

"Dean, we have discussed this," Castiel protested, looking up at him. "I will not let you waste your brother's money on me."

"Okay firstly, you discussed this, and secondly, I got paid yesterday. You can't dictate how I spend my money, and I want to buy you some new threads. You look homeless."

"I am homeless."

"You're not—" Dean sighed. "You have a home, okay?"

"You have a home. I sleep on your sofa instead of the streets."

Dean found himself walking over to Castiel without thinking and hugging him.

Castiel tensed in his arms, still not used to the fact that with Dean physical contact didn't equal pain. Before meeting him, it had been a long time since someone had touched him with love. Not that Dean loved him, but—

"You have a home, okay?" Dean murmured in his ear.

Castiel nodded into his shoulder.

"Now I'm buying you some new clothes and that's that."

"Dean—"

"I can buy you clothes myself, or you can come with me and choose them – it's up to you. Either way, you're getting new clothes."

Castiel moved over to the drying rack and hung his t-shirt over it. It would be nice to have a couple more t-shirts, he admitted to himself, for then he wouldn't have to wash them as frequently. And the ones he had did look old. But he was already imposing enough on Dean, who had already done so much for him. He sighed. Dean was stubborn enough that he would go out and buy clothes for him if he refused, he knew that much.

"I supposed it wouldn't hurt to have a couple of new t-shirts," he conceded reluctantly.

"Good."

* * *

Dean had assured him he knew the 'perfect place' to go for lunch, though Castiel doubted his definition of perfect as they walked into a clichéd diner and slid into a cramped booth.

"Two double cheeseburgers and two Cokes please, Elizabeth," Dean grinned at the waitress when she came over. "So, do you want me to pick you up from church tomorrow?"

Castiel shook his head. "No."

"It's a long walk back, Cas."

"I won't be going to church tomorrow," said, eyes darting around the diner. Everywhere that wasn't at Dean.

Dean wasn't fooled by Castiel's attempts at looking casually around their surroundings. "Why not?" he asked, hoping that he could manage to coax a real answer out of Cas.

"It is not appropriate for me to attend any more," Castiel said sadly.

Dean leaned forward. "Cas, what happened?"

"Dean, I do not wish to discuss it," Castiel stated tiredly.

Dean sighed. "Alright. But feel free to talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know!" Dean shrugged.

"Why don't you tell me about your work," Castiel suggested.

Dean's eyes widened in surprise at that, but he started telling him about Bobby and the yard, the Impala he'd been working on and how it wasn't as good as his baby, and Castiel listened intently the whole time as Dean started rambling about the differences in the engine and design of all the different generations of Impala and how the '67 was, in his mind, the very best.

Castiel may not have understood much of what Dean was saying when it came to the technical details, but he enjoyed listening to him speak – it was nice to listen to him speak so passionately about something he obviously cared about, given that he didn't talk much about himself.

It wasn't until Dean had polished off the last of his burger that he realised just how long he'd been talking. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Castiel replied, taking another small bite of his burger. Dean looked at him disbelievingly as he chewed and swallowed before continuing. "I find it very fascinating to hear you discuss your work. It is obviously something you are very passionate about."

"Engines are easy, dude – so much simpler than people. I get them."

Castiel smiled. "I think you underestimate yourself, Dean. You seem to 'get' me very well."

"Nah," Dean shrugged. "You just remind me of Sam, that's all - I get him. Or at least, I used to," he corrected himself quietly.

"Don't sell yourself short, Dean," Cas insisted. "I don't think you give yourself nearly enough credit."

Dean scoffed.

"Dean, may I ask," Castiel inquired quietly, "and obviously you do not have to answer if you are unwilling to discuss the matter, but... what happened between you and your brother?"

Dean's gaze hardened.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have asked. It's just apparent to me that you both still love each other, and I guess I just don't understand how you could both be so prepared to lose that."

"Yeah, well... I guess sometimes love just isn't enough."

"I loved my brother – of course I did, for he was my kin – but I never loved him as much as you clearly love Sam. He is very lucky to have a brother like you."

Dean was about to tell Castiel that he didn't know Dean at all, and that he didn't know jack shit about what happened between them and that he should keep his nose out of other people's business, when he remembered that if it wasn't for him Sam wouldn't have been able to finish his degree and graduate. His expression softened. "Maybe you're right," he said, "but I think he and I both know I'm more bother than I'm worth, most of the time."

"Not to me," Castiel said sincerely, as he finished the last of his burger and wiped his greasy fingers on one of the cheap paper napkins provided. "Shall we?"

Dean got the bill and the two headed for one of the smaller clothing stores. It turned out that Cas had never really had new clothes before – being from a cheap, religious family who donated to various charities and lived off the bare minimum, he'd always just inherited his brother's old hand-me-downs.

That really riled Dean, because no matter how much they'd struggled financially growing up with his dad moving from job to job, and drinking himself to sleep most nights, at least he'd always made sure he and Sammy always had food in their stomachs and clothes on their backs – their own clothes.

That was probably why he went a little overboard, and an hour and three stores later Castiel had a t-shirt for every day of the week, a pair of jeans (which Dean had informed him would be much more comfortable than the suit trousers that he'd been wearing), and some new socks and underwear. He was looking at a navy sweater when Dean reappeared carrying something with difficulty behind his back to keep it from Castiel's sight.

"Dude, no," he said, seeing the sweater he was eyeing up. "That looks like my grandfather would have worn it."

"I already have a sweater," Castiel said. He wouldn't have let Dean buy it for him anyway – it was far too expensive. Then he noticed that Dean was hiding something from him.

"Dean, I think I have more than enough clothes, now!" he exclaimed in frustration.

He'd agreed one or two shirts, but Dean had just kept insisting, 'One more, Cas. Just one more.'

"Can we please just pay for these and leave?"

"Not until you see this," Dean said.

Castiel's jaw dropped when Dean revealed the tan trench coat he'd been hiding.

"I saw the way you looked when I told you yours had gone," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you don't want it, or don't like it, I'm not saying you have to get it, but—"

"It's perfect!" Castiel declared with a smile. "But where did you find it?"

Dean shrugged. "Sale rack – it's old stock. I think it might be a bit big, though..."

Castiel swapped the pile of clothes he was carrying for the coat Dean held and tried it on.

"I was right – it's a bit big," Dean said, looking him up and down.

Castiel frowned. "So was my old one – I liked it that way," he said dejectedly.

"Hey, if you're happy, I'm happy," Dean said, eager to fend off another heated debate about clothes.

He laughed as Castiel turned to look at the back of the coat in the mirror. "You know, when we were kids Sammy had this god-awful denim jacket he wore everywhere – and I mean, everywhere! Come rain or shine or snow he'd be wearing that damn coat, and my dad couldn't get him to wear anything else. Then one day he left it on the bus after a school trip – he was just too damned excited about that trip – and he refused to leave the house for a week. We never got the coat back and dad was getting pissed that he wouldn't go to school, so I bought him a new one with my pocket money and said someone had handed it in at the bus depot. He went right back to school the next day, with this great big sappy grin on his face. I didn't think he knew any different – he was just a kid – but when he got home that night he gave me this big hug and whispered, 'Thanks, Dean' in my ear. The little bitch knew. All day, he'd known. I thought I'd done so damn well," Dean laughed sadly to himself.

Castiel had stopped and was looking at Dean as he reminisced. He may have started telling the story to Castiel, but by the end he was telling it to himself; reminding himself of the better times when he and Sam were like two brothers should be. Castiel felt an odd twinge of jealousy. He had never had that closeness with his brother – Michael was too much like their father, though he believed more in the bonds of family – but listening to Dean made him feel like he, too, had lost something, and when Dean finished and Castiel saw the tears pricking his eyes, he moved towards Dean and wrapped his arms around him awkwardly.

"You did," he whispered in Dean's ear.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean murmured back gratefully. "Now stop being such a chick," he added lightly as he pushed Castiel off him, and Castiel immediately stepped back.

"Fags!" someone shouted and Castiel tensed, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks.

"Like your dad!" Dean yelled back in the direction of the voice. "Come on." He tugged Castiel over to the checkout before whoever it was came looking for a fight.

When they got home Castiel insisted on trying on all his new clothes again, which made Dean smile. He didn't tell Cas, but he'd blown at least half his pay packet on him. It was worth it, though. He figured he'd need to place another call to his brother soon. He sighed, and rubbed a hand down his face. What the hell had he become, scrounging of his younger brother every damn time he was struggling?

Chapter Text

When Dean walked into the living room the next morning he froze in the doorway – Castiel was on his knees, hands clasped and eyes shut, mouth moving in words too quiet for him to hear. When Castiel was finished he opened his eyes, and looked at Dean.

"What were you praying for?" Dean asked.

"That is between myself and God."

"Sort of like a birthday wish, huh?"

Castiel looked at him blankly.

"You know – you blow out the candles on your birthday cake but if you tell anyone what you wished for it won't come true?"

"I wouldn't know."

"You—" Dean shook his head. "You know, I keep thinking that your dad couldn't have done any more to ruin your childhood, but then he does."

"Dean," Castiel started warningly. They'd had this conversation before.

Dean held his hands up in surrender. "I'm just saying, you've missed out."

"You seem to be intent on changing that, though," Castiel pointed out.

Dean grinned. "So come on – what was it like growing up the way you did?"

"We had a lot of space. There were fields, and trees. Small houses. None of these massive apartment blocks. I kept bees."

Dean shivered. He'd had a bad experience with bugs, once. "Bees?"

"Yes. I would make honey, and sell it at the local market."

"You made honey?"

Castiel nodded. "Our community prided itself on being as self sufficient as it could be." He paused. "Presumably so there would be less for us to be tempted by, and it would be easier to control us and mould us into their image."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, and Cas didn't seem to have anything else to say on the matter.

"Dean…" Cas started.

"Yeah?"

"Forgiveness." At Dean's puzzled expression, Castiel elaborated. "I prayed for forgiveness."

"For what?"

But Castiel just shook his head.

* * *

Because Castiel didn't go to church that day they had an early lunch. Dean made burgers, and Castiel couldn't get enough of them.

"That's really good!" he declared through a mouthful of meat, juices dribbling down his chin. For once he didn't give a shit about table manners as he took a second bite before he'd swallowed his first.

Dean positively beamed, and made them a second one each.

"These make me really happy," Cas said, and he hummed in satisfaction. If it was possible, the second one was even better than the first.

"You're easily pleased!" Dean joked.

Castiel flashed him a small, sad smile. "Sometimes the simple things you take for granted are the luxuries another can't afford."

Dean narrowed his eyes as he tried to read between the lines, because Castiel was very good at not always saying what was on his mind.

"Have you ever been homeless, Dean?"

Dean shook his head.

Castiel ducked his gaze to his half-eaten burger. "If you wanted, you could make and eat burgers every day. When I was sleeping in shop doorways and side alleys, I didn't know if I was even going to scrape enough change together for a cup of coffee to keep me warm the next day, let alone a bite to eat."

He heard Dean suck in a breath as if he was about to say something, but Castiel kept talking.

"You can't imagine how difficult it is to try to get washed in the toilets at the bus station – and that's if you can get in, because sometimes there's a charge to get in and that's thirty cents that could go towards a sandwich, so you're forced to sacrifice your personal hygiene for nutrition." He finally looked up at Dean. "So yes, I may seem easily pleased to you, Dean, but that's because I know what it's like to go without these things."

Dean's mouth hung open as he shook his head, because that's not what he meant at all and he didn't know how to take it back.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said when the silence had gone on too long. "I know you didn't mean it like that, I just—"

"Hey, it's okay, Cas," Dean said, finding his voice at last. "You're right – I can't imagine what it was like for you."

Castiel just stared at him until Dean felt like he was drowning.

He cleared his throat. "What's say you and me veg out and watch movies all day, huh?"

"'Veg out'?" Castiel echoed.

"Yeah. Be still like vegetables," Dean laughed, eyes twinkling until he realised he was quoting Pretty Woman. It had been Lisa's favourite movie and he must have suffered through watching it with her at least twenty times. He tried to disguise his blush by coughing as he thanked the universe that Cas wouldn't understand that reference.

"Yes," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I think I would like to 'veg out'."

"Good. Terminator or Alien?"

"You choose."

"Terminator it is, then."

* * *

"Have you spoken to that friend of yours yet?" Bobby asked Dean on Monday, after hauling him into his office.

"I tried."

"Well try harder. It'll be too late when you're standing over his grave."

"Bobby!" Dean exclaimed, shocked by his bluntness.

"I'm just saying, boy. Talk to him."

"I did," Dean protested as he sat down.

"Again!"

"I will! But I swear it's like the dude's bipolar or something. One minute we're having a fun day out, the next he's moody, the day after that he's cleaning my apartment like a neat freak, then I find him trying to off himself. I just don't know what I'm going to get next with the guy." A sudden surge of emotion hit Dean, so he leaned forward, put his head in his hands, and took several deep breaths.

"You okay?"

Dean nodded, and sat up. "It's like my brother all over again," he admitted quietly.

"I don't know what happened there because you never told me, and I'm not going to pry into what's not my business, but do you even know this guy?"

"No. I told you – I just drove past him when he was standing on the edge of a bridge. The thing is, though, it feels like I've known him forever. Like he's always been there, you know?"

"Hmm," Bobby mused. "Well, there are some people who just slot right into your life like that." Bobby looked at his watch. "Look, I haven't got the money to pay you the overtime you've been putting in lately, so why don't you take off home now. We'll manage here, and you can talk to this guy. Cas, was it?"

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Bobby."

When he got in his car he'd barely put the keys in the ignition when his cell rang. He checked the caller ID before answering, and he couldn't hit the answer button fast enough when he read the name.

"Sam?" he said, a mixture of confusion and hope and fear fluttering in his stomach. Sam never called him – it was always the other way about.

"Dean." Sam cleared his throat. "How are you doing?"

"Same as usual. Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. And Jess is fine, thanks for asking."

Dean mentally kicked himself. He hadn't even said ten words and he's already riled his brother.

"Look, I just called to say that I've sent some more money your way."

"I didn't ask you to do that, Sam!" Dean growled. The money would come in handy, yes, but he was not a charity case! It was bad enough that he always went crawling to Sam when he had some 'money flow problems'.

"I know, I just— Is Cas still living with you?"

"Yeah."

"I just figured that you might be running a little low, soon, so..."

"We're fine," Dean said, his stubborn streak cutting off the reluctant thanks before it reached his lips.

"You know, you never said why he was staying with you."

"I think that's his business, Sam."

"Okay, okay," Sam backtracked, eager to keep the fragile peace. "How is he, anyway?"

"He's good. Better," Dean added. Which was true enough for the moment but he didn't go into specifics.

"Good."

"Yeah, it is."

"You know, I think having this friend stay with you is good for you too, Dean."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, thankful that he was having this conversation in private because he could feel his cheeks warming slightly.

"I mean it – you sound... I don't know. Happier, I guess. Content."

Dean grunted. But he supposed Sam was right. He did like having Cas around; it was nice having someone to talk to every day.

"Dean, just please don't do anything to fuck this up, okay?"

"Quit being such a girl, Samantha."

Dean could almost hear Sam's eyes roll.

"Whatever. Look, Dean, I've got to go."

"Yeah. Go get the bad guys off, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Everybody deserves a trial, Dean," he reminded him for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled. "Bye, Sam."

"Goodbye, Dean."

Dean tossed the phone into the passenger seat and let his head fall against the wheel. Somewhere along the line he'd fucked up, and he'd lost his little brother. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He fucked everything up, and lost everyone. But he was the only person Cas had, so surely even he couldn't fuck it up bad enough to lose him?

* * *

When Dean got home Cas was watching TV when he went through to the living room, so Dean switched it off and turned to him.

"I was watching that," Cas said lightly.

"We need to talk."

Cas sat up stiffly, then, because Dean was being unusually serious which probably meant he'd done something wrong. He quickly racked his brain for anything he'd done that could give Dean reason to be angry with him, but could think of nothing.

"Or rather, you need to talk," Dean continued, as he sat down on the coffee table in front of Cas. "About whatever's eating you."

"Nothing is 'eating' me."

"Cas, this whole thing with your dad—"

"I don't wish to discuss it," Cas said, leaning back against the sofa and hugging himself in an attempt to make himself look as small as possible. He hadn't realised how determined Dean would be to pursue the matter – as far as he'd been concerned they'd had this conversation three days ago.

"You may not want to, but I think you need to."

"You don't know me," Castiel declared stubbornly, looking at his knees. He just wanted to get up and leave, but wherever he went Dean would just follow. This was Dean's house, after all, and despite the numerous occasions on which Dean had told him to treat it as his own he still felt somewhat uncomfortable doing so. "You don't know me," he repeated, softer this time.

"That's because you won't let me! You've been here for almost three weeks now, and I still don't know where you come from!" A sudden realisation hit him. "Cas, I don't even know your last name."

"Milton," Castiel stated quietly. "My last name is Milton."

Dean knew he'd fucked up by bluntly asking him outright as soon as he'd walked into the room, and he supposed this was why he'd avoided trying to talk to Castiel about it. He needed to try and channel some of his brother's tact and patience – something that Dean sorely lacked – and he was unsure of exactly how to get Castiel to open up to him without pushing him away even further.

"Look, do you want to talk about what happened with your dad?" he tried again, more softly this time.

"No."

"I'm worried about you."

"Thank you for your concern, Dean, but it is unnecessary. I am fine."

"You're not fine, Cas."

Castiel looked at Dean. He knew he wasn't fine, but talking to Dean would be a risk he wasn't willing to take. He had a roof over his head, and he didn't want to lose it.

"You're bottling everything up," Dean pressed him.

"You said I could talk to you, so if I wanted to talk I would have come to you," Castiel told him, fidgeting under Dean's piercing gaze. Lying was the least of his concerns when it came to sinning.

"Would you, Cas?"

Castiel looked at him, but then his gaze dropped to his lap.

"I didn't think so. I didn't press you because I didn't want to have to talk about things. But it's not about me. So come on, dude. Unless you're a serial killer on the run from the law, I can pretty much guarantee you it's not going to change the way I see you."

Cas chewed on his lower lip. Dean seemed sincere enough, but if Castiel told him then he might ask if he was attracted to him, and he couldn't lie – not to Dean – and then Dean would get uncomfortable and ask him to leave. No.

Cas was avoiding his gaze, so he leaned forward and put his hands on the other man's knees. "I really think you need to talk about it."

Castiel's body went rigid at Dean's touch, and when he lifted his legs up onto the sofa, shuffling away, Dean took the hint. "This isn't something you can fix, Dean."

"How do you know if you don't try?" Dean fighting his instinct to regain the physical ground with Castiel and instead let him have some space. "You can't keep bottling all this up, Cas. Take it from someone who knows," he said, almost regrettably. "I mean, I bottle shit up, and look where that got me."

"Yes – a steady job, your own apartment—"

"My brother and I used to be inseparable," Dean cut through Castiel's sarcasm, "but now we barely talk. I spend my nights either getting drunk or getting laid, sometimes with a woman whose name I can't remember in the morning. Cas," Dean said, "I don't want you to end up alone. I didn't think I had a problem with the way I lived my life until you came along. My life... isn't much of a life. I don't want you to end up like me, keeping colleagues at arms length and having no friends."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "You have me," he said quickly, before thinking that maybe Dean didn't view him that way.

But Dean smiled softly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He hesitantly put a hand on Castiel's knee again, ready to take it away if he tensed up. He'd always been one to communicate better with actions rather than words. "I didn't realise how alone I was until I found you." Shit – that had come out wrong. It made him sound selfish. "You're a good guy, Cas, and I like having you around. Talk to me. Please. I'm worried about you. I just want to help."

"You have helped me, Dean."

"Not in the way that matters."

Castiel sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He lowered his eyes to where his hands were clasped in his lap. "But, what if it's too late for that?" he asked, more to himself, before looking up at Dean and catching his eye.

"It's never too late, Cas. Trust me on that."

Castiel sat in silence for a moment, aware of Dean's gaze burning into him as he twisted the fabric of his t-shirt in his hand. "Do you think that you and Sam will ever sort out whatever bad blood there is between you?" he suddenly asked quietly.

Castiel was so focused on his t-shirt that he missed the way Dean flinched at Sam's name, something that Dean was grateful for. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke through gritted teeth. "You don't know what went on between me and him."

Castiel jerked his head up. "You're right I don't know what went on between you and your brother, and frankly it's none of my business; but you keep trying to tell me I can fix this but maybe it isn't broken! You wouldn't know, because you don't know what's wrong with me!"

"Damn straight I don't know what's wrong with you, Cas! Because you don't trust me enough to tell me!" Dean snapped back.

"It's not about trust, Dean!"

"Then what is it about?"

"Why don't you take a look in the mirror and ask yourself? You've got unresolved issues with your brother that I can't even begin to understand. You want to talk about trust? You've made it perfectly clear that I'm not allowed to know anything about your family, but you expect me to tell you everything about mine, and the way you talk about Sam it's like he died—" Castiel stopped abruptly at the way Dean's face hardened, afraid that he'd said too much. Afraid that Dean was going to hit him.

They both stared at each other in silence, wary of saying the wrong thing.

"You say you're worried about me, Dean – I'm worried about you," Cas said softly, hoping to undo any potential damage he may have done with his sudden outburst.

Dean's face softened at the fearful stare Castiel was giving him, knowing that if he snapped now he'd lose what little progress he might have made so far in trying to get through to Cas. "You don't have to be, Cas."

"As you don't have to worry about me!" Castiel insisted.

"Cas, you didn't catch me about to jump off a bridge, or about to slit my wrists in the bathroom."

It was Castiel's turn to flinch, and he took a few shallow breaths. Oh God, please don't let me cry, he thought to himself. Men didn't cry. Men didn't cry, and men didn't like other men.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He felt like they'd taken one step forwards and two steps back, and he's not sure exactly why. "Talk to me," Dean urged softly.

At that moment Castiel knew he had to say something, or else Dean would never let it go. "My father is religious, and rules our family with an iron fist," he started slowly. He'd need to choose his words carefully in order to tell Dean the bare minimum, and avoid raising any questions he didn't want to answer. "To him, the Bible is law. I wouldn't say I necessarily questioned him, but I was different from what he wanted me to be." Castiel took a deep breath. "To him that meant I was disobedient and ungrateful, and he beat me. As punishment, or as a way to reshape me into something better, I don't know. I didn't matter. I was his son, but I don't think he loved me the way he loved my brothers. I was a disappointment to him. He's probably happier without me around."

"Oh, Cas," Dean breathed, pulling him into a tight – if awkward – hug before realising that it was a bad move. He leaned back, giving Castiel space. "You don't need to change, Cas. I mean, look at you! You're selfless, and you've got the patience of a saint if you can put up with me. And," he added, mumbling slightly like he was unused to admitting his true feelings, "you matter to me."

Cas bit his lip, unsure of Dean's sentiment and how to react. Physical gestures of affection were not something that his family indulged in, and he hadn't failed to notice that Dean was more comfortable communicating through physicality rather than words; but while Dean might be able to give out hugs freely and easily, Castiel wasn't comfortable doing so. It had taken a lot for him to embrace him the other day in the department store. He lunged for Dean's hand and squeezed it, before jerking his hands back. "You matter to me, as well," he told Dean, for that much he could be completely honest about.

Dean looked at the floor as his cheeks grew warm. He liked Cas. Maybe Cas would be different and stick around. Maybe. "I guess when I took you in, I looked at you like Sam."

"I'm not Sam," Castiel stated coldly, retreating from whatever moment they had just shared. If that was the only reason for Dean's kindness then he didn't need it – it was bad enough his father wanted him to be someone else, without Dean treating him like someone else as well.

"No, I know," Dean said, leaning forward and taking one of Cas's hands in his own in an attempt to reconnect with him. "But I had to take care of him for a while, and being alone for so long maybe I just wanted someone else to look after. But you don't need looking after, Cas. You're stronger than me. I know you can move past this whole thing with your dad, so no more trying to kill yourself, okay? Please?" Dean begged.

Cas relaxed slightly, but couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his mouth. In a twisted way, he found it funny that Dean – a damn near stranger – cared more about his wellbeing than anyone else in his family ever had, and the thought made his stomach twist. "You're a good man, Dean."

Dean's stomach clenched at the almost bitter chuckle that Cas had let out. Cas couldn't leave him. He needed him. Not to look after, but just to be there. He didn't want to be alone again. It was weak of him, and he knew he was being selfish, but there had to be a way they could make this better. There had to be. Castiel couldn't promise him, however, so perhaps Dean needed to make him believe that his life was worth living. He just didn't know how, or even if he could.

Castiel looked at Dean, the way his jaw clenched as he sat deep in thought drawing his attention to the strong line of his jaw.

No.

No.

Castiel's father had done his best to beat that out of him. His nibbled the inside of his lip, hoping Dean hadn't noticed the fondness with which he was looking at him.

A flicker of something flashed across Castiel's face that Dean couldn't identify, and he wished he knew what Castiel was thinking. He licked his lips, unsure if what he was about to say was the right thing or not. "If you... stick around," he started hesitantly, "where do you see your life going? I mean, what do you want to do?"

"Dean, my life has always been dedicated to serving God and helping those less fortunate than I—"

"What about yourself?"

Castiel looked at him, the gentle furrow in his brow the only indication that he didn't understand what Dean wanted or expected him to say.

"Cas, man, helping others is all very well and good, but... What about doing something for yourself once in a while?"

"You mean I should be selfish?" Castiel asked, seeking clarification.

"No, Cas, just... I guess what I'm trying to say is that your life shouldn't be solely focused on what you can do for other people. You're just as important as they are."

There was another flicker of emotion behind Castiel's eyes, though Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but then Castiel nodded in understanding and smiled sadly. "Where were you when I needed to hear that?" he asked.

"I'm here now."

* * *

Dinner was pizza, because it was simple and neither of them could be bothered cooking. The TV was really just background noise until the news came on, and they caught the main headline.

"The father of missing the missing school girl Samina Abdul has admitted to the honour killing of his daughter. Mohammad Abdul says that her relationship with Jonathan Martin had brought shame on the family."

Dean switched the TV off. "Poor kid," he said sadly. "Family's supposed to look after each other." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he shot a horrified look at Cas. "Sorry."

Castiel shook his head. "It's okay. I think you're right."

Dean switched the TV off and started to gather the plates together. "I'll wash, you dry, alright?"

Cas didn't answer, instead staring at the blank television screen.

"Cas?" he said softly, as he sat back again.

"I suppose I'm lucky, really," Cas said emotionlessly. "My family could have killed me, but instead they just disowned me. At least I still get to have a life."

Dean swallowed, not really sure what to say to that, but then Castiel reached into his pocket and withdrew a small tub and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly in his left hand, and frowned when he realised what it was. "This is mine," he said.

"Yes," was Castiel's single-word response.

"Where'd you get this?" he demanded roughly.

"It was in the back of the bathroom cabinet," Cas replied. "I don't know why I took it, or why I didn't put it back. I figured you didn't even know it was there."

Dean had been given the painkillers on prescription a few years ago, after a car accident he'd been in with Sam and his dad. "You were right," he said quietly. "I'd forgotten all about them." He'd been a stubborn ass and refused to take them, no matter how bad the pain got. "Have you taken any?"

Castiel's head jerked up. "What?"

"Have you taken any, Cas?"

"No."

"How many?"

"None!"

Dean nodded, seemingly satisfied with this.

"I don't think I want to die," Castiel said quietly, with the dawning realisation of someone who'd been calling black white all his life.

Dean felt all the tension he didn't even know he'd been carrying leave him in that moment. "Well, good," he said awkwardly.

Castiel looked at him. "I don't think I ever really did," he frowned, and it was like he could finally see the possibility of a future for himself for the first time in a long time. "I was just so lost, and so alone, that I couldn't see any other path to take." Tears fell down his cheeks. "Dean," he gasped, feeling like he couldn't breathe as it suddenly hit him that if he'd died he'd never had been able to have a second chance at everything. Dean had saved his life in more ways than one.

"Hey," Dean said, moving to sit beside Cas and wrapping an arm around him. "It's okay, Cas."

"I nearly died..."

"But you didn't," Dean told him. "You're still here. I've got you, Cas," he said, holding him tighter.

Cas let Dean manoeuvre him into his arms, too shocked at how far he'd fallen to protest, even if he'd wanted to.

"I tried to kill myself, Dean!"

"You couldn't do it in my bathroom, Cas," Dean whispered. "I don't think you could have jumped."

Castiel's fingers fisted desperately in Dean's t-shirt, crinkling the fabric. "I don't want to die," he repeated faintly.

"I know," Dean told him. "I know."

Life with Dean was so different from life with his father. "My father didn't raise me to have a life – he raised me to serve the Lord. So what do I do now?" Castiel asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I can't go back to my father, so tell me, Dean – what do I do?"

Dean licked his lips, and Castiel swallowed. He didn't have an answer. He'd be a hypocrite if he did. "You're going to stay here with me, Cas, and we're going to find you a job," he said eventually.

Chapter Text

Days became weeks, and it didn't take long for Dean and Castiel to slip into an easy routine. They balanced each other out, and the bond between them only got stronger, until at times it felt like they'd been living together all their lives.

Castiel was quite happy to do all the things Dean hated to do around the house – the cooking, the cleaning, the washing up, the laundry, the ironing – though Dean did do his fair share. Castiel insisted that seeing as he didn't yet have a job to contribute to the household finances (though not from a lack or searching and applying), he was happy to do what little he could to pull his weight.

Dean, on the other hand, went to work every day and continued to go out and get drunk most nights – though he did try to limit the number of times Castiel had to hold his head over the toilet to once a week. He tried almost every night to get Castiel to come out with him, but was only occasionally successful in persuading him – he seemed perfectly content to sit at home and read. It was like having his brother around again, Dean told himself, and if he caught himself staring at him, or holding his gaze that moment too long, or smiling to widely at him, or laughing too loudly at him when he didn't realise how damned funny he was, then well – it was only because he missed having Sam around.

Castiel hadn't found a job but he did have several rejection letters though, all saying the same thing – they were sorry but they were looking for applicants with more experience and/or qualifications, but they wished him luck. He couldn't even secure part-time voluntary work anywhere.

Dean could see that it was getting him down. Cas had been happier lately, so he knew he needed to do something before he came close another downward spiral. He didn't know what though, until a flyer left in his mailbox offered them two for one entry to the bowling alley.

It was only after he had paid for their games at the desk, however, that he thought to ask if Cas actually knew how to play; which was why he was hurriedly trying to explain the objective of the game to Castiel before they got any further.

"You roll your ball down the lane – but be careful not to put your foot across the line – and you try to aim your ball so it knocks all the pins down. You get more points the more pins you knock down, and at the end of the game the person with the most points wins. It's fun."

"Fun? Throwing a ball to knock some..."

"Pins," Dean prompted.

"... Pins down, is fun?"

"Yeah."

Cas shot Dean a look as if to say, your idea of fun is getting so drunk that you throw up and forget the night's events, so why don't I believe you?

"Trust me?" Dean asked.

Castiel had nothing to lose (except perhaps his dignity) so nodded.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Now we need to get some shoes."

Castiel followed him over to another desk, and tilted his head in confusion when Dean began to untie his laces. "Dean?"

"Take your shoes off, Cas."

Castiel looked at him like he was mad, but Dean was to preoccupied with a knot in his laces to notice.

"Hand them over at the desk," he continued, "and tell the guy your size."

"And he'll give me a pair of shoes?" Castiel said sceptically.

"Yeah."

"I do not understand."

Dean looked up at him. "What?"

"I already have shoes, but I must give my shoes to a man who will take them from me, and then he'll give me shoes?"

Dean looked at him for a moment. "You're right," he said eventually. "It sounds mental when you put it like that."

"But why do I have to give him my shoes?" Castiel pressed.

It suddenly hit Dean why Castiel was so interested in giving away his shoes – he only had the ones he was wearing. "Your outdoor shoes can mark the bowling alley," he explained, "so they give you bowling shoes to minimise scuffing. You swap them back when you've finished your game."

Castiel seemed happy with this explanation, but still held off on giving away his shoes until Dean had handed his over and received his unattractive red and white bowling shoes.

Dean programmed both their names into the machine, and then helped Cas find a ball he felt comfortable with. "Thumb, middle finger, and ring finger," he told Castiel as he pointed at each of the holes in turn.

Dean went first, and Castiel watched intently as he took two three long strides and let the ball roll out of his hand gracefully. He shook his head. This was not going to go well for him. He imagined himself getting his fingers stuck in the ball and being dragged down the lane, and was so caught up in his imaginary embarrassment that he missed Dean's second shot. It was only when he whooped after he got a half strike that Castiel realised it was his turn.

"Keep it out of the gutter," was all the advice Dean gave him.

Swallowing, Cas stepped past Dean and eyed the newly set pins like they might attack him at any moment. Fun, he told himself. This was supposed to be fun.

He gripped the ball tightly, and tried to replicate Dean's movements. He didn't trip up, he kept his foot behind the black line, and the ball left his hand with a slight thump onto the hard, glossy surface. He watched as the ball veered left, and left, and left, and... straight into the gutter. His shoulders slumped.

"Good moves!" Dean called.

"I hardly think mocking me on my first attempt is considered good sportsmanship," he grumbled. Dean never meant him any ill will, so perhaps he thought he was just being funny.

"No, I meant— Grab a ball and come here," he said.

"It's not back yet."

"So pick another. If it's the same colour and has the same number then it's just the same."

"I want my ball, Dean."

Dean held up his hands in surrender and rolled his eyes. "Okay."

"I don't need to be looking at you to know you're rolling your eyes at me, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel's back. "You know me too well."

Cas grabbed his ball from the ball return rack and moved towards Dean, tensing when two firm hands suddenly placed themselves on his hips and gripped him tightly.

"Loosen up," Dean told him, shaking him.

"Dean, I—"

"You're too tense, Cas."

Castiel let Dean sway him from side to side, feeling like an idiot.

"Okay, good. Now you're approach was good, but your release was terrible." Dean marched him forward until they were a couple of steps behind the foul line. "Well done for keeping your foot behind the line, though."

"Er, thank you?"

Dean chuckled, and his breath was warm on the back of Castiel's neck. He shivered.

"You cold?"

"No."

"Okay." With his left hand still gripping Castiel's waist he moved his right to just below Castiel's elbow, and slid his hand down until it lay over the back of his hand. "Right, we're not going to let the ball go just yet, okay?"

Castiel nodded dumbly, his attention solely focused on the fact that Dean was pressing right up against him as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He was pretty sure that this wasn't how you got taught to bowl, but he wasn't going to argue.

"Cas?"

"Hmm? What?"

"Did you hear a word I just said?"

"Um, yes, but could you—"

"Yeah, sure. Straighten your back, bend your knees slightly. No, don't squat, Cas!" he joked lightly.

Castiel turned to glare at him. "I am not squatting!" he protested.

"Okay, okay," Dean laughed. "But remember, don't let it go just now – we're just going to swing it a few times."

Castiel was surprised that Dean couldn't hear his heart thumping in his chest, even over the dreadful music that was playing over the sound system. (He knew it was terrible because Dean had complained about it the moment they'd set foot through the doors.)

"Left foot forward," Dean said. "Good. Now step forward with your right foot, as you let your arm swing forward – keep it straight – and keep your left hand underneath it to support it. Good. Now let the ball start to swing back as you move your left foot forward, and then as your right comes forward it should be swinging back. Just like that, and as you slide your left foot forward you're letting it go—"

The ball hit the floor with an awkward thump.

"I'm sorry," Cas apologised. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, Cas."

They both watched as the ball crawled down the lane and knocked down the two pins on the far left, and Castiel turned round and hugged Dean. "I got them!"

Dean wrapped his arms loosely around Castiel's waist and grinned. "Great, Cas. Now let's aim for three next time, eh?"

Castiel stepped back. "Don't ruin my fun, Dean."

"Oh, so we're having fun, are we?" Dean teased.

"Maybe," he hedged.

Castiel sat back down and watched as Dean took two shots to hit nine pins. "Are we losing our touch?" Castiel asked with a sly grin.

"Watch it," Dean growled, but there was no real menace in it.

Castiel picked up his ball, and stopped. It was bad, so bad of him, but... He turned back to Dean. "Could you just show me again?"

Dean leapt to his feet and Castiel took that as a yes. It was easier to relax this time around, and he let Dean move him through the motions as he enjoyed the way Dean's hand was all but holding his own.

"Six is a definite improvement on two," Dean said. "I think you've got the knack of the swing now, so it's just practice, practice, practice!"

Castiel smiled, but already he was missing the feeling of Dean's chest pressing against his back.

* * *

Dean was very good and quickly won the first game by a large margin, but when Castiel told him so he shrugged the praise off dismissively. "Anyone would look good next to you, Cas!" he joked uncomfortably. "I haven't played in a long time. It's good to get the chance to come here, play a couple of games, and have a laugh." But Castiel was still of the opinion that Dean was a good player, even when he managed to win the second game by a mere three points.

"Beginners luck!" Dean grinned as he gave him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. "But really, you're a quick learner. You'll be whipping my ass in no time!"

"You're a good teacher, Dean."

Dean flushed. "I don't know about that, man," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He did this whenever he felt uncomfortable, Castiel had noticed, and he did every time Castiel tried to tell him he was good at something.

"Did you let me win that last game?" Castiel asked one they were back in the car.

Dean looked over at him, not sure what to say. "Was it really that obvious?" he settled for.

Castiel smiled. "I'd still have had fun even if you beat me," he said.

"Yeah, well, I guess I just didn't want you to feel like you sucked at it," Dean mumbled.

"It was my first time, Dean," Castiel reminded him. "I didn't expect to be good at it."

"You also didn't expect you'd have fun," Dean smirked.

"Well given your usual idea of fun you can't deny I had good reason to be a little wary."

"I suppose so. I'm sorry I'm such a shit friend, Cas."

"You're not a shit friend, Dean," Castiel said sincerely. He paused before he continued, wondering if it would be too much. "You're the best friend I've ever had."

A thick lump formed itself in Dean's throat, and though he wanted to tell Cas that he could have far better friends than Dean, he couldn't get the words out.

"Everyone has their own problems to work their way through," Castiel went on, not realising the effect his words were having on Dean.

"Yeah," Dean agreed hoarsely, thinking that he'd never tried to work his problems through. He'd created more problems for himself while solving his brother's, and then refused help to solve his own. His head had been stuck in the sand these last few years, if he was being honest.

"Pizza?" Dean asked as he drove out of the parking lot.

"Oh, yes please! I'm starving." As if to prove his point, Castiel's stomach let out a low grumble.

Dean chuckled. "I was going to suggest one each, but I think you might need two to yourself. Hey!" he protested when a hand hit him lightly on the thigh. "I'm driving here!"

"And you're being a dick."

"Well that is my middle name," Dean grinned.

"Liar."

* * *

Three hours later two empty pizza boxes lay on the coffee table, and Dean and Cas were sprawled side by side on the couch. Both were stuffed full, Dean was slightly drunk, and neither could muster the energy to reach for the remote to put the TV off. Instead, the title screen music of the DVD was playing on loop.

"That was a truly dreadful film," Castiel complained.

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

"I mean, fifty tonne rocks don't move on their own."

"Dude, I think you might have just quoted the film."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be. I know one line I'll be quoting at every opportunity—"

"Oh, no, Dean!" Castiel protested weakly. "Please, don't." Dean just chuckled in response so Cas was content just to lie there, eyes closed and stomach bloated. "Dean?" he said a minute later.

"Cas?"

"Can we go bowling again sometime?"

"Sure," Dean smiled. "When I've got the money."

"I'm sorry," Castiel said after a moment. "But I am trying, Dean."

"Hey, I know you are, Cas. It's not easy finding work right now, so don't stress it too much."

Castiel nodded. "I just don't want you to think I'm taking everything you've done for me for granted."

"Cas, you find a different way to thank me every day – I don't think you take it all for granted. I know how grateful you are. I took you out today to take your mind off it, anyway."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I figured you could use a bit of cheering up."

Castiel let his head roll to the side until it was resting on Dean's shoulder. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Cas."

"It might be the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Oh, dude, come on!" Dean groaned as he sat up and turned to look at Cas. "You're serious," he stated when Castiel frowned at him.

"Yes. We weren't really allowed to play like the other children did."

"Your dad's a dick."

""He's still my father, Dean."

"He's a poor excuse for one."

"I'm not disagreeing, Dean, but can you please refrain from insulting him? At least to my face."

"Yeah, sure. Sorry."

Castiel didn't say anything, and Dean yawned. "Well I'm beat," he declared. He stood up and leaned over Cas, pressing a kiss into his ruffled hair. "Good night, Cas."

Castiel watched Dean's retreating back, quite sure that it was nothing other than a perfectly innocent (if drunken) gesture of friendship, but wishing is meant something more.

Chapter Text

Dean had tried to call his brother before he went to bed the night before, but it had been Jess that answered so he'd had to endure another lecture about being a shit-head brother (his words) and a useless, waste-of-space layabout (her words). She was a massive pain in Dean's ass, though he was grateful that she'd stood by Sam when he went off the rails for a while. She'd even forgiven him for the whole Ruby fiasco. Dean may not get on with her, but he admired that about her – if he was ever in a relationship and his girlfriend cheated on him he honestly doubted if he'd be able to forgive and move on. Sometimes he'd find himself drinking alone and wondering when his brother was going to grow the balls to pop the question. Yet even after all Dean had done for Sam during his downward spiral, Jess still talked down to him like he was a child.

Dean was still in a foul mood over it when he awoke the next morning, when poor Cas had to bear the brunt of his irritability. He'd calmed down a bit during his shift, but busying himself with work hadn't helped to clear his head as much as he'd hoped. By the time he was putting the finishing touches on the engine of a 1995 Ford Explorer, he had only managed to push it to the back of his mind and was eager to be done with the entire day and relax at home with Cas and a beer.

"That should do it," he said with a sigh.

Pulling himself out of the engine, he grabbed a dirty cloth and wiped the worst of the grime from his hands, tossing the rag to the ground decisively.

He brought the hood down with a gentle thud and slid himself into the driver's seat. When he slipped the key easily into the ignition and turned it, the engine roared to life and, after Dean stopped revving it, settled into a steady purr.

"Perfect," he grinned, feeling at peace for the first time that day.

Another quick turn and the engine fell silent. He dropped the keys back into the outer office and was about to leave when he heard Bobby curse from the other room.

Dean stuck his head round the door of Bobby's office. "Bobby?"

"What?"

"You alright?"

"I'd be better if I had some peace and quiet!"

Dean stepped further into the room, knowing Bobby was all bark and no bite.

Bobby sighed. "It takes a lot out of me to be staring at numbers all night. I'd be fine if I could just get the damn things to tally up."

"You plus or minus this week?" Dean smiled.

"Smartass. How about this – if I'm in the red, I'll take the difference out of your pay check."

"Yeah, sure you will," Dean grinned. "You need anything before I go?"

"What – so you can put in for the extra time? I don't think so," he said gruffly. "Unless you've got a better brain for numbers. I'd take that."

Dean laughed. "Sorry - not me. Good night."

"'Night, boy. You drive safe!"

"Always do!" Dean grinned. He'd taken less than five steps when he turned back. "Bobby?"

"How is it every other employee manages to clock out with a wave and a 'see you tomorrow'?"

Dean sat down opposite his boss, who sighed and put his pen down.

"What if I could get you some help balancing the books?"

Bobby leaned back in his chair. "I'm listening."

* * *

"No," Castiel said resolutely.

"What do you mean, no?"

"No, Dean. I do not need your charity. I am perfectly capable of finding a job by myself."

"I'm not saying you can't – just that you could do this while you're looking, and you'd be doing Bobby a massive favor—"

"That he'd be paying me for—"

"—that he'll pay you for your time! It's not even a real job – I mean, it's not like you need to be in the office nine to five. It would just a bit of help."

Castiel eyed Dean carefully. "And exactly whose idea was it?"

"Both of ours."

Castiel cocked his head to the side sceptically.

"Bobby said he needed some help, and then I thought maybe you could do your selfless religious thing and help him out. Bobby's the one who's insisting on paying you! Apparently he doesn't do 'slave labor'," Dean said, making exaggerated air quotes.

Castiel's brow furrowed as he considered it. Dean had done enough for him, but accepting would be useful experience in his hunt for a job.

"I mean, come on – I know you're good with numbers," Dean pressed. "You do those Sudoku things in minutes!"

"It's hardly the same thing, Dean," Castiel said, but he looked contemplative.

"And maybe I'll even let you pay me back for those clothes you keep bugging me about." He tacked on an overly dramatic sigh for effect.

Castiel nodded eventually. "I suppose I could do it, but only as a favor to your boss."

"You've made his day, Cas," Dean sang as he dug out his cell to call Bobby.

* * *

The next day Cas stood wide-eyed in Bobby's office, surveying the several piles of documents piled up to two feet high and balanced precariously on desk corners, staplers, and various other uneven surfaces.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Not quite as easy a job as you'd hoped!" he exclaimed. "I'll just, eh..." He disappeared and left Castiel staring sadly at the beckoning paperwork. He started on the nearest pile, intending to skip through and see what sort of order everything was in before starting, before realizing that they weren't arranged in any sort of order at all. He sighed.

"How's it going?" Dean asked, poking his head into the room half an hour later.

"It's a mess!" Castiel hissed. "There are papers here from yesterday mixed with those from last year! There are delivery notices mixed up with the invoices, and I don't even know where to begin. This is all your fault," he declared.

"So they're all out of order then?" Dean said sympathetically.

"They can't be out of order if there is no order."

"What are whining about?" Bobby grumbled. "I have a system."

Castiel went red. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't get yourself in a knot, boy – I'm just pulling your leg." He cleared his throat. "What do you think? Can we can sort out this mess?"

When Castiel glanced around, gesturing helplessly to the many piles, Bobby cast Dean a surreptitious wink.

"So I guess this is going to take a while, then?" Bobby answered himself.

"Longer if I keep getting interrupted," Castiel complained, looking pointedly at Dean.

"Come on, idjit!" Bobby said loudly. "Back to work. Give the boy some peace."

Once they were out of earshot, Bobby turned to Dean. "That ought to keep him busy for a few weeks – longer if I can persuade him to work half-days. Afternoons, hopefully, because that's when I need a bit of help answering phones."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, clapping the older man on the shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumbled, trying not to sound too pleased. "Now get back to work."

Dean worked hard all day, losing his shirt before lunch in the sweltering summer heat – it felt like the sweat was pouring off him. His stomach was started to grumble, and he reckoned it must be near lunch time. Well, he'd stop for food once he was finished up here.

"That boy works himself to the bone," Bobby commented to Castiel, looking out the window at him. "You should go out, make sure he stops for lunch."

"Dean, forget to stop for food?" Castiel laughed. "I don't believe it."

"It's happened," Bobby said. "I've lost count of the number of times I've had to drag him away from some car he's working on to remind him to eat."

"So he doesn't eat with the others, then?"

Bobby shook his head. "Dean keeps himself to himself – I reckon he doesn't know the names of any of the other guys in the yard. he only knows mine 'cause my name's on the sign!" He looked over at Castiel. "You should go have lunch with him – remind him to eat."

"We eat together at home all the time," Castiel pointed out. "I think he'd prefer some time away from me."

"Cas," Bobby began, "or... Castiel?"

"Either is fine."

"Cas, in the three years I've had him working here, the past couple of months or so have been the most alive I've seen him. Now I wasn't going to pry – it's none of my business, so long as he gets his work done – but that doesn't mean I didn't worry about him. He wasn't unhappy as such, but I reckon you're a breath of fresh air. You're good for him."

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "Do you really think that?"

"Course I do. Now get out there and make sure he eats something."

When Castiel emerged from the office, he couldn't help but stop and stare at the half-naked Dean. There was something incredibly beautiful about the way his taut muscles moved while he worked, and when he pulled something – a wrench? – from his back pocket, leaving a smudge of grease across the seat of his pants, Castiel felt an uneasy warmth spread through him. Trying his best to quell whatever it was, he approached Dean.

"Dean?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, hey Cas. What's up?"

"If you tell me where this café is, I could run and get us some lunch."

"Nah, I'll get it – just let me finish up here, first."

"I could go and be back by the time you've finished."

Dean looked at his watch and then back at Cas. "Alright. It's just round the corner – grab my wallet out of my back pocket, would you?"

Castiel swallowed, gingerly pinching the protruding corner and gently tugging it free.

"Jeez, Cas, grab my ass, why don't you!" Dean joked. "No seriously, man, I'm not gonna break. Were you a master pick-pocket in a past life or something?"

"Yes that sounds exactly like me," Castiel shot back, deadpan.

"Just grab the stupid thing," Dean said. "And get me a cheeseburger and a coke."

Castiel nodded.

"Make it a double cheeseburger and a coke," Dean changed his mind as his stomach growled at him.

"I don't know where you put it all," Castiel chuckled, feeling strangely at ease.

When he returned with their lunch Dean was still buried up to the elbows in the car's engine. Cas grinned. Putting the bag of food down, he crept up to Dean and tucked his wallet back into his pocket, before slapping it.

Dean jumped and yelped. "What the—" Seeing Castiel's grinning face he relaxed. "Oh, it's just you," he said with a laugh.

Castiel ducked his head as he retrieved the bag of food.

Dean stared at him like he was a riddle to work through, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Just when I think I've got you figured."

The longer Dean stared at him the longer Castiel had to worry that perhaps that hadn't been the right thing to do, but then Dean slammed the hood down. They ate together, leaning back against the windshield.

Castiel listened intently as Dean told him about what he was doing to the car. He had no doubt that in a few weeks' time he'd actually understand some of what Dean was saying to him, but in the mean time he was content just to listen.

"Dean?" Castiel asked when Dean fell silent.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I was wondering..." Castiel trailed off uncertainly.

"What?"

"Would you... I mean, how would you feel, about—"

"Well, boys!" Bobby's cheery voice interrupted them. "Having a pleasant afternoon picnic, are we?"

Dean jumped up, ushering Castiel off the front of the car. "I'm just about to get back to—"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Winchester – I know you've still got ten minutes left of your lunch break."

"I don't, though," said Castiel quickly. "I should get back to—"

"Nonsense – you're not my employee, Cas. Well, at least not officially. You don't have to stick to an hour."

"All the same..." Castiel hurried back into the office, carrying their trash back with him.

"He's a good 'un," Bobby noted, casting a sideways glance at Dean. "He's lucky he ended up with you."

"Yeah..." Dean said, watching Cas through the office window. Then the second half of Bobby's comment sunk in. "Wait, what?"

"I said he's lucky he ended up with you. Or you with him."

"What's with the look?"

"Nothing, nothing," the older man said, scratching at his beard. "You look happier, is all."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Bobby, what are you getting at?"

Bobby made a dismissive noise and walked away, grumbling, "This is why I stay out of other people's business."

Dean watched his boss leave, feeling slightly unsettled that Bobby had paid enough attention to him to realize that he was happier – he preferred to keep his head down and just get on with things. He brushed the thought away and popped the hood again, keen to fill his mind with engine parts.

By the end of the day he'd forgotten about the exchange with Bobby – a newly discovered oil leak on top of the list of repairs he already had to do had kept him busy for most of the afternoon – but when he was washing up and heard Bobby shouting goodbye to Castiel, it popped right back to the front of his mind because really, it was none of Bobby's damn business where Dean was happy or sad so long as he did his job, and who knew what the old man and Cas were saying about him? He decided not to dwell on it and waved Castiel over.

"Are you nearly ready to go?" Castiel asked.

"Ready and raring," Dean confirmed, and the two started walking towards Deans car. "Listen, did Bobby say anything to you about working hours?"

"You mean that from next week he wants me to start working half days?" Castiel asked, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"Yeah. You don't sound too impressed by that - most people would love to work half days all the time!"

"But the longer I'm needed here the longer it'll take me to get a job," Castiel protested.

"Hey," Dean said, grabbing his wrist lightly.

Castiel jolted to a stop.

"This is a job. You might not like it, but—"

"It's not the job, Dean," Castiel cut him off.

"Then what is it?"

Castiel stared at the ground sullenly.

"Look, everyone needs a little help now and then. Like when you needed a place to stay?"

"That was different," Castiel said quietly.

"How so?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Castiel said, moving towards the car once again.

Dean stared after him, unable to see what Castiel's problem was. He hurried after him, and once they were in the car, Dean's hand froze on the ignition. "Cas," he said slowly.

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"No, it's not that," he said, his hand moving to join the other on the wheel. "Just... At lunch, was there something you were going to ask me?"

Castiel stared at him.

"Cas?" Dean frowned when Cas didn't answer. "You okay buddy?"

"What?"

"It sounded like you were going to ask me something before Bobby came over."

"Oh. Oh!" Castiel's eyes widened in comprehension. "It was nothing."

"Out with it, Cas," Dean said.

"How do you do that?"

"You're a terrible liar. And stop changing the subject."

"I was wondering, if perhaps..."

Dean's hands tightened their grip on the wheel; he could feel the nerves rolling off Castiel in waves. He wished he'd put some music when they'd gotten in the car.

"...you could teach me how to drive? If I got my learner's permit," he added hurriedly.

Dean's pulse pounded in his ears and he wiped sweaty palms on his jeans. "No," he said thickly. Suddenly the car, able to carry five people, felt too small for just the two of them. He couldn't breathe. His hand fumbled with the window crank and he rolled down the window, brushed the back of one hand across his brow as he sucked in a breath. "No."

"Oh." Castiel looked disappointed. "No, that's fine—"

"I would if I could, Cas," he said apologetically, "but I just can't, okay?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Cas, I just don't think I'm really the right person to be asking," Dean went on, hating feeling like he was letting Castiel down.

"I understand," Castiel said quietly, not pointing out that Dean was the only person he had to ask.

Castiel couldn't understand, not without knowing the real reason Dean had said no, and Dean couldn't help but feel bad for him, sitting there looking so damn sad that Dean had knocked him back. He gave Bobby a quick wave as he pulled out of the yard.

* * *

Castiel had been quiet ever since they left Bobby's. Despite the fact he had assured Dean that he completely respected his decision, Dean was convinced that he'd hurt Castiel by saying no. When he finished his dinner he let his fork drop to the plate with a clatter, Castiel's eyes immediately looking up at him.

"We should go out tonight," he said. "Celebrate you having got yourself a job of sorts."

"Dean, I don't really think—"

"No. No, Cas – I'm not taking no for an answer. You and me, we're going out."

Castiel didn't seem too enamoured by the idea, but Dean figured that once he got out he might start to enjoy himself.

He left Castiel washing up and went to freshen up. Once he'd brushed his teeth and scrubbed the last of the grease and oil out from under his fingernails, he changed into a snug black v-neck t-shirt and a dark red shirt. He was still rolling the sleeves up when he came to an abrupt halt just inside the living room door.

"Haven't you got anything better to wear than that?" he asked when he saw what Cas was wearing.

Castiel looked down at himself. "No?"

Of course he didn't. Dean knew that – he'd been there when they'd gone shopping. "Come here," he said, dragging Castiel down the corridor and into his bedroom.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding you something better to wear than a t-shirt for a band you don't even listen to."

"I— You picked out this t-shirt!" Castiel accused. "You said it would make me look, and I quote, 'cool'. Whatever that's supposed to mean," he muttered under his breath.

But Dean was too busy sliding coat hangers across the rail to rise to the bait.

"Ha!" he exclaimed when he found what he was looking for. Then he pulled out a few more for choice. "Try some of these," he suggested.

"I still don't see what's wrong with what I'm wearing," Castiel grumbled.

"Just try them," Dean said, leaving no room for argument.

Castiel didn't move.

It took Dean a moment to realize that Cas was uncomfortable with the thought of disrobing in the same room. Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Cas, we're both dudes here. Don't make it weird," he grumbled, turning to face the wall.

Behind him there was the noise of fabric being rustled and then a moment of silence before Cas stiffly stated, "Okay."

Dean turned and shook his head immediately. "No. Green is not your colour. Try the grey."

Castiel sighed dramatically. "The AC/DC shirt was grey."

"Name one AC/DC song."

Castiel face screwed up as he thought. "That one about rambling?"

Dean screwed his face up at he tried to work out what song Cas was referring to. "Rambling?" he echoed. Then, "What the— You better not be talking about Ramble On, or so help me—"

"Yes, I think that's the one."

Dean deflated. "That's... That's Zeppelin, dude!" he exclaimed, sounding mildly heartbroken and not even concerned about it. "How do you not know that?"

"Sorry," Castiel shrugged, not looking sorry in the least.

Dean shook his head sadly . "You're a terrible friend," he said deadpan and threw the grey t-shirt at him. "Try that."

Castiel smiled a little and motioned for Dean to turn around again. Cas needed a music lesson, and he needed one pronto! Movement caught his eye in the mirror and he automatically tracked it, his heart skipping a beat when he saw a pale stretch of skin showing between denim and ruffled cotton. He looked deliberately down at a smear of grease on his shoe and coughed as noisily as he could to cover up the sound of potential nakedness, and he very definitely wasn't going to look again because that had just been weird.

Somehow, his eyes met Castiel's in the mirror. Damn it!

"No," he said, turning round and staring at the front of Cas's t-shirt. It was stupid, but he felt like Cas would know he'd been staring if he looked him in the eye. Not that he'd been staring. He'd only looked. Glanced, even. For a minute— a second. "Try this."

Castiel grabbed the new shirt directly from Dean's hands and turned his back on Dean.

"Oh shit," he said when Cas let him see. Cas looked damn good in blue, and for a moment Dean's words got caught in his throat as he stared. "That's better," he said thickly, and nodded approvingly. "You look... better," he finished lamely.

"Good."

"Yeah. You look good. Clean."

"Clean?" Castiel echoed, unsurely.

"Tidy," he said gruffly. "Whatever, dude. Let's go."

* * *

To Dean's credit he stuck with Cas most of the night but, as usual, was drawn into the cloying action of the pool table and its admirers. It was always the same, Castiel thought, tracing the rim of his empty glass. Dean was an experienced player and the teenagers Dean was currently hustling out of their money were drunk and distracted by their girlfriends. It wasn't all Dean's fault. Castiel was perfectly dreadful as a 'wingman' and he hadn't the first clue how to play pool. Watching Dean had only taught him that you hit balls and make lewd remarks to throw off the competition. Or maybe that was flirting. Castiel would have been content to sit quietly with Dean while they poked fun at each other, but when Dean stepped into the bar it was clear: he had to be doing something.

Castiel turned his attention to the rows of bottles behind the bar, only able to identify one or two. He accidentally caught the bartender's eye and the man approached, asking "Another?"

Cas pushed his empty glass towards the bartender and shook his head. "No, thank you."

"I'll take one," said a voice from on Castiel's left.

He turned and saw large green eyes flecked with brown, framed in long dark eyelashes. Castiel barely caught himself from falling off his barstool in the other direction.

"Snuck up on you, did I?" the man laughed. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean to freak you out."

His cheeks had a sprinkling of freckles across high cheekbones, and his eyes crinkled cheerfully. Damn, the man was beautiful. Castiel's heart began to race and he automatically glanced behind him for an escape route. Dean was nowhere to be seen. He tried to swallow his panic and turned back, folding his hands onto the tacky surface of the bar and studying them intently.

"You drinking alone?"

Castiel glanced sideways at the newcomer. He was still smiling slightly and his mouth looked pouty.

"N-no. I'm with my, uh, Dean," Castiel motioned towards the pool table, where Dean was still obscured by the throng of tipsy players.

"Oh yeah. I get it. It's rough when they bring you out and then find something else to do, huh?" He nodded towards the pool table. "I don't really get the appeal, myself. Drinking seems like a better way to lose money," he added, winking.

Castiel felt his heart pound even harder and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. "Excuse me." Castiel slipped off his stool and sidled past tables and chairs until he reached the toilets. Eyes flicking over to see Dean still engrossed in his game of pool he pushed the door open and ducked inside.

When he reached the bright fluorescent sanctuary of the toilet, he felt foolish. What was wrong with him? There was no reason for him to be acting like this. He ran cold water in the sink and washed his hands in the cold water far more thoroughly than was necessary. Once the last of the soap had swirled down the drain he cupped his hands under the tap and splashed his face.

The door opened behind him, letting in the din of the bar.

Castiel splashed himself with another handful of water. When he looked up, he saw the man from the bar in the reflection of the mirror. "Hello again." Droplets of water dripped from his face into the porcelain sink.

"I just wanted to check that you're okay," he said, vaguely apologetic. "I really didn't mean to freak you out. I just..." The man shrugged.

Cas took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before turning to face him. "No. It's fine. I... haven't been out much lately."

He smiled. "It's kinda loud, right? You wanna go somewhere quieter?" he asked, taking a step towards the sink.

Castiel was once again drawn to the man's eyes. "No. I'm fine."

The other man reached behind him and Castiel pressed himself up against the sink, breath caught in his throat as the other man pressed against him, his gaze dropping to the man's lips; thin and pale.

As soon as the pressure was there it was gone again, and a paper towel was being offered to him. He took a deep breath.

"Your face is wet."

"I know," Castiel replied, dapping the paper down across his face but almost afraid to blink because the other man was still right there.

"So look, uh, I've been out of the game for a while. How about we go back out there and start over. Maybe let me buy you a drink?"

"I was just about to leave, actually."

"Well, I could leave with you, if you want some company. Maybe find a way to make your Dean a little jealous, no?"

Cas could feel the sweat prickling at his scalp as he pivoted towards the door. "I really don't think that's a good idea."

When he was close enough, he backed into the door and forced it open, rushing back into the darkness of the bar and bumping into two people in his rush to get outside. Just as he was about to clear the last table, a hand gripped his forearm and spun him around.

Castiel kept moving backwards, pulling the stranger with him as he tried to wrench his arm free. "Let me go!" his plea was swallowed by the noise in the bar.

He could feel the cool outside air tickling his ankles from behind and his vision began to darken.

Dean appeared out of nowhere. "Hey!" he called out, his voice cutting through the bar like a gunshot. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"None of your business."

"Like hell it's not!" He turned to Cas. "Is this guy hassling you?"

"I..."

The stranger released Castiel's arm to stand square with Dean.

"And who the fuck are you? His boyfriend? Back off!"

Dean lunged at the stranger and shoved him backwards through the doors. Castiel followed, disoriented, just in time to see the stranger swing a punch at Dean's head.

"Stop!"

Dean paused, clenched fist raised ready to strike back in retaliation, and looked over at Cas. Castiel shook his head, silently pleading with him to just walk away. The man from the bar ran at him, a blow to the gut knocking the air out of Dean's lungs, and he fell to the ground.

"Stop it!" he shouted again.

The stranger straightened his jacket. "You ought to keep your boyfriend on a leash," he said to Cas as he headed back into the bar.

Castiel's blood ran cold. "I'm sorry," Castiel apologised, not really sure what for. He looked down at Dean where he was still sitting on the cold concrete trying to catch his breath. "I'm so sorry." He walked backwards until he stumbled, then turned and fled. He blinked back tears as he ran, not knowing where he was heading – except straight to Hell.

Chapter Text

Castiel ran until his thighs burned, coming to an ungraceful stop and throwing his arms around a lamp post for support while he caught his breath.

He was on his own again.

He didn't know how long he stood there, a part of him wishing that he'd hear Dean's voice telling him to get in the car. He wondered what Dean would be thinking right now. Would he feel disgusted? Betrayed? He hoped that at the very least, Dean wouldn't regret saving his life. It sounded clichéd, but the past couple of months had been the best of his life.

He shivered. He didn't even have a coat with him, and it was forecast to rain tonight.

A part of him had grown to believe that perhaps he could start over - that perhaps God had answered his prayers and granted him a second chance. He'd grown so comfortable with Dean that the prospect of spending another night wherever he could find a place to lie down left him feeling lost and unprepared.

He started to walk, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.

Forty minutes later he arrived at the old industrial estate on the edge of town. He'd stayed there before, in one of the many buildings earmarked for destruction. They had been left standing, however, because although the land had planning permission for over seventy new houses the economy had slumped. But now the economy was getting back on track, and as he surveyed the flattened ground in front of him he wondered how he could have missed the news that they had now been destroyed.

* * *

With nowhere else in the area to offer shelter he'd turned back to the town. It was getting late and he was starting to feel tired, so when he walked through a park and saw an empty bench he took it. It was hard and uncomfortable beneath him, and it took him several minutes to find a position that wouldn't cause some part of his body to ache.

Castiel watched his breath mist in the air, seeming to hang there for a second before dissipating. He was so cold.

Time had no meaning as he lay there, but though he was tired sleep evaded him until he was numb enough that he could no longer feel the cold. He wondered what Dean was doing at that moment. It was late, so he'd probably be tucked up in bed, warm and snoring, dreaming about something nice. Strippers and beer, maybe. And pie. He couldn't forget the pie. Perhaps it was apple pie. It had been the first one he'd made for Dean. Or cherry. Or pecan. And so he began listing pie fillings in his head as some might count sheep.

He wasn't sure how long it had taken him to drift off, but he was woken after what didn't feel like very long by rain falling on his face. It took him a moment or two to realise what it was, and once he had he dragged himself up off the bench and hurried to find somewhere that would provide even minimal shelter.

He found a doorway just as the rain really started to chuck down that, if he sat upright, would at least keep his head dry. Again it wasn't comfortable - the concrete step a literal pain in the ass - but at least it was slightly dry.

* * *

"You can't sleep there."

He'd slumped in his sleep and pain shot through his shoulder as he straightened up.

"I said you can't sleep there," the police officer repeated.

"I heard you," Cas growled, angrier than he'd meant to sound. He was just so tired. He screwed his eyes shut and recoiled as a flashlight was pointed at his face, covering his face protectively with his arm.

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"High?"

He lowered his arm slightly. "What?"

"High," the officer repeated. "Have you taken drugs?"

"No."

"Then get up and go home."

Home. For a brief time that word had had a meaning for him. Castiel hauled himself to his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets, trudging down the street with no idea where he was going. It had been nice to have a home again, even for a while. The key to Dean's apartment was cool against his fingers, and he pulled it out to look at it. If he was truly leaving he should take his belongings.

Grateful that it had stopped raining while he'd slept he peered up at street signs, trying to work out where he was. Choosing a direction he began to walk, hoping that he was heading in the vague direction of somewhere familiar.

* * *

It was almost 4am when Castiel made his way up the three flights of stairs to Dean's front door, not wanting to take the elevator. He grimaced as he turned the key and opened the door, every creak sounding ten times louder in the silence. He didn't want to have to face Dean. He didn't know what to say - how to explain himself. He just wanted to be gone. He tiptoed into the living room, hand reaching in the darkness for the light switch and attention focused solely on the corridor behind him, fearful of waking Dean up.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean's voice exclaimed sharply in front of him.

Castiel jumped back, shoulder hitting the wall painfully. His eyes took their time adjusting to the harshness of the light and he didn't move.

"Cas?" Dean tried again, tone softer than before.

"Just... walking," he said quietly.

"Walking?" Dean echoed sceptically.

Castiel shuffled uneasily under Dean's gaze. This was exactly what he had been hoping to avoid. He and Dean simply stood there, looking at each other for several long moments; Cas unable to hold Dean's gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time.

"Cas, what happened back there?" Dean asked softly, frowning as he moved towards him.

Castiel took a breath. He'd come back with the intention of collecting his things, but if he was ever going to trust Dean then this was the time.

"Are you alright?"

"I just came back to get my things," Cas heard himself saying.

Dean stopped, caught of guard. "Where..." He licked his lips. "Where are you going?"

"Dean, please – I don't want a fight," Castiel pleaded, taking a step backwards. It was dark in the hallway, and somehow that felt safer right now.

"Neither do I, Cas, I just want to know where you're going. I thought you didn't have anywhere else you could go?"

"I don't," he whispered.

"Then where the hell are you going?"

"I don't know," Castiel shrugged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. He hadn't known where he was going when he left home, either.

"Cas," Dean whispered softly. "Come here."

Castiel's treacherous feet took a couple of steps towards his outstretched hand. "I..." He looked everywhere but at Dean, trying to work out what the right thing to say or do would be. His eyes locked onto the sofa bed, pulled out and made up for him. Dean had done that. Dean had had faith that Castiel would return. He looked at Dean, who raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Talk to me," Dean pleaded, his sincerity obvious.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "I'm not like you," he started hesitantly.

"I know."

"No, I mean... You pick up women and you go home with them."

"Cas, if you don't want to pick up chicks that's cool. I'm not gonna judge you for it."

Dean was trying. God, Dean was trying. He tugged at his collar, feeling a hot flush come over him. "I don't look at women— No. I don't think of women that way."

"So, what? You're just... not into sex? Like, at all?"

"I think about sex," Castiel insisted.

"Well, good. That's healthy. Not that it would be unhealthy if you didn't, I mean I know that some people—"

"With men!" Castiel blurted out before slapping a hand across his mouth.

Dean's eyes went wide.

"You..."

Dean waved a vague hand at him and Castiel had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"With men?"

Castiel couldn't breathe. He nodded once, sharply.

"Oh."

Oh. Oh. What did 'oh' mean? Castiel pulled at his collar again, feeling lightheaded and a little sick.

"So you're... gay?"

Castiel wanted to roll his eyes, but he couldn't tear his gaze from Dean. What was so difficult to understand about him being a sick, twisted, disgusting pervert? He wished Dean would just tell him to leave already instead of drawing it out.

Dean's mouth opened and closed several times, before he said, "Sorry I took you to a strip club with chicks."

Castiel must have misheard him. "You're... sorry?"

"Yeah. I mean if it's not your thing, then... What did you think I was gonna say?"

"That... That I should..." Castiel started shaking. He was cold and he was tired and Dean didn't hate him. Dean didn't hate him. His breathing was fast and shallow as he gasped Dean's name. "Dean?"

Dean moved towards him and without thinking Cas opened up his arms, latching onto his friend tightly as Dean pulled him into a hug.

"Cas, you're my friend," Dean said softly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back. "Or at least, I thought we were friends. Why do you think that'd change just 'cause you prefer guys to women?"

Castiel didn't answer, instead burying his face in Dean's shirt.

"That's why your father kicked you out, isn't it?" Dean breathed softly, more of a statement than a question.

Castiel mumbled an affirmative.

"Cas, you're my friend," he repeated in a whisper. "And I'm not going to kick you out, you hear me?"

Castiel nodded against his shoulder, and Dean's shirt felt a little damp against his skin.

"And your dad shouldn't have, either."

"He did what he believed was right—"

"Don't defend him, Cas." Dean stepped back, keeping a firm grip on Castiel's shoulders as he looked him in the eye. "Look where you ended up."

"That was my weakness, Dean," Castiel insisted strongly.

Dean shook his head. "No, he abandoned you. And no dad should abandon their kid," he said fiercely.

Castiel moved out of Dean's embrace. "I know it's wrong, but... I can't change the way I feel."

"It's not wrong, Cas. You shouldn't have to change."

"But in God's eyes—"

"Cas," Dean cut him off, and sighed. "Look, I don't do religion – I don't believe in God, and I don't believe in Heaven or angels or any of that other crap. But you do, and I respect that, but Cas... Can you honestly tell me that your God would want you to lie about who you are and be miserable for your entire life? 'Cause I just don't buy that."

Castiel looked at Dean as he allowed his words to sink in. All his life he'd been raised to think that the only good people in the world were the ones who obeyed and worshipped God, but then they'd turned their backs on him and he'd met Dean – Dean, who might be reckless and a drunk, with had a tendency to act first and think later, and who revealed a violent streak when you crossed him or his family out of some twisted sense of loyalty, but who was also patient, and despite not ever wanting to talk about his feelings was kind and caring, and absolutely the most decent man Castiel had ever met.

Dean, taking Castiel's extended silence to mean he still wasn't convinced, tried again. "Cas, the way I see it, as long as you're not hurting anyone, God shouldn't have a problem with whatever – or whoever – you do."

Castiel let out a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob, and for a moment Dean thought he was going to cry.

But then Cas looked at him with a small smile and nodded, because he was sure that only Dean could turn a motivational speech into a sex talk. "Thank you, Dean," he said, eyes closed as he tried to focus on the heat of Dean's palms through his shirt, because if it wasn't for Dean's hands on him he didn't think he'd be able to stand up. Tonight was just too much, and he still couldn't think straight, and he was so cold he couldn't feel his skin. It felt like Dean's hands were all that was stopping him from either falling down or floating away.

"Alright. Now if you think I've got a problem, just ask me about it."

Castiel nodded, still unable to believe that he hadn't passed out somewhere and that this was actually happening.

"Okay, good. 'Cause I've got a something I want to say to you," Dean said seriously.

"Alright," Castiel replied warily.

"Please don't stay out half the night again without telling me where you are."

Castiel stared at him. "Dean, were you... worried about me?"

"No," Dean denied gruffly, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Because if you were, thank you," Cas smiled.

Dean smirked reluctantly. "Alright, alright – now what did I tell you about chick flick moments?"

They stared at each other for a long moment before Cas finally said, "I'm really tired."

"Same."

Dean hugged Cas one last time before going to bed himself, and as Castiel tucked himself in between the sheets he felt completely relaxed and safe for the first time in far too long, and he slept better than he had in a long time.

* * *

He tucks himself back into his pants and washes his hands in the sink. When he glances up at himself in the mirror, Dean is staring back at him.

"You shouldn't have to change," Dean tells him.

His breath gets caught in his throat as Dean steps closer, and he turns to face him.

"Dean, I—"

Lips silence him.

His eyes flutter closed as he kisses back, fingers curling through Dean's belt loops to keep him close.

Firm hands grip his hips as soft lips trail kisses down his neck, the short stubble along Dean's jaw scratching at his skin. It took him a moment to realise that the soft whimpers and needy groans he heard were his own.

"Dean..." he breathes.

A knee nudges his legs apart, and a thigh slips between his parted legs. The gentle pressure against his cock has his hips moving forward, searching for something more, but all he gets is a warm, breathy chuckle in his ear.

"Dean..."

* * *

Cas woke up the next morning with Dean's name on his tongue. As he pulled the covers over his head to block out the harshness of the sunlight he hated himself – for drinking too much the night before, for running away, for failing to live up to the expectations of those around him. But Dean hadn't turned his back on him, so if Dean didn't hate him then why couldn't he stop hating himself? Castiel wanted so badly to believe that Dean was right, and that there was nothing wrong with him. Last night it had been so easy to believe him, but now it was morning the seed of doubt was growing in the back of his mind.

No.

No.

Dean had no reason to lie to him. If Dean had faith in him, then he could have faith in Dean. There was nothing wrong with him.

"There's nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me," he muttered to himself like a mantra as he got out of bed.

That's when he saw the glass of water and two small white pills sitting on the table next to a scrap of paper.

I don't know how much you drank last night but if you've got a hangover this will help.
– D

He took the tablets appreciatively, feeling guilty that Dean would be at work for it had been almost half past four in the morning when they'd finally gone to bed, which meant that Dean was going to be running on three hours sleep at the most and it was all his fault. If he'd only had the strength to stand up for himself, instead of running away like a coward... He sighed. Why had Dean even bothered to wait up for him?

Because he cares, a small voice inside him said. A voice which Castiel immediately dismissed by thinking, not the way I want him to.

He buried his head in his pillow as he realised that he couldn't keep ignoring his feelings for Dean. Dean who had saved him, given him a roof over his head, found him a job, and who saw something in him worth looking out for. It would be so much easier to not be attracted to Dean if he was a jerk, he lamented to himself. But Dean was kind and caring and handsome, and every time he thought this is Dean's limit – this is the point at which I'll have to move on – he was proven wrong. He looked over at the clock for the first time, shocked to realise that it was nearly lunch time. Dean would be back soon to take him down to Bobby's.

He hurried down the corridor to the bathroom and ran the shower while he brushed his teeth, his stomach grumbling in protest at the lack of breakfast. He ran a quick hand over his face, deciding that he really didn't have time to shave. It would only be Bobby and Dean who saw him anyway, because none of the other mechanics came into the office. He hissed when he jumped into the shower and the hot water scalded his skin, and fumbled desperately for the knob that would add some cold water to the spray.

As he washed himself, he closed his eyes and imagined his own hands were Dean's – stroking him and touching him in all the ways he'd dreamt of last night, when it had been Dean pressing up against him in the toilets.

He'd been in less than five minutes when he heard the front door slam shut and Dean's voice calling him.

"Shower!" he shouted loudly.

Dean opened the door a crack; just enough to speak through. "You about done in there? I brought lunch."

"Nearly," Castiel answered.

"I'll get your bed tidied up," he said, and shut the door again.

"Don't bother! I can—" He sighed. "Do that," he finished to himself.

He hung his head under the spray in shame as he wrapped his fingers round his cock and stroked quickly.

He groaned Dean's name as he came, leaning against the wall until the warm water ran cold, silently rebuking himself while mentally apologising to Dean, and to his father, and to God, until another bang on the door startled him.

"You coming?"

"Yes," Castiel croaked. He cleared his throat. "Yes! I'll be out in a moment."

Castiel shakily stepped out of the shower as Dean's footsteps retreated.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep in there!" Dean joked once Castiel appeared in the kitchen.

Castiel shook his head, quietly eating the sandwich Dean had brought back for him.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You feeling okay?"

Castiel nodded.

"Tired?"

"Not as much as you," Castiel pointed out as Dean yawned.

"Nah, I'm used to it – I have this thing about strange beds, so if I go home with a chick the night before I usually don't get much sleep."

A bitter feeling of jealousy mixed with longing reared its ugly head in Castiel, and he pushed his half-eaten lunch to the side.

Dean frowned. "You're not hungry?"

"Not really."

"Can I…" he pointed towards the sandwich and Castiel nodded. "Not going to let good food go to waste," he proclaimed with his mouth full. "I told Bobby you had a late one last night – he says you don't have to go in if you're not feeling up to it."

"I am not going to forgo my obligations just because I stayed out too late the night before," Castiel insisted.

Dean shrugged. "I wish he'd have offered me the day off."

But after two hours of staring, bleary-eyed, at page after page of numbers Castiel was beginning to wish he'd never gotten out of bed.

"Did the two of you have a fight?" Bobby asked loudly as he entered the office.

"Pardon?"

"You and Dean – did you two fight about something?"

"No."

"Oh. Just he looks right miserable today, and so do you."

"We both just had a really late night last night," Castiel explained.

Bobby sat down across from Castiel and pulled the papers out of his hands. "You don't know me, but if you want to talk I'm not going to judge you," he said softly.

Castiel tensed, and could see that Bobby had noticed. "Thank you, but no. I'm fine. Really."

"Now I know there's something wrong – that's what Dean says when there's something bothering him and he's bottling it up."

Castiel looked at him. "Is it?" he asked.

"You haven't noticed?"

Castiel shook his head.

"You've been around that boy too long. You might think he's the strong one, taking care of you the way he does, but I reckon he needs for you to take care of him just as much," Bobby said. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Anyway, I can see you've been making a dent in the paperwork. Keep working hard!" Bobby moved to clap him on the shoulder but paused, and gave it a gentle squeeze instead before he left.

* * *

At the end of the day Dean hovered awkwardly at the door to the office, not saying anything, and it took Cas a moment to register his presence.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah. If you're not finished I can wait—"

"No," Castiel said, standing up. "I can pick this up tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

Castiel looked at Dean, who was looking around Bobby's office as if he'd never seen it before. As if he was avoiding Castiel's gaze.

"Yes."

"Okay."

He followed Dean over to the car, waving to Bobby as they crossed the yard. He hadn't really seen much of Dean that day - after lunch Dean had wanted to get back to work pretty quickly and Cas had been stuck in the office all afternoon. It was boring work, and he'd been longing to stretch his legs, but he still wasn't one hundred percent sure where he stood with Dean so had wanted to avoid any awkwardness in front of Dean's colleagues.

The drive home was loud; the music playing at levels that would make any attempts at conversation difficult. Castiel took the hint.

By the time Dean pulled up outside his apartment block Castiel's head was thumping, and he let out quiet sigh of relief when the cassette player fell silent. The elevator felt smaller than normal, more cramped even with just the two of them in it, and Castiel pressed himself into one corner as they were jolted up to the third floor.

Once inside, Castiel moved on automatic. They were running low on groceries so dinner would be something simple - poached eggs on toast, he decided upon seeing the contents of the cupboards.

Sound from the television drifted through and Castiel didn't realise his irritability was manifesting itself in his actions until Dean appeared.

"Are you trying to break my cupboards?" he asked, but his joke fell flat with the concern creeping into his voice.

"Sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," Castiel muttered. He was, wasn't he? He still had a roof over his head, which was... Unexpected.

Warmth spread through his shoulder as Dean's hand touched him, and he subconsciously leaned into the touch. It seemed that almost immediately Dean took his hand away.

"Why don't I do this?" Dean asked. "And you can go watch TV?"

"I want to do this," Cas said, even though it wasn't true. He ran a hand through his hair. He was tired and taking out his insecurities on Dean. Sitting down would be nice, but wouldn't earn him his keep. "I want to do something." Something to take his mind of the fact that Dean knew his secret and didn't seem to care, because everyone cared; everyone thought it was disgusting and wrong.

"Alright," Dean said, retreating back to the living room.

Castiel closed his eyes and exhaled, because Dean had done exactly what he had wanted him to do and yet a part of him wished that he'd stayed and pushed Cas just a little more.

The smell of burning interrupted the flow of his thoughts, and it took him a moment longer to realise it was the toast. Dean's toaster was a piece of shit and he yanked the plug out of the wall before he electrocuted himself unjamming the blackened bread with a knife. Thankfully Dean was too busy shouting at football players who couldn't hear him to notice the smell, so he simply threw the burnt toast in the trash and dropped two fresh slices of bread in the toaster.

The second attempt went much better than the first, so a few minutes later he carried two plates of food through to the sitting room. Dean started moving the cushions next to him to make room for Cas, but after handing one plate to Dean without a word he sat on the other sofa.

Dean's expression turned guarded for a moment, but he passed the remote over to Castiel. It looked like a peace offering, but Cas just shook his head.

"Are w— Are you alright?"

"I'm tired," Castiel said, which wasn't exactly a lie.

"If you want an early night you can take my bed, and I'll sleep out here."

Dean's tone was cautious, and Castiel irrationally wondered how many times a former lover had banished him to the sofa. It was an absurd thought of a man who favoured one-night-stands. But the offer was tempting...

"Maybe," he said. "And only if you're sure."

"Yeah, dude, go for it."

They ate in silence after that, both occasionally glancing unnoticed at the other. After an hour of staring numbly at the television screen and not taking anything in, Castiel took their dishes through to the kitchen and washed them up. He stared for a long moment at the knife in his hand, eyeing his reflection distorted by the water on the blade. Nothing felt real. The whole day had felt like a dream that he couldn't be sure wasn't a nightmare.

He left them dishes to drip dry and padded back to the living room.

"I think I will take your bed," he yawned. "For tonight."

"Okay. 'Night."

He noticed Dean turn the volume down and was grateful. In less than five minutes he was ready for bed, and sank into Dean's bed with a sigh. It had been a long time since he'd last slept in a proper bed, and though it was nice it did feel a little weird that he was in Dean's bed. After a moment he reached for Dean's clock, noting the time change to 19:37 as he turned the alarm off so he wasn't awoken too early. He settled down again and when he turned over he got a whiff of Dean off the covers he smiled.

He was asleep by the time the clock read 19:38.

* * *

At some point he woke, bleary-eyed, to find the room in darkness and a shadowy figure sneaking around the room.

"Dean?" he mumbled sleepily, fumbling for the bedside lamp.

"Shit," Dean whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you. I needed my clothes."

Castiel flinched as he found the switch and the light hit his eyes, and it took a moment for them to adjust.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Until now."

"Sorry."

Castiel squinted at Dean, who seemed to be staring at him. He glanced down at himself, and the cover thrown back to the waist. Dean's room was a lot warmer than the living room. He pulled the cover up to his chin.

"I'll see you at lunch," Dean said quietly, backing out of the room. "Go back to sleep."

Castiel switched the lamp off with pleasure and rolled over, sleep claiming him again almost instantly.

* * *

When Dean came home at lunch he paused before opening the front door, hand clenching the handle.

Cas was being weird.

Not that he could blame him. Dean didn't think he'd be too happy if he'd been boxed into a corner and forced to out himself - not that he swung that way - but then shouldn't Cas be happy that Dean wasn't a homophobic douche?

He opened the door a little too roughly and stepped inside.

"I'm back!"

Cas didn't answer, but Dean could hear noise from the TV. He walked through to the kitchen to find soup simmering on the cooker. He dished himself up a bowlful, grabbed a couple of slices of bread, and joined Castiel in the living room.

"Hey."

Finally Castiel acknowledged his presence, looking up at him and saying, "Hello."

Dean hesitated before sitting down next to him, careful to leave a decent amount of space between them.

"How was work?"

Dean smirked at his lunch, because that was such a couple-y thing to say. 'Hey honey, how was your day? ' He tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it in his soup, wondering why he was casting Cas in the role of his wife. "Same as usual. People needing us to fix their cars because they can't be bothered learning basic maintenance." He ate the piece of bread in his hand and looked at Cas. "Of course, I can't complain - they keep me in a job. The soup's good."

"Good."

Dean eyed the space between them as he ate, wondering when the hell he and Cas got to being comfortable in each other's personal space and missing that aspect of their friendship.

"So, uh, what did you get up to this morning?"

"I made soup," Castiel said.

"Ah. Yeah. It's good soup."

"You said that already."

"Yeah. Right. Well it is."

"Thank you."

"So what's this?" he asked, nodding at the TV.

"Some rubbish movie about—"

"Is that a shark or an octopus?" Dean exclaimed as a woman was eaten by a bad CG monster.

"I believe they're calling it a sharktopus."

"Dude, do you make a habit out of watching crappy, low-budget TV movies when I'm at work?"

Castiel shrugged. "It's that or soap operas," he said lightly.

Dean pulled a face. "Well then, I think you made the right choice. But it would still be nice if the people in these things could actually act."

Beside him Castiel huffed a short laugh.

Dean smiled, because if Cas was still laughing with him then he couldn't be that pissed at him.

Chapter Text

Castiel gave Dean space for the next few days, consciously putting distance between them and making a point of doing other things. He ate his lunch alone in the office, and he went to the library when Dean was at home the morning of his half-day and spent over an hour browsing the shelves, despite being in the middle of reading one of Dean's, before coming home with a library card application form and the intention of changing the address on his state ID.

Dean also seemed to be ignoring him, not striking up meaningless conversations about football scores or his work at the garage like he usually would, and turning the music volume up in the car an extra couple of notches.

He saw an ad in the paper one day from a woman offering psychic readings, and he found himself wishing that he could read minds – or at least one mind. Everything was hanging by a thread just as he felt like he was finally settling in. It didn't help either that Bobby, despite his insistence that he didn't meddle in his employees' personal lives, kept asking if he and Dean were having "difficulties".

He tried not to let it bother him, reminding himself that Dean had hugged him - not hit him - when he found out he was attracted to men, but the longer Dean seemed to hold a part of himself back the more Castiel started to worry that maybe Dean wasn't as okay with him as he made out to be. The thought of being made homeless again kept him awake at night, and he'd often be sitting bleary-eyed in the kitchen drinking his third cup of coffee when Dean woke up.

The lack of sleep affected his concentration, meaning that he was unproductive and grumpy at work, and the final straw was when he dropped the plate he was drying after dinner one night.

"Son of a bitch!" he screamed, sinking to his knees and sobbing as he thought bitterly that of course the first words that flew out of his mouth were Dean's regular curse.

Heavy footsteps hurried through and Dean stopped abruptly in the doorway, surveying the mess.

"Are you alright?" he demanded, coming as close as the furthest fragment of plate. "Cas?"

Castiel was aware of pieces of porcelain crunching underneath Dean's boot and warm hands gripped his shoulders.

"Cas?"

Dean sounded worried.

"Are you bleeding?"

Dean carefully took his arms, turning them over and checking for cuts.

"'M fine," he mumbled.

"Liar. You never lose your rag like this," Dean told him, but he sounded relieved. "What happened?"

"I dropped a plate."

"And that requires tears?" Dean asked lightly, gauging the mood.

"I'm tired all the time and I feel like I can hardly breathe."

"Are you sick? Do you need to go to hospital?" Dean asked, starting to stand up.

But Castiel shook his head and he knelt back down.

"It's this apartment. It's claustrophobic. Something's different. Something's—"

"—changed," Dean finished for him.

Castiel looked at him and swallowed. "Yes."

"Cas, I wish I could give you a decent answer but I'm trying, buddy, but you just keep pushing me away and I don't know what else I can do."

"I keep pushing you away?" Castiel echoed incredulously.

"Yeah."

"You don't talk to me!"

"I..? You're the one who got all weird! You've been avoiding me all week and when you're here it's like you're not, you know? You put space between us and it's like you can't even stand to be in the same room as me. Now I get that you might not have wanted me to find out yet - or at all, hell I don't know - but I did and I'm still here."

Castiel stared at Dean unseeing, and wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. "I was giving you space," he said quietly.

"You were what? Why?"

"To come to terms with me. You might have changed your mind and decided that you weren't really okay with sharing your apartment with me."

Dean shook his head adamantly. "I don't need time, or space, or any of that crap, okay? I just need you. Here."

Castiel's eyes, wet with tears, widened in a hope that he couldn't fully quash.

"You're my friend. My only friend, which I guess makes you my best friend."

Cas huffed a small, sad smile.

Dean sighed heavily. "You know, Cas," he said, moving to sit beside him. "I thought you were going to leave."

"You did?" Castiel sniffed.

"Yeah. And I'm glad you didn't." Dean smiled at him, thumbing away a tear that was hanging from his chin. "I mean we're friends, right? That shouldn't have to change."

Castiel smiled, and gave him a small nod. "No, it shouldn't."

"Good. So does this mean you're going to stop being weird around me?" he teased, slapping Castiel's knee with his hand.

"Me?" Cas let out a choked laugh. "I'm not the only one being 'weird'."

"Alright, I'll stop being weird if you stop being weird, alright?" Dean grinned, nudging Cas with his shoulder.

"Alright," Cas agreed, nudging him back playfully. His attention focused on Dean's hand, still resting on his knee. "I've been a bit of a fool, haven't I?"

"Maybe just a little," Dean smirked. Then he turned serious. "But I guess after the way your dad reacted, you could only assume the worst."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I get it."

"I should have more faith in you. You're a good man."

Dean cleared his throat and got to his feet. "Well anyway, now we've sorted that out maybe Bobby will shut up."

"He's been badgering you, too?" Cas asked.

Dean looked at Cas in surprise; apparently he hadn't realised Bobby had been talking to Cas as well. "Nosey old man," Dean chuckled. "Now are you going to help me clean this up or are you just going to sit there?" he asked holding a hand out to Cas and helping him up.

"I should do that," Castiel insisted. "I broke it."

"Alright, you do that and I'll finish drying, then we'll watch a movie. How does that sound?" Dean asked, already reaching for the dish towel.

"Aren't you watching the football?"

"It's baseball, but you know what? I think my team's going to lose," he grinned, shooting Cas a wink.

"Thank you, Dean. I mean it."

"I know you do."

"But I don't really feel like watching a movie. I'm too tired to concentrate on anything."

"Oh," Dean said, looking disappointed.

"But I'll come through and watch the baseball with you."

"You hate baseball. Which is shocking given it's one of America's favourite pastimes."

"I don't hate baseball," Castiel corrected him. "I just don't understand why people get so excited about men hitting a ball and running around a square."

"Diamond."

"What?"

"It's a diamond, not a square."

"Whatever. I'll probably fall asleep anyway," Cas said, dropping the broken shards of plate into the trash.

"You look like you could use it."

"I do. I've hardly slept all week."

"Well no wonder you're a mess."

"Says the one who still had oil smudges on his face."

"What? Where?" Dean asked, rubbing at his cheeks.

"Here," Castiel said, rubbing his thumb across his forehead, just below the hairline. He suddenly realised what he was doing and pulled back. "There. All gone."

In the living room Dean grinned when Castiel sat beside him and he could the warmth radiating off his body. After just ten minutes of play Castiel's head dropped heavily onto his shoulder. Dean glanced down, a soft smile spreading across his face as Castiel began to snore.

"You need it, buddy," he said quietly, turning the volume down.

* * *

The next night Dean took Castiel out again, though this time he drove them into unfamiliar territory. The Impala crawled along the street, allowing Castiel to take in the bright lights of the bars and bright costumes of the patrons. Everywhere he looked there he could see gaudy shirts, sequins, glitter, and feathers.

"Where are we?"

"Queen Street."

"I've never heard of it."

"Well, that's not really its name. It's more of a nickname, 'cause this is where all the gays hang out."

"So it's a derogatory nickname?"

"Look, I didn't coin it."

"But you use it."

"Well sure, everyone does."

"I don't."

Dean shrugged in exasperation. "Fine! I don't know, I just thought this place might be more your type."

"When have you ever known me to wear psychedelic t-shirts or— Castiel stopped talking and stared out the window. "Is that... a man?" he asked, eyes wide as he gawked at what he'd thought had been a woman in a big wig and tight dress.

"He - or she, I don't know - is a drag queen. How'd you think 'Queen Street' got its name?"

Castiel humphed and turned his attention back to Dean. " Do you expect me to start wearing dresses?"

"No!" Dean chuckled in exasperation. "I know Jo sometimes comes down here with one of her lesbian girl friends, so I subtly asked her if she ever felt a bit weird being down this way. She said the first time she came out with Charlie they went somewhere quiet, just until she got used to the people."

"Did you say... You didn't tell her..."

"About you?"

Cas nodded.

"Jeez, no! I mean, it's not really my place, is it?"

"But you say one of her friends is a... is..."

"Gay, yeah. She was a bit suss at me asking about it, but I reckon she'd be cool with it if you told her, but it's also cool if you don't. This looks more like it." Dean pulled at the curb beside a bar on the corner that looked quieter the some of the other bars and clubs they'd just driven past. "You want to go in?"

Castiel nodded. It felt strange to be somewhere knowing that he didn't need to be afraid of people finding out his sexuality. "Is this going to be weird for you?" he asked Dean as he got out of the car.

"No. No! I'm a grown ass man. I'm used to getting checked out."

"By men?"

Dean swallowed. "I'm used to getting checked out," he repeated, sounding slightly less sure of himself than before.

Castiel touched his arm. "Thank you."

"I need a drink."

Castiel laughed. "I think I do, too."

The inside of the bar didn't seem that different from Ellen's, if he was being honest - except there were far fewer women around. Most of the guys looked no different from Dean or himself; there were none of the loud patterns and garish colours that they'd passed outside.

"Can I get two beers, please?" Dean asked the barman.

Two bottles were uncapped and placed before them by the bearded man behind the bar, sporting a painful looking cut on his forehead.

Dean payed for them before the barman turned to greet the delivery man who had entered behind them. He turned to Cas. "If you want to go talk to anyone, just go for it. Don't worry about me."

Castiel gripped his bottle tightly as he looked around. He supposed some of the men were attractive, but the most attractive one was sitting right next to him. He shook his head, because he couldn't spend the rest of his life comparing men to Dean or else he'd grow old and die alone. And besides, he was supposed to be trying to resist his urges. His stomach knotted as he tried not to think of his actions in the shower that morning.

"Excuse me," Castiel said, slipping off his chair and making his way over to the toilets.

There were two men pressed up against the outer wall of a cubicle, tongues in each other's mouths and hands down each other's pants. They were each so invested in the other that they hadn't noticed him come in. Castiel blushed as he realised that maybe they just didn't care.

His heart seemed to swell to twice its normal size in his chest, squeezing painfully against his ribs at the realisation that one of them looked rather familiar - almost like the man currently waiting for him at the bar. Short brown hair, broad shoulders across which freckles danced under the white tank top that clung to his muscular frame, showcasing the muscles in his back and arms.

He blushed even harder and all but tiptoed past them and into the furthest away cubicle. Only once he slid the bolt home did he feel like he could breathe; except now he was trapped in a toilet cubicle because there was no way he could leave until the men rocking the rickety wooden frame of the stalls had left.

"God, help me," he mumbled into his hands.

The thought of pinned against a wall and kissed like that was positively sinful and he liked it - the idea of it being Dean was enough to rip his heart into shreds because he knew it would never happen, but it didn't stop him from wishing for it.

* * *

Alone at the bar Dean took the opportunity to look around. There were a lot of guys there that didn't look gay, but then what did gay look like? Because apparently it wasn't all camp voices and drag queens. A bearded guy with some sort of orange cocktail with an umbrella in it was looking over at him and okay, the drink looked a little gay. Guys shouldn't drink things with umbrellas in them. Ever. He wondered briefly if he could join in a game of pool without some guy chatting him up before deciding that it would probably be better if he just stayed where he was.

As he took a second look around the room, umbrella-drink guy gave him a little two-fingered wave. Dean turned back round to the bar and hunched over his drink, muttering, "Oh hell no," to himself.

A moment later a hand touched his shoulder lightly.

Dean coughed awkwardly. "Look, dude, I don't swing that— Oh," he breathed, relaxing when he saw Cas squinting at him. "It's just you."

"Who were you expecting?"

"Nothing. No-one."

Castiel seemed to squint even harder before he sat down again.

They drank their way through two beers each, with Dean's attention split between Cas and the football game showing on the TV behind the bar. He didn't realise how much time had passed until the game was finished, and he turned to Cas who hadn't moved in over half an hour.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked him.

No. No, he wasn't. "Yes," he replied.

"Are you sure?"

Castiel stared at him, his expression blank. "Yes."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Okay." He turned to look at the crowd. "I've never really been anyone's wingman before so I might be doing this wrong but, uh, does anyone take your fancy?"

A hysterical giggle that didn't suit Castiel escaped his lips before he slapped a hand across his mouth.

"What?"

"They're not potato chips! It's not like I'm walking into a shop and have to decide whether I fancy cheese and onion or salt and vinegar!"

Dean grinned, his head falling forward as he chuckled. "Okay, let's just say I make a terrible wingman!"

"Dean, I appreciate the thought – I do – but even if I wanted to... to..."

"Have sex?"

"I wouldn't want to base the experience solely on their looks."

Dean looked in his bottle as he swirled the dregs of his drink around. Castiel's words were making him feel slightly shallow. "Yeah. No, I get that."

Castiel was aware that Dean was just as much a fish out of water there as he was, so rested his hand on Dean's arm. "Dean? Could we please just go?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Dean got to his feet, his skin crawling with the feeling of being watched, and he looked over his shoulder to find that umbrella-drink guy was still looking at him. Dean backed into his seat, then was halfway to the exit before Castiel had even retrieved his coat from the back of his chair.

He was aware of Cas shouting at him as he barged outside to where the air wouldn't crowd him. "Dean! Dean, wait!"

As he got closer to the Impala he stopped dead in his tracks. In the car next to his, two beefy guys were making out in the front seats, obviously unable to keep their hands off one another long enough to get home. He knew he shouldn't stare, but found he couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Dean!" Castiel shouted, hurrying after him.

Dean spun round, making a big deal out of searching his pockets for his keys. He froze as Castiel grabbed one side of his open jacket, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out his keys.

"I'm sorry."

Castiel nearly dropped the keys, staring at him while his mouth opened and closed his mouth several times. Clearly he hadn't expected Dean to apologise. "It's okay," he heard himself saying.

Dean almost looked more upset at that, and Castiel didn't know what else to say, so instead of saying anything he just made his way around the car and into the passenger seat. "Why don't we go to Ellen's?" he suggested once he'd clicked his belt buckle into place. Dean always liked it there.

Dean said nothing, but soon Castiel recognised their surroundings and that they were indeed heading to the Roadhouse. He automatically headed for the bar when they walked in, but Dean cleared his throat behind him and headed for a booth.

"This is different," he remarked, sitting down opposite Dean.

Dean just shrugged.

After a few minutes Jo came over to take their orders. "I saw you sitting there and thought you'd brought a date before I saw it was Cas you were with!" she laughed, and turned to Cas. "He only ever takes a booth when he's on a date."

"So that you and your mother can't stick their noses in."

Jo moved to sit beside Dean, digging him with her elbow until he moved over to give her space.

"So is this a date?" she teased.

Castiel felt his cheeks grow warm.

"No!" Dean growled.

Jo chuckled. "I'm kidding, Dean! Jeez, who stole your sense of humour? So what can I get you?"

"I'll take a whiskey and Cas'll take a beer."

"Cola," Castiel said, shaking his head.

"Sure thing."

Dean wasted no time in sliding back along the seat once Jo had stood up.

"My 'people skills' might be a little 'rusty', but was that not rather rude?"

Dean frowned and looked up at him. "What?"

"You were rather short with her."

Dean looked almost a little sad, and turned his attention back to the scratches on the table.

Castiel folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean sat there glumly, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Dean's hands were warm when he held them with his own cool hands. "Dean, I appreciate what you did tonight, even if it was too soon" Castiel told him honestly. "But thank you for trying."

Dean squeezed his fingers, staring at their hands on the table. "I just want you to be happy."

Castiel opened his mouth to assure him that he was happy, but was caught off guard when Dean jerked his hands back roughly.

"One whiskey, and one soda," Jo said, sliding beer mats in front of them and placing their glasses dead centre.

"Thanks," Dean said, digging in his pocket for his wallet.

"I'll get them," Castiel said, moving for his own.

"Are you sure?"

"It was my idea to come here."

He paid Jo, counting out the exact change and noticing the way she kept stealing glances at Dean.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think she liked you," he said quietly once she was out of earshot.

"Are you jealous?" Dean grinned playfully.

He hoped his cheeks didn't look as red as they felt. "Don't be absurd."

"What - am I not your type?"

"I don't know if I have a 'type'. All I know is I'm just not as interested in 'hooking up' as you."

"Dude, stop with the air quotes."

"The what?"

"The," Dean said, making air quotes with his fingers.

"Oh." He took a long sip of his drink. "I'm happy, Dean." When Dean looked confused, he elaborated, "You said you just wanted me to be happy. I am."

Dean smiled, and it took ten years off him.

"You should smile more often."

Dean blushed. "I haven't really got much to smile about, most days."

"Then you should find something. The smell of rain, a good burger, a—" He stopped when Dean laughed.

"Baby's roar when I rev the engine."

A fond smile spread across his face. He loved how much Dean loved his car. "Whatever makes you happy."

"You do."

Castiel's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he straightened in his seat.

"I mean us," Dean said hastily. "Our friendship."

"Of course," Castiel said, even though hearing the word 'friendship' almost broke his heart. "You make me happy, too."

* * *

When they walked through the front door Cas went straight to the DVD shelf.

"What are you looking for?" Dean called over to him as he hung his jacket up.

"Well we watched the Star Wars trilogy," he said, his eyes still scanning the titles. Then he turned back to Dean. "Didn't you say something about prequels?"

Dean laughed as he sat down on the sofa. "Oh, no! You're not wasting your time with them."

Cas frowned from where he was crouched.

Dean heaved himself up again. "We should have watched them in Machete order..." he sighed. "Move over."

Castiel moved out of the way so Dean could find the DVD.

"Just don't blame me when you realise they're not as good as the originals."

Castiel grabbed the disc from Dean. "I'll put it on. You get the popcorn."

"Alright, Mr Bossypants!" Dean chuckled, heading towards the kitchen.

Castiel smiled as he slipped the DVD into the machine, because he didn't like it when Dean was unhappy. He'd been more than unhappy enough for both of them since he'd moved in.

Chapter Text

As the weeks passed Castiel was finally feeling like he was beginning to make some progress with the paperwork, and he put some of the money Bobby had paid him towards a cell phone – just a basic one that allowed for phone calls and text messages, for he didn't need anything fancy – but it meant that he could contact Dean in an emergency if he went out. And he did start going out more – usually with Dean, but some nights he ventured out on his own. And having a phone meant that he was able to keep in touch with anyone he met, so after he bumped into Balthazar one night (literally – his drink had ended up all down his shirt) and they got talking and hit it off, he was able to arrange to meet up with him again.

"Balthazar?" Dean repeated sceptically when Cas told him he was meeting up with a guy he'd met.

"Yes."

"That's a weird name."

"No weirder than Castiel," Cas pointed out.

"So is this like... a date?" Dean asked uncertainly.

"No," Castiel said.

"Just a few drinks between friends?"

Castiel paused. "I guess."

"Well, just be careful."

* * *

Castiel tried to be careful, though he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to be careful of. He found Balthazar really easy to talk to – although perhaps it was the alcohol, for he ordered brightly coloured drinks with strange names that made him feel a little fuzzy – but he couldn't tell him everything. God knows not everyone could be as accepting as Dean was.

Balthazar regaled him with elaborate tales of Mediterranean cruises and wine-tasting in Italy, of skiing in the Swiss Alps and parachuting over the tulip fields of Holland, of surfing in Hawaii and scuba-diving in the Great Barrier Reef – oh, and that time he met the Queen of England. He had enough stories to tell that Castiel didn't think he'd ever hear them all, and he felt a little embarrassed that he had no exciting stories of his own to share, but Balthazar didn't seem to care.

* * *

Cas met up with his friends regularly, going out two (or sometimes three) nights a week, and Dean was torn. On the one hand he was glad that Castiel was making friends and going out and having fun – he deserved it after all, and he was happier – but it left Dean home alone. He'd gotten used to quiet nights in with Cas, so after a couple of weeks of watching shitty late-night movies meant to be watched drunk or moping around the pool tables at Ellen's, he made sure Castiel took his key with him and headed out himself.

He didn't realise he'd decided where he was going until he pulled up outside the strip club he'd taken Cas to.

"Hey," he nodded to the guy at the bar. "Is Chastity working tonight?"

"Nope. Sorry, pal."

"Damn it," Dean muttered to himself. "Never mind. Just give me a shot of Jack."

"Sure thing."

Dean cast a look around the room as he waited for his drink. There were two different stage areas open to customers - three if you included the back rooms, where private dances could set you back a day's wage. The first area, where you entered off the street and in which Dean now waited for his drink, held the bar and several small, round stages spaced throughout the room. On these stages scantily-clad women danced, spinning and twirling and bending around the polished poles. The second area held the main stage, on which dancers stripped and tempted clients into parting with more than just single dollar bills.

Dean had enjoyed a private dance on a few occasions but tonight, however, he had a wad of singles burning a hole in his pocket and an itch begging to be scratched. It was still early, so the place was quiet. He grabbed his drink and wandered past the pole dancers into the main stage area, nodding at the man in the black t-shirt with SECURITY emblazoned across his chest that guarded the door. Dean knew better than to get drunk and disrespectful, but more than once had witnessed men getting their asses handed to them when they started treating the dancers like cheap hookers. The número uno rule - no touching. Sober and sensible, Dean passed through without incident, sitting down in one of the many seats near the stage that wouldn't sit empty for long.

A blonde cowgirl was strutting her stuff on stage, tipping her hat in Dean's direction as he dropped into his seat. Her hips swayed fast and slow, never losing their rhythm as they moved in time to the beat. Her fluid, sensual movements prompted more whistling and catcalls, and shouts of "Over here, baby!" "Yeah, that's it!" and "Take it off, girl!" had Dean clenching his jaw. Without batting an eyelid at them she smoothly wrapped one leg around the pole and spun round it. Dean was impressed by her flexibility; less so by the cat calls of his fellow audience members.

Undeterred she continued thrusting her hips and squeezing her breasts for the overweight businessmen who probably had wives and children at home (and possibly a girlfriend or two), but they tipped well and so long as you had a supply of one dollar bills no-one cared who you were or where you came from.

When she made her way over to Dean he sat up in his seat and shook his head because while she was as beautiful as any of the other dancers she wasn't what he wanted tonight. He didn't know what he was looking for - just that he'd know it when he saw it. But she set her Stetson on his head and pouted, so he passed a dollar bill her way and she moved on with a smile.

The hat was off, and then the clothes quickly followed suit. There was little foreplay and a short-lived performance, but with plenty of more girls in the wings it kept things moving and the audience wanting more. Dean knew how these places worked – hell, he'd visited them often enough – but he was still lured in by the soft curves and perky breasts every time.

She tottered off the stage to raucous applause as the lights went down, and as Dean waited for the next dancer to arrive on stage his phone vibrated in his pocket alerting him to an incoming message. He didn't have to wait long, and soon the back wall came alight with projected flames and a dark haired devil hurried on stage. She shook her ass in the direction of a rich-looking businessman, making sure to bend over and give those on the other side of the stage a view down her cleavage. Judging by the several piercing whistles it was much appreciated, but Dean found himself looking for something that wasn't there.

While she was busy schmoozing the sharply dressed man on the other side of the stage, Dean reached into his pocket for his phone. A quick check showed that there was no word from Cas; the message being from his operator asking him what he thought of his cell coverage. He deleted the message without a thought, turning his wandering attention back to the stage.

Cas was probably too busy enjoying himself with Balthazar to think about Dean. He knew he wasn't the most fun guy to spend time with - he appeared sociable and outgoing but it was mostly just a mask he'd been wearing for so long that he'd forgotten who he was beneath it - so it was probably better for him that he'd found someone better to socialise with. Not that he could blame Cas for moving on – everyone else did. Dean reached for his glass and, realising it was empty, looked for one of the serving girls to fetch him another. He ran a hand through his hair. He shouldn't blame Cas as if making friends was a crime – it was good that he was getting out more – but he'd meant it when he'd told Cas that he hadn't realised how alone he'd been before he met him. He was happier now, but he also missed Sam a lot more.

Impatient, he gave up trying to catch the eye of the blonde waitress flirting with another businessman flashing the cash. Instead he carried his empty glass back through to the first room, ignoring the security guy's suspicious stare. Once in the main room clients tended to stay there for some time, but now that Dean was out of the apartment he wasn't sure he was in the mood for much of anything. Sex had always been a source of relief when he was stressed, and a pick-me-up when he was down, but sometimes it just made him feel worse. He'd get drunk, he'd shack up, then he'd say adiós...

But when you get down to it, what's the big deal? Sure, there's the physical pleasure. The chemical reaction in your brain that tells you you feel good - really good - but what about in between? It did nothing to fill the emptiness inside him that he'd spent too many years trying to fill with junk food and alcohol.

He lost count of the amount he drank as his head spun with thoughts of Sam and Cas and everything he'd lost and found, until two long legs in red leather boots commanded his attention.

The girl's moves became more meaningful; filled with purpose now that she'd caught his attention. She danced for him and only him, drawing him deeper under her spell, and his gaze fell to the cleavage nestled between the sequined stars and stripes that adorned her skimpy top.

Dean uncurled another single from his fold of dollar bills. He always kept a few tucked away for nights like this, when he wasn't in the right headspace to flirt and seduce.

She moved in front of the pole, grabbing it above her head and sliding down, the wide spread of her legs leaving little to the imagination. A wild strand of thick dark hair fell in front of her face as she plucked the offered dollar from his fingers, and for a split second their eyes met.

Bright blue eyes that looked all-too-familiar, and narrowed as the woman tilted her head in confusion at the change in his expression.

Dean's heart skipped a beat because he knew that squint . He stood up quickly, spilling the dregs of his drink across the stage.

"Hey!" she complained, her cry catching the attention of one of the security guys.

"Sorry," he apologised, forgetting about the fresh beer he's just paid for and barely remembering to grab his jacket from the chair. "Sorry."

* * *

That night strippers dance through Dean's dreams. A blue-eyed devil takes centre stage, moving and bending in ways that should be impossible, the room getting smaller and smaller until it morphs into a private room.

Dean closes his eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face as long red nails scrape down his chest leaving tracks on his skin. His stomach muscles contract under her fingertips, the ghost of a laugh passing his lips before she slips lower.

A firm hand grips his cock - when did he lose his pants?

He opens his eyes and jerks back in surprise as Castiel gyrates in front of him, blue tie hanging crooked around his neck. He tries to back away but he's holding Castiel's tie in his hand and can't let it go. All he succeeds in doing is pulling him closer...

***

Dean ran a hand through his hair as he walked into the kitchen the next morning, yawning.

"Good morning," Cas greeted him without taking his eyes from the paper.

"Morning," Dean replied gruffly. "You know, you can eat in the living room."

"But here I can lie the paper down to read it while I'm eating."

"Whatever." Dean poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter to drink it.

"You know, you can sit down to drink that."

Dean smirked.

As Castiel stared back, confused lines creasing his forehead, Dean's dream came crashing to the forefront of his mind. He stared at Cas without seeing him, his jaw hanging slack as his brain replayed every graphic detail in slow motion. When he jolted back to the present he opened and closed his mouth several times.

"Damn it, Cas," he muttered to himself.

Castiel frowned. "What?"

"Hmm?" Dean realized he'd spoken out loud. "Oh, nothing."

"It sounded like something."

"No, you just reminded me of this girl from last night."

Castiel stared blankly at him as he processed that. "Are you... saying that I look feminine or—?"

"What? No! No, nothing like that." Dean studied Castiel’s face. Okay, so his eyes were wide and crystal blue, but his nose was straight and a little too long, and he had a strong jaw shaded by morning scruff. Cas was definitely not feminine.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"You're staring."

"Am not," he protested, digging his spoon into the sugar before stirring it aggressively into his coffee.

He could just about hear Castiel smiling.

Dean took a sip of his drink and grimaced. He didn't even like sugar in his coffee – he‘d just needed a reason to stop looking at Cas.

"So how was your night? I didn't hear you come in."

"It was wonderful."

"Wo—" Dean turned back around to look at him. "Wonderful?"

Castiel nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. I had a most enjoyable evening. Balthazar is dating an actor, so we went to see his play."

Dean's eyebrows rose. Cas and the theatre? He took another sip of his coffee without thinking before letting it dribble out of his mouth and back into the mug.

"It was a very strange tale, about a woman who claims to have had an immaculate conception—"

Dean may never have gone to church, but he knew how the Nativity story went.

"—but when the archangel Gabriel informs her of this she isn't sure she want to keep the baby, and then the devil turns up—"

Okay, he was pretty sure that wasn't the Nativity he knew.

"—along with her ex-boyfriend and her best friend, and... You're not really interested, are you?" Cas asked, realising Dean's eyes had glazed over.

Dean blinked. "What? I, no— I've never been to the theatre before. Not really my thing, you know?"

"How do you know it's not 'your thing' if you've never been?"

"Touché," Dean conceded. "But I did see this play that Sam was in at school. Our Town, I think it was called. He was good. The play wasn't."

Castiel hummed, apparently not completely satisfied with Dean's answer.

"But you had fun?"

"Oh yes," Castiel said. "I'm not entirely sure the play wasn't blasphemous, but it was amusing."

"Good," Dean said, his voice breaking over the word.

It was good, wasn't it? Cas should have someone who could show him a good time. Dean just kind of wished it could be him. Guilt niggled at his conscious as he realised he found the fact that Balthazar was seeing someone reassuring.

As Castiel refocused his attention on the newspaper Dean poured his coffee down the sink because it was disgusting. "You need a haircut," he commented, changing the subject. He playfully ruffled Cas's hair as he moved past him to grab the orange juice from the fridge.

Castiel smoothed a hand through his hair and looked up. "I know."

"It's almost as long as my brother's is. Was," Dean corrected himself after a moment's pause. "When I last saw him, at least."

Castiel had the decency to look away from Dean when he noticed the pained look that clouded his face, but then Dean glanced down at the paper in front of Cas to see that he had been looking at the apartments for rent.

"Hey, are you looking for somewhere else to stay?" he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Hmm?" Castiel looked at the paper in his hands as if he hadn't seen it before. "Oh, no."

"It sure looks like it," he accused, trying to ignore the twist in his gut at the thought of being left alone again.

"No, I just wanted to see how much apartments are going for."

"Because you're looking to get your own place," Dean finished for him, clenching his jaw.

"No," Castiel reiterated. "I couldn't afford my own place even if I wanted it. I just thought I should contribute to the rent now that I'm earning something."

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, not entirely at ease with the sense of relief that flooded through him. "Oh."

"I like living here, Dean. I like living with you."

"I like having you here," he smiled, his gaze dropping to his bare feet. He watched his toes tap out a nervous rhythm on the floor. "But you know," he added, "you do contribute in other ways."

"I know," Castiel said. "But I want to."

Dean got the feeling he was fighting a losing battle. "Okay, fine. But we'll do work it out by ratio of income." He frowned in confusion when Castiel started chuckling. "What?"

"And just who's going to do the math? You?"

"Shut up," Dean grumbled.

He stole a slice of buttered toast from Castiel's plate, ignoring his 'Hey!' of protest, and moved to the living room to eat.

A few minutes later hesitant footsteps followed him through.

"Are you angry?"

Dean looked behind him. "No," he grinned. "Come on here," he said, reaching a hand out to Cas until the other man came closer.

The sofa shunted slightly as Castiel flopped down beside him. "You came in late last night."

"Were you worried about me?" Dean teased.

"No," Castiel told him. "You can take care of yourself."

Dean laughed.

"Did you... meet someone?"

"You mean did I pick up some pretty chick, show her the best night of her life, and then leave?" Dean grinned.

Castiel made a big deal of looking unimpressed, but there was something else that looked a lot more like hurt in his eyes.

"No," Dean answered softly.

An uneasy feeling spread through him as he thought about the turn the night before had taken. After he'd left the strip club he'd driven out of town, past the bridge where he'd first met Cas, and up to the top of the hill where he'd parked up and just looked down at the urban lights. It was an uncharacteristically quiet night, for him.

A gentle nudge jolted him from his thoughts. "You'll be late for work if you sit here staring at a blank TV screen all morning."

Dean hummed, almost to himself, in response. He sat a moment longer before he started towards the bathroom.

Castiel coughed obviously.

"Next you'll be teaching me to fetch," Dean complained lightly, coming back to take his empty glass to the kitchen.

"Good boy," Castiel teased.

"Hey," Dean warned playfully. "You might find I bite."

* * *

When Balthazar texted later that day to ask if he wanted to go out and see a movie with some of his friends that night Castiel agreed, and though Dean offered had him a ride down he chose to take the bus.

Balthazar and his friends were already gathered outside when he arrived.

"I'm not late, am I?" Cas asked.

"No, you're fine," Balthazar assured him. He quickly listed names and pointed at various people, and Castiel tried his best to take them all in. "And this is Meg," Balthazar announced, as if he was leaving the best for last.

Castiel swallowed and smiled. "Hello," he said.

"Hi," she smiled back. "Balthazar tells me you're something of an angel."

Castiel's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Is that a flirtation?"

Balthazar nudged him gently. "I think you'll like her!" he winked.

Castiel smiled weakly as he followed Balthazar into the theatre, because if that wink was anything to go by tonight was going to be awkward. He held the door open for Meg, who looked at him in surprise.

"Well, thanks," she smiled, looking him up and down before heading in.

Castiel just nodded, and he exhaled slowly once she'd passed him. This was going to be a long night.

Meg paid for her own ticket, but Castiel bought her popcorn. Or rather, bought them popcorn to share at her request even though he really didn't want any. They were watching some film about a man who hunted monsters in a world filled with angels and demons – which all seemed a bit far-fetched to Cas – and it seemed that every time he reached for some popcorn his fingers would brush against Meg's in a way.

When the hero of the story and the damsel in distress finally hooked up, Meg moved her mouth closer to his ear without taking her eyes off the screen and whispered, "He makes my nethers quiver."

Until that point her hand had been resting on his knee, but when it began to inch towards his crotch he jumped in his seat and knocked the last of the popcorn everywhere.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Castiel said, only to be shushed by someone two rows in front of them. He crouched down and tried to sweep the popcorn back into the container. "I'm so sorry."

He glanced up to find that Meg had him trapped between her legs, and he stared at her with wide eyes.

"What'cha doing down there, Clarence?" she purred.

"It's Cas," he corrected her, standing up.

"I can't see the screen when you stand up," she said, her hands moving uncomfortably close to his dick. "Maybe you should get back on your knees."

He jerked away from her touch. "I need to urinate," he stuttered, before sidling out of the row and all but running down the stairs and out into the corridor. He walked into the toilets in a daze and locked himself in a cubicle.

"Fuck," he hissed, wishing that Balthazar hadn't tried to play Cupid. He knew his reaction had been extreme, and could only hope that the others were too engrossed in the film to wonder why.

Being in such a small space helped calm him down, but he waited another five minutes before splashing his face with cold water and heading back into the movie screen, where he sat on the end next to Balthazar's friend – Bart? – until the film was over.

* * *

"You could have told me your friend was a prude," Meg snapped at Balthazar before getting into her cab and slamming the door shut.

"So you two didn't hit it off, then?" Balthazar asked.

"No," Castiel said through gritted teeth.

"Okay. Sorry." He looked at the ground. "Is your flatmate coming to pick you up, or do you want a lift? Because the last bus was twenty minutes ago."

Castiel looked at his watch in surprise, for he hadn't realised it was so late. "Yes, please," he said, moving towards Balthazar's car.

Balthazar could tell that Castiel wasn't in the mood for talking so spent the ride to Dean's apartment spouting trivia about the film and the actors in it, regardless of whether or not Castiel was actually listening.

"We're here," he said, when Castiel didn't get out of the car.

"Hmm?" he asked distractedly, looking out of the window. "Oh."

"Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Castiel asked, not waiting for an answer as he stepped out of the car.

As he walked up the steps he waved to Balthazar, who honked his horn before driving off. When he walked through the front door he could hear the shower going, so he collapsed on the sofa and sighed. Going out with Balthazar could be fun, but very different from going out with Dean.

"Hey, you're back," Dean noted as he walked into the room a few minutes later, towelling his damp hair.

"Yes," Castiel agreed.

Dean stopped where he stood. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't sound like it."

Castiel sighed. "Balthazar set me up with someone."

Dean would never admit to being a little disappointed that this Balthazar guy was having more success at getting Cas laid than he was. "Oh?" was all he said.

"Yes."

"Was he nice?"

"She was very nice."

"I thought you were gay?" Dean said without thinking.

Castiel just stared at him.

"Sorry. So, what? You swing both ways?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I have no idea what that means but just because I think she's a nice person doesn't mean that I am interested in pursuing a relationship with her."

"Right."

Castiel waited a moment before speaking again. "But perhaps this is God offering me a second chance."

"Whoa, hold on. I thought we agreed that you liking men wasn't such a bad thing?"

Castiel looked away, because Dean was trying so hard but he just didn't get it. The sin wasn't about having feelings for men, but where those feelings led. "Perhaps not, but that doesn't mean I have to act on it."

"Cas, I don't think this is such a good idea," Dean started.

"Then what would you have me do?" Castiel snapped. "Condemn myself?" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You don't understand."

"Cas, I'm not going to tell you what to do, okay? But I guess you need to decide whether or not seeing this girl will make you happy, because if it doesn't... If she doesn't, you could do better than her. You deserve better. And so does she," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Castiel nodded to himself. "Thank you, Dean. I think I'll go shower, now."

"Sure. I'm going to go to bed, so I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Okay. Good night, Dean."

"Night, Cas."

* * *

That conversation played on Dean's mind for a few days, until he decided to press the matter from a different direction.

"Cas," Dean asked when they were eating lunch outside, "I've been thinking—"

"Well don't strain yourself, boy," Bobby chuckled as he walked past.

Dean just rolled his eyes and turned back to Cas. "Is the reason you never went back to church because you're gay?"

"Sh!" Castiel hushed him frantically, casting a fearful glance over at the other garage. "People might hear you!"

Dean looked around but none of the other mechanics were paying them any attention and Bobby was out of earshot. "Cas, so long as you're not trying to get into their pants none of them should give a damn what team you bat for."

"But I don't play baseball," Cas frowned.

"You—" Dean slapped a hand across his face and groaned. "It's an expression. Never mind."

But when he heard a small chuckle he peeked through his fingers to see Cas smiling. "You're not funny, you know," Dean told him when he realised Cas was winding him up.

"Your grin would indicate otherwise."

"Yeah, well," Dean huffed. "What I'm trying to say is it's none of their business if you like dick." He paused, before adding, "If that is the reason?"

"I... Yes," Castiel conceded reluctantly, when it became clear to him that Dean was waiting on an answer. "It was stupid of me to go in the first place."

"No, it wasn't—"

"People like me aren't welcome there. That was made clear to me when it was preached that we should not tolerate those who sin simply because the government has made it legal, for legality and morality are two different things."

As the last piece of the puzzle dropped into place, Dean slung his arm around Cas's shoulders. "If you could go back, would you?"

"Of course. God is very important to me."

Dean nodded.

"But I can't change who I am, Dean."

"No, I didn't mean that you should change. Just... I guess, if they changed, or something. I don't know."

"I see."

"Cas, you're fine just the way you are."

Castiel huffed a small, sad laugh. "I think God would disagree with you. But thank you." He glanced at his watch. "I have to go back to work, now."

"Yeah, okay."

Dean watched Castiel return to the office, and kept staring after him for several minutes even once he'd disappeared from sight.

* * *

Bobby paid them the following Friday, and Castiel dutifully held out fifty dollars to Dean.

"What's that for?"

"Rent."

"Dude, no," Dean said stepping back and shaking his head. "I am not taking your money, damn it!"

"You agreed that I could pay my way."

"I just said that - I didn't think you'd actually try to pay me!"

Castiel glared at him. "Take it!" he insisted, thrusting the money at Dean.

"No!"

"Dean, please."

"I... No! Cas, I'm not taking it. Put it towards groceries or something if you feel you have to, but don't give it to me!"

Castiel looked visibly upset.

"Look, I... You don't earn anything like I do, and what I make it just enough to get by. You should keep it for something you really need."

"What could be more important than a roof over my head?" Cas snapped.

"You've got that even without money," Dean promised. "Now come here."

Cas reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled into another one of Dean's bear hugs, silently vowing to himself that that wouldn't be the end of it.

* * *

On Sunday morning Cas walked into the kitchen and flushed in embarrassment.

"Oh good— Dean!"

A very naked Dean spun round in shock, one hand covering parts that Castiel had no business seeing, so Cas very determinedly focused his gaze out the window over Dean's shoulder.

"Do I even want to know what—"

"I spilt my coffee."

"And, what? You couldn't find the dishcloth?"

"No, it was either get naked or suffer second degree burns on my dick."

Castiel slapped a hand over his eyes and shook his head. "Go," he said. "Put some clothes on. Please."

"Yeah, you're right. 'Cause, uh... I wouldn't want to ruin you for other men."

"Dean!" He could practically hear the smirk in his friend's voice.

"Alright, alright," Dean said, heading for the door. "Besides, we're going to have to hurry up if we're going to get out of here."

"Are we going somewhere?" Castiel asked, daring to peek through his fingers. He wasn't entirely sure it was relief he felt to find Dean's hand still protecting his modesty.

"Yeah, so hurry up."

* * *

"Dean..." Cas trailed off anxiously once he saw where they were. "No."

"Cas—"

"I can't be here! I don't belong here," he added more quietly. "Please, can we go somewhere else? Or just back home?"

Dean smiled sadly. "You know, I think that's the first time you've called my place home and meant it?"

Castiel licked his lips and looked from Dean to the church again. "I can't," he said. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, okay Cas? Can you just trust me on this for one minute?"

Cas took a deep breath. "Dean, I can't. What happens when they find out that I'm... What I am?"

"I promise you they won't care."

"Dean, what I feel is wrong. I thought you understood why I can't go back—"

"Trust me? Please?" Dean pressed.

Castiel bit his lip as he took in Dean's sincerity. Dean truly believed he was doing the right thing, and he'd never let Cas down, so reluctantly he stepped out of the car and the two of them made their way to the door, Cas keeping several steps behind.

There were so many things Castiel wanted to say to Dean: "We're early," because there was no-one else here yet; "I thought you weren't religious?" for he didn't understand why Dean was coming in with him; "I hate you for this." But he said nothing.

As they neared the door, the priest came out to greet them.

"Dean!"

"Father Reynolds," Dean smiled, taking the other man's hand and shaking it firmly.

"And this must be Castiel," Father Reynolds said, turning to him. "Why don't we go inside and have a little chat?"

At this, Cas took a step back and stared at Dean, eyes wide in a mixture of panic and betrayal because if the priest wanted to have a little chat Dean must have told him something.

"Son, we believe that God loves us for everything we are, for it's everything he made us to be," Father Reynolds assured him, his tone warm and kind. "Now why don't head inside before people start arriving for service?"

Cas was speechless and stared blankly at him, but nevertheless allowed himself to be led inside while Dean went back to the car and hit play on the cassette player.

* * *

Castiel said nothing about his conversation with Father Reynolds or the service all the way back home, so when they got out of the car Dean leaned across the roof and looked at Cas.

"Well?"

Castiel frowned, shutting the passenger door but otherwise not moving.

"How did it go?" Dean prompted.

"You had no right to do that."

Dean's face fell. "I thought... But you said you wanted to go back?"

"I did. And I do, but..."

"I was just trying to help," Dean told him. "It didn't go well?"

"It was... enlightening," Cas settled for. "I've never heard the word of God interpreted that way before."

"Well that's good. Isn't it?"

Cas didn't answer.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Dean apologised softly.

Castiel shook his head, but wouldn't look at him. "You don't need to apologise for trying to help, Dean. But some warning would have been nice."

"I didn't want to freak you out."

"So you thought cornering me would be the better option?"

Then Dean could see where he'd fucked up. "Not my best idea, huh?" he asked, an unsure smile tugging at the corner of his mouth

Finally Castiel looked at him. "No," he agreed, returning Dean's smile after a moment's pause. "But it wasn't your worst, either."

Dean grinned as he let out the breath he'd been holding and walked round to Cas, draping his arm around his shoulders as they walked inside. Once they were in the elevator Castiel let his head drop onto Dean's shoulder, and Dean pulled him into a hug.

He'd never asked Cas how he was doing after he'd come to the realisation that he didn't want to die, and he probably should have. "So how are you feeling these days?" he asked quietly.

"Fine."

"Just with the whole... you know... sadness thing."

"Sadness thing?" Castiel echoed, pulling away so he could look at Dean.

"Yeah." Dean smiled, and his cheeks flushed. He'd never been good at talking about how he felt, and he should probably tell Cas that he'd been really scared about him for a while.

"I'm good," Castiel told him honestly.

"Good," Dean smiled.

Neither heard the faint ding that told them the elevator had reached their floor, and they pulled apart when someone cleared their throat. Dean's eyes widened when they landed on the building manager.

"Hey," Dean nodded at him as he grabbed Castiel's arm and practically dragged him out of the elevator and down the hallway.

Castiel was still trying to get his heart rate back under control because for a moment – just a moment – he'd thought that Dean might have been about to kiss him. But that was stupid, because Dean wasn't like him. Dean was good. Dean was normal.

But no, he was normal too, or so Father Reynolds had told him. He just needed to find it in himself to believe that.

"So, um, Father Reynolds suggested that I speak to someone – a counsellor – about, well, everything."

Dean paused outside his door. "You mean like a shrink?"

"No, Dean. A counsellor. Someone who can help me process everything I've been through since..."

"Since your dad kicked you out?"

"Since before that," Cas said quietly.

Dean nodded, almost to himself. "But I thought you were better?"

Castiel shrugged, and couldn't look him in the eye.

"Cas?"

"Just because I haven't thought about trying to kill myself lately doesn't mean I don't still feel weighed down by everything that's happened to me, and..." Castiel took a shallow breath and huffed it out in a sigh. "I still dream," he added quietly.

"I take it you don't just mean the ordinary dreams everyone else has where you're falling, or you suddenly realise that you're in the middle of the supermarket and your clothes have vanished," Dean joked, his attempt at levity falling flat.

"No."

"You never said anything, dude," Dean said as he finally opened the door and walked into the apartment.

"What could you have done?" Castiel asked, shrugging his coat off.

"Touché. But it might have helped you to talk about it, you know – rather than keeping it all bottled up."

"But you don't talk. You've said that on more than one occasion. You're not the talking type."

Dean felt guilty. "That's not... I didn't mean..." Dean put his hands on Cas's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "I'd listen to you. If you wanted to talk... I'd listen," he said awkwardly.

Castiel smiled. "Thank you. And maybe I will. But I'm still going to see how it goes with this," Castiel dug a business card out of his pocket and looked at it, "Ms Barnes."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. "Ms Barnes?" he echoed weakly. "As in, Pam Barnes?"

Castiel checked the car again. "Pamela, yes."

Dean closed his eyes as he tried to forget sitting across from her in a room for half an hour twice a week, every week, for three months.

* * *

"So how have things been this week?"

Dean blatantly ignored her, instead tapping away on his phone. Other people might have smart phones with all the latest apps, but Dean was still using his old Nokia 3310.

"Dean?"

"What?" he snapped irritably.

"I said—"

"I heard what you said."

"Well?"

"Look, lady – I'm here because I have to be, not because I want to be. So stop wasting your breath and go play Minesweeper, or something."

Pamela frowned, and snatched his phone from his grasp.

"Hey!"

She tossed it in her drawer and slammed it shut.

"I was going to set a new high score on Snake," he grumbled.

"Do it on your own time. Don't waste mine." Quick as a flash her glare became a smile. "Now how have you been?"

Dean folded his arms and stared at her, willing her resolve to break.

She narrowed her eyes and stared right back.

Dean's eyes started watering, but he wasn't going to blink first. He wasn't.

He blinked.

Damn it! Well, that still didn't mean he had to talk. He looked at her clock. It was going to be a long hour.

* * *

"Do you know her?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you knew her. Pamela."

"No," Dean lied.

"Then how did you know her—"

"So what did Father Reynolds want to talk to you about before?"

Castiel clenched his jaw but nevertheless allowed Dean to change the topic of conversation. "What God thinks of me," he replied, following him through to the living room. "And more importantly, as he said, what I think of me."

Dean nodded. "And what do you think of you?"

Castiel sat down beside him, considering the question. "I don't like me very much."

"What?" Dean asked in disbelief. Seeing Father Reynolds was supposed to help Castiel, not make him feel worse about himself.

"I've let others lead my life for far too long."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Cas."

"Yes, I know," Castiel said quietly. "But with all due respect, you've never read the Bible."

"And what does the Bible say?"

"There is neither Jew nor Greek; there is neither slave nor free; nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Jesus Christ," Castiel recited from memory. "Galatians 3:28."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"That we're all different... but that none of our differences matter because we're all the same in His eyes."

Dean smirked. "I told you He didn't hate anyone."

"Yes, you did. If you believed in God, Dean, I think you would be a great priest."

"No, not me," Dean dismissed the idea, because he didn't see himself as the type of person to be guiding people in life.

"Well, you'd have to give up sex, first," Castiel said, and his hand flew up to his mouth to stifle his chuckle.

Dean laughed. "Well I think that definitely rules me out for the priesthood!"

Cas smiled. "Thank you, Dean. For everything."

Dean smiled back, and pulled his friend into another hug, but he couldn't help feeling that it sounded like Castiel was planning on leaving.

Chapter Text

Castiel looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair was much shorter now he'd had it cut, so theoretically it should be easier to manage, but he just couldn't get it to sit straight. He squeezed a blob of Dean's styling gel out of the tube and rubbed his hands together before rubbing it through his hair. If possible, it only made it look even worse.

"Ugh," he exclaimed, tossing the tube back in cupboard a little too roughly.

"Beer's in, food's on its way, the movie's good to go – come on, Cas!" Dean shouted through.

Shit! He'd forgotten Dean had rented a movie for tonight as a 'surprise' for him. "I... I'm meeting up with Balthazar tonight," he said quietly as he entered the living room.

Dean turned to stare at him. "Oh."

His eyebrows raised when he saw what Castiel was wearing – a pair of slim fitting, dark blue stonewashed jeans (when had he bought them?), and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looked good. In fact, he looked really good. Well, apart from the way his dark hair was sticking up in ridiculous tufts. Dean wondered if perhaps Castiel's friendship with Balthazar was becoming something more than 'just friends'. Should he say something? Make sure he and Balthazar were on the same wavelength? But then it wasn't really any of his business, was it? He just felt oddly protective of his friend, and it wasn't a bad thing to care about him...

"I'm so sorry," Castiel apologised when he realised that Dean wasn't going to say anything else. "I forgot we had this planned. It's Balthazar's birthday, but I can cancel—"

"No! No, don't do that. I'll still be here tomorrow! You go – have fun!" Dean smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Cas, I'm not here to stop you living your life. Now go before I chase you out."

"Thank you," he said, hugging Dean quickly, "for being so understanding."

Dean shrugged him of. "You've got nothing to thank me for. Go, have fun. Give me a call if you need me to pick you up later."

"Thank you, but I'm sure I won't need to."

"Hey Cas. Come here," Dean said reluctantly. He couldn't let him go out looking like he'd been electrocuted, so he ran his fingers through Castiel's hair and ruffling it up a little until it wasn't sticking up in clumps any more. "Much better."

Castiel smiled. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean flushed and shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing. Now get out of here, already."

As the latch clicked shut behind Castiel, Dean lay back against the sofa with a sigh. What if it was a date? What if Castiel was going on a date, and that was why he was dressed up nicer than usual? He dragged his hand down his face with a groan. He should be happy for Cas, not moping because he had to share him with someone else. For the first time in his life Dean had someone who seemed to actually like him, and he miraculously hadn't fucked it up yet. He was being selfish.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself. He could hardly expect him to stay in and enjoy the single life with Dean forever, could he? Everybody left. Well, he'd just need to go out and see if he could get lucky himself. After all, he'd only been out out a few times since Cas had moved in, but hadn't had anything other than a quickie in the back of the Impala since then.

The buzzing of the intercom interrupted his thoughts.

But food first, he decided, even if he did have to put Cas's order in the fridge for later.

* * *

Balthazar was already there and waiting when Castiel arrived.

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks. Now sit your ass down and pour yourself a drink. You're missing the show."

Of course Balthazar would want to celebrate his birthday in a strip club – if it hadn't been his friend's birthday, he'd have declined the invitation. Strip clubs were not places he wished to frequent.

Castiel leaned over and spoke in his ear. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

"I told you not worry about it," Balthazar waved his apology off. "This morning I had a ménage à... what's the French word for twelve?" Balthazar shouted above the audience's cheers as a smug smile tugged at his lips.

Castiel shrugged. "I don't know." He'd never studied any other languages at school.

"Well, anyway – six guys, six girls... That was my birthday present to myself."

Castiel didn't know how to respond to that, because the only level of intimacy he'd ever had was with his own hand, and he didn't think that sex was something that should be shared with more than one other person at a time. It was an act of love, giving yourself completely to someone else. Whooping and whistling jolted him from his thoughts and Castiel knew that the women on stage had removed the last of their clothing.

"Who else is coming tonight?" Castiel asked a moment later, once the room had quietened down.

"The usual crowd – Bart, Meg, Zeke, and some others I don't think you've ever met."

Castiel nodded. Bart didn't like him – he'd no doubt sit and glare at Castiel all night – but Zeke was nice. He reached for one of the pitchers and poured himself a small amount. Tentatively, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. It wasn't unpleasant – Balthazar had bought him beverages that burned on the way down in the past, so he'd learned to be careful.

"Oh my God, but look at him!" Balthazar exclaimed suddenly, leaning forward as far as he could.

Castiel reluctantly looked up at the stage, relieved that at least this early on in the performance the 'dancer' – if you could call him that – would be wearing clothes. His jaw dropped as he registered the man on stage, because he had never seen a more perfect example of the male form. He was all muscle – not a single inch of fat on his body – and he could move. He became hypnotised by his gyrating hips: a spell only broken when Balthazar started laughing beside him.

He blushed and looked away, but not without daring to steal a second glance. He could swear the man looked straight at him and winked. His cheeks warmed even more as arousal coursed through him, and he downed the rest of his drink on one go.

"You know, now I get why you and Meg didn't hit it off," Balthazar commented.

Castiel swallowed.

"It's ok," he continued. "You know, you could buy a dance with him."

"What?" Balthazar couldn't be serious. Could he?

"In one of the private rooms through the back."

"No," he said firmly.

"Are you sure?"

Castiel pictured the man dancing for him and only him, making his heart beat faster in his chest directing the blood flow... elsewhere. "Very," he said, refilling his glass of... whatever it was. "What is this?"

"Bloody Mary," Balthazar said. "Just don't say that three times while looking in the mirror!"

Castiel frowned and opened his mouth to ask why, but thought better of it.

Balthazar's other friends didn't take long to arrive. Some were already slightly wobbly on their feet because they'd had pre-drink drinks, and he looked away when he caught Meg staring at him.

It didn't seem to take long for Meg to bring over a bottle of tequila, a platter of lime slices, and a supply of salt, but when Castiel glanced at his watch he was surprised to see that they'd been out for almost two hours already. He didn't know exactly how they'd convinced him this was a good idea, but he wasn't going to back out now because doing something he wasn't sure he wanted to do felt better than feeling like an outsider all night.

"What do I do?" he asked anyone who was listening.

"Lick, sip, suck," Balthazar said, and laughed. "Try saying that when you're drunk!"

"Lisp cock!" Meg hollered drunkenly across the table at him.

Balthazar laughed and shook his head. "Not even close!"

His tongue swept up the salt on the back of his hand, he knocked the tequila back in one, and sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph it BURNED!!!

"Suck the lime!" he was dimly aware of Balthazar shouting at him so he sucked it hard, his eyes screwing up as the sharp acidity of the fruit hit his tongue.

"Not bad for a beginner!" Balthazar praised him with a clap on the back.

Castiel tried to smile as he coughed, eyes streaming, but he'd feel a lot better about it if Meg wasn't cackling at him.

They kept going round the table, and by the time Castiel had downed his third he didn't feel the burn any more. When it came to do four, Meg passed out. When it came to five Balthazar filled the shot glass in front of Castiel, who exhaled and salted his hand.

"One, two, three!" everyone shouted in unison.

Castiel licked the salt, downed one shot, and sucked on the lime edge with a flourish.

Everyone cheered, and the room started to spin.

"I think I'm starting to feel something," he slurred.

"Yeah, sick probably," Balthazar said as he poured his own shots. "Zeke, get him to the toilet before he throws up everywhere."

He didn't remember standing up, or even crossing the room to the toilets, but a minute later he was staring down the vomit-splattered toilet. He groaned. Now he knew how Dean felt all those nights he came home and puked his guts up in the bathroom.

"Who's Dean?"

"Can you read my mind?" he mumbled.

"No. But I can hear your voice."

"Oh." Castiel frowned. "But I didn't say anything." Or had he?

Zeke phone buzzed.

Castiel groaned, and retched over the bowl once again. He hoped Dean wasn't too upset with him about tonight. He didn't seem to be, but then Bobby had said that Dean had a tendency to bottle things up. He vowed to himself that tomorrow they would have their movie night, and Dean could have the final say on what films they watched.

"I think I need to go home," Castiel whined.

Zeke shrugged. "Wait here. I'll be back in a minute."

"Ugh," Castiel complained, missing the lever several times before he managed to flush the toilet. He fumbled in his coat pocket for his cell phone and he prayed that Dean would answer quickly.

* * *

Dean was stretched out in the back of the Impala when his phone rang. He considered ignoring it, because he just wanted to go home and drink himself into a coma. That had never happened to him before – ever! Dean Winchester just didn't have a problem getting it up for the pretty girls, and this one had been smoking hot! He rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. Smoking hot, and pretty pissed when she'd stormed off, flipping him the bird as she left.

Sighing, he glanced at the caller ID – it was Castiel.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Dean?"

He chuckled. "Yeah it's me, Cas." Who else would it be?

"I— Are you still offering to bring me home?"

"Sure it is – where are you?"

"In the toilet."

"Cas, are you drunk?"

"I think so."

"Alright, well which bar are you at?"

"I don't know."

"You've got to give me a hint, man," Dean grinned.

"People are taking their clothes off."

"You mean like strippers, right?"

"Strippers. Yes."

Right, so there were only three places in the city where strippers worked and Dean knew them all. He never claimed to be classy. "I'll see you in a bit." He hung up and tossed the phone onto the front passenger seat and sighed, before wriggling back into his jeans.

* * *

Cas stepped out into the night, wrapping his arms around him in a futile attempt to protect himself from the cold. He shivered, and turned instinctively when the music from inside got momentarily louder as the door swung open and closed again.

"Balthyzur," he slurred, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "Zeke!"

"Are you alright?"

"'M fine," he said.

"Have you called a cab?" Balthazar asked.

"Dean's coming."

"Okay, good. Do you want me to wait with you?"

"I'll be fine. He'll be here soon."

"Well you'll need this. It's cold tonight." Zeke tried and failed to help Castiel get his arms into the sleeves of his coat, before settling on just draping it around his shoulders. They stood, shivering, beside him for a couple of moments, before retreating back into the warmth of the club and leaving him to wait for Dean alone. After a few minutes of waiting he decided that he needed to take a leak. If he went back inside Dean might miss him, so he opted to just wait.

And so he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He waited until he thought he might piss himself and when he couldn't hold it in any longer, he cast a furtive look around before staggering down the alleyway at the side of the club. He'd be able to hear Dean's car if he arrived before he was finished.

It took him several attempts to unbutton his pants, but eventually he got himself free and sighed in relief as he emptied his bursting bladder.

The sound of a stone being kicked across the ground was the only warning he got that he wasn't alone any more. As he turned to see who it was the impact of his fist snapped Castiel's head to the side, and he didn't know if he'd closed his eyes or if it was the force of the impact that sent his vision plunging into darkness.

* * *

Dean pulled up outside the bar and scanned the street for any sign of Castiel, but there was no-one to be seen. He'd tried the other two clubs because they're been nearer, but there had been no sign of Castiel. If he wasn't here, then Dean had no idea where he was.

He stepped out into the cold night air and shuddered, his breath turned to mist as he turned his collar up in a feeble attempt to keep the chill off his neck. He figured if Castiel was here, that he was doing the sensible thing and waiting inside for him. He walked towards the entrance, but the sound of a scuffle made him stop and head down the side street instead.

One man stood over another hunched up on the ground. As he hauled the beaten man to his feet the dim light from the exit sign illuminated them, and Dean recognised the trench coat instantly.

"Cas," he murmured in realisation. "HEY!" he hollered as he ran towards them. "You leave him alone."

The man dropped Castiel, who collapsed to the floor clutching his ribs, and ran.

"Cas, you alright?" Dean asked, crouching down next to his friend. "Cas?" he asked, reaching a hand out.

Castiel recoiled from his touch instantly, and Dean jerked his hand back.

"Sorry, dude," he said, his hand hovering in the air between them. "Are you okay?"

"That..." Castiel coughed as he spat out a mouthful of blood, "is a really stupid question," he said, before passing out.

Dean retrieved Castiel's wallet from the ground and got him back into his jeans as best he could, before lifting him easily into his arms and carrying him back to his car. As Dean drove Castiel straight to the emergency room, not even caring if Cas threw up all over the Impala's interior, all he could think about was the last time he'd had to drive someone he cared about to the hospital.

* * *

"Dean... Dean have you got the salt?"

"Salt? What salt – what are you talking about?"

Sam grabbed Dean by the collar of his coat and pulled him close. "To keep the demons out, of course."

"Of course," Dean agreed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course, Sam – yeah, we've got to keep those demons out." Dean went along with whatever hallucination his brother was having because past experience had proven that it was easier than fighting him on it. "We don't want them to get you."

"No, not me – you! They're coming for you, Dean – they want your soul!"

Dean stopped in the doorframe and looked back at him. "Why do they want my soul, Sam?"

"Get the salt!"

"The salt, yeah, the salt." Dean hurried into the kitchen for the salt. He didn't want to leave his brother alone, but the damn guy was freaking out. "What do you want me to do with it?" he shouted through from the kitchen.

"Pour it in a circle."

Dean complied reluctantly, thinking that the mess was going to be a bitch to clean up in the next day.

"You done, Dean?"

"Nearly, Sammy," he said, shaking out the last of the can and joining the two ends of the circle together.

"Is there any left?"

"No Sam, that's the last of it."

"Okay. Now get inside it."

"What?" Dean hurried to his brother's side, holding him close. "What is it, Sammy? What do you need?"

Sam flinched and recoiled from him.

"What?"

"They've got you."

"'They'? Who's 'they'?"

"The demons. You... Your eyes! You're not Dean."

"What are you talking about, Sam? Of course I'm me!"

"No," Sam shook his head frantically. "No, you're not. I'll get you back, though, Dean – I promise. Can you hear me? I promise I'll get you out of there, Dean."

"I hear you." But he didn't see the punch coming until he felt it impact with his face. "God damn it, Sam!"

Sam started talking in a foreign language, reciting a chunk of gobbledegook that sounded like those lawyer phrases he'd been learning before Ruby had come along.

Dean shook him. "Sam? Sam! Cut it out, man." Sam wouldn't shut up – just kept talking rubbish. Where the hell was he getting this stuff from? As a last resort Dean apologised, before slapping him hard across the face.

Sam blinked. "De... Dean?"

"It's me, Sammy. I'm here," Dean assured him, cradling him in his arms. "Shit, man, you're heart's racing and you're burning a fever!"

"I feel great, Dean. So good. I love you."

"I know," Dean sobbed, fighting back tears. "I'm going to take care of you, okay?" he promised. "I'm going to take care of you. I've got to, because that's my job, right? Watching out for my pain in the ass little brother," he choked on those last words, the tears he'd been trying to desperately to hold back falling freely now. "Now I'm going to get you to the hospital. The demons won't get you there."

"They won't?"

"No. Now come on, man – help me get you up."

Dean hauled Sam so his feet, which was an achievement giving his great size, and he half carried, half dragged him down three flights of stairs and into the Impala.

* * *

"I need some help here!" he shouted as he carried Castiel into the hospital.

"What the—"

"Oh, my!"

"Somebody call Doctor Garrison!"

A trolley was wheeled over and he laid Castiel down on it, following the nurses who wheeled him away in a hurry.

"Sir! Excuse me! Sir!"

Dean spun round reluctantly, not wanting to let Castiel out of his sight. "That's my—"

"You'll need to fill this form out for him," the nurse said calmly.

"But I've got to—"

"If you want to help your friend, then fill this out." A reassuring hand was placed on his arm. "You can't do anything more for him until the doctor's seen him."

Dean let himself be led over to a chair where he sat down, only realising when he went to take the offered form and pen that he was clenching Castiel's coat tightly in his hands.

Chapter Text

"Doc?" Dean leapt to his feet as soon as the doctor appeared. "How is he?"

"We've had to sedate him," Dr Garrison explained. "He kept lashing out at the nurses. From the looks of things he took it pretty rough. I'd say it's a good thing you showed up when you did."

Dean's stomach clenched in guilt because he should have gotten there quicker, should have pressed Cas for more information so he knew which club he was at, should have—

"Sir, I have to ask - is there any chance he could have been... assaulted... in any other way?"

Images of Castiel in the alley with his trousers around his ankles flashed through Dean's mind and he closed his eyes as he tried to shake that image from his head. He blinked back tears as he told himself that nothing like that had happened, it couldn't have, but the more he tried to stop imagining the worst the more he thought about how he'd been when he'd found him. He felt like he was going to throw up.

"Sir?"

Dean shrugged the other man's hand off him with a growl. "Get off me."

The doctor took a step back. "Does he have any family you can call?"

Dean shook his head, belatedly noticing the weight in one of the pockets in Castiel's coat. He put his hand in and brought out the cell he'd bought. Scrolling through the contacts – there were only five – he found Balthazar, Bobby, Dean, Father, and Pamela Barnes. He hit dial.

As the phone rang in his ear he closed his eyes and hoped 'Father' didn't mean Father Reynolds.

"Who is this?"

"Uh, my name's Dean. Dean Winchester, sir?"

"It's late."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm looking for the father of, uh, Castiel Milton?"

There was a pause before the man spoke again. "Who did you say you were?"

"Dean."

"Dean," the man repeated. Then there was another pause. "And you say you know Castiel?"

"We live together. But not like that! I— We're friends," Dean babbled, trying to assuage the man's suspicions. He could almost feel himself being analysed in the following silence that went on too long and he began to fidget.

"Has found his way back to God?"

Dean frowned. "He's still gay, if that's what you're asking. I don't really think he can change that."

"Then I have no son by that name."

"He's in hospital," Dean tried to explain.

"I shall pray for his soul, and yours," Castiel's father continued.

"He's hurt!"

"Do not call here again, Dean."

Dean stared at the phone in his hand, finally beginning to understand why Castiel was pushing himself so hard to be someone he wasn't.

* * *

Dean paced up and down the too-small waiting area, aware that he felt more worried than he should. He'd only known Castiel a few months, but if it was Sam in there... He turned Cas's phone over and over in his pocket as he paced. Pam Barnes would probably try to tell him that he was using Cas as a second chance at helping someone sort their life out without screwing it all up like he had with Sam, but then being told shit like that was why he'd stopped seeing her as soon as his three months were up. He didn't want to see it; didn't want to admit that he couldn't save everyone, no matter how hard he tried, and now here he was, screwing up again.

"How is he?" Dean asked again, the next time the doctor appeared.

"He'll be fine," Dr Garrison assured him. "Sore, but fine."

Dean's mouth went dry. By all accounts fine should be good, but the doctor's had told him his dad would be fine. His dad was supposed to be fine, supposed to get better, but he didn't.

"Mr Winchester? Mr Winchester? Did you hear what I just said?"

Dean blinked and looked at the doctor like he hadn't been there a moment ago.

"I said your friend is going to be fine."

Dean shook his head.

"Mr Winchester, Cas has bruised ribs and a mild concussion so will be kept overnight for observation, but he'll be discharged first thing in the morning."

"He's really going to be okay?" Dean asked warily.

The doctor smiled. "He's going to make a full recovery. He'll need to take it easy for a few days, though."

Dean nodded, hardly hearing anything after full recovery. That was better than fine. Castiel was going to be okay. Dean wasn't going to lose him. He was going to get better. He was going to come home. He walked backwards until his back hit the wall, sliding slowly down until he was sitting on the floor. He rested his arms on his knees, burying his face in his hands as he sobbed in relief. He couldn't bare the thought of going back to an empty flat – it was actually beginning to feel like a home with Castiel there.

Then the doctor's hand was resting on his shoulder. "He's still out of it just now, but you can go in and see him whenever you want."

He heard the doctor walk away, and he wiped his face angrily as he thought of all the things he wanted to do to that son of a bitch who'd put Castiel in here in the first place. Digging his hand into his pocket, he called the only person he could.

"Hello?" a female voice answered sleepily.

Dean's shoulders slumped. "Put Sam on."

"Dean? Have you any idea what time it is?" Jess all but yelled at him. "I know you're a selfish asshole who only ever calls his brother – the only family he has – when he needs something, but I would have thought that even you—"

There was a minor scuffle on the other end and the rustling of bed sheets.

"Dean?"

Sam!" he gasped, like he was able to breath properly for the first time all night.

"Dean, do you know what time it is?"

"Funnily enough, yeah, I do."

"Couldn't it wait?"

"I'm at the hospital, Sam."

There was silence at the other end.

"Sam?"

"What did you do?"

"Me? I didn't do anything!"

"Well the last time you were in hospital it was because you'd got drunk and nearly wrapped your car around a tree."

Sam didn't need to remind him – his brother's words to him that night were forever etched into his memory.

"Dean, have you learned nothing?" Sam had shrieked at him as soon as he'd laid eyes on Dean in his hospital bed. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Because if you are, you're going the right way about it! Don't you think we've both lost enough?"

"What's wrong, Dean? DEAN!"

The urgency in Sam's tone brought him back to the here and now and he blinked back tears. "It's Cas," he said thickly.

"Cas?"

Dean took a deep, shaky breath before he spoke again. "He got beat up."

"What?"

"He's a mess." Tears fell from his eyes and Dean wiped them away with a hand before he lost it completely. "And Sam, I— He's pumped full of drugs right now, but Sam... I don't know how much all this is going to cost,"he said, his voice shaking.

"What about his family?"

"His dad won't come down. He kicked him out months ago 'cause he disapproved of his 'life choices'."

"What does that even— Wait, is Cas gay?" Sam asked, putting tow and two together. "Is that what you mean?"

"What does that matter?" Dean shouted, earning himself a stern look from one of the night nurses.

"Look, don't worry about it – when you get the bill just tell me how much you need."

"Sam!" Jess complained in the background.

"He's my brother, Jess."

Dean could hear Jess telling him, "But Cas isn't!"

There was rustling at the other end as Sam got out of bed, and Dean could hear him padding heavily down the hall as Jess complained about 'learning to stand on his own two feet'. "Whatever the two of you need, okay?"

Dean fought back tears as guilt and relief battled to consume him.

"Dean?"

"Thanks, Sammy," he choked.

"Dean... Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Sam asked slowly. "Anything else I should know?"

"What – are you going to give me another lecture again?" Dean snapped defensively. "Because I really don't think that now's the best time."

"No! Dean, I... I worry about you."

"I don't need you to worry about me, Sam. I got me for that."

"You don't worry about yourself nearly as much as you should."

"Bitch," Dean grumbled.

"How are you?"

"What are you asking me that for?" Dean hissed loudly. "I'm not the one lying half-dead in a hospital bed!"

"Dean, I— First mom, then dad... me. And now Cas? How are you?"

"I'm fucking peachy, Sam!" he roared. Then he noticed the nurse stalking towards him. "Sam, I've got to go. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay. And Dean?"

"Sam?"

"Take care of yourself."

"Always do," he replied cockily, but it sounded forced even to his ears.

* * *

Castiel blinked. Everything was bright and fuzzy, like when he was a child and had tried on his grandfather's spectacles. He tried to raise a hand to his face but his limbs were too heavy. A hand slid into his, giving it a gentle squeeze, and he tensed.

"No... No..." he mumbled groggily. He hurt everywhere. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

Someone leaned over him, but it was too bright to see and he was just a shadow.

"No!" he shouted, using up what little strength he had to lash out at his attacker. "Stop."

"Cas?"

"Stop it!"

"Cas! " Louder this time.

"Please..." Castiel trailed off with a sob as his body gave out and he couldn't fight any more.

"I'm here, buddy."

"De... Dean?" he asked tentatively, squinting at the blurry figure leaning over him.

"Yeah – it's me, Cas. I'm here."

Castiel racked his brain; he remembered being in the Impala... Had Dean driven him home? This didn't feel like the couch – was he in Dean's bed? That wouldn't do. He tried to sit up, but a warm, gentle hand on his chest easily persuaded him differently.

"Do you want me to get the nurse?"

Oh. He was in hospital. He shook his head.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been beaten up," Castiel mumbled, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly, before he winced.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" he asked carefully.

"Like what?" Cas croaked.

"Like... anything."

Castiel turned his head away in a futile attempt to stop Dean from seeing him looking so pathetic. Getting attacked in an alley when he was perfectly capable of defending himself was just embarrassing. He was never drinking again.

"Cas, man, I gotta know."

"Know what?" he asked, his voice dry and scratchy.

"The way I found you... You're jeans were..." He made a downwards motion with his hands.

Castiel fumbled at him until Dean caught both his hands and held them, just staring at him as he waited for him to respond.

"I was waiting for you. I needed to urinate."

"And?"

"And I urinated."

"And that's… all?"

Dean could identify the moment Castiel realised what it was he was asking. "Even I know it's not normal to have such an interest in your friend's bowel movements," he said lightly.

"Damn, Cas," Dean chuckled, the words thick in his throat as he fought back tears. "I thought, maybe... I mean, the doctor asked if..." He gripped Castiel's hand again, and this time Castiel didn't try to pull away.

"No, Dean."

"Thank God," he breathed weakly.

Castiel tried to turn over but his body was too heavy, and his head was pounding something awful. He couldn't even squeeze Dean's hand to let him know that everything was going to be alright.

"I want to sleep, now," he mumbled.

Dean nodded. "Okay."

* * *

When Castiel had mumbled something else, Dean thought he could make out the word stay. "Of course I'll stay," he'd said.

Once Case had let sleep take him, he called Bobby.

"What? Who is this?" Bobby grumbled sleepily.

"Dean," he said quietly.

"Dean? What are you calling me in the middle of the damn night for? And why are you whispering?"

"Cas is in hospital."

"Shit. What happened?"

"He got beat up."

"How bad?"

Dean wiped a hand across his eyes. He was not going to cry, damn it! "It looks worse than it is, but, uh... He won't be in for the rest of the week. At least."

"And neither will you."

"What?"

"You're going to take some time off and take care of that boy."

"Bobby, I can't," Dean said, though it was tearing him up inside. "I need the money. We need the money."

"Where's your head at, boy? You've got almost all your annual leave left to take – I'm not going to leave you with nothing. So you just get that boy back on his feet, and I won't see you 'til next week!"

Dean stood there listening to the dial tone long after Bobby had hung up, too shocked to do anything else.

* * *

"You look tired."

Dean sat up, relieved to hear Castiel sound a bit more like himself. "Oh, yeah. I spent half the night on the phone, calling people, sorting stuff out."

"But you got half a night's sleep?"

"No, not really," Dean admitted. "I spent the other half the night watching you sleep."

"You should have rested, Dean."

"I couldn't. I needed to know you were going to be okay."

"And? Am I?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "Yeah, you're going to be just fine, Cas. I mean, you're probably going to hurt like hell for a couple of weeks, but you'll live," Dean said, trying and failing to be light-hearted about it.

Castiel relaxed slightly. "Don't you have work?" he frowned.

"Not for the rest of the week," he said. "And neither do you. I'm going to take you home, and we're just going to relax in front of the TV all day. You won't have to lift a finger."

* * *

"I should probably text Balthazar and tell him what happened," Castiel said once Dean had him settled on the sofa.

"You don't have to do that now, though? Don't you just want to relax?"

"Texting is hardly a strenuous activity," Cas pointed out as he started typing.

"I can't believe Balthazar took you to a strip club," Dean muttered. "No, I take that back - I can't believe you went to a strip club!"

Castiel didn't answer at first, checking his message for spelling errors before he sent it. Then he looked up at Dean. "It was where Balthazar wanted to go. It was his birthday."

Dean hummed his disinterest. "Oh, but I'd, uh, got The Green Mile for us to watch last night," Dean remembered. "I know you liked the book, and the film's pretty good, so..." He shrugged. "We could watch that later if you wanted."

"You're awesome," Castiel smiled, leaning forward to try and hug Dean.

"Hey, come on. Sit," Dean instructed, easing him back.

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Have you any idea how boring the next weeks going to be if you're not going to let me to do anything?"

"Have you any idea how worried I was not knowing if you were going to make it through the night?" Dean shot back.

Castiel's face fell. "I'm sorry." Then he frowned. "I thought I wasn't that bad?"

Dean shrugged, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.

"Dean?"

"I was just imagining the worst, I guess."

"Come here," he said, loosely grasping Dean's wrist and tugging him forwards until he sat down beside him.

"What about the DVD?" Dean protested.

"I thought you said we could watch that later?" Cas pointed out, wincing as he pulled Dean closer, one hand resting on his hip and the other brushing through Dean's hair.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm here, Dean. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

After a moment Dean gave in, because actually Cas running his hand through his hair was kind of nice. Carefully, he snuggled up against Cas's side. "I don't cuddle," he insisted, before adding, "but I'll let you hold me if it makes you feel better."

* * *

True to his word, Dean wouldn't let Castiel move unless he needed to use the bathroom. After they finished The Green Mile – which Castiel loved just as much as the book, if not more – they spent the afternoon flipping through channels, watching whatever caught their eye, and as the day wore on Castiel leaned further and further into Dean. He rubbed his head against Dean's shoulder, trying to get himself comfortable.

"You feeling okay?"

"Just tired," Castiel admitted.

"You should go to sleep, then." Dean leaned forward and grabbed the remote, knocking his empty beer bottles over in the process, but Castiel placed a hand on his thigh and shook his head. "Cas..."

"If I sleep now I won't sleep at night," he pointed out.

Dean settled back down. "One yawn, and this goes off so you can get some rest," he insisted. He turned his gaze back to the TV, but his attention was still very firmly on Castiel.

On the TV, a woman screamed.

"You looked scared," Castiel told him.

"What?"

"When you looked at me this morning, you looked scared."

"I was worried about you."

"It was more than that."

Dean's knuckles went white around the TV remote. "You could have died."

"The doctor told you I'd be fine."

"Yeah, well, sometimes doctors get it wrong, Dean said roughly.

Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes raking across his face trying to determine what it was Dean wasn't telling him. With a sigh, Dean switched the TV off and tossed the remote back on the table. He sat there silently, chewing on his bottom lip and when he glanced up at the photo by the TV he was aware of Castiel looking rather guilty out of the corner of his eye.

"You've looked at it."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay."

"Everyone looks very happy."

"We were. Before mom died."

Castiel didn't say anything, afraid that Dean would retreat back into himself.

"I was four, Sam was just a baby. Six months old," Dean said after a moment. "There was a fire. Dad gave Sam to me, told me to get him out. I always thought that maybe, just maybe, if I'd have been faster to get to him, and take Sam from him, that he'd have been able to save mom, too. He was never the same after that. I practically raised Sam – Dad just raised the bottle to his mouth most nights."

His tears fell unrestrained, and Castiel placed his hand over Dean's clenched fist in a silent display of support.

"We'd gone out together a few years ago, for the first time in a long time – him, me and Sam," Dean began. "Celebrating sobriety. I'd let Sam drive us home. Dad was sat in the front with him. This truck just came out of nowhere and smashed right into us. Dad..." He swallowed thickly. "Dad died. Not instantly – they got him to the hospital and said he was going to be fine. It was me that they thought wasn't going to make it. But I'm still here. He collapsed, all of a sudden, and they couldn't bring him back." Dean let out a shaky breath. "After the crash, Sam... He kind of lost it for a while. He and dad had never really seen eye-to-eye, and I guess he regretted a lot of the things he'd said to him over the years. That, and the fact he was driving..." Dean trailed off. "I should have seen it coming."

"What?" Castiel asked quietly, stroking Dean's arm, and he could have kicked himself for interrupting.

"The drugs," Dean said simply. "Block it out – the guilt, the memory of it; make him feel good. I just didn't see it until it was too late."

"Dean, you can't blame yourself – you were grieving, too."

"Yeah," Dean laughed bitterly. "I didn't know I was driving around with a busted tail light. I had Sam high as a kite beside me on the way to the hospital when this cop pulled us over. I think we're in the clear, then just as the cop's about to let us go he sees the packet of little white pills Sam's dropped on the floor." Dean shook his head. "I told you Sam was a lawyer, right?"

"You mentioned it, yes."

"If he'd been convicted he'd have lost his scholarship and been kicked out of law school. All Sam's ever wanted to be was a lawyer, because the arsonist who killed mom got off on a technicality and then disappeared. I was getting by, doing odd jobs here and there, and he had this whole bright future ahead of him. I didn't have a choice, Cas. It's been my job to look after Sam all our lives, ever since we were kids. 'Look after your brother, Dean,'" he said, in a perfect imitation of his father.

"What did you do?" Castiel asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

"I said the drugs were mine. That I was taking Sam to the hospital because he'd mistaken them for aspirin and I was worried sick about him. The cop called an ambulance for Sam and arrested me."

"Dean!" Castiel gasped softly. He knew Dean was kind and often selfless but he'd had no idea just how far Dean was prepared to go for those he cared about.

"I got charged and pleaded guilty to possession. They left Sam alone. The only reason I didn't wind up behind bars was because my idiot brother stood up in court and told them about the accident and how Dad's death had affected us both."

"I don't understand – you wanted to go to jail?" Castiel clarified, confused.

"No! But I didn't want to use Dad's death that way – it just wasn't right. It felt like saying it was all his fault."

"I'm sure Sam was only doing what he thought best," Castiel tried. "He'd have been looking out for you."

"It's my job to look out for him, not the other way about. Older brother, remember?" Dean said, jerking his thumb towards himself. "Anyway, I ended up with a suspended sentence on the condition that I went to counselling and completed this drugs course – "I have an addiction" and so on. Load of bullshit."

"So after all you've done for each other, how is it that you have both become so estranged from each other?

"Maybe we did too much for each other," Dean speculated wistfully.

* * *

"Sam, you shouldn't have done that." Dean growled as he walked out of court, hauling the tie that had been choking him for the past few hours loose.

"Why the hell not, Dean?" he shot back, following his brother down the front steps.

"Don't you get mad at me. Don't you do that. I had to look out for you. It's my job."

"I don't need you looking out for me!" Sam cried. "I haven't done since we were kids!"

"It's my job to look after you, Sam – it always has been! 'Take care of your brother, now, Dean.' 'Look after Sammy for me, Dean.'"

"And who was going to take care of you when were in jail being somebody's bitch?"

"Son of a bitch, Sammy!" Dean spun round to face him angrily. "You really think I'd let that happen?"

"I just don't get why you did it." Sam brushed his hair out of his eyes as he looked desperately at his brother. "Why didn't you want me telling them about dad?"

"It was just plain wrong!" Dean growled.

"Do you think Dad would have wanted you to go to jail for me?"

"I will never stop taking care of you, Sam! So maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to throw your whole Goddamn life away!" Dean turned on his heels and strode off, feeling Sam's hard gaze burning into him as he walked away.

* * *

"You know I can't be in a car if I'm not driving, now?" he said abruptly. "I just feel so out of control, and I can't breathe." Dean leaned forward, his head in his hands. "It's why after a night out I walk home instead of taking a cab."

Castiel gently shifted closer to him until their thighs were barely touching, and he rubbed a soothing hand between Dean's shoulder blades.

Dean let out a shaky breath. It hadn't been hard, telling Castiel everything. There was no feeling of relief, but neither did he feel the familiar anger bubbling up when usually confronted with his past. He turned to face Castiel. "I've never told anyone that before. Any of it, but especially not about the driving thing." He felt weak under Castiel's sad, sympathetic gaze, and that made him angry. "So help me, if you tell anyone any of that—"

Castiel shook his head vehemently. "Of course not!" he cried, and Dean's posture relaxed slightly. "Dean, it's perfectly normal to want the illusion of safety that comes with being behind the wheel," he went on understandingly. He paused for a moment. "But you do know that if you had been the one driving that night, there's no guarantee it would have turned out any differently – don't you?"

Dean stared at him. It was like Castiel knew – how did he know? He always thought of himself as a closed off guy, but the way Castiel was staring at him with those impossibly blue eyes of his made it feel like Castiel was reading his damn soul.

Castiel could see Dean putting his guard up again in the way his gaze turned cold, and he moved his hand up to the short hairs on the back of his neck. "You don't have to pretend with me, Dean. You saved me, in more ways than one. I won't judge you – not for anything."

He wrapped his arms around him and a moment later Dean's need for comfort seemed to win the battle with his need to be strong, and Castiel felt him melt into his embrace. Castiel sat there and just held him, stroking his fingers through his short hair and murmuring reassurances in his ear until Dean fell into a peaceful doze.

Chapter Text

Dean made sure that Castiel spent the next week taking it easy. He didn't complain about being in pain, but Dean noticed how carefully he held himself when he stood up and how gingerly he would remove his sweater when he got too hot. Dean was always on hand to help Cas with anything he needed, considering how badly having to take Castiel to hospital had scared Dean – but just how scared he'd been scared him even more. It surprised him just how much he'd come to care for Castiel.

He tried to encourage Cas to reschedule his first appointment with Pamela, but settled for driving him there and back when Castiel insisted on going.

* * *

Castiel looked around Pamela's room apprehensively, taking in the diplomas and certificates on the walls, the comfortable looking chair, and the uncomfortable looking sofa.

"Do you want me to sit, or lie down?" he asked.

"Whichever you prefer."

He looked from one piece of furniture to the other, unsure if it was some sort of test, before taking the chair.

Pamela said nothing; just carried over a pitcher of iced water and two glasses, before taking her seat on the other side of the desk.

"You said on the phone that Father Reynolds recommended you see me. Why?"

"Because he thought it appropriate?"

Pamela smiled. "No, I meant why have you come to see me?"

Castiel's face grew warm in embarrassment. "I've been really unhappy."

Pam nodded, half-filling both their glasses. "In general, or..?"

"My father kicked me out," he said quickly.

"I see."

Castiel drained his glass as Pam waited for him to continue in his own time.

"He and I disagreed," Castiel said finally.

When Pamela realised he wasn't going to say anything else, she pushed. "What about?"

Castiel put his glass down too hard and Pam raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," he said. He watched her reaction very carefully as he said, "I'm gay."

Pamela puffed her cheeks out as his words sank in. "Huh."

"Is that a good 'huh' or a bad 'huh'?" Castiel asked after a moment.

"I dated a girl for several months in uni. Great sex, but ultimately not for me."

"Are you saying it's a phase, what I'm going through?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I just want you to know that I'm not going to judge you, no matter what you tell me."

Castiel's shoulders dropped slightly.

"You look disappointed by that."

"It would be easier, knowing that these feelings would go away in time. They can be hard to ignore."

"Who says you should ignore them? They're a part of who you are." When Castiel said nothing, she looked down at her notepad. "So I take it your father doesn't like how you feel?"

"My father thinks God doesn't like it."

She nodded thoughtfully. "How do you feel about him?"

"Who? God?"

"Your father."

"I... What do you mean?"

"Are you angry with him? Do you hate him?"

"No."

Pamela hummed thoughtfully but didn't press the matter. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"One. An older brother; Michael."

"And your mother?"

"She died."

"How long ago?"

"The night I was born," he stated.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said sincerely, not pressing for details because she understood what he was saying. "Why don't we start at the beginning? Tell me about your childhood."

* * *

Halloween was almost upon them, and when Castiel said that he'd never carved a jack o' lantern, Dean promptly went out and bought them one each.

"How do we... Where do I start?" Castiel asked, looking at the large pumpkin in front of him.

"With the lid," Dean said. "You need to be able to get your hand in there and have some room to move around, so make it a decent size"

"Okay," Castiel said hesitantly, watching as Dean demonstrated.

"Don't cut straight down or it'll fall in," Dean instructed as he made a notch. When Cas stared at him, Dean added, "What? It helps show how to put the thing back on."

"Okay," Castiel repeated, more confidently once Dean had finished.

As Castiel took the knife and started on his pumpkin, Dean rolled up his sleeve and dug his hand inside. "You want to get all the crap out first," Dean said.

"You know," he said as he sawed into the top of his pumpkin, "you can toast the seeds. They make a really..." he hesitated to say healthy "…tasty snack."

Dean shrugged. "Well if you want to do that, we'll keep the seeds." He looked at Castiel's pumpkin. "How are you managing there?"

"Quite well, thank you," Castiel said determinedly, scowling at his pumpkin.

Dean chuckled. "If you say so." He remembered Sam making a better job of his first pumpkin when he was six. He waved what looked like a spoon with serrated sides at Cas. "Now it's time to start scraping out the flesh."

Castiel eyed Dean. His focus was now solely on his pumpkin, not on Cas, and Castiel had a fleeting desire to be able to draw so that he could capture the intensity in Dean's face, as he scooped handfuls of guts and seeds into piles. He startled himself with a laughed that had him clutching at his ribs in pain.

"What?" Dean asked, his concentration broken. "Are you okay?"

"You just look so serious," Castiel smiled.

"Pumpkin carving is a very serious business, Cas," Dean joked in monotone.

Once Castiel had scooped out the majority of his seeds he turned his attention to Dean, watching as he expertly scraped the insides of his pumpkin.

When Dean was satisfied with his own work, he held the spoon out to Cas, who jabbed it into his pumpkin awkwardly.

"Do you want a hand?" Dean asked after a moment.

"Hmm?" Castiel replied absently.

"Here."

Castiel froze as Dean stepped behind him.

"Like this," Dean murmured, his breath ghosting across Castiel's ear as he guided their hands through the suddenly-too-small opening into the damp cavern inside the pumpkin. Dean's grip was firm as he skimmed their hands along the curved contours of the pumpkin.

Castiel felt oddly light headed as he let his hand be manoeuvred around the sticky depths.

"Hey, you still with me? I'm not doing it for you," Dean said lightly, noticing the way Castiel's hand fell limp in his.

When Castiel turned to Dean, mouth already forming a yes that got lost between his lungs and his lips when he was caught off guard by just how close Dean was, he was acutely aware of the half-second during which Dean's eyes dropped to his mouth, the tip of his tongue slipping out from between his lips to skim across his lower lip.

He thought he may have breathed Dean's name, but he couldn't be sure.

Whether he did or didn't was irrelevant, however, because Dean stepped away from him like he'd been electrocuted, his hand pulling away from Castiel's so quickly that the pumpkin rocked sideways and he knocked the bowl of pumpkin seeds, sending them scattering across the floor.

"Dean—"

"I've got this. Shit. Sorry."

"Dean, it's fine."

"No, it's not, I— Shit!"

"Dean!" Castiel cried as he just stood there, not sure whether he should help or bury himself back in his pumpkin but feeling like something other than a kitchen mess was wrong. He just didn't know what it was or what he could do.

"Shit, shit, shit," Dean continued muttering under his breath as he picked up seed after seed.

With a sigh of resignation, Castiel dropped to his knees to help.

"I can do this, Cas," Dean mumbled.

"I want to help."

"I can clean up my own damn mess!"

"I know you can. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to help you," Castiel insisted stubbornly.

Dean stopped what he was doing to stare Cas. His stomach lurched. His words sounded so much more profound after they'd escaped his mouth.

Clearing his throat and desperately striving for levity, Cas said, "Hey - you still with me?"

Hearing his own words used against him, Dean dropped his eyes and numbly resumed picking up seeds. The two of them got it done quickly, and when they got to their feet he quietly asked, "So what do you want me to do with these?"

Castiel smiled. "Give them a good wash and then put them somewhere to dry out."

Once Dean had meticulously washed them, getting rid of the sticky, stringy gloop clumped around them, he tossed them out on some paper towels to dry. Next he wet a cloth and started wiping the floor because the linoleum was tacky beneath his feet.

By that point Cas was getting the hang of his pumpkin, though he had to pause every few minutes until the ache in his chest ebbed, and it wasn't long before they had a large bowl of pumpkin flesh in front of them and two roughly carved jack-o'-lanterns.

"Not bad," Dean nodded, looking over Cas's pumpkin. "Not bad for a first attempt."

* * *

Halloween passed quietly, but then when you lived on the third floor of an apartment building trick-or-treaters tended to be far and few between. Dean may have encouraged the little menaces to skip them by turning off every single light in the apartment and closing the curtains as early as five o'clock. The glow from the television screen and the two small candles flickering inside their pumpkins has been all that illuminated the living room as they huddled side by side watching classic scary movies all night, while Dean munched his way through a whole bag of mixed Halloween candy which Castiel had thought was supposed to be for potential trick-or-treaters.

When they'd finally called it a night Castiel had gone to bed complaining that he was going to have nightmares, but Dean had just laughed at him and told him to check under his bed for monsters.

The pillow that Castiel had thrown at him in response had hit him in the head.

* * *

Halloween may only have been the day before, but all traces of it had already been scrubbed from the stores. Everywhere he'd looked there were special offers on Thanksgiving this and Christmas that. Dean couldn't think of anyone who would need a giant stuffed turkey centerpiece or 135 feet of wrapping paper, even if it was on special at $40 and came packaged with assorted bows and ribbons. He grunted as he jostled the shopping bags in his arms to free a finger so that he could hit the button for the elevator. He hadn't meant to be out so long, but the douchebag in the sports car had rear-ended the car in front. He'd given them the number for Bobby's and had to take a detour out to the supermarket.

He paused before opening the front door because he heard voices.

"Hello?" he called tentatively as he opened the door.

"Dean!" Castiel shouted back. "I'd like you to meet Balthazar!"

"I'll be right there!"

Dean abandoned the groceries on the kitchen counter and sauntered through to the living room, already on edge. He dropped a puzzle book in front of Cas. "I got that for you."

"Thank you," Cas smiled. He sat up a little straighter in his seat and said, almost proudly, "Dean, this is Balthazar."

"Dean! So good to meet you!" Balthazar exclaimed from where he was sitting in Dean's seat eating Dean's pecan pie and drinking Dean's beer.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You too."

"I was just telling Cas that I feel awful that I didn't wait for you with him. I feel like it's all my fault."

"It's not your fault," Castiel assured him.

"I don't know," Dean said, sitting down. "I think friends should look out for each other."

"Dean!" Castiel hissed in shock.

"What? I wouldn't let my drunk friend wander around alone at night."

"And that is exactly why I feel bad," Balthazar said, as Castiel bit back a retort that Dean didn't have any friends. "Though I have to say, you took your time getting there."

Dean straightened in his seat. It wasn't like he hadn't had that same thought himself. "What?" he said, his tone low and deadly.

"Well, I mean—"

"Stop it, both of you!" Castiel snapped. He looked at his two friends, each trying to outstare the other, and he sighed. "You're both being ridiculous. Some things just happen, like accidents, and you can't stop them."

"Accidents don't just happen accidentally, Cas!"

Balthazar chuckled into his beer bottle.

It took another moment for Dean to realise what he'd just said, and he glared at the other man until he started shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"I think I should be going," Balthazar said eventually.

"No, Balthazar, you don't have to go just yet."

"It's alright, Cas," Balthazar said, standing up.

Dean's stomach clenched because Cas was his nickname for him.

"It was very nice of you to come by," Castiel said, shooting an unhappy look in Dean's direction. "I only wish you would have stayed longer."

"Oh, I have places to go, people to see, and all that."

"Good," Dean said quickly. "I'll show you to the door."

Balthazar let Dean usher him towards the door without complaint.

"Come again soon!" Castiel pleaded, following them into the hallway.

"Maybe we can catch up once you're feeling better, eh?"

Dean scoffed, and Castiel pushed him out of the way. "You should put the shopping away before it starts to defrost," he said icily. He turned to Balthazar and lowered his voice. "That would be a very good idea, and I am so sorry about Dean."

Balthazar cast a glance over his Castiel's shoulder, to where Dean was glaring at him from the kitchen. "I'll see you soon," he promised, pulling Cas into a gentle hug.

"You don't have to apologise for me," Dean said as soon as the door clicked shut.

Castiel turned on Dean. "Yes, I do. I know this is your home, but did you have to be so rude? You've done so much for me, but is it too much to ask you to be civil to the only friend I have?"

Dean froze in place, no longer noticing the cold. "I thought I was your friend," he said carefully.

"I thought you were, too."

Dean screwed his eyes shut as he let out a shaky breath. First John, then Sam, and now Cas...

"In case you'd forgotten, I don't exactly have a lot of friends, Dean," Castiel continued coolly. "Please don't make me choose between them."

He made his way back to the living room, and Dean made no attempt to follow him. He only moved after the fridge started beeping at him, informing him that the door was still open, and he took his time unpacking the rest of the shopping.

* * *

Castiel sat down wearily. His sides were aching, and given the amount of pain he'd been in for the first couple of days he was surprised he didn't have broken ribs. Dean had been great, making sure he had everything he could possible need - even it he did treat him like a child some of the time.

Of course, now Dean was acting like a child, and Castiel was stuck in the middle. He supposed that was how Michael must have felt, being stuck between his brother and his father.

He sighed and reached for the book of puzzles that Dean had brought him and flipped through it. Stopping on a random page somewhere near the middle of the book he started reading through the crossword clues, but found he couldn't focus on the words. He tossed the book aside angrily and ran a hand through his hair. Why did Dean have to make Balthazar feel uncomfortable? Why couldn't Dean just be happy for him? It was at times like this he'd turn to God, but he didn't have a... Wait a minute. He'd accumulated a small pile of books at the side of the sofa, and he knocked them over until he found the Bible Dean had bought him all those weeks ago at the bottom of the pile. He ran a hand down the cover, thinking about his father refusing to let him take his own copy with him; telling him that he didn't deserve it.

He opened the cover, and several pages turned with it, settling on a page titled Guidance in life.

At the very top of the page, it said Anger – p451 – Ephesians 4:25-32.

He turned to page four hundred and fifty-one and read.

'Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbour, for we are all members of one body. "In your anger do not sin": Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. He who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with his own hands, that he may have something to share with those in need.

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what it helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ god forgave you.'

He rested his palm against the page and smiled to himself. He'd forgotten the strength he got from turning to the Lord for guidance.

Yes, he was angry.

And he was hurt.

But Dean deserved his forgiveness.

* * *

When Dean couldn't hide in the kitchen any longer he came into the living room slowly, wary of Castiel's reaction.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," Castiel said back.

Dean leaned against the back of the chair, his fingers digging into the stretched, faded leather as he racked his mind for something to say.

"How about we go for a walk?" Castiel asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Okay, so Castiel was holding out an olive branch. That was good. But Dean shook his head. "No. The doctor said you had to rest."

"The doctor said I wasn't to overdo it, not that I wasn't allowed to do anything," Castiel pointed out. He needed to get out, even just for half an hour. Being stuck inside all week was like being locked in his room all over again. "I'm going out, Dean," he said decisively. "You can't stop me."

Dean opened and closed his mouth. He knew exactly how Cas felt. He'd spent a week in hospital and the novelty of having nurses to flirt with had worn off very quickly after his second bed bath – they'd used cold water and threatened to keep using cold water unless he kept his dirty chat-up lines to himself.

"Okay," Dean conceded, not wanting to start another argument when they hadn't resolved the first. "But a short walk."

It was cold outside so Dean let Castiel borrow an old fleece jacket, considering that his trench coat would do little to keep him warm, and half an hour later they were making their way to the park. As they neared the gate Castiel stopped and pressed a hand against his side, his face screwed up in pain.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Let me see," Dean said, his hands moving to the hem of his jacket.

Castiel swatted his hands away.

"Come on, Cas."

"Dean!"

There was a large purple bruise across his side, and it was darker than it had been a couple of days ago.

"Dean, it's cold!" Castiel hissed.

Dean lowered Castiel's clothing again, and Cas shivered as he stuck his hands deep in his pockets.

"Let's sit down for a bit," Dean suggested, guiding Castiel to the nearest bench.

"I'm fine," Castiel insisted, but sat down anyway. Sometimes he breathed too deeply and his side protested, so it would be good to catch his breath.

They watched a beautiful German Shepherd playing fetch, his attention focused solely on the blue ball that was thrown as he chased it, before returning to his owner and dropping at his feet.

Two young boys were riding their skateboards along the path, and Dean was hit with the painful reminder of the Christmas he'd shared with Lisa and Ben – Ben had thrown a fit and hidden upstairs for the whole of Christmas morning when Lisa hadn't bought him the skateboard he'd begged and pleaded for because she thought they were "too dangerous."

"I thought I'd take a turn at cooking dinner tonight," Dean said. "I'm pretty sure I can't go wrong with soup – I watched my dad make it often enough." On the rare occasion that he wasn't drunk, Dean added to himself.

Castiel gave a small shrug. "Okay."

They sat and watched the kids playing tag on the climbing frame for a few minutes, and Dean was half aware of a couple of concerned glanced being sent in their direction – not that he could blame them, really – but no-one told them to fuck off and no-one hurried their kids home, so he supposed they didn't look too creepy. He was just glad that Cas had left his trench coat at home.

"So how are you really?" he asked after a moment.

"My side hurts when I breathe. Just sometimes."

Dean nodded. "You know the doctor said if you were still pain you could make an appointment and talk about getting something stronger," Dean reminded him.

"He also said stronger medication was highly addictive and that if the pain wasn't unbearable he would prefer that I stuck with over-the-counter pain relief."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry." Castiel said after a moment. "I'm just... With Sam and everything, I wasn't trying to—"

"It's okay. I knew you weren't."

"Okay."

Dean laughed as the German Shepherd deserted the ball in favour of chasing a white, neatly clipped poodle across the grass. Judging by the pink satiny bow he saw clipped to her ear as she ran past, the dog had a lot better plans that playing fetch on his mind!

Its owner retrieved the abandoned ball and gave chase. "Colonel! Heel! Colonel! "

The dog ignored its owner's shouts, barking as the poodle led it on a merry dance across the park.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said to Balthazar, okay?"

"It's not me you should be apologising to, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes. "I know. I just... It wasn't him who saw you lying in the hospital, Cas."

Castiel swallowed, and bowed his head as he searched for the right words. "It... seems to have upset you a lot." He bit his bottom lip. "I mean—"

"Yeah," Dean cut him off, not wanting to go into the details of his father's death. He cleared his throat. "I mean, you're a good friend, you know? If anything happened to you… Well. I'd miss you."

Castiel smiled sadly at him.

"And I know it's stupid, but I don't like that he calls you Cas."

Castiel frowned. "But that's my name."

"No, your name is Castiel. I call you Cas."

"Bobby calls me Cas," Castiel pointed out.

"That's because he's heard me call you that. It's like... That's my nickname for you."

Castiel licked his lips, gone rough and dry in the cold. "Did it ever occur to you that Balthazar calls me Cas because that's how I introduced myself to him?"

"You— What?"

"I like that you call me Cas. I like being Cas. Cas is so completely different from Castiel – from who I used to be."

"So, what – Cas is like the new and improved version of Castiel?"

"Cas is the happier version of Castiel," Castiel said pointedly.

Suddenly it clicked in Dean's mind. Castiel was the unhappy boy who couldn't be himself that Dean had found on the bridge, whereas Cas was the man who was finally beginning to accept himself.

"Right. I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do. I was being an idiot."

"My idiot," Castiel smiled without thinking. His words only seemed to make it to his ears after he caught Dean looking at him funny. "I mean," he started, desperately trying to take his words back, "you're my friend and I'm yours... I'm your friend... and you're important to me. As a friend. You're my best friend."

Dean was still looking at him funny as he stumbled his way through a poor explanation for his poorly chosen words. "Cas, don't laugh if I'm barking up the wrong tree but, you don't... like... have a thing for me or anything, do you?"

Castiel swallowed. This was everything he'd been afraid of. But he couldn't lie; not to Dean. He owed him honesty.

"I'm not gonna be mad at you, or anything," Dean promised him.

"Yes," Cas admitted quietly, not looking at him.

Dean let out a breath beside him.

"But I am under no illusion that my feelings for you - whatever they are - are returned." Okay, so that wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie, either. He didn't believe that Dean felt the same, but he did wish for it. "We're just friends. I know that."

"Fuck."

"I'm sorry," Cas apologised, meeting Dean's eye and silently pleading with him to understand that he hadn't meant for any of this.

"No, I mean, that's rough. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Castiel told him. "I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable."

"What? I dunno, I guess it's flattering? I'm just sorry I don't—"

"I know," Cas cut him of, not wanting to hear Dean tell him that he didn't feel the same. Knowing that Dean wasn't offended by his feelings didn't bring any of the relief that he'd hoped for. "And that's okay."

Dean looked torn, but thankfully glanced at his watch and asked, "Do you want to head back now?"

"I think that would be wise. I'm getting very cold."

"Come on then," Dean said, standing up. After a moment of what looked like hesitation, he held out a hand to help Cas. "Let's get back before it gets colder."

* * *

The fresh air tired Cas out, and when Dean left the soup to simmer he found Cas snoring with a half-completed crossword in his lap. He smiled to himself as he put the book on the table and draped a blanket over him.

"Hmm? Dean?"

"Shh. I didn't mean to wake you," Dean whispered.

"Is it time to eat?"

"No. Go back to sleep."

But Cas retrieved his book from the table as Dean put the TV on quietly; however five minutes later he was snoring again, and Dean chuckled to himself.

* * *

"Dean, that was wonderful," Castiel said as he leaned forward to put his empty soup bowl on the table. "Thank you."

Dean looked down at his bowl to hide his smile. "It's nothing."

"You probably can't wait to get back to work tomorrow. I bet looking after me doesn't make the top one hundred ways to spend your day."

"Oh, I don't know. Looking after you is way better than cleaning the toilet."

"Are you trying to tell me that cleaning the toilet makes it into your top one hundred ways to spend your day?!" Castiel laughed lightly.

Dean roared with laughter, even though it wasn't that funny. "Okay, but seriously – I like having someone to look after."

"But going back to work will be good."

"Yeah. I've kind of missed Bobby nagging at me this week."

"I'll tell him you said that," Castiel smiled. "I'm sure he could find a lot more to nag you for."

"Don't you dare!" Dean laughed. "But yeah. About you coming back tomorrow..."

Castiel sent a rather panicked look in Dean's direction. "Bobby hasn't sacked me, has he?"

"Well I mean you're not exactly an official employee, you've said it yourself—"

"Dean!" Castiel all but shouted at him, praying that he still had a job to go back to, no matter how temporary it was supposed to be.

"He called when you were sleeping and said you should take tomorrow off as well. Just to make sure you're better."

"I am better!"

"I know, I know."

Castiel slumped down in his seat dejectedly, then stiffened and winced as his side protested.

"Bobby might be right."

"Shut up."

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologised immediately. "I'm just so bored, and I feel completely useless just sitting here all day."

"You're not useless, Cas. And we're just being careful because we care." Castiel looked at him and he coughed. "I mean, you know, like friends do..." he trailed off.

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on - Dean apologising for any little word or action that might give Castiel the wrong idea. "You're a good friend," said, by way of reassuring Dean.

"So what do you want do the rest of the night?" Dean asked.

"Is there anything you can think of that doesn't involve watching another film?" Castiel asked. As much as he enjoyed television, he craved something else to do. Though that might partially be boredom talking.

"But you haven't seen any of the best movies!" Dean protested. "I have a duty to show you them. And besides, you can't just watch one Marvel movie - they all interlink and it's awesome. But how about this - enough of me picking films that I think you should see. Tonight you can choose."

Castiel shot him a look of mock surprise. "You're letting me choose? Really?"

"Dude, shut up."

Castiel laughed. "You know, Balthazar mentioned some sci-fi movie that's supposed to be on tonight."

"Balthazar?"

"Dean," Castiel warned.

"No, I just don't know that I'd want to watch something he'd recommend. He looks like he watches foreign films with subtitles, and if I wanted to read I'd pick up a book." But he pounced on the remote to check what was playing, and a couple of minutes later he let out an impressed sound.

"I take it the film gets your approval?" Castiel asked with a smile.

"Definitely. Alien's a classic." Dean's face fell. "It doesn't start until ten thirty, though."

Castiel didn't really understand the TV cable stuff the same way Dean did, so he mostly let him deal with it. He could surf through the channels and that was about it. He carried their bowls through to the kitchen so he could start washing up, and when Dean said, "Wait a sec... I think I bought this a few months ago," Castiel knew he wasn't being addressed.

Dean was still digging through his old video tapes when Castiel came back, rubbing his fingers which had wrinkled in the washing up water.

"Ta-da!" Dean declared, waving the box at Cas. "You put that in and I'll get the food."

"We just ate!"

"We need movie food."

Castiel took the video box from Dean, a bemused expression on his face, and knelt in front of the video player. He copied Dean's actions of simply pushing the video into the slot, and it disappeared into the machine. The film started to play automatically, or at least it looked like it was playing on the video machine, but the TV guide was still on the TV screen. He looked at the remote, but he had no idea what buttons to push.

A few minutes later Dean came back with a bowl of hot buttery popcorn and a bag of candy.

"What is that?" Castiel asked, eyeing the black things suspiciously.

"Liquorice."

"It looks disgusting."

Dean scowled at him. "You and my brother would get on really well. You both have no taste."

Castiel smiled. "I hope I get to meet him one day."

Dean stilled and fell silent.

"But I'm still not eating that," Castiel added, mentally kicking himself for letting the conversation dwell on Sam.

"It's a classic movie food," Dean picked back up. "It's like little chewy pieces of heaven."

"I think God would disagree with you."

"All the more for me then," Dean declared childishly, moving the bag of liquorice to his side.

"Then I suppose the popcorn is mine, then?"

"Hell, no. We're sharing."

Dean grabbed a fistful and stuffed it into his mouth, smiling at Castiel with bulging cheeks.

Castiel shook his head and tossed the remote at Dean. "Here – make it work."

Dean nudged Cas and pointed at a button. "Ah wah," he said through a mouthful of popcorn, and hit the button. Cas snuck a small handful of popcorn and delicately placed the individual kernels into his mouth.

Dean threw himself back onto the couch in a lounging position, arms draped across the back of the sofa and a huge grin on his face.

Castiel tried not to focus on the fact that if he leaned right back, his head would be resting against Dean's arm.

* * *

The first part of the movie went by quickly. Dean was talkative, explaining why he liked the different characters and wondering when the special effects in this movie had gotten so bad, but after a while, Cas began to really get into it.

He could see some themes that really seemed... well... sexual, and he began to wonder if the film was intentionally preying on anxieties over homosexuality and homosexual penetration as a means of discomforting male viewers.

He said as much out loud, and it was like a switch had been flipped. Dean fell almost completely silent, his gaze on Cas as much as the film, and Castiel began to let his commentary fill the space. At first Castiel was afraid he was rambling, but when he checked Dean's reaction from the corner of his eye Dean had a bemused smile on his face. A weird feeling bubbled up in Castiel's chest.

Castiel didn't stop his commentary.

* * *

"Dude, you are seriously weird," Dean said as he switched the TV off, a grin still lighting up his features.

"I was merely pointing out the sexual undertones and symbolism used throughout."

"Cas—"

"You can't see it?"

"—it's a movie about aliens killing people!"

"Yes," Cas conceded. Dean groaned melodramatically when he followed up with, "But not before one of the men was raped by the creature and gave birth to its offspring."

"Okay seriously dude, shut up."

Cas imagined Dean was wishing he'd never shown him the video, but he couldn't find it in himself to be remotely regretful.

"No," Castiel replied, somewhat petulantly, "I think it's interesting."

"Yeah, well, you and your weird-ass interpretations can go shove it. I've seen this movie millions of times and I've never thought about gay oral rape or whatever."

Castiel pondered this for a moment. "Perhaps I'm more aware of the subtext because I have experience with people who perceive homosexuality as something to fear," he mused aloud.

A heavy silence hung between them, highlighted by the weary ticking of the clock on the mantel. Dean looked like he was scrambling for something to say.

"Drink?" Castiel asked, aware that he had perhaps made things between them awkward.

Dean stared at him, a bit of relief in his eyes, but the change of direction in conversation apparently catching him off guard. "Yes. Please."

"Okay."

"I do not want to know what you have to say about the sequels..." Dean muttered to himself as Castiel walked gingerly to the kitchen.

"Did you say something about sequels?" he asked lightly.

"No!"

Castiel chuckled to himself as he got the drinks.

Chapter Text

Thick smoke forces its way into his mouth, winding down his throat, and he coughs and retches at the lack of fresh air until he feels like he's going to burst. Somewhere, a baby cries.

"Take your brother outside!"

His skin is crawling, but the more he scratches the hotter he feels. The flames lick at his heels as he realises there's nowhere to run.

"Dad!"

The flames are in him now, under his skin, and his feet more of their own accord as he carried the bundle that has appeared in his arms outside. He doesn't know what it is, but he knows he has to protect it – has to keep it safe.

It's dark – too dark – and he can't see where he's going. He stumbles blindly through the maze of corridors until eventually he sees a faint glow. He falls to his knees as he crawls towards the light, the bundle still in his arms. He knows what it is, now; it's a baby – his baby. Except once he reaches safety the baby crumbles in his arms.

"No!" he shouts as he tries to pull the baby free.

But all that's left is ash and bones.

"No!"

* * *

"No!"

Dean awoke with a start, blankets tangled around his lower half and his when he reached for the bedside light he fell out of bed with a dull thud.

He was shivering despite feeling like he was burning, his body covered in sweat. He tried to focus, his breathing fast and shallow as he tried to get himself orientated. He was at home. He was home. He was alone, and there was no fire.

Beyond his door a floorboard creaked.

Cas.

Not so alone after all, then. He closed his eyes, hoping that Cas would go away if he stayed quiet, and he began to wonder if he'd imagined it when there was no further sound. He disentangled his limbs from the bed covers and got shakily to his feet, leaning on the wall with one hand to support himself as he moved to the door. He pulled the door roughly open to find Castiel standing there, hand raised as if he was still trying to summon up the courage to rap on the door.

When it became apparent that Castiel wasn't going to say anything, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Castiel's fist, lowering it from where it was frozen in place.

"Oh," Castiel breathed. "I was going to knock."

"Go back to bed, Cas."

"I heard you."

"It was a bad dream. That's all."

"You were shouting for help."

He was... Oh. That was new. He'd woken himself up a lot over the years shouting out, but he'd never been aware of shouting for help before.

"Are you alright?"

Dean forced a smile onto his face. "I'm fine, Cas. Good night."

He shut the door once Cas turned to go, letting his head fall against it with a tired sigh. Every year at around about this time the nightmares came back. He'd gone to bed every night this week expecting to wake up, sweating and screaming, but they hadn't come. In hindsight he should have perhaps told Castiel this would happen, but then that would have led to questions that he didn't want to answer. He'd been stupid to think that maybe this year it would be different, because the dreams were back and worse than ever.

* * *

When Dean's alarm clock jolted him out of another nightmare the next morning he was still tired. He trudged, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen and found a freshly brewed pot of coffee waiting on him. He smiled and poured himself a cup. Castiel didn't really drink coffee all that often, which meant that he'd done it for Dean.

"Thanks," he said, raising his mug when Castiel padded through.

"I figured you could use it," he replied. "Given the amount of shouting you did last night I'd be surprised if you got much sleep."

Dean's mouth went dry as a chill ran up his spine.

"You didn't know?"

"No. The only time I woke up was when you came through."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No... No, it's fine. I'm gonna go shower," he said, shoving his untouched coffee into Castiel's hands and leaving the room.

"Dean?"

Dean started stripping before he'd even closed the door, leaving his boxers in the middle of the floor as he stepped into the shower. He turned the dial right down, shuddering as the warm spray turned cold. Traditionally he spent the day in bed until late afternoon, and would spend the rest of the day drinking himself into a stupor.

But Cas was here, now.

Now Dean didn't stay out as late and didn't sleep in as late.

He shivered as he scrubbed at his body; the cheap, scentless soap failing to lather on his skin. He didn't even like this soap. He just bought it because it was the type of inexpensive soap he'd been used to growing up. Over the years he'd changed his toothpaste and deodorant from a value range store label to a branded variety, but he'd never done the same for his soap. Perhaps it was about time he did, because it even smelled cheap - and it never seemed to take away the smell of oil and grease.

When he ventured back into the kitchen fully clothed Castiel looked up at him.

"Your coffee's cold."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Are you alright?"

Yes. No. Maybe. Three answers rushed into his mouth at the same time - one lie, one truth, and one half-truth - but he swallowed them all down again. He wasn't alright. Not by a long shot. But at least he was alive.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you were alright."

"I'll be fine," he said, not really answering the question.

He tossed his cold coffee down the sink and poured himself a fresh cup.

"Is that mine?" he asked, pointing at the bacon sitting in the frying pan.

"If you want it."

"Awesome," he said, tearing open a roll and lavishing it with butter.

He was aware of Castiel watching him carefully as he piled the bacon on his roll, leaving the fat Castiel had already trimmed off in the pan. He was acting weird, he knew, but he didn't want to talk about it. He bit into his it and started chewing as he carried his breakfast over to the table.

Cas slid the sports page over to him as he lowered his gaze back to the rest of the paper.

Dean tried to ignore the way Castiel's eyes occasionally flicking up as if to check up on him as he read the baseball scores. When he was done he folded the paper in half, the date jumping out at him even though it was the smallest font on the page.

November 2nd.

He scowled and threw the paper across the table to Cas a little too roughly.

"Sorry. There you go."

He glanced at his watch, the number two above the six telling him the date catching his eye.

"I've got to get to work."

"I guess I'll just amuse myself today," Castiel muttered.

"You do that," Dean agreed, his disinterested tone a result of him only half listening to Cas.

Castiel frowned. "Tell Bobby that I'll be back tomorrow, whether he wants me or not. I'm getting cabin fever."

The front door slammed shut and Castiel sighed. Whether it was because Dean's nightmares had disturbed his sleep or he had something on his mind, Dean wasn't behaving like his usual self.

* * *

Dean jogged down the three flights of stairs to the front door, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest and the blood pounding in his ears. He nearly bumped into one of his neighbours at the bottom.

"Sorry," he called over his shoulder, not stopping to see if the guy was alright.

He picked a few stray leaves off the windshield before getting into his car, and as the engine roared to life the radio came on.

"—unseasonably warm today, with temperatures reaching as high as 55°. We might see some light rainfall in the early evening, but that shouldn't spoil what will be a beautiful November second!"

Dean hit play on the cassette player a little too roughly, patting the steering wheel softly in an unspoken apology. The opening to Shoot to Thrill blared out of the speakers, the music wrapping himself in its familiarity, but failed to soothe him as it usually would.

He changed tapes when he stopped at a red light, but Zeppelin was equally unsuccessful at raising him out of his bad mood. When Bon Jovi failed he gave up, opting to complete his journey in miserable silence.

A minor collision between a motorcycle and a Volvo at a junction caused delays, worsening the rush hour traffic. As Dean checked his watch to judge just how late he was going to be the he couldn't help but see the date. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the wheel. What he wouldn't do for a drink. All he wanted to do was get drunk - really, really drunk.

He ignored Bobby's shocked stare when he turned up at work, and kudos to the old man for letting Dean work in peace for forty minutes before coming over to say his piece.

Bobby had known Dean's dad since before Dean was born, though they'd lost touch after Mary's death, and Dean tried not to think that John might have been a part of why Bobby had been willing to take a chance on him when no-one else would. He knew that it was why Bobby never said anything about him not turning up to work on the 2nd, even if it caused problems in the garage, so he didn't blame Bobby for being surprised to see him.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice was hesitant, like Dean might suddenly bolt.

Dean gritted his teeth.

"Are you alright, boy?"

"I'm fine, Bobby," he said without turning round to look at his boss.

"Okay..." Bobby paused, before carefully asking, "How's Cas doing?"

Dean thought about Cas spending the last seven days complaining that he wasn't an invalid so should at least be allowed to make himself a mug of coffee without Dean chasing him back to the sofa to and huffed a small laugh.

"Cas is healing up just fine. He'll be back tomorrow."

"If he needs more time off—"

"That's the last thing he needs."

"Okay."

Dean could hear Bobby fidgeting behind him.

"Well, if you want to take off early, you can. I'm just saying," he said, in a please-don't-start-a-fight-with-me tone. Then he walked away.

Some of the tension in Dean's shoulders drained away, and he leaned over the engine with a tired sigh. Maybe coming into work had been a bad idea. He still had tonight to get through, after all. He huffed an empty laugh as it finally clicked why Bobby had told Cas to take another day to recover – he hadn't expected Dean to come in.

* * *

Dean buried himself in his work all day, distancing himself even further than usual from his workmates.

Or maybe they were distancing themselves from him.

At the end of the day Bobby shouted after him as he was about to leave. "Dean!"

He shut the Impala door again and turned around.

"Am I gonna see you tonight?"

"Of course."

"Good. I just didn't know if you and Cas had... plans... or something."

Dean frowned, and when he responded it was a little too roughly. "No."

"Okay."

* * *

It seemed like Castiel was waiting for him, appearing in the hallway as soon as he'd opened the door.

"So how was work?"

"Busy. Bobby says he'll see you tomorrow."

"Good," Cas smiled. "I thought... after dinner... the Alien sequel's showing? If I promise not to make any comments about sex, of course," he added with an awkward, teasing smile. "And then maybe we could go out. Perhaps it's time I learned how to play pool."

"No."

"N—" Castiel took a step back and nodded. "Okay."

"I have... a thing."

"That's okay," Castiel said, turning moving into the kitchen. "You don't have to justify yourself to me."

Castiel was obviously trying not to sound as upset as he felt, and Dean felt a little guilty for being too short with him.

"I should start on dinner."

Dean stopped in the doorway. "Do you want a hand?" he offered.

"No," Castiel said sharply, before adding, "thank you."

"Well I'm just gonna take a shower."

"Okay."

Dean turned to leave, but then poked his head through the doorway. "Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine, Dean."

Cas didn't sound fine, but maybe that was down to being cooped up indoors for a week. Dean hoped he'd perk up again once he got back to work.

He let the thought fade as he locked the door, quickly stripping off and running the shower hot. The water was too hot but he didn't bother to turn the temperature down, instead grimacing until the burn faded. He ran the bar of soap across his skin, thinking that he was definitely going to pick up something different next time he passed the store.

He halfheartedly stroked his cock, hanging limp between his legs. He couldn't get hard, though, and he cursed. It had been too long since he'd been with anyone. He wanted the relaxed feeling that came with relief, but he wasn't really in the mood to jerk himself off. He gave up and lifted his face up to the spray, dragging tired hands down his face as he wished he could just wipe the date from the calendar. He stood under the spray far longer than was necessary, unsure if he was just close to crying or if he was actually crying as the water ran down his face.

When the water started to run cold he stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the steamed up mirror. Dragging a hand across to clear it he examined his reflection. He looked exhausted. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into the palms of his hands. Barely giving himself enough time to secure the towel around his waist, for Cas was busy in the kitchen, he headed to his bedroom to get dressed.

When he stepped back into the kitchen Castiel was tossing a small salad in some sort of dressing.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah. You need me to do anything?"

"No, I've got everything under control. There's wine in the fridge."

"Wine? " Dean echoed. "When did we start drinking wine?"

"Since I needed a wine for the sauce," Castiel explained, drizzling a creamy white sauce over two pieces of fish. "And it says it goes well with fish."

"I'll stick with beer," Dean said, taking both bottles to the table.

"Suit yourself."

Dean watched as Castiel dished up boiled potatoes and dumped the saucepan in the sink. He cut himself two thick slices of bread and spread butter across each one. "Want some?" he asked.

"No," Castiel replied as he carried his plate and the bowl of salad to the table.

Dean dropped the bread onto his plate and carried it over. He didn't touch the salad, except to pick out a couple of tomatoes, and his plate was empty in minutes.

"That was nice," he said, dragging the last piece of bread across his plate to mop up the sauce and stuffing it in his mouth before it could drip.

"You don't want any salad?" Castiel asked, placing a second helping on his plate.

"Nah. I don't eat rabbit food," he grinned, wiping his hands on his jeans.

* * *

"Two whiskeys," Bobby ordered when Ellen came over to their table.

"Make them doubles," Dean told her.

"Hey, just 'cause you ain't payin' for them!" Bobby snapped, but nodded to Ellen.

"Nuh-uh, not tonight," she said, refusing to take Bobby's money. "First round's on me."

Dean leaned back in his seat, casting a glance around the bar at the various groups of people laughing and joking. He turned back to Bobby and picked at a score in the table.

"So, no Cas tonight?"

"No."

Bobby looked a little surprised, then disappointed. "He didn't want to come?"

"I didn't invite him."

At that Bobby looked confused. "Why not?"

"Because it wasn't his dad that died! Because I didn't want to make him uncomfortable! Because I didn't want him here! Pick one!" Dean growled.

Bobby glared at him. "That damn boy is the best thing that's ever happened to you!"

Dean faltered. "What?"

"You've got no life, boy! You come into work with lipstick on your collar and smelling of cheap perfume, and it's never the same shade twice!"

Dean looked lost for words, before saying, "You paid attention to the lipstick?"

"It's a metaphor, idjit!"

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth formed a silent 'oh' of realisation, before realising that he should probably be offended and scowling.

"I'm tryin' to say that if you let that boy in, you could be happy."

"What— No, I'm not—"

"You haven't got any friends, Dean. Don't shut out the best one you could pray for."

"Now you boys aren't going to start a bar fight on me, are you?" Ellen asked, setting three drinks down in front of them. "Because I'll have you out on your ass sooner than you can cuss me out."

"No, we're good," Bobby told her.

Ellen smiled. "You just keep it that way, Bobby Singer."

"I try. He don't make it easy, though."

"Hey!" Dean objected.

Ellen picked up one of the glasses and raised it high. "Here's to your mamma, kid."

Dean and Bobby raised their glasses, and she clinked her glass to each of theirs in turn before knocking it back. Dean grimaced at the drink burned on its way down, but Bobby didn't bat an eyelid. She gathered their empty glasses together. "Same again?"

"You know us."

"I sure do," she said, pouring them both another and taking her empty glass away, leaving the bottle on the table between them.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Castiel did not like about winter it was the dark mornings. Living with his father, he'd rise no later than seven every morning. He rolled over and drew the covers up to his chin. Living with Dean meant that he could take an extra hour of sleep and get up once the sun had started to rise. He frowned, eyes screwed shut. The apartment was quiet. He fumbled for his phone, opening one eye to check the time.

Seven oh three.

Dean should be up by now. He lay there and listened, wondering if perhaps Dean was merely eating, or brushing his teeth. But after five minutes there was still no sound, so reluctantly he threw back the covers, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. First he checked the kitchen, then the bathroom. Finally he stood outside Dean's bedroom door.

"Dean?" he called, knocking softly. When there was no answer he knocked louder. "Dean?"

He opened the door and peered into the dark room. The bed was empty.

Castiel tried to ignore the feeling of dread that twisted in his stomach. Dean had gone out last night. Just because he'd never not come home while Castiel had been here didn't mean that he couldn't meet some girl and spend the night with her.

Tears pricked at his eyes and he clenched his hands into fists until his nails dug into the skin.

Refusing to entertain his worst thoughts he showered, brushed his teeth, and sat down to breakfast. He ate two slices of butter and toast on automatic, not tasting the food as he chewed, and his coffee went cold.

When the phone rang at ten to nine he stared at it, having to force himself to move and pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Cas?"

"Bobby," he breathed, not knowing whether he should be worried or relieved.

"I take it Dean has left? He's not usually this late, and we're fully booked today so I need all hands on deck."

"I don't think Dean came home last night," he said around the lump in his throat.

"Ah, balls. Call his cell for me. I've got a customer about to blow a gasket out front. Let me know if you reach him."

"Okay."

The line went dead, and Castiel hit the button in the earpiece rest and dialled Dean's number. When it rang out he redialled. "Hello?" he gasped out when someone picked up.

"This is Sheriff Jody Mills, speaking. Who is this?"

Castiel's eyes went wide when he registered the woman's voice on the other end, and then he felt stupid. He'd been trying not to worry when all that had happened was that Dean had picked up some woman and—

Her words slowly caught up with his brain and his stomach sank. Sheriff Jody. Castiel's eyes went wide in horror. "Did you say Sheriff?"

"I sure did."

Panic flooded his system. "Is Dean—"

"Alive? For now," she said lightly. "But if he starts throwing up in my cells I can't promise he'll stay that way."

Castiel opening and closed his mouth as he tried to separate the important questions in his mind from the questions that could wait, all the time wondering what trouble Dean could have got himself into that was so bad that he'd earned an overnight stay in jail.

"Now you still haven't answered my question, son. Who are you?"

"Cas— Castiel Milton," Cas said, finding his voice. "I'm a friend of Dean's."

"Well now, Castiel Milton friend of Dean's. Are you gonna be able to swing by and pick him up?"

Pick him up. Dean couldn't be in too much trouble if he was getting to come home. "Yes. Yes, I can do that."

"Okie-dokie. Well I'll start filling in the paperwork and I'll see you when you get here," she told him cheerily.

"Alright. Yes. I'll be there soon."

"Alrighty, then."

"Good bye. And thank you."

"No worries."

Castiel numbly placed the handset back in the cradle. The sheriff had sounded cheerful, so perhaps there wasn't anything seriously wrong. There was only one way to find out, however, so he picked up the phone again and called a cab.

* * *

Less than forty later Cas was walking into the local police station and asking for Sheriff Mills.

"You're talking to her!" the smiling brunette at the desk said. "Sheriff Jody Mills. I'm gonna put money on you being Cas?"

"Yes."

"Hi, there. Why don'tcha come on through the back."

Apprehension danced through his body as he followed her through to one of the interview rooms.

"Am I a suspect?" he blurted out.

"Should you be?" she queried, her voice laced with amusement.

"No?"

She smiled. "Then no, you're not."

"Oh." He took a deep breath and sat down.

"So you work for Bobby Singer?"

"How did you—"

"You called him on the way here. He called me. Speaks very highly of you both."

"He does?"

"Says your friend has his issues, but that you're a good kid."

Castiel's mouth hung slightly open as he tried to figure out what he should say. "I think we both have our issues," he settled for.

"Hmm."

"Where is Dean?"

"In a cell. I'll take you to see him once you've answered a few questions."

"Then would you please ask them?"

Jody scrutinised him. "How often would you say Dean goes out?"

"A few nights a week."

"And what state would you say he comes home in?"

Castiel's first instinct was to say drunk, but when he actually thought about it Dean didn't come home as drunk as he used to. "A little wobbly on his feet," he said.

"Is Dean having any personal problems?"

He frowned. "Not that I'm aware of. Nothing that's changed recently, at least." When she looked at him, waiting, he elaborated. "He's estranged from his brother."

She leaned back in her seat. "So far you haven't told me anything that is persuading me not to file charges."

"I don't understand."

"Bobby asked me to let him off with a warning. I said I'd consider it. Driving under the influence isn't exactly jaywalking. Of course, he couldn't give me a reason as to why I shouldn't file charges. Or should I say wouldn't." She scratched her head in frustration. "Why am I risking my job for some kid I don't know?" she asked herself.

"Have you spoken to Dean?"

"Tried," she shrugged tiredly. "Doesn't want to talk."

"Can I see him, now?"

Sheriff Mills stared at him for a long moment. "God damn it," she muttered, standing up and walking out of the room.

After a moment's hesitation Castiel followed her.

Dean looked surprised to see him when they reached his cell, eyes widening in surprise before he frowned. "I don't need to be saved," he spat mockingly.

Castiel glared at him. "Neither did I."

Dean squinted up at him, blinking against the fluorescent lights. "What?"

"Get up."

Dean heaved himself to his feet as Sheriff Mills unlocked his cell door, and he was led out to the front desk. There was paperwork to fill out, which Castiel tried his best to fill in on Dean's behalf.

"What about my car?" Dean asked when Castiel called for another cab to take them home.

"It's being detained."

"You can't do that!"

Jody shrugged, uncaring. "The paperwork's going to mysteriously go missing as well. Try dropping in next week. And you'll be getting a fine for that busted tail light as well."

"There's nothing wrong with her tail lights!"

"There will when I'm done with her."

"You fucking—"

"It's a 90-day suspension for a DUI. I imagine that would be rather embarrassing, and somewhat inconvenient, as a mechanic. There's also a fine of up to $5000, and the possibility of jail time. You could have killed somebody last night, and you're damned lucky it was me who picked you up because if it happens a second time I am not going to let this go - no matter how many favours Bobby calls in!" She looked at him staring sullenly at her badge. "Are you listening to me, Dean Winchester, or do I have to use my mom voice?"

Castiel caught the muscle twitching as Dean clenched his jaw, and the tear that spilled over.

"Maybe this would be better spoken about when he comes back for his car," he suggested, placing a hand on Dean's arm and turning him towards the door.

She waved a dismissive hand at them both. "Go. Go! Get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Once outside Dean let rip a barrage of abuse aimed at the sheriff, but Castiel cut him off mid-rant. "You can live without your car for one week, Dean, you could have died!" Castiel snapped as the reached the parking lot.

Dean squinted as the sun hit his eyes. "So?"

"So? So? " Castiel repeated in shock. "I don't understand how you can say that, after all you've done for me. Do you think that Sa..." Castiel trailed off before he could finish.

"Do I think that what? What, Cas?" Dean yelled, venting his anger and guilt and pain on the only person he had right now that would stand by him – though for how much longer? "Say his name. Go on! Say his name!"

"Sam!" Castiel all but screamed. "Do you really think that Sam would be happy if you died?"

"Are you trying to kill yourself? Because if you are, you're going the right way about it! Don't you think we've both lost enough?" Dean's furious expression melted away as a million little things that Sam had said to him flooded his brain. "We buried our mom, and then we buried our dad – I'm not going to bury you, too."

He started shaking, though whether it was from the cold or the drink or the emotional comedown he didn't know, and his cheek stung where the bitter wind hit the tears that fell down his cheeks.

"Damn it boys, I just want to finish my shift in peace! You can either take this home, or I can arrest you both for disorderly conduct," Jody warned, coming up behind them. She turned to Dean, expression softening when she saw his face. "Look, you've had a long night so just go home and take it easy, okay?" she instructed softly.

Dean was vaguely aware of a woman's voice saying something that he couldn't make out; the words muffled as if he were underwater. Then gentle but firm hands were gripping his arms and guiding him towards the waiting cab, and he let the hands manoeuvre him into the back seat without complaint.

Another voice spoke – this time a man's, deep and rough – but again the words were muted.

"Are you going to be okay?" Jody asked Cas.

Castiel looked at Dean, practically catatonic in the back seat. "I don't know."

Jody sighed. "Look, I don't know you and you don't know me, but I know Bobby Singer is a good guy so if he says the two of you are alright then you're alright." She gave him a card. "If you need anything, you give me a call, okay? I don't want to be clearing up your friend's mess if he gets behind the wheel of a car again in the state he was in last night."

"Thank you," Castiel said, pocketing the card. He didn't think he'd be calling the sheriff, however, for he knew how Dean felt about strangers poking their noses in his business. "For everything," he added, when Jody said nothing else.

"You boys take care, okay? And tell Bobby that I haven't forgotten about that twenty bucks he owes me!" she grinned, but her smile couldn't quite erase the concern from her eyes.

* * *

Castiel toed his shoes and socks off at the door, catching Dean doing the same out of the corner of his eye, only the movements were clumsy and less co-ordinated.

"You stink." Castiel wasn't trying to be mean; just honest.

Dean merely grunted in response.

"Come on." He dragged Dean to the bathroom and started running the bath, thinking that it was a strange how he was now doing for Dean what Dean had once done for him. "Dean?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to see Dean staring vacantly into the mirror instead of getting undressed. Castiel stood and moved to him. "Dean?" he asked quietly, taking a gentle hold of his wrist.

Dean blinked.

Castiel swallowed thickly. "How about I do it? After all, we're both men here!" he joked lightly, throwing Dean's words back at him.

There was no response, so he carefully lifted his hands to Dean's collar and unbuttoned the top button; the smell of stale sweat, nicotine and alcohol making his nose wrinkle. Dean let him, so he worked his way down. The cuffs were next, and then Cas removed the shirt, not knowing why he was bothering to roughly fold it in half and half again. He cupped Dean's face and brushed a thumb across his cheek.

"Dean?" he pleaded in a whisper, seeing his friend in such a state scaring him.

He licked his lips, and started to work Dean's belt undone. This was weird. This was wrong, it was— As he lifted Dean's feet out of his jeans Dean stepped out of them. He glanced up, seeing Dean looking down at him as if wondering how he got there. Castiel slowly stood up, Dean's eyes never leaving his until they were level.

His eyes were drawn to the scattering of freckles across Dean's cheeks and nose, and a desire to kiss him surged up in him.

Dean blinked once, twice, three times, and frowned. "Cas?"

Castiel's eyes went wide and he turned away, moving to turn the taps off before the bath started to overflow. But Dean didn't yell at him; didn't say anything. When he turned back Dean hadn't moved.

"I thought a bath might make you feel better," he offered.

"Yeah," Dean responded distantly. "Yeah."

Castiel averted his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck as Dean dropped his boxers, stepping aside to let him pass, but he'd be lying if he said his eyes didn't flick down to Dean's ass as he stepped into the tub, just for a moment.

He left the room as Dean settled into the water, closing the door behind him and sliding down it until he hit the floor. He didn't know what to do. He hugged himself, stroking his left arm as he listened. There was no sound from behind him. He knew Dean wasn't religious but he was, so he whispered a prayer to God, hoping that He was listening. Dean wasn't Dean right now, and Cas didn't know what was wrong.

Heaving himself to his feet he opted to make something as an early lunch, because he doubted Dean had had much to eat – if anything – since dinner last night; however that was easier said than done. He opened and closed cupboards, seeing but not seeing the contents. It should be something simple yet filling, that would stay in Dean's stomach.

He eyed the tomatoes and crusty bread sitting out from dinner the night before, considering bruschetta. He knew there was still half a pepper and half an onion left over in the fridge, and figured dried basil would just have to work. He could even sprinkle a little cheese on the top, and if Dean looked wary he could call them mini pizzas.

Castiel liked cooking. He'd always found it relaxing. As he focused on the food in front of him, chopping and mixing, dicing and sprinkling, he allowed himself to forget about everything else.

He'd made too much, he realised, as he spooned the mixture onto toasted bread and found he needed to cut more.

As he was slicing Dean padded through, barefoot and wearing a grey Henley that hugged his muscles. Despite that, he looked small as he watched Castiel at work. He didn't sit down, or ask if he could help; he just stood there, watching.

Castiel pulled the bread out from under the grill and poured a glass of fruit juice, giving it to Dean and sitting him down.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Cas?"

"I don't understand."

"With me."

How was he supposed to answer that? He had nowhere else to go, but that wasn't the right answer to give. "Why shouldn't I be here, Dean?" he asked, turning the question around.

A bitter chuckle burst past Dean's lips. "How long have you got?"

Cas chewed at his lip. "I could tell you that I have nowhere else to go, but even if I did there is nowhere else I would rather be than here with you, because you are my friend."

Dean shook his head. "You gotta get better friends."

"No, I've got to finish seeing to lunch," Castiel joked.

His attempt at humour didn't even raise a smile.

"I don't know why you can't see how wonderful you are," Castiel said as he turned back to the food, so quietly he wasn't even sure if Dean would hear him.

It only took a few minutes to warm the bruschetta enough to melt the cheese, and Castiel lined them up on a single serving dish.

"Help yourself," he told Dean, placing it down between them.

Obediently Dean grabbed a slice and took a large bite. "Mm, this is really nice," he said.

"Good, because there's plenty," Cas smiled.

They ate in silence after that, save for the crunch of the bread.

"You should call Bobby," Castiel said once the plate was empty.

"I'll see him when I get in."

"You can't seriously be thinking about going to work!"

"Why not?"

"Because... because..." Words escaped him. He knew what he wanted to say, but trying to say it in a way that wouldn’t risk Dean taking offence was harder.

"I've gone into work hungover before," Dean said. "It's not fun, but I can manage. I'll just take some aspirin or something."

Castiel, perhaps wisely, kept his mouth shut.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" Bobby yelled as Dean walked into the garage.

"I wasn't," Dean growled, already on the defensive. His head was still throbbing and he just wanted to quietly get on with his day.

"Damn straight you weren't! I know you've had a rough go of it—"

"Damn it, would people stop using my dead parents as an excuse for me fucking up!"

"Would you shut your mouth and listen to me for once! If you were anyone else I'd sack you for half the crap you pull!"

Castiel glanced around while Bobby and Dean glared at each other, aware of the other mechanics trying to look busy as they eavesdropped.

"Then why don't you?"

"Because you're a damn good mechanic! And because I'd hate to think where you'd end up if I let you go!"

"Well maybe I'll quit!"

"Dean!" Castiel gasped.

"I'm serious!" Dean yelled. "I don't need your pity!"

"Don't be so stupid, boy!"

"Okay, fine, you want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking that I wanted to forget! I was thinking I wanted to pass out so that I didn't have to dream! I was thinking that just once I wanted November to pass me by without the nightmares coming back!" Dean yelled until he was red in the face.

Castiel could pinpoint the exact moment Dean realised he'd said too much, and things started to make sense.

Bobby motioned outside. "You see all those cars?" Bobby snapped, most of the anger gone from his tone. "They need washed. Today, that's your job."

"I thought I was a good mechanic?" Dean grumbled.

"Well today you're gonna be a good car washer! And you're gonna come in on Saturday and help clear the backlog you've created."

"Fine."

Bobby looked around, as if suddenly realising something was missing. "Where's your car?"

"Police lockup," Dean complained.

"Damn it, I knew I should have sent you home yesterday. Next year you're taking the second off like you usually do," Bobby said tiredly. "Now get a move on – those cars won't wash themselves."

When Dean stormed off to get soap and a sponge, Bobby followed Cas into the office. "How is he really?" he asked, shutting the door behind him.

Castiel sat down and sighed. "I don't know."

"Has he told you... anything about his parents?" Bobby asked carefully.

Castiel focused on the paperwork in front of him. "He told me that they died," he answered. "But..."

"But what?"

Castiel looked at him. "I think there's something – or a few things – he hasn't told me."

"Don't take it personally, kid," Bobby told him with a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "Dean keeps a lot of stuff bottled up. Then stuff like this happens."

Castiel merely nodded, the turn in conversation making him uncomfortable. "I should get started on this," he said.

Bobby took the hint. "Yeah, and I've got cars to fix. Damn idjit," he muttered on the way out.

* * *

It was dark when they started walking home, and Dean barely said a word until the passed a takeaway joint.

"Do you want pizza for dinner?"

Castiel didn't, but those few words were the most Dean had said in hours.

"Yes. What do you want?" he asked, trying to force conversation.

Dean shrugged.

"Meat feast?" Castiel suggested, scanning the menu in the window.

Beside him, Dean grunted.

Cas usually had Hawaiian, but he fancied something different. "I think I'll try the spicy chicken. But I'll ask them to put tomatoes on it as well."

He sucked in a breath as Dean moved to stand behind him. He could feel the warmth radiating off him, and Dean was both too close and not close enough.

"Spicy beef," he said.

Castiel knew better than to ask what size of pizza. 'Go large or go home,' Dean had told him the first time he'd asked. He stepped inside, holding the door for Dean, and walked up to the counter to place their order.

"And a garlic bread," Dean piped up.

"That'll be twenty-seven fifty."

As Castiel reached for his wallet Dean brushed him aside, silently handing over his card.

"There's a charge on card transactions less than thirty dollars."

Dean scanned the board behind the cashier. "Then ring up a two litre Coke as well."

"Thirty dollars exactly."

When Dean shoved his card in the reader Cas picked up a new takeaway menu and sat down.

"We've got one of them at home."

"This is a newer one," Castiel told him, showing him the front.

Dean fell silent again, staring blankly at the menu board behind the counter. The wait for their pizzas seemed longer than usual as they waited in silence, other customers coming and going in a constant chatter while the phone rang regularly.

"It's busy tonight," he commented, not expecting an answer.

Dean hummed in agreement.

"Spicy beef, spicy chicken with tomato, and garlic bread!" the cashier shouted at them.

Dean headed outside while Castiel hurried to retrieve their food.

"Enjoy."

"Thank you." He hurried outside to catch up with Dean, who was already walking off.

The rest of the walk home passed in a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward, and when they got in Castiel didn't bother with plates. He poured himself some soda, while Dean went straight to the fridge for a beer.

Castiel bit his lip as he pondered whether or not to say something, but chose to keep quiet. For now.

Dean skipped through the channels but nothing caught his eye, so he passed the remote to Cas who settled for a nature documentary about meerkats. It wasn't long before Dean ventured back to the kitchen for a second beer, however, not even halfway through his pizza. By the time he was finished he was on his third. When Castiel took the empty pizza boxes away and Dean asked him to bring back what would be his fourth, Castiel spoke up.

"Don't you think three beers is enough?"

"Don't you think you should mind your own damn business?"

"By that logic you should have left me to jump off the bridge."

Dean's gaze hardened. "Maybe I should have. Now do I have to get my own fucking beer?"

Castiel turned on his heel and moved to the kitchen where he fought back tears, quiet fury thrumming under his skin. He told himself that Dean didn't mean it; that Dean was just lashing out because he was hurting. But it didn't stop the anger surging through him.

He looked in the fridge, seeing the several bottles of beer lying on the shelves, and for a moment considered pouring them all down the sink. But he knew that Dean would then go out, if he was truly set on getting drunk, and he'd rather Dean got drunk where he could watch over him. Reluctantly he took the beer through to Dean, who took it without so much as a thank you.

Not bothering to ask Dean if he needed to take a leak, he locked himself in the bathroom and ran himself a bath. "If you need to piss you've got enough beer bottles lying around," he muttered angrily as he stripped off.

Unfortunately the hot water did little to ease the tension in his muscles, instead weakening his resolve until he let out a choked sob and his eyes burned, tears running down his cheeks against his wishes.

"Fuck you!" he shouted at the ceiling, splashing his face and washing away his tears. "Fuck you and your kindness! Fuck you and your green eyes! Just... fuck you!"

Footsteps thundered down the hall and then Dean was battering at the door. "The fuck are you shouting about in there?"

"Nothing."

"Then shut up."

Footsteps receded until the living room door slammed closed, and Castiel lowered himself down until his face was below the water. The ceiling tiles blurred into one, then. He wondered what would happen if he just didn't get up again, though he knew he would.

He held his breath for as long as he could then sat up.

The thought of dying no longer seemed like the easy way out. It scared him, now. Life wasn't easy, but then wasn't that the point?

He reached for the shampoo and massaged it into his hair before ducking under the water again to rinse it off. Then he washed himself all over, and by that time the bathwater had started to cool so he pulled the plug and dried himself off, belatedly realising that he hadn't brought clean clothes with him.

Fortunately there was still some clothes hanging on the dryer in the kitchen from the day before, including a flannel nightshirt. He slipped it on along with a fresh pair of boxers and made himself a coffee.

When he returned to the living room, mug of coffee in hand, he found that Dean had turned to whiskey. He put his mug down and gathered up the empty beer bottles to put in the recycling.

"You're blocking the TV."

Castiel ignored his protests, deliberately clanking the bottles loudly together in a somewhat childish act of rebellion as he carried them through to the kitchen.

He sat and watched whatever explosion-filled movie Dean was watching, but it failed to hold his interest. Making his coffee had been more interesting.

"I'd really like to go to bed," Castiel said as it neared eleven o'clock.

Dean fumbled for remote, grabbing it on his second try and switching the TV off. "Fine. Go to bed. Can't even watch TV in my own damn apartment," he muttered to himself as he stormed off down the hall to his room, taking the bottle of whiskey with him.

Castiel lay awake for a long time after that, finally starting to doze off at around one; however he was awoken half an hour later by Dean's shouts. He screwed his eyes shut and pulled the covers up to his ears in an attempt to block out his friend's cries.

* * *

It was the same the next night, and the next. Castiel resorted to scrubbing the oven clean on Thursday night until he thought his fingers were going to bleed, but at least it looked cleaner. It also enabled him to keep count of how many beers Dean had.

Far too many.

So on Friday he hid the beer; the whiskey being long gone.

"Where the hell's the beer?" Dean asked, poking around in the fridge. "I might be a bit fuzzy on last night, but I definitely remember having another pack in here."

"Maybe it's not such a bad thing there's none left," Castiel said quietly as he dried the dishes.

The fridge door closed and Dean stared at him. "Where is it?"

Castiel put the plate he was drying down. "Dean, please. Not again."

"Where. Is. My. Beer?"

Castiel bit his lip. "You don't need to get drunk. I know you think it helps but—"

"It does help!" Dean yelled.

Castiel jumped, body instinctively tensing for a blow that never came. Afraid of pushing too far, he silently walked over to the vegetable drawer and pulled out four bottles.

"That's more like it," Dean said. He put three in the fridge and took the other one through to the living room.

Castiel stood there for several minutes, trying to force himself to relax. Deep breaths – in through his nose; out through his mouth. He trembled slightly as Dean's voice yelled at him, over and over in his mind.

He missed his friend.

He waited until he'd stopped shaking before finishing drying the dishes, and called Balthazar. He didn't mention Dean; simply listened as Balthazar told him about things he'd done. It was calming. Unfortunately Balthazar couldn't stay on the phone all night, so when he had to go, he sat on the far side of the living room, away from Dean, and filled in some crosswords in the book Dean had bought him.

He really missed Dean, and hoped this new version wasn't here to stay.

He was relieved when Dean remembered he was working on Saturday and went to bed. Castiel sat up and watched some rubbish movie about a giant snake in an attempt to get his brain to wind down. It half worked, and he put the light out at half past midnight.

The sound of shouting woke him at quarter past two. He waited for Dean's cries to die down as usual, but when they didn't he tiptoed down the hall and stood outside his door.

If he was being honest he was a little afraid of going in, but when Dean let out a particularly pained cry he opened the door as carefully and as quietly as he could.

Dean was thrashing under the covers, shouting for his mother.

Cas covered his mouth with his hand, his heart breaking for Dean despite his behaviour the past week. His feet started moving before he was even aware of deciding to move closed, and shook Dean's shoulder.

Dean snorted himself awake. "'S just another dream," he mumbled, eyes screwed shut to keep the tears at bay.

Castiel turned to go, but then Dean whispered, "Stay with me?" so quietly that if he'd wanted, he could pretend he hadn't heard him. And maybe that was the point. But he turned back, and Dean shuffled over to make room for him. He hesitated for a heartbeat, unsure whether to sit on top of or under the covers, before deciding that Dean's room was too cold.

He found himself stroking a hand through Dean's hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and Dean didn't complain. He actually seemed to like it, if the way his breathing quickly fell into a steady rhythm was any indication.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, feeling like he was taking advantage of Dean's drunken state. Which he probably was.

"Nothing's wrong," Dean slurred into his pillow.

"Please don't lie to me," Cas pleaded. "Talk to me. I'm worried about you."

"You should be pissed at me."

"Well, I'm not." He was a little pissed, but his relief outweighed that.

Dean sniffed, and looked like he was either about to cry or punch something. "Cas, I fucked up," he said, his voice broken.

"I know."

Dean's hand found his and gripped it tight.

Castiel stayed there until Dean fell asleep, brushing his other hand through Dean's hair and thinking that it was just as soft as it looked. When a deep snore rumbled in Dean's throat, he eased himself out of the bed and returned to his own.

Chapter Text

The look of surprise on Castiel's face when he came out of the church on Sunday and saw Dean waiting for him, leaning against the Impala, made him chuckle.

"I got her back!" he declared with a grin. "I had to beg and plead with Sheriff Mills to let me have her back today, and I'll have to fix the damn tail light on my lunch break tomorrow, but at least she's going to be back home."

"Just don't get drunk and drive again," Castiel begged.

Dean coughed and felt his cheeks blush. "Yeah, about that."

When Castiel folded his arms and stared at him Dean realised he wasn't going to make it easy for him. And deservedly so.

"Can we go somewhere?" he asked quietly.

"Where did you have in mind?"

"There's a place just outside of town I like to go to sometimes. We could take lunch up there and... talk," he finished reluctantly.

Castiel nodded once, and Dean felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease. That was the easy part. Actually talking - opening up and telling Cas the one thing he never spoke about - that was going to be the hard part. But he owed it to him.

They stopped off at a café on the way and bought sandwiches, crisps, and drinks, then Dean drove them out of town. He glanced over at Cas as they drove over the bridge, aware of his friend looking out at the place he'd fallen from.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"How was church?"

"Are you asking because you care or because you want to be polite?"

"Uh," Dean hesitated. "A bit of both?"

It struck him as the sort of comment Castiel would usually huff a small laugh at, but apparently not today.

"They're preparing for Christmas."

"Isn't that a little far away to be thinking about?"

"Not when you have to organise the children's Christmas party. There's food to organise, presents to wrap, we need to hire a Santa suit, and they're still trying to organise more shoeboxes for children abroad so that—"

"Okay, okay, I get it. You've got a lot to do."

"And we could use all the help we can get."

He knew what Castiel was hinting at - that he should volunteer - but he was hesitant to commit before Cas knew the truth about him.

"So, uh, shoeboxes?" he asked instead, trying to look interested.

"You fill a shoebox with things children in poverty might need. A brush, hair slides, colouring books and crayons, sweets... Things that will brighten their lives, even just a little. But also things that will be useful; toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, underwear..."

"I get it. And then they get sent out where they're needed, right? Like where's there's been war or a disaster?"

"Or simply where poverty is rife, exactly."

"That's a pretty neat idea. But I mean, shoeboxes? Don't most people throw them out?"

"I think it's just a generic term. I'm sure any box of a similar size would do."

Dean almost missed the turn-off. He slowed down as he drove along the narrow dirt track until they came to a grassy area, wide enough for maybe three cars side-by-side, and parked up a good few feet from the edge.

"Don't get too close," he warned when Cas got out and walked forward.

He stopped a couple of feet from the edge and leaned forward to look down. There was a sharp drop for a few hundred feet or so before the hillside sloped out again. "I don't like the height," he said, moving back again. "I don't like it."

"Well don't look over, then," Dean grinned. When Cas didn't smile back he held out his sandwich. "Here."

Cas tore off small pieces of his tuna salad on brown bread and placed them in his mouth, whereas Dean took enormous bites of his pastrami. Even though Dean's was a triple, he'd still started his crisps before Cas had even finished his sandwich.

"It's nice up here," Castiel commented.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "It helps me clear my head."

"Was this where you were coming from the night you found... the night we met?" Castiel corrected himself.

"Uh, no," Dean admitted sheepishly. "I was giving a girl a ride home."

"You had sex with her."

Dean laughed, and started choking when a shard of crisp got stuck in his throat. He took his juice from Cas and gulped down half of it, successfully dislodging it.

"Wow," he wheezed, tears streaming down his face. "Put it bluntly, why don't you."

"But you did, didn't you?"

"I... Yes," Dean admitted.

"There's no need to be embarrassed about it."

"I'm not embarrassed about it."

"You sound it."

He did, didn't he? Jeez, when did he start blushing about sex? He ran a hand through his hair as he remembered why they were here, regretting choosing it because this was his place and he didn't want it associated with bad memories.

"Wasn't there a reason we came here?" Castiel asked, almost as if he could read Dean's mind.

Dean closed his eyes. As much as he didn't want to talk about this, he couldn't let himself back out now. If he did he risked pushing Cas away and losing him altogether. His right hand clenched and unclenched at his side. "D'you remember what I told you?"

"About?"

He swallowed. "My mom."

"Yes."

Dean focused all his attention on his empty crisp packet as he folded it and tied it in a knot. "It was my fault she died," he admitted quietly, unable to look Castiel in the eye.

The soft intake of breath beside him was almost enough to make him walk away.

"I don't understand. How old were you?"

"Four."

"I don't understand," Cas repeated, with a small shake of his head.

"It's not rocket science, Cas. She's dead because of me."

Castiel opened and closed his mouth as he shook his head vehemently, staring at him in in shock. "I don't understand, Dean. What are you saying?"

"I couldn't sleep. Got up to ask for a drink of water." He could still see her in his mind after all these years, as clear as if she was standing right in front of him now. "She was in Sam's room," he continued, his voice cracking. "There was this guy, and he... he... There was blood all over her nightdress, and I couldn't move. She was whispering my name, and I couldn't move."

"Dean, you must have been so scared—"

"'S no excuse, Cas. The guy turned to me, and I'll never forget his eyes until the day I die. They were yellow. I mean, I know no-one has yellow eyes, but... they looked yellow. Point is, he grinned and told me to go back to bed, and I did. My mom was still alive, and she was saying my name, and I just went back to bed." He turned his back on Cas and looked out over the town. "Dad was downstairs, asleep in front of the TV. By the time he woke up and realised the house was on fire, it was too late. We barely got out of there, but mom, she..."

He choked on tears and covered his hand with his mouth, then two arms were snaking around his waist. Cas was hugging him, face pressed against his back.

"You said it yourself - you were a child, and you were scared."

"Dad died blaming himself. He used to say that if he'd gone to bed like she'd asked instead of staying up to watch the end of a movie he'd have heard something. Hell, even Sam feels responsible because she died in his room. He was six months old, for crying out loud!"

He pulled away and turned to face Cas, needing to make him understand.

"It's my fault. I should have shouted for dad, but instead I went back to bed. She's dead because I didn't help her!"

"It is not your fault, Castiel argued adamantly. "It's a tragedy, yes, but you cannot be blamed."

"I could have saved her," he breathed wishfully, eyes glazing over.

"Maybe she would have lived if you'd shouted out. Maybe she'd have died anyway. You don't know." Castiel paused before speaking again. "I bet Sam doesn't blame you."

"That's because Sam doesn't know!"

"Your brother loves you." Cas placed two fingers over Dean's mouth when it looked like he was going to argue. "He loves you," he repeated. "I know you don't have the best relationship—"

"Huh, that's an understatement," Dean muttered.

"—but if he didn't love you he wouldn't keep helping you. He wouldn't blame you, Dean. He'd understand."

Dean shook his head. There was no way Sam could understand Dean letting their mother die; letting their father almost drink himself to death. Castiel looked torn, and Dean couldn't blame him.

"My mother died giving birth to me," Castiel revealed. "Does that mean I killed her?"

"It's hardly the same thing," Dean said, leaning against the Impala's hood. Then he realised that was a pretty shitty response. "I'm sorry, that was... I'm sorry."

Castiel let it slide. "We believed that it was God's will, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel guilty about it for a long time."

"Are you trying to tell me that my mom dying was God's will?" Dean scoffed with tears in his eyes.

"No," Castiel replied calmly. "I'm trying to tell you that you shouldn't feel guilty for something you can't control."

Dean stared at his feet, but slowly reached out to take Castiel's hand. He half expected him to jerk his hand away but, to his surprise, Cas spread his fingers, interlocking their hands. He gave his hand a squeeze.

They looked out at the buildings dominating the landscape; metal and concrete almost as far as the eye could see.

"It was this week, wasn't it?" Castiel asked in realisation.

Dean frowned in confusion until he realised he meant the anniversary of her death. "Yeah. Monday."

"I'm so sorry. If I'd have known I'd—"

"You'd have what, Cas? Held my hand and told me everything was gonna be okay?"

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Let me in and then push me away."

The grip on his hand tightened and Dean looked down, surprised to see their hands still together. He's forgotten they were. It was... comfortable.

"I don't need you to be sorry," he murmured.

"Well it doesn't change the fact that I am," Cas scowled.

"I know."

"What do you need?" Castiel asked him softly.

He looked at Cas and replied, "You." He said it without thinking, and it wasn't until he said it that he realised it was true. "I need you."

* * *

"I'm not mad at you for drinking," Castiel said over his shoulder, attention on the potatoes he was peeling and slicing.

On the other side of the kitchen Dean froze, a half moulded burger in one hand. "What?"

"I'm not mad at you for drinking. I think I can almost understand that. I'm a little mad at the way you've treated me the past few days—"

"I can understand that."

"Please don't interrupt me, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened in surprised but he kept his mouth shut.

Cas hesitated. "I'm disappointed. I expect better from you."

Well, wasn't that always the problem? He let people down.

"I deserve better," Cas continued.

When Dean was sure Castiel was finished, he agreed. "Yeah, you do. And I'm sorry. I'm just not used to having to think about how what I do affects other people."

Castiel softened. "I was worried about you. Yes, I'm mad, but most of all I'm relieved - relieved that you're alive." He didn't miss the irony that their roles had reversed since they first met. Dean had started to put the broken pieces of Castiel together, and now he was trying to piece Dean back together.

Dean stared at him, his tongue sticking out between his teeth. His first instinct was to tell Cas that he was the only one grateful that he was alive, but he knew Castiel wouldn't hear it. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "For saying that I should have left you on that bridge."

Castiel took a deep breath and said nothing, so Dean turned back to shaping burgers.

"Thank you. I knew you didn't mean it, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. That it doesn't still hurt."

Dean swallowed thickly. He hadn't realised just how deep words he didn't mean could cut. "Cas, if I kept waking up and reliving that day like Groundhog Day, I'd stop every damn time."

"I don't understand that reference," Castiel said. "But I appreciate that you wouldn't make a different choice, given the chance."

"Bill freakin' Murray, dude," he said, chuckling at the knowledge that Cas wouldn't get that reference either. "You've got to see Groundhog Day. And Ghostbusters. And—"

"Why don't we concentrate on dinner first, hmm?" Castiel smiled.

Chapter Text

Castiel continued to see Pamela regularly, however she seemed to focus more on his childhood before he realised he was gay than his current problems. She kept telling him that it was 'part of the process', but while he wasn't entirely convinced he was prepared to give it time. He was just glad that Father Reynolds' church had an arrangement with Pamela and a fund to help its parishioners in need of financial aid, because he wouldn't have been able to afford Pamela's rates himself - and he would never have been able to admit as much to Dean.

There had been a noticeable difference in Dean's attitude and behaviour in the run up to Thanksgiving, though whether that was because the anniversary of his mother's death had passed, he'd opened up to Cas, or simply because he liked Thanksgiving Cas didn't know, but Dean's good mood was contagious.

Unfortunately, Pamela's sessions seemed to bring him down again for she seemed determined to get him to open up about his father.

"He is a good, devout Christian man."

Pamela gave him a surprised look. "That doesn't tie in with what you've told me previously."

Castiel stiffened. "What?"

"You've told me that he hit you, that he manipulated you, and—"

"He believed he was doing the right thing."

"By hurting you?"

Castiel looked at his lap.

"Doesn't that make you angry?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Anger is an emotion that serves only to hurt other people."

"Have you ever been angry?"

"A little," Cas conceded.

"Why? What, or who, made you feel angry?"

"Dean."

"What did he do?" Pamela pushed.

"He was rude to my friend."

"And that hurt you? Made you angry?"

"Yes."

"And how did you resolve that anger?"

Castiel frowned, uncomprehending.

"Why do you no longer feel angry with Dean?"

"Because I forgave him."

"Did you?" Pamela asked. "Did he apologise?"

"Yes. To me. Eventually."

"Do you still feel hurt by the way he acted?"

"I guess," Castiel answered tentatively. "But it wasn't his fault."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Exactly."

"Pamela, I don't understand," Castiel sighed. She always seemed to talk in riddles.

"Look at it this way, blame can only be directed in one of two directions: outward, at those who have hurt you; or inward, at yourself. Someone's got to be responsible. If it wasn't Dean's fault, then do you think you did something to make him react in a way that hurt you?"

Castiel tried to think what he could have done to provoke Dean. "I have been spending a lot of time with Balthazar."

"Your friend?"

"Yes. Perhaps I made Dean feel neglected."

"Have you also been spending time with Dean?"

"Yes."

"Then it doesn't sound like you've been neglecting him."

Castiel thought some more. "Then I don't know what I could have done," he said eventually.

"I don't think you did anything," Pamela reassured him. "Instead of being rude to Balthazar, Dean should have respected that you have been making other friends. If he had a problem, then he should have spoken to you about it."

That sounded like what Dean had said after that night at the bar. Now if you think I've got a problem, just ask me about it. "Dean doesn't talk about things."

"And how does that work out for him?"

Castiel looked at his lap again, thinking about Sam Winchester. "Not very well."

"I'm going to give you a homework exercise," Pamela smiled. "I want you to talk to Dean - sit him down and really talk to him. Let him know how he made you feel."

"I don't want to upset him," Castiel said.

"If you don't talk to him, he might hurt you again in the future."

Dean wouldn't like that, Castiel's brain offered helpfully.

"Castiel," Pamela began slowly, "have you ever heard the expression, 'to err is human; to forgive, divine'?"

Castiel glanced up at her, and nodded once.

"In my experience as a counsellor, far too often people say 'forgive and forget' when what they really mean is 'pretend it didn't happen'. But if you pretend it didn't happen, it excuses the actions of those who have hurt you. Therefore, you open yourself up to being hurt again, and again, and again."

"What does this have to do with my father?"

"You say you've forgiven him but, by forgiving him without holding him accountable, you end up blaming yourself. And as long as you blame yourself, you will feel guilty. I want you to realise that forgiveness isn't always the best solution. So, what would you say if I asked you to 'unforgive' your father?"

"Unforgive?" Castiel echoed, not quite sure he understood her correctly. "You want me to blame him?"

"Not blame him - hold him responsible. He hurt you. Something we'll talk more about later," she added.

"He believes—"

"What do you believe?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You've told me before."

"That my feelings aren't the sin I was told they were," he conceded.

Pamela nodded. "Until the next session, I want you to hold people accountable for whatever way they make you feel. This is the first step in getting rid of your misplaced guilt, and the first step in moving on."

* * *

As Castiel left her office after his appointment, he scanned the street for the Impala. He'd arranged for Dean to meet him afterwards so they could shop for Thanksgiving dinner, and it was something he was irrationally excited about. The familiar black car pulled out of a parking spot a few yards up the street as he looked, and he slid easily into the passenger seat.

"Did you remember the list?" he asked as he buckled up.

"List?" Dean asked, looking confused.

Castiel stared at him. "The shopping list? The one I called to say I'd forgotten and could you please bring it with you?"

"Oh," Dean said. "That list."

"You forgot."

"Sorry."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Now we have to go back and get it which means we're going to get stuck in a queue at the busiest time of the day and—"

He stopped when Dean waved a piece of paper at him, grinning like an idiot.

"Assbutt," he complained grumpily, snatching the list from him.

"You're so easy to wind up sometimes."

"And you're not funny," Castiel shot back.

It might have been childish, but he refused to acknowledge Dean as they drove to the store; instead studying the list like he'd never seen it before when in fact he'd written it the night before. They would have to budget this trip carefully. Thanksgiving dinner would be expensive and they were buying items for the church's shoebox campaign, so they would have to make sacrifices elsewhere. An asterisk marked against several items meant that they were going to buy a cheaper brand than usual, though Dean had refused to compromise on toilet paper.

"The own-brand stuff scratches my ass!" Dean had complained when he'd suggested it.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologised as he parked up in his usual spot far away from the store entrance.

"No you're not. You just don't like it when I don't talk to you."

"I'll get a cart," Dean told him.

The sheer volume of turkey-themed decorations that greeted them as they walked through the door overwhelmed Cas - from napkin rings and name place holders to a giant inflatable turkey.

"Are we supposed to buy all of this stuff?" he asked, unable to take it all in.

"Hell no," Dean said, striding straight past a display of stuffed turkey centrepieces.

"Dean?" Castiel hurried after him.

"I don't mind the food, but all this rubbish is too much."

"Too much what?"

"Just... too much."

They made their way round the fruit and veg section first, Cas selecting the nicest looking onions and parsnips while Dean grabbed a prepacked bag of potatoes.

"We done?" Dean asked, ready to move on.

"No," Castiel said, scoring things off the list. "We still need mushrooms and sprouts."

"You're gonna give me gas," Dean complained, pushing the cart to the other side of the aisle.

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he squinted at Dean out of the corner of his eye. "You don't need me to give you gas."

They'd had tacos the night before and something in the spice mix must have upset Dean's stomach.

Dean didn't even blush; just laughed.

"It's not funny!" Castiel protested, fighting back a grin because it was slightly amusing now that the event had passed. "That's where I sleep!"

Dean just laughed harder.

"It was horrible," Cas complained.

They continued their way around the store, filling the cart with everything they needed (and some things they didn't). Castiel refused to comment on the crate of beer Dean hefted off the shelf, and when he noticed Dean deliberately trying not to look like he was eyeing a copy of Busty Asian Beauties reached past and tossed it into the cart with a dramatic eye roll. He may have tried to lecture Dean in the past but he'd be a hypocrite if he did so now. He might not jerk off to almost-naked pictures of strangers, but he did jerk off to fantasies of his best friend. He wasn't sure which was worse.

They religiously traversed up and down every aisle; Dean pushing while Castiel consulted their list, scoring off item after item until he announced that they were nearly finished.

An electronic whistling rang out, easily heard above the hustle and bustle of the supermarket, and Dean started patting himself down. When he pulled his phone out he looked at the screen and declared that he had to take it.

"Are you coming back?" Castiel asked with a frown.

"Yeah. I just don't know how long I'll be."

"Dean—"

But Dean was already hurrying away, phone pressed tight against his ear.

Castiel continued his journey down the last few aisles, locating the last items on the list and adding them to the cart, periodically checking around him to see if Dean had returned. It was silly, but Dean's absence was making him anxious. Once finished, he passed time remarking the gaudiness of several brightly coloured turkey hats, when a voice in his ear made him jump.

"Absolutely not."

"Is it traditional to wear a turkey on your head?" he asked Dean, puzzled as to their significance.

"It's commercialism."

The first thing Cas noticed when he turned round was the hardness in Dean's expression; eyes were narrowed, lips pressed in a thin line; skin pale.

"Is everything alright?"

Dean shook his head; not here. "Are we done?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's get out of here."

* * *

Dean had stood stiffly in the queue at the checkout, throwing things into shopping bags without a word while Castiel made small talk with the cashier. He hadn't even protested when Castiel had thrust the money he'd tried to give Dean for the rent at her, but being able to contribute this month should have left him feeling more satisfied than it did.

Once in the car, he'd played something at almost deafening levels and refused to let Castiel turn it down. When they got in they unpacked the groceries in silence, and as Castiel took the toilet roll to the bathroom Dean stomped into the living room and put the TV on.

Castiel paused in the doorway. Dean had been in a foul mood for a week and he'd hated every minute of it, so he wasn't about to let Dean sink back into some kind of depression. Swallowing any last hint of doubt he crossed the room and turned the TV off before sitting himself down on the table in front of Dean.

"Talk to me," he instructed with more confidence than he felt.

It was apparent in the way Dean straightened in his seat, almost like a child knowing he was about to be reprimanded, that he knew he was being difficult. Twice he opened his mouth as if he was about to say something and closed it again. He licked his lips.

"Sam checked into rehab this morning."

Castiel stared at him, eyes wide as Dean's words sunk in.

"He, uh..." Dean swallowed and took a breath, eyes brimming with tears. "He relapsed last week."

"Oh, Dean," Castiel breathed. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean ran both his hands through his hair. "It's stupid, but he always figured that he must have been a bad baby. That if if mom hadn't been in his room that night that she might still be alive."

"Dean, this is not your fault," Castiel insisted, reading the warning signs.

"Cas, we've been over this. Maybe things would have been different if I'd just—"

"And maybe they wouldn't," Cas cut him off before Dean could make himself feel even more guilty for something that wasn't his fault.

"I was always the one who looked out for him growing up."

"And now that he's grown up his mistakes are his to bear."

"What if I hadn't pushed him away, Cas? What if I'd been there for him?"

"What if you hadn't had sex the night you found me on the bridge? What if you hadn't gotten drunk and you'd driven home the night you found me in the park?"

Dean stared at him, but his eyes were unfocused - almost like he was looking through him.

"Life is full of what-ifs, Dean. We all make our choices and we have to live with the consequences, but we cannot make choices for other people. That's why they call it free will. We are all free to make our own choices."

"I'm his big brother."

"That is irrelevant. Even if you were his father his mistakes would not be your responsibility."

"I promised him I'd always be there for him," Dean said quietly. "That's what I told him when we were kids. And then I we grew up and I walked away."

Castiel's tone softened. "You could always walk back."

Dean rubbed a hand back and forth across his mouth.

"I know you don't believe in God, but I will pray for Sam."

Dean stood up and wrapped his arms around Cas in a bear hug. "Thank you," he murmured.

Chapter Text

"I'm home!" Dean called, the door handle slamming against the wall as he threw it open. "Shit!" he muttered.

"You're late," Castiel observed.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, examining the new dent in the wall with a frown.

"I made us sandwiches, but I got hungry and ate without you. I put yours in the fridge."

Dean turned his attention away from the dent, clutching his chest dramatically with a sigh. "Cas, man, you're breaking my heart here!" he declared, heading towards the bathroom. "Just let me shower and eat, then I'm all yours."

Castiel's own heart fluttered at the thought, so he quickly began to clear up the kitchen to distract his mind from thoughts of his naked flatmate.

* * *

Dean's eyes widened as his gaze swept over the table full of ingredients. It hadn't seemed that much when he'd bought it, but then he hadn't really been paying that much attention after Jess's phone call. "You do realise we're not feeding an army tonight, right?"

"I hope not. I don't think this will feed them and you."

"Hey!" Dean pouted as he pretended to take offence.

"The bird is already in the oven," Castiel said, then proceeded to instruct Dean on how to prepare the vegetables.

"And what are you going while I'm doing all this?" Dean asked as he stood by the sink, washing his hands.

"I'll be making pie."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Pie?"

"Pie."

Dean grinned. "I knew I liked you."

Castiel could feel his cheeks growing warm, and he had to remind himself that Dean meant nothing by it.

Their Hallowe'en pumpkins were long gone - thrown out after they'd started to go soft - but Cas had kept the carved out flesh to make soup and, when it had become apparent that there was more than necessary for that, pie.

So, while Dean scraped and peeled and sliced and diced, Castiel began preparing the filling. He'd found a recipe in one of Dean's mother's old books, with neatly written annotations in the margins, amending quantities and cooking times. The page had stains from where it had been splashed in the past. He consulted every printed and handwritten instruction carefully, thankful that Mrs Winchester had had such legible handwriting.

"Fuck!"

Startled by Dean's sudden outburst, Castiel looked up from the book to find Dean bleeding over the potatoes. Quickly stepping around the counter, he dragged his friend over to the sink and forced his hand under the cold tap. "Keep it there," he instructed. He rushed into the bathroom, making a mental note to keep some first aid supplies in the kitchen from now on. When he came back Dean was sucking on his finger like a child.

"I told you to keep it under the tap."

"It's fine. It stopped bleeding."

"That's not the point. You're handling fresh food. Give me your hand."

With a loud sigh of protest, Dean allowed Cas to wrap the plaster around his finger.

"Please be more careful," Castiel said softly, holding Dean's hand for a second too long before letting go. Dean said nothing as he returned to his vegetables.

Dean's back was to him, so for a long moment Castiel watched him as he got back to work. His usual layers of flannel and plaid had been reduced to a single grey fitted t-shirt that hugged his body in all the right places.

The longer he stared, the hotter it felt in the already warm kitchen. Cas exhaled softly, working open another button of his shirt before getting back to the pie. The recipe didn't require a pastry topping, but said you could decorate it with a lattice pattern if you wished. The picture in the book had maple leaves across it, however Castiel had his own design in mind.

* * *

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked as Cas pulled the roast out of the oven to rest some time later.

"Turducken."

Dean paused, staring at Cas blankly. "I say again, what the hell is that?"

Castiel sighed and pulled the cardboard box out of the trash. "Turducken. Chicken stuffed in duck stuffed in turkey. See?"

Dean took the box and read the front. "Whatever happened to good old-fashioned turkey and stuffing? This looks and sounds like shit. It's even got 'turd' in the name - turducken."

"Don't like it, don't eat it," Cas told him sharply, snatching the box back. "There are plenty of vegetables."

"I just don't get why we couldn't have a regular turkey and—"

"Because we couldn't afford it!" Cas snapped angrily.

Dean was stunned into silence by Cas's outburst, and as Castiel turned his back on him he wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light or if he'd seen tears in his friend's eyes.

When Castiel began roughly chopping some walnuts Dean didn't know what to do, so he just stood and watched him. Cas was stiff with irritation as he attacked nut after nut, and every time the knife sliced through to the chopping board the noise cut into Dean's head.

He licked his lips. "Cas," he said softly, moving up behind him and putting his hands over Castiel's. "Stop." For a moment, it felt like Cas was leaning into him. Dean let him go. "I'm sorry."

"I just want Thanksgiving to be perfect," Castiel sighed.

"It doesn't have to be perfect," Dean told him. "So long as there's you and me, we don't need anything else. Any of this," he emphasised, sweeping an arm around the kitchen.

"But I have a lot to be thankful for this year."

"Yeah?" Dean breathed.

Castiel dropped the knife and turned to face him. "Yes. I have my life, I have a job, I have good friends," he said, taking Dean's hand, "and, for the first time in a long time, I think that perhaps God does love me."

"'Course he does, Cas," Dean smiled, squeezing Castiel's hand. He took a deep breath. "And d'you know what I'm thankful for?"

Castiel gave a minute shake of his head.

"You."

"Me?" Castiel echoed in surprise.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. You don't know what I was like, before I met you."

There was an unexpected intimacy in the way Dean spoke, and there was a long pause as neither spoke; they seemed to get lost in each other's eyes. After a moment, Cas licked his dry lips before speaking. "Bobby said... that I was good for you. Whatever that means."

"He said what?" A slight flush crept onto Dean's cheeks and mild irritation prickled under his skin.

"That I was..." Castiel dropped his gaze and self-consciously wiped his hands on his apron. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's... It's fine, Cas," Dean told him, unconvincingly. When Castiel didn't look up at him, he ducked his head, searching for his eyes until they locked together. "Really," he said, more sincerely this time. He rested a warm hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Now what can I do to help 'round here?"

Finally Castiel looked up at him. "I'm almost ready for the pancetta."

"The what?"

"Pancetta cubes. They're in the fridge."

Dean went to search the fridge, eventually grabbing the packet of meat. "Is pancetta just a fancy name for bacon?" he asked, eyeing the contents of the packet.

"I have no idea. Maybe?"

Dean laughed, and Cas smiled because that was for him.

In a matter of minutes, Cas had the pancetta and walnuts cooking in a saucepan.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen anyone use so many pans," Dean joked.

"You may add the sprouts when the pancetta is crispy," Cas instructed, passing him the wooden spoon.

"Oh may I?"

But Cas didn't respond to his teasing; he was too busy pulling trays of roasted vegetables out of the oven and adjusting temperature dials on the cooker.

Dean poked at a pancetta cube with a spoon, wondering if it was crispy enough yet. "Eh," he shrugged, tossing the sprouts into the pan. "You're like a little kitchen wizard," he told Cas once he started putting food on the table. "Like a domestic Gandalf or something."

"A domestic who?" Cas asked, brows furrowed in confusion which made Dean smile.

"Never mind," he said dismissively, mentally adding The Lord of the Rings onto Castiel's list of must-see movies - a list that was getting longer by the day no matter how many they watched - as he moved the contents of the pan around. Dean found his gaze travelling over to watch Cas's silent dance around the kitchen as he hurried to get everything ready. "You sure I can't do anything else?"

"Just don't let the sprouts burn."

Dean mock saluted him. "Yes, sir!"

Less than ten minutes later, they were both sitting down to a feast that had Cas reluctantly admitting he may have gotten 'a little carried away'.

Dean just grinned at him as he scooped spoonfuls of vegetables onto his plate beside three thick slices of turducken - which he still wasn't convinced about - and poured a generous amount of gravy over everything. He stabbed at several things and had them halfway to his mouth when Castiel spoke.

"Bless us, oh Lord, as we thank You..."

Dean's fork hovered in the air for a moment before he decided that, even if he didn't believe, it would be polite to wait for Cas.

"...for food when others are hungry; for drink when others are thirsty; for friends when others are lonely. We humbly ask You to bless those whom we love, now absent from us, and watch over them; protect them in all anxiety, danger, and temptation. Amen."

"Amen," Dean echoed automatically.

Castiel jerked his head up in surprise.

"What?" Dean shrugged. He was grateful for what he had, and the bit about guarding loved ones from temptation? He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he could see that that was for Sam.

Cas stared at Dean with his head cocked to the side for a short moment. "Nothing, I guess," he said, but a small smile crept onto his lips as he reached for his knife and fork.

When Castiel started eating, Dean raised the fork to his mouth again and concentrated on chewing.

"Oh my God this is incredible!"

Across from him, Castiel narrowed his eyes. "So it doesn't taste like shit, then..." he commented dryly.

An embarrassed chuckle burst past Dean's lips. "Yeah. Um, about that..."

"Just eat it before it goes cold," Cas smiled, Dean's unspoken apology already accepted.

* * *

Thanksgiving dinner was better than anything Dean had ever eaten, he decided as he tucked in. Castiel had made plenty, so he helped himself to seconds. And, okay, maybe thirds as well.

"So how are things going with Pamela?" he asked.

"Fine," Cas replied.

"Just 'fine'?" Dean asked, studying Cas from across the table.

Castiel put his cutlery down and clasped his hands together. "She wants me to un-forgive my father," he said after a moment.

Dean's brow furrowed as he chewed and, once he'd swallowed, asked, "What does that mean?"

"From what I understand, she thinks I am blaming myself for my father's actions."

Dean bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Do you think you are?"

"I don't know," Castiel sighed heavily. "I really don't know."

"That's okay."

"I think—" He paused. "Perhaps I should not be so quick to defend him."

"Usually people defend someone they think is innocent," Dean commented, putting a whole brussel sprout in his mouth.

"Yes."

Dean moved the food to the side of his mouth to speak. "Are you saying that you think he's not so innocent any more?"

"I don't know, Dean. It's so confusing. I know what he believes, because I used to believe the same. But the way Father Reynold's speaks of God creates doubt in my mind."

"You know, I don't think I could ever have forgiven your father if I was you."

Castiel picked up his fork again and poked at a mushroom, sliding it around in his gravy.

"Forget what Pamela thinks," Dean told him, putting his cutlery down to give Cas his undivided attention. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"You forgave me for the way I spoke to Balthazar," he pointed out.

"Did I?" he asked. "Or was I just afraid of further confrontation?"

"Cas, I was wrong to treat Balthazar the way I did, okay? And I'm sorry. I will apologise the next time I see him."

"I believe you."

"Do you think your father would apologise?"

Castiel shook his head straight away. "Absolutely not." He put his fork down and rested his arms on the table. "He thought he was doing the right thing," Cas said quietly, almost to himself.

"Doesn't mean it was the right thing." Dean scooped pancetta cubes onto his fork and shoved them greedily in his mouth. "What kind of stuff do you say to her? I mean I'm not asking for details, 'cause I figure it's private stuff - just generally speaking? I've never really gotten the whole counselling thing."

Castiel shrugged. "I'm not sure I get it either. So far we've only spoken about my childhood and my father's liking of corporal punishment."

Dean's expression darkened, and his grip on his fork tightened. "How often did your father hit you when you were a kid?"

"Whenever I was bad," he replied matter-of-factly. "Didn't your father ever hit you?"

"No. Never."

"Not even when you'd done something wrong?

"Never. Not even when he was drunk, because even then he knew that you don't ever hit your kid."

"When I told him I didn't feel... that way... about women..." Castiel licked his lips. "It was supposed to be punishment. I think it just got out of control when I wouldn't agree to get married off."

"He abused you, Cas. Don't defend him like that," Dean argued, bewildered that Cas was still defending the man who had made his life miserable for so long.

Castiel looked uncomfortable. "Can we talk about something else, pease?"

Dean didn't want to talk about something else; he wanted to keep talking until he made Cas see what a piece of shit his dad was because Cas deserved better than the way he'd been treated. Cas was nothing but kind, though considering the way he'd been treated for so long, it would have been understandable if Cas had been bitter and angry and hateful. Castiel's big heart was one of the things Dean admired about him. "What do you want to talk about?" Dean asked with his mouth full.

Castiel rolled his eyes in disgust. "Well not your lack of manners, certainly."

Dean grinned like the big kid he was, his cheeks bulging. Wanting to wipe that cheesy grin off Dean's face, Castiel launched a sprout at him.

Dean almost choked on his food, eyes wide with surprise at Cas's actions. "Did you just throw food at me?"

"No."

"You did! I watched you do it!"

In retaliation, Dean picked up a piece of roast potato and threw it at Cas. It bounced off his chest and landed on his plate, splashing gravy up his white shirt.

Dean snorted. "Looks like you might need a bib," he teased. "The little baby got food all down his front."

Castiel dug his hand into the bowl of mashed potatoes and leaned across the table, splatting it in Dean's face. His eyes widened as he realised what he'd done, and then he laughed.

"Oh, you are so on!" Dean declared, wiping potato off his face and flinging it back at Cas.

Laughing and shrieking like two-year-olds, they started pinging food at each other. The bowl of leftover mash was quickly emptied as they lobbed handfuls of it at each other until they were both covered in food.

"Okay, okay, time out!" Dean declared breathlessly a minute later. He surveyed the mess they'd made - his elbow had caught the gravy jug sending it across the table, Cas had ducked a couple of times so there was potato on the walls, and a couple of stray sprouts had flown past his head at one point. "What a mess."

Castiel seemed to withdraw into himself. "I'm sorry."

"Dude, it's cool."

But Castiel didn't look convinced.

Dean's chair scraped across the floor as he stood and leaned over the table. "Hey, look at me. It's cool, okay?"

"I started this. I should clean it up."

"We'll clean it up - together - because I gave as good as I got," Dean insisted, before a lump of potato in Cas' hair caught his gaze. "You've got food in your hair," he told him, reaching over to run his fingers through that strand of thick hair, picking the piece of potato out as their gazes locked. They were silent for a few seconds before Dean licked his lips nervously and pulled back a little, dropping the potato onto Cas's plate. "I hope you were finished with that."

A small smile tugged at Castiel's lips and he cleared his throat. "Yes. I was."

"Good."

As he turned around to retrieve Castiel's sprouts from the floor, Cas giggled.

"What?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder, thinking that perhaps he had something on his back.

"I've never been in a food fight before."

"No?"

"Or a pillow fight. Or any kind of fight, really."

"Probably for the best, really."

Castiel frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well you're kind of skinny. Whoever you were fighting would probably break you." Dean's teasing grin fell as he remembered sitting beside Cas's sedated form in the hospital.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I am not weak!"

"I never said you were weak!"

"You said I wasn't strong!"

"I— Stop twisting my words!"

"I'm strong," Castiel insisted, lips pursed a slight pout.

"Okay."

"I am!"

"I believe you!"

"No," Castiel said quietly. "You don't."

Dean took a breath. "Can we not do this?" he pleaded. The last thing he wanted was to ruin Cas's first real Thanksgiving.

"I'm strong," Castiel repeated softly, eyes on the ground.

"I know," Dean agreed. He stepped towards Cas and gripped his wrists loosely, rubbing his thumbs where Cas had once threatened to leave scars. "I know."

* * *

Surprisingly it took them less than an hour between the two of them to gather up the remnants of food, wipe down the floor and walls where food had hit, and wash the mountain of dishes. Castiel handwashed the tablecloth as best he could while Dean tidied up the counter. And they did it all in silence.

"What about that pie?" Dean asked after they were done.

"You can't still be hungry!" Cas exclaimed.

"But pie," Dean pleaded.

Castiel shook his head in bemusement. "It's still in the oven. Be careful."

Dean carefully pulled the dish out and let out an impressed whistle at the sight, for the golden-brown pastry topping had been cut out in a Jack O'Lantern-inspired face. "You, my friend, are amazing."

Castiel gave him a small, pleased smile. "I try."

"You succeed," Dean amended. "I almost don't want to cut into it."

Castiel placed two plates on the counter and Dean cut them each a generous slice of pie, topping them with a generous dollop of Cool Whip. Before Cas could get them forks, Dean swiped a finger through the filling and stuck it in his mouth.

A small noise akin to a whine rose in Castiel's throat. He stared at Dean's plump, pink lips suggestively sucking his finger clean, then it slid out with a wet pop. He held his breath, feeling a warm flush spreading across his face as Dean ran his tongue across his lower lip, catching a few stray flakes of pastry.

Dean swallowed. His expression bore none of the stress that prematurely aged his face; rather the years fell off him as his face lit up in a look of childish wonder.

"Cas," he choked.

"Dean? What is it?" Castiel asked, immediately concerned.

When Dean looked at him his eyes were wet. "How..?"

Lines creased Cas's forehead as he tried to decipher what Dean wasn't saying.

"My mom, she..."

Castiel sucked in a breath as understanding dawned on him. "It was a recipe from one of her books."

He wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised when Dean launched himself at Cas, nearly squeezing the life out of him. Cas grimaced and did his best to bear it, but eventually he needed to breathe.

"Um, Dean?" he croaked. Immediately the pressure around his ribcage eased as Dean stepped back.

"Sorry, I... Uh..."

Neither of them acknowledged the single tear that trickled down Dean's cheek.

"I understand."

They took their plates to the living room, sitting beside each other on the sofa. Castiel was halfway through his slice, suddenly hungry despite feeling full not that long ago, when he noticed that Dean hadn't touched his. He was simply staring at it.

He placed a hand on Dean's arm. "It's okay," he said, when Dean looked at him.

"It was my favourite," Dean told him. "When she died... I never thought I'd taste it again. I forgot what it was like, but as soon as I had this, I knew. Is that weird?"

"No," Castiel assured him. "Not at all."

Dean picked up his fork and broke off a small piece, placing it in his mouth in a way more careful than Cas had ever seen him eat before. He closed his eyes as he chewed, letting the flavour transport him back to his childhood.

"Promise me you'll make this again," Dean asked hoarsely when his plate was clean.

"Of course."

"You know, I don't really feel like watching anything tonight."

Cas nodded. Dean had probably picked out another movie in his head that he thought Cas should see.

"I think I'm probably gonna just like down for a bit," he said, moving to stand.

"You could lie down here," Castiel said, his words stopping Dean in his tracks.

"I kind of want some quiet."

"I can be quiet," Castiel promised. "Unless you'd rather be alone?"

Dean hesitated. "No," he answered eventually. "I don't want to be alone."

Castiel patted the sofa, still warm from where Dean had been sitting.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Dean lay down beside him, curled up with his head on Castiel's lap. He fidgeted, trying to get his comfortable on Cas's thigh, before placing a cushion between them.

"Comfortable?" Cas asked.

"I thought you said you could be quiet?"

"Sorry."

"'S okay. I was just teasing."

"I'll be quiet now."

They sat there in silence, their breathing falling into an easy rhythm as the minutes ticked past. After a while Castiel found himself brushing his fingers through Dean's hair, and Dean didn't protest. Eventually Dean's breathing became heavier, until gentle snores rumbled in his throat.

Castiel looked down at his sleeping friend, more peaceful than he'd ever seen him. Dean looked beautiful like this, and he found himself staring in a way he couldn't when Dean was awake. He'd noticed Dean's freckles - it was impossible not to - but now he could see the smaller, less obvious ones, and could appreciate just how many were scattered across his face. The desire to kiss each and every one surged up in him, and his heart filled with longing.

"I think I love you," he whispered.

Chapter Text

Dean had woken up at around nine the night before, having dreamt about his mother and pies. For the first time in forever, there hadn't been a single flame turning it into a nightmare. They'd watched TV for a couple of hours in relative silence (though he wasn't sure that either of them had paid it much attention), and Dean had gone to bed a little after eleven.

Now, he was standing in the living room doorway, hot mug of coffee in hand, watching Cas sleep. When he'd taken him in, he had been someone to take care of; someone to fill the hole that Sam had left. Things had changed, though, and it felt like Cas was the one taking care of Dean, and he didn't know how to feel about that.

But there was also something... more. Something that Dean couldn't put his finger on. It just felt right, being around Cas. He couldn't explain it.

Castiel shifted, the cover half-falling onto the floor exposing a hairless chest. "Hmm," Castiel sighed sleepily, turning over and opening his eyes. He looked at Dean and blinked twice. "Dean?"

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Castiel sniffed the air. "Do I smell coffee?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Give me a minute."

Two minutes later Castiel was sitting wrapped in his blankets, the steaming mug of coffee that Dean had brought him cradled in his hands.

"Are you going to drink it or just inhale it?"

"Both," Castiel said, taking a small sip. "Mmph. Hot."

"You'll find that when it's freshly made," Dean smirked.

Castiel's stomach growled. "I can't believe I'm hungry after everything I ate last night. I shouldn't need to eat anything for the rest of the week."

"Cereal or toast?" Dean asked.

"Ugh, toast," Castiel groaned immediately.

"Good, because I put two slices in the toaster for you when I poured your coffee."

Castiel laughed and stretched his legs out until they knocked against the coffee table. "You know me too well."

* * *

"You don't know me at all," Lisa told him, picking up items of clothing from various piles and fitting them into her suitcase.

"Yeah, I do."

She chuckled. "You know how to get me off in bed, Dean, but that's not the same thing as knowing me."

"Don't leave," Dean breathed, watching her helplessly. It felt like everything he had was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

"I have to."

"Why? I know it's not perfect, but I thought what we had was good."

"It was good," she agreed. "Until I realised it wasn't."

"Don't take Ben away from me," he pleaded brokenly.

Finally she stopped packing. "I'd never do that," she promised, moving to stand in front of him. Her soft hands reached up to cup his jaw, but her lips would never touch his again. "You're... You're the closest thing to a dad that he has. I want you to always be a part of his life."

"I love him," Dean whispered.

"I know you do," she replied, her eyes filling up with tears, "which is why this is so hard. But I need to do this. For us. For me and Ben," she amended.

* * *

"No, I don't," Dean shrugged. Because one lucky guess didn't mean he knew him, right? "Anyway, it's gonna pop in a minute so you might want to..." he beckoned towards the kitchen. "I've got to get ready for work."

Dean took his cooling mug of coffee down the hallway to his room. Shutting the door behind him, he sat down on his bed and glanced at one of the two photos that sat beside the lamp on the small bedside table.

It was Ben's birthday party, and Dean had blown up so many balloons he'd gotten light-headed and had to sit down. The house had been filled with them, and maybe he'd gone a little overboard but he'd wanted Ben to have the kind of birthday he'd always fantasised about as a kid. The grin on Ben's face made him smile sadly. That had been a good day. After a while, his eyes flicked right to his mother. As he looked at his smiling younger self in her arms, he saw a striking similarity between himself and Ben.

Shaking himself out of his stupid daydreams, he slammed his mug on the table and began getting ready for work.

* * *

After Dean left, Cas went to shower. As he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, however, he stopped. He turned and looked at himself but, since it was only a small mirror, he couldn't see much. He went to Dean's room instead and stood in front of the three-door wardrobe, the middle door housing a full-length mirror.

Dean was right. He was skinny. In most places, he amended, turning sideways. He'd been slowly regaining the weight he'd lost before he'd found a home with Dean and was now carrying a little extra weight around his middle, but he lacked any of the muscle that Dean's body boasted.

As he compared himself to Dean, he got momentarily distracted by thoughts of Dean's body. God, how he wanted nothing more than to be able to run his hands up his firm chest; to be wrapped in his strong arms; to be kissed by those full, plump lips...

Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of that fantasy. Just because he'd lost what muscle he once had, didn't mean he couldn't get it back again, he decided, forcing his brain back on topic.

Resolutely, he walked back to the living room, putting out the bathroom light en-route. He wasn't going to shower. Not yet. He raided his cupboard, pulling out a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants that Dean had loaned him a couple of weeks previously and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It had been a long time since he'd gone running, but it was high time he started again.

* * *

Thanksgiving was barely over when people started talking about Christmas. Decorations didn't appear before the first of December - people still had some restraint, but it all vanished as soon as the calendar changed. Within a day, Christmas music started playing with abandon in many shops, often filtering out onto the streets, and Dean counted seven windows across the street that had illuminated Christmas decorations in apartment windows, from a simple string of Christmas lights to flashing stars and waving snowmen.

"I bet by next week, the whole street will be done up," Dean grumbled.

"Who cares?" Castiel protested, for Dean had been passing judgement all week. "Just shut the curtains already!"

"I promise you this, though, there will be nothing like that hanging in my window."

"Bobby did say you're a Scrooge when it comes to Christmas," Castiel announced, unsurprised at his declaration.

"I am not!"

Castiel smiled fondly from where he sat on the couch, wearing a hideous oversized sweater he'd bought recently. It was sickeningly festive and Dean hated it. Unfortunately when Castiel had asked him for his opinion, excitedly spreading his arms so that Dean could take in every last ugly detail, he hadn't the heart to say anything other than, "It's great!" in case he wiped the smile off Castiel's face.

"What - you've seen that film?"

"I've read the book."

Dean humphed in surprise.

"You're turning into one of those nosey neighbours who always wants to know what everyone's up to," Cas teased, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I thought you wanted to introduce me to Gandalf? I would like to know if I was being insulted when you compared me to him."

"Hell no! Gandalf kicks some serious ass! Now come on," Dean commanded, as if Cas was the one who'd been delaying them. "We can't have you 'not understanding references' forever."

Castiel looked bemused. "I shall endeavour to complete my training, Yoga."

Dean blinked as he replayed Castiel's words in his mind. "It's Yoda, dude. Yoda ," he repeated.

"I apologise," Castiel said sincerely. "Do we need popcorn?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm still stuffed from dinner. I could use a drink though?"

As Dean started the film Castiel brought through two large glasses of soda. For a split second Dean looked disappointed, before taking the glass from him without a word.

* * *

The next day it was raining when they woke up, and it didn't stop all day. In Bobby's office Castiel muttered to himself, wishing - not for the first time - that Bobby had a computer on which to keep his client database. He'd seen the invoice he was looking for just a second ago, but he couldn't for the life of him remember which pile he'd put it in. All the words were starting to blur together and he was giving himself a headache.

"How you doin'?" Bobby asked, sitting down across from him.

Frazzled, Castiel didn't even spare a second to glance up at him. "Bobby, I don't mean to sound rude, but... Have you ever considered a computer?"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Bobby interrupted. "You're not the first person to hassle me about that."

Disappointment welled up inside him for a moment. "You don't want one?"

"Don't want one? Son, I got one. The damn thing was a pain in the ass so I packed it up."

"You... You have a computer?" Castiel wanted to tear his hair out. "Where?!"

Bobby jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "In the cupboard."

It was less a cupboard and more a long, narrow room to the side of the office with shelves running down one wall, meaning you almost needed to walk sideways to get to the far end.

"In the brown box, but I don't know what you're getting all excited about— Now, son, just you put that back!"

Castiel ignored him, dragging the box of computer parts into the office.

"What are you doin'?!" Bobby cried.

"Hoping it still works," he grunted, pulling back the flaps of the box revealed a computer tower, a screen, and what looked like all the cables he would need - now if only he knew how to connect it all up.

"Printer?" Castiel asked hopefully.

"Dream on. That hunk o' junk was the biggest waste of money as it is."

Castiel considered which mechanics were in. There was Dean, obviously, but he doubted that his friend would know how to connect a computer up. Benny might know, but he still wasn't sure if he liked Benny, or if Benny liked him. Andy was the youngest, and might be the best choice. "Is Andy busy just now?"

"Well, no, he's— Now hang on. What are you planning?"

But Castiel was already gone, disappearing into the workshop.

"Excuse me, Castiel said, finding Andy assisting Dean with a car he couldn't identify. "I wonder if I might borrow Andy?"

Dean's head jerked up and his eyes flicked between the two of them before he asked, "Andy?"

"That's what he said," Andy told him, wiping his hands down his front and moving away from the car he was working on with Dean.

"Would you happen to know how to connect a computer?" he asked as the walked out into the forecourt.

"A computer? You mean Bobby's finally giving modern technology a second chance?" he laughed.

"Not exactly willingly," Castiel said wryly.

Bobby scowled at them as they walked into the office.

"I can have this thing switched on in ten minutes, easy," Andy boasted. "Providing all the cables are still here."

"I would expect so," Castiel said, picking up the tangled knot of cables from the box.

"Why don't you start on untangling them and I'll start on this," he said, moving to take the computer screen out of the box. Then he stopped. "Um, what do you want me to do with all these papers?" he asked hesitantly, motioning towards the stacks on the desk.

"Leave them where they are!" Bobby grumbled.

"Bobby, you are paying me to organise your files and that is what I intend to do," Cas told him adamantly, clearing the desk for Andy. He paused for a moment, then turned to his boss with a handful of papers clutched to his chest. "Unless you miss the paperwork and intend to 'let me go' so that you can take over?"

"Hell no," Bobby protested.

Castiel knew damn well that Bobby was more than happy to be getting his hands dirty in engine parts again now that he had someone else to take care of the boring office stuff. "In which case, welcome to the twenty-first century."

Andy snorted.

"Why'd I ever listen to Dean..." Bobby complained, his voice getting quieter as he walked away, leaving them to it.

They heard him bellow, "Winchester!" and looked at each other.

"Okay, who are you and what did you do with the real Cas?"

"The 'real Cas'?" Castiel frowned.

"Yeah, you know - the timid guy who usually sits in the office and quietly accepts every shitty job Bobby offloads onto him?"

Castiel puffed his chest out in indignation. "They are not 'shitty jobs', as you so—"

"So you didn't object to being sent on seven coffee runs in a day when the coffee pot blew up?"

"And who should he have sent?" Castiel asked. "You? And then who would've finished... doing whatever it was you were doing... on that car you were doing it on?"

"Okay, okay," Andy grinned. "Though I think Dean's about to cop it for pushing Bobby to give you a job. He's been trying to get me and Benny to dispose of the computer for months, but what were we going to do with it? Nobody'll want something as old as this, except maybe a museum!" he joked. "It's no wonder Bobby got it as cheap as he did."

But Castiel's attention was focused out the window, in the direction of the workshop. "I can't let Bobby give Dean trouble for something that I—"

"Nah, don't worry about it. Bobby's just going to let off some steam, is all."

"Oh. Well, I'll have to make it up to him tonight."

Andy looked up from what he was doing. "How are you going to do that, then?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

"Baking a pie always works."

"Huh."

Castiel sat with the mess of cables in his lap and slowly started to untangle them, one by one, while Andy moved the piles of papers onto the floor and set the computer out on the desk.

"Bobby hated this thing. Though it probably didn't help that he never took the time to learn how to work it."

"I'm sure he'll learn to love it," Castiel replied, concentrating working out which connection was at the end of the cable he was working loose.

"Can I be there when you ask him to start paying for broadband?" Andy asked, shooting him a wicked grin.

Castiel hadn't thought about that. The mention of internet had the wheels in his head turning, and as his fingers deftly slipped cables through loops, disentangling them one knot at a time, he entertained the idea of the garage having its own website. Unfortunately that wasn't something he knew how to do, and would probably be expensive.

"I'm gonna need that thick purple one first," Andy told him.

"Oh. Okay."

"So, how long have you known Dean anyway?"

"A few months."

"Is that all? They way you two are, I thought maybe you went way back."

"It seems a lot longer than that at times."

"And you two are... good friends?"

"Yes," he replied honestly. Aware that his colleague was looking at him a little too intently, he asked, "Andy, why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not," Andy chuckled, still giving Cas that same look.

Castiel squinted at him.

"Hey, I just want the purple cable," Andy shrugged.

Tugging it loose, Castiel passed it to him.

"But you two live together, right?"

"You seem to have a slight fixation with us."

"I'm just making conversation," Andy said, throwing his hands up defensively, a grin still on his face.

"Yes. We live together. We work together. Often, we go out together."

"Huh," Andy said again.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Andy, who was too busy connecting the purple cable to the back of the tower to notice him staring. He seemed a little too inquisitive. Had he picked up on his feelings towards Dean? Or was he truly just 'making conversation'?

"What about you?" Cas asked, moving the subject safely away from himself. "Do you live with anyone?"

"My girlfriend. Tracey."

"Is she nice?"

"Dude, I'm dating her!" Andy laughed. "Of course I think she's nice."

"I mean, what's she like?"

"Smart. Funny. Beautiful. Too good for a guy like me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

Andy dug his wallet out. "See for yourself."

Cas looked at the picture. She was attractive, he could see that. "She's very pretty."

"Pretty? She's beautiful."

Castiel shrugged. "I guess she's just not my type?"

"What is your type?"

Castiel froze. "I..." Brown hair. Green eyes. Bow legs. "I don't know."

"Come on, you've got to have a type! Everyone has a type."

He shrugged. What was he supposed to say?

"Benny likes foreign women. The last one he got serious about was Greek, but she got deported. Overstayed her visa or something. I go for women who are out of my league, which is why I've been single most of my life. I don't know about Dean. He doesn't really talk to us, much, but you can tell when he's gotten laid the night before. I'd say his type was simply 'female', but his bed seems to have been pretty empty, lately, if you know what I mean?"

Castiel tried not to let Andy's words upset him. He knew Dean dated women - if his actions could even be described as dating. The fact that Dean didn't appear to have been with any women recently was irrelevant.

"So what about you?"

"I've never... been... with anyone," he revealed. "I've never been interested in dating before."

"Before? So, there's someone you're sweet on now?"

"No, that's not what I meant," Castiel backtracked hurriedly. "But perhaps, in the future... Who knows?"

"You'll find a nice girl, Cas. Girls dig the whole 'mysterious' thing you've got going on."

"Who's gonna find a nice girl?" Dean's voice asked as he strolled into the room, eyebrows raised as he wiped his grease-covered hands with an old rag.

"Me, apparently," Cas told him, thankful that Dean had interrupted.

"You?" Dean asked, momentarily confused before he caught himself. "I mean, yeah, of course you will."

Cas held another cable out to Andy, catching his eye as the other man stared at him.

"Or, you know, maybe you'll find a nice guy instead," Andy suggested carefully.

"Maybe you'll find a nice guy," Dean shot back.

Despite Dean's attempts to defend him, Cas couldn't help but respond to the implication; eyes widening as his hands clenched around the cables. He could hear his heart beating a frantic rhythm in his ears and wondered if the others could hear it, too.

Andy nodded. "Huh."

"Andy, I would very much appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it to the others," he began desperately.

"Hey, it's none of my business. Or theirs," Andy said, holding his hands up. "They'll find out if you tell them, and not before. Certainly not from me."

Castiel's shoulders sagged, and he released his grip on the cables. "Thank you," he breathed.

"See? There's nothing wrong with you," Dean told him, ruffling his hand through Cas's hair.

"No, but there's something wrong with you," Cas snapped half-heartedly, throwing the remaining clump of cables at him.

"What did I do?" Dean cried.

"You kind of gave it away," Andy grinned. "Though I did have my suspicions."

"All I came in here for was a coffee," Dean protested, dumping the cables back on Cas's lap.

"Then make your coffee and get out!"

Andy laughed. "You two almost sound as if... No, never mind. Oh, brilliant!" he exclaimed as Castiel disentangled one more cable and the remaining ones fell loose.

Cas triumphantly laid out the separated cables on the desk.

"I can't wait until we get a new coffee pot," Dean muttered to himself, scooping instant coffee into a mug and pouring boiling water on it. "This stuff tastes like someone's pissed in it. You know, I can't believe Bobby let you dig that thing out again."

"Well Castiel didn't really give him much of a choice."

"Really?" Dean shot an impressed look at Castiel that had him smiling proudly at himself.

"Do you want me to show you how to do this?" Andy asked him.

"Please," Cas smiled.

"Well, I'll leave you little lovebirds to bond over Bobby's computer," Dean teased.

"Worried I'm gonna steal your boyfriend?" Andy joked back.

Dean looked adorable when he blushed, Cas realised. "Leave him alone," Cas smiled. "Now where does this one go?"

* * *

Cas was surprised to see a rainbow sticker had appeared in the office window when he showed up for work the next day.

"Andy thought that it'd be a good idea," Bobby announced, noticing where his attention was focused. "Something about letting queers know they're welcome here. I don't get why they think they wouldn't be - their money's just as green as anyone else's."

"Some people would turn them away from their business," Cas told him, thinking about the shop he used to work in.

"Well that's just stupid."

"What if a customer has a problem with it?"

Bobby shrugged. "If they want to go somewhere else, then that's their problem. I'm not turning folk away, and if a sticker lets them know that then I'll put up some damn stickers."

Castiel smiled.

* * *

"My work have displayed a rainbow sticker in their window," Castiel told Pamela the following weekend. "I'm told it a symbol of support for the queer community."

"It is," she agreed. "That sounds promising. Are you thinking about coming out to them?"

"No," Castiel replied firmly, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"It's not that I think they'd reject me, if that's what you're thinking. My colleagues are not my father."

"No, they're not."

"It's none of their business. And I suppose, if I'm being honest, I'm still not fully comfortable with myself," he admitted.

She gave him a supportive smile. "It's good that you can acknowledge that. You've come a long way in a relatively short space of time - though I suspect a large part of that is because of Dean."

Castiel swallowed hard around the lump in his throat at the mention of Dean's name.

"I think his friendship is good for you," she continued. "Of course, coming to accept yourself is only a part of why you're here."

Castiel nodded. They had discussed this. He wasn't very good at being assertive. "I suppose you could say I stood up to my boss this week," he told her. "In a way."

"Great! Tell me about it."

* * *

"Tell me about it," Jo pleaded with him.

Castiel sighed and pushed his empty glass towards her. She topped up his ice and poured another can of Cola over the cubes before pushing it back to him.

"On me," she said, when Castiel tried to pay her. "But come on, tell me all about this Big Idea of yours."

"A website," he stated. "Bobby should have a website."

"For the garage?"

"What else would he need a website for?"

Jo pouted as she considered it. "It makes good business sense."

"I just don't know how to make one. I can balance spreadsheets and complete mail merges, but..."

"You know, I have this friend. Charlie. She's amazing with computers. Though I wouldn't say everything she does with them is strictly legal."

"Charlie?" he asked, wondering why the name sounded familiar. Then it clicked. "Your friend Charlie who is... who's a... umm..."

"Lesbian?" Jo finished for him, with an amused smile.

"Not into men," Castiel amended, returning her smile.

"Have I told you about her before?"

"No, Dean mentioned her."

For a second she looked puzzled, almost as if trying to work something out, but then she laughed. "If you put a picture of Dean up on the site, I can guarantee a lot more women would bring their cars into the garage."

Castiel's stomach twisted at her words and he stared down at his drink. "Yes, I'm sure they would."

His words hung heavily between them for a moment.

"You know he's not the only guy in the world, right?" Jo told him quietly.

Castiel's pulse seemed to pound louder in his ears. "What?"

"Dean. You don't have to follow him around like a lost dog. Get out there, make some friends."

"I have friends."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. I'm not following them like a lost dog," he said, throwing her words back at her.

"No - you're following Dean."

Castiel took a sip of his drink before speaking carefully. "If you're implying what I think you're implying, then—"

"Don't even try to tell me I'm wrong, Cas," she told him firmly. Lowering her voice, she leaned across the bar. "I don't know what you are but I know you're into Dean. It's not the whole world that can see it, but I can tell when someone likes someone."

Castiel was silent for so long that Jo started to wipe down the bar for something to do.

"You're right," he whispered, just as she was about to move away.

"I know," she said softly.

"I can't help it."

"Cas, I don't blame you. I've been there, but I've become too much like a little sister to him to ever get that lucky. Dean's a catch. Unfortunately you're only fishing for fun with him, and then you've got to throw him back for someone else."

The problem was, Castiel didn't want to throw him back.

"So when did you last go out with these mystery friends of yours?" Jo asked lightly.

"They're not 'mystery friends'," Cas grumbled back.

"I haven't seen them."

"I haven't seen any of your friends. Should I therefore assume that you have none?" he asked, perhaps a little more sharply and a little less teasingly than he'd meant to.

"Okay, okay," Jo sighed, holding her hands up in defence, "but my point is you seem to spend an awful lot of time with Dean and it's not healthy. Maybe if you went out more with these friends of yours, you'd stand a chance of finding someone you like better than Dean?"

Castiel doubted it, but didn't tell Jo as much. She thought she was helping.

"I mean, how many movies have you guys sat and watched this week?"

One most nights. They'd watched two last night - Dean had wanted him to see The Two Towers and The Return of the King back to back. "What are you, my therapist?" Castiel joked. So what if they watched a lot of movies? It's not like he never went out.

"No, dummy! I'm your friend."

Cas's head shot up at that, brows pinched. "You are?"

"Of course I am!"

"Oh."

"And as your friend, I don't want to see you to become Dean; shutting yourself away from the world."

Cas laughed at the idea of the outgoing Dean he knew shutting himself away from the world. He looked around the room for him, finding a woman pressing him up against the pool table and tucking a slip of paper into his pocket. "I don't think that applies to Dean, given how frequently he goes out and the number of nights he finds company," he disagreed bitterly.

"How many of these chicks does he take home? None - he always goes back to their place because it's easier to leave in the morning than ask someone else to. How many of them does he talk to about himself that isn't just 'yeah I work out'," she asked, flexing her imaginary muscles.

A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. "I think I see your point."

"So, if you want, I could set you up with— Someone?" she asked carefully.

"Thank you, but no."

"Well what if I spoke to Charlie for you about making a website? If you keep it simple, maybe I can sweet-talk her into doing it for free."

"That... would actually be really good. Thank you, Jo. Though I haven't mentioned the idea to Bobby, yet."

"Here's a tip - wait until he's had a few drinks. You're in for a shot, then."

"I hardly think I'm going to catch him drinking in the office."

"I didn't mean at work!" Jo laughed. "The Christmas party." When she saw Castiel's confusion, she smacked the palm of her hand off her forehead. "Of course - you live with Dean. Okay, so it's not much of a party, but every year the guys from the garage come here for Christmas drinks and, more often than not, get completely smashed," she explained. "Dean, of course, doesn't join in the fun because he's an anti-social dick when it comes to the jolly holidays. Of course his dick's usually very sociable—"

"Jo!" Castiel exclaimed, rather loudly.

"Sorry. T-M-I."

Castiel glanced over at Dean again, aware of Jo watching him stare.

Jo rested a hand on his. "There's more to living than just being alive," she told him, putting his empty glass on her tray and leaving him with his thoughts.

Castiel was reluctant to concede that Jo was right to worry. He couldn't spend the rest of his life pining after Dean - not that she knew how strongly he felt. But it was hard to move on when faced with the person you wanted every day; though he wasn't even sure he wanted to move on.

* * *

When they got home that night Castiel was a little relieved to see Dean drop the woman's phone number in the trash, though he still felt jealous that Dean had let her give it to him in the first place.

"She said she wanted to show me her sixth toe," Dean whispered conspiratorially.

"You're drunk," Castiel proclaimed, pushing his friend away.

"Am not."

"You have beer breath."

"But I'm not drunk," Dean insisted.

"Then why did you turn her down?"

Dean seemed to hesitate. "I dunno."

Castiel didn't believe him. "Was it her sixth toe?" he teased, trying to disguise his curiosity with playfulness.

"There are other parts of her body that I'd be more interested in than her toes," Dean informed him.

"I'm sure."

As he turned to the living room Dean wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his weight almost pulling him down as Dean hugged him.

"Do you want to show me your toes?"

"Go to bed!" Castiel instructed him.

"I could count them for you - make sure you've got all ten."

"I promise you, Dean, I have ten toes - five on each foot," Castiel chuckled, moving Dean in the direction of his bedroom.

"Are you sure? When did you last count them?"

"This morning," he lied.

"I last counted my toes... never!" Dean exclaimed in shock.

"I think it's safe to assume that you also have ten toes."

"Really?"

"Really. Now go to bed."

"But I don't want to to go to bed."

"Yes, you do."

"I do?"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna go to bed."

Castiel watched him stagger down the hallway, pondering the idea that maybe he was wrong and Jo was right. He'd always been adamant with Dean that casual hook-ups weren't his thing, but perhaps if he tried, even to just meet someone else, he'd stand a chance of moving on.

Chapter Text

The next day, filled with a fresh determination to give Jo's advice a go, Castiel decided that that night would be the start of getting over Dean. He called Balthazar and asked if he wanted to go out.

"You, asking me if I want to go out?" Balthazar exclaimed, his laughter sounding tinny over the bad connection.

"Yes," Castiel told him, already having second thoughts. "Somewhere I can meet someone."

"Someone... male?" Balthazar smirked.

Castiel sucked in a breath. "Yes," he admitted, after a moment. It wasn't like Balthazar hadn't already figured him out. First Balthazar, then Andy, now Jo. His friends really did seem to know him, and thankfully didn't care. Given the way his family had reacted, he'd never thought he'd find himself surrounded by so many accepting people. It made him wonder what his life would be like now if his family had accepted him. Although then he wouldn't have met Dean...

"So just you and me?"

"If you don't mind. I don't think I'm ready for everyone to know that I'm..."

"It's not like they'll care," Balthazar told him. "But hey, all in your own time."

Cas smiled in relief. Dean may not like Balthazar, and even Castiel could admit that he could be a little overbearing at times, but deep down he was a good friend. "Thank you for being so understanding."

"I know just the place," Balthazar told him. "Dance club on Queen Street. It's not too loud, and it's not one of those quiet bars that's just like every other bar in the rest of the town."

Like the one Dean had taken him to.

"You wouldn't want to be seen there, trust me. It's where all the older guys go who are too old to stay out clubbing until the early hours and too gay to settle down like the straights."

"The straights?"

"Straight people. Like your boyfriend."

"I don't have a— Oh," Castiel realised. "You mean Dean."

"Let me tell you something - I never want to get too old for partying."

"Balthazar, I'm sure you'll still be strutting your stuff when you're ninety, even if you have to take your walking frame onto the dancefloor with you."

Balthazar laughed. "I'll pick you up at eight, okay?"

* * *

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Balthazar asked him, leaning against the bar and checking out the talent as they waited for their drinks.

"No," he lied. Not completely, anyway.

"So what about him?"

Castiel followed his friend's gaze to a man three times his size with biceps as large as melons. "You're not serious?!" he exclaimed. The man could easily snap him in half like a twig.

Balthazar simply laughed.

"You're not serious," Castiel realised, shaking his head. "I thought you were supposed to be helping?"

"I am. Helping you to relax. You're coiled tighter than a spring, darling," Balthazar observed, placing a hand on Cas's shoulder.

"I'm nervous," Cas muttered, eyes darting around the packed club.

"You've got nothing to be nervous about! You're young, you're hot, and half the guys here are gonna be lining up to bang you by the end of the night."

"Just half?" Castiel huffed, a flattered smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards.

"Okay, maybe a little more than half."

"But I'm not looking for someone to 'bang' me," Cas told him, the slang term feeling alien on his tongue.

"Maybe you should be," Balthazar teased, paying the bartender before taking a long sip of his colourful cocktail.

"No thank you. There is more to being in a relationship than sex."

"I thought you were looking for a hook-up?" Balthazar reminded him pointedly.

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, realising that maybe he wasn't so sure what he was looking for tonight. "I'm looking for something that might lead to a relationship," he compromised.

Balthazar looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept quiet.

* * *

Later that night Castiel had his arms around some teenager Balthazar had steered his way, and they weren't so much dancing as swaying along to the music. He wondered what the boy's story was; whether the people closest to him knew or if it was like a secret second life.

He had to remind himself that it was okay to relax when the boy's hands slid lower, though his momentary falter led him out of time with the music.

Lips brushed against his neck; a kiss feather-light, unsure of its welcomeness. Sometimes the Dean in his dreams was confident and manhandled him with ease, but at others he was hesitant and equally as unsure as Cas was. Before he was even aware that he was doing it, he imagined Dean in the boy's place; imagined the scratch of stubble that darkened Dean's jaw tickling his neck as another, more confident kiss met his skin.

"Hmm... Dean..."

"Benjamin," the guy he was dancing with reminded him casually. "My name is Benjamin."

"Oh," Castiel said, jolted out of his fantasy. "Sorry."

Though they continued to dance, they didn't stand so close as before. As they kept moving, Cas looked around the room at Balthazar and a couple of his other friends they'd bumped into. They were all partnered up with someone, grinding together on the dance floor. It was all so impersonal; there was no real feeling behind it. And he'd bet money he didn't have that none of them had to imagine their partners were someone else.

"I'm sorry, I... I need to go," he said, pushing Benjamin away.

He grabbed his coat on the way out, ignoring Benjamin's shouts for his number. He didn't want to see him again. All he wanted to do was go back to a home that wasn't his. To the man he loved but would never have. Cas had really thought that he could do this; just go out, meet someone, and forget all about his feelings for Dean. Last night it had seemed like such a simple idea. Now all it felt like was a mistake.

After stumbling outside, almost colliding with a drag queen taking a smoke, he rang the taxi company that Dean had programmed into his phone.

He didn't realise Balthazar had followed him outside until his friend asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Castiel insisted, fumbling with his phone. "I'm fine."

Balthazar looked disbelieving.

"I will be," Cas amended.

"Was it that guy? Did he say something? Because I can—"

"No. No, I just... I need to go home."

"I'll wait with you."

"You don't have to do that."

"No, I'm going to wait with you until your cab comes," Balthazar insisted.

"Thank you," Castiel smiled gratefully, though he thought it unlikely that he was in any danger of being attacked a second time.

Balthazar draped a friendly arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

What little extra warmth his friend had to offer was welcome on such a cold December night. Cas turned into his body and hugged him, holding onto him as if he were afraid Balthazar was going to disappear. "You're a good friend," he whispered.

Balthazar held him for a long moment, the steady thwump thwump thwump of the bass from inside feeling like it was beating in time with Castiel's heart.

"If I was a good friend," Balthazar said slowly, "I'd tell you to move out."

"What?" Castiel frowned, leaning back to look at his friend.

"Living with Dean... It's not going to help your feelings for him."

Castiel pulled away and stepped back. "How long have you known?" he asked defensively.

"I didn't, really. I don't know. I guess some things are just starting to make sense, now."

Castiel said nothing, unsure if there was anything he could say.

"If money was an issue, you could move in with me for a while?"

"I'm not leaving Dean," Cas told him stubbornly, frowning as he folded his arms across his chest. Even though, deep down, a small part of him admitted that Balthazar might be right, he couldn't bring himself to think about leaving Dean.

"It might be for the best."

"No," Castiel said adamantly. "I love him." It was the first time he'd told someone, and he couldn't take it back. Not that he wanted to. "I love him," he said again, being able to say it offering him some sense of freedom. The third time, he choked on the words. "I love him."

"I know. Love sucks, doesn't it?"

Castiel laughed even though he didn't find it funny, because it hurt.

"No matter what, Cas, I'm here if you ever want to talk. I don't know how much use I can be if you need advice, but at least I can listen?"

"Thank you, but please don't be insulted if I say that I hope I never have to take you up on your offer."

"Of course not. To be honest, I'm kind of hoping you don't."

This time when Castiel laughed, it was heartfelt. It seemed like Dean and Balthazar had something in common after all.

* * *

Castiel was deep in thought when the taxi pulled up outside Dean's apartment block.

"We're here."

"Oh. Thank you," Castiel said, moving to get out of the car.

"Not so fast, buddy. You forget something?"

Cas looked at the back seat, before realising the driver meant his payment. "Of course, sorry. How much am I due you?"

"Let's call it an even nine."

Cas handed him a ten and the driver gave him a dollar back.

"Thank you," he said again as he shut the door. He looked up at Dean's apartment, seeing light peeking through the curtains.

It took three hits of the button before the elevator arrow lit up, and he hoped it didn't mean that it was on the fritz again. Hesitantly he stepped inside as the doors opened, looking around as if hoping for a sign that it was safe. The button for the third floor lit up the first time he pressed it, which he took as a good omen.

"It's kind of early, isn't it?" Dean asked, when he got in.

"I came home because I was tired," Castiel lied, before an unexpected yawn burst past his lips. He supposed it wasn't a complete lie, after all.

"I'll let you get to bed," Dean declared, standing up and switching the TV off.

"No, you don't have to—"

"It's okay," Dean grinned. "I've seen the film before. Bond kills the bad guy and gets the girl."

Castiel smiled tiredly as Dean made his way down the hall, collapsing onto the sofa without bothering to make up his bed.

* * *

All too soon, the sound of Dean bumbling around in the kitchen woke him. Yawning and bleary-eyed, he made his way to the kitchen in search of coffee.

"So how was last night?" Dean asked as he trudged through, passing him his own cup of coffee before making himself a second cup.

"I danced with a boy," Cas told him, taking a sip of the much-needed caffeine boost.

"A boy?"

"Well, younger than me," Cas amended over the lip of his mug.

"So, uh, what? Do you like him? Are you going to see him again?"

"No," he yawned, shaking his head in case his answer had been drowned out by his exhaustion.

"No you didn't like him, or no you're not going to see him again?"

"No, I'm not going to see him again. I barely got to know his name." Castiel finished his cooling coffee in three mouthfuls. "There's no need to worry Dean, you're still the number one man in my life," he said, forcing himself to sound like he was joking.

Dean brought the coffee pot over to the table and refilled his mug.

"Oh! Thank you," he said, curling his hands around his mug and pulling it close again.

"No need to sound so surprised," Dean grinned, pouring his own. "So. This boy."

"Last night was a mistake," Castiel said firmly.

"He wasn't a dick, was he? I mean, he didn't hurt you?"

"No, it was just a mistake," Castiel reiterated, warmth blooming in his chest at Dean's concern.

They finished their coffees in silence, Cas unwilling to elaborate further and Dean unwilling - or perhaps too uninterested - to ask.

"So have you got any plans this morning?" Dean asked as they washed up.

Castiel shrugged. "Not really."

"I didn't know if you wanted to do something."

"Like what? We have no money."

"Well, yeah, that's true, but there's this new exhibit on at the museum and—"

"You want to go to the museum?"

"Well, no, but I thought you might."

Castiel thought about it.

"And it is donation entry, so I'm pretty sure we could scrape together something like five bucks a piece."

"It's not like there's anything else to do," Castiel conceded.

"Jeez, sound a little more excited, why don't you," Dean muttered. "It was just a thought. If you don't want to go then—"

"I didn't say that," Castiel said quickly.

"Fine," Dean said as he dried the soap suds off his hands, "let's get going, then."

Cas paused for a second. "Right now?" he asked, wondering if perhaps he'd misunderstood.

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't showered, yet."

* * *

"Insects?" Castiel grinned an hour later, his face lighting up when he saw the banner outside the museum.

"I thought you might like it," Dean told him, a little smugly.

Dean dropped their money into the box as Cas picked up a leaflet to guide them through the exhibit.

"This is going to bore you," he observed.

Dean shrugged. "You like bugs, they have bugs - albeit dead bugs."

He followed Castiel around for a little over two hours, listening to him 'um' and 'ah' every time he learned something new. The size of some butterflies surprised him, and he thought the moth that was the size of his hand was pretty badass. He didn't mind spiders, but he wasn't going to admit to Cas that some of the larger ones freaked him out. What he really didn't get, though, was why anyone would want to kill and collect all these creepy crawlies in the first place.

"Some of the insects here were caught over a hundred years ago!" Cas exclaimed.

They were currently standing in front of a large cabinet displaying hundreds of species of beetles, from Mexican elephant beetles to your regular garden ladybird.

"Dean, did you know that aphids are born pregnant? So have no need for sex..."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"And they can give birth 10 days after being born themselves" Castiel continued reading aloud, ignoring him.

"Fascinating," Dean replied, sounding anything but fascinated. "I feel sorry for the little guys. Girls. Having to go without sex all their lives."

"I'm pretty sure they don't live that long, Dean. A few weeks or months at most."

Dean glanced at his watch. "Don't make me give you a kick up the ass if you want to see the bees and we're going to make it to work on time," Dean chuckled, giving Cas a gentle nudge in the ribs to encourage him to move on.

"But I didn't get to see the—"

"We can always double back if we have time," Dean promised.

* * *

Bobby still wasn't happy about being pushed into the age of technology, and on some level it felt like Cas had taken a step backwards. Now he had to go over everything he'd done a second time to enter the data into one or more of several databases he's created, but on the other hand he was getting through things quicker. Now he didn't need to keep every scrap of paper Bobby had hoarded; just those from the previous financial year. Everything else could be disposed of once it had been entered into the computer.

His fingers felt stiff from typing for the past hour and a half so he interlocked them, stretching his hands out in front of him causing his knuckles to crack. Every day he put Dean's house key out of his pocket and sat it beside him on the desk. Today, however, it hung from a keyring. Castiel picked it up and fingered the overpriced enamel bee that Dean had bought him. It had been completely unnecessary, but he appreciated the thought.

"What have you got there?" Bobby asked him.

"Nothing," Castiel said, putting it down again. "Can I show you something?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "On that thing?" he queried, pointing at the computer.

"Yes," Castiel said, sliding his chair to the side to let Bobby in.

"Do I have to?" he grumbled, nevertheless moving to stand beside Castiel. "What?"

"This is your customer database. Name, address, telephone number—"

"Why do I need to know this?"

"I'm hoping to change your mind about this computer."

"Good luck with that," Bobby scoffed. "But go on."

Was it Castiel's imagination or did Bobby sound a little amused? "And these two columns are for the make and model of their car. If we keep a note of when each customer has their annual vehicle safety inspection performed, then we can send out reminder letters the following year. That way they might be inclined to bring their car back here, which means more repeat business."

"And more money," Bobby nodded in understanding. "Just one thing."

"Yes?"

"You can't tell the difference between a Ford and Ferrari, so how are you gonna fill all this in?"

Castiel felt like he should be offended, except he was also pretty sure that Bobby was right. "With this," he said, pulling a rough draft of a form out from a drawer. "I can type it up and print it off, then we have every customer fill one in. It's got the basic details you've always asked for, plus everything else."

"Print it off on what?" Bobby pointed out.

"Well, I could do it at the library, or..."

"No," Bobby said adamantly, knowing what Cas was getting at.

Castiel wasn't going to give up. "Then how else do you propose we send out letters to customers, which you just agreed would be a good idea? You pay me to do a job, so let me do it right."

Bobby opened and closed his mouth. "Fine! Shop around, see what the cheapest one you can get is."

Castiel fought to hide the smile until Bobby had left the room. That had been the easy part. Internet and a company website? May God be with him...

Chapter Text

Christmas trees started popping up everywhere - windows, the city centre, the shopping mall - and Dean decided that, for the first time since Lisa had left him, he was going to put up a tree in the apartment. Wanting to make it a surprise, however, he chose to wait until Cas wasn't around. So on his next half day he swapped shifts with Andy, finishing at lunch. Regardless he dropped Cas off at work as usual, but detoured to pick up a cheap tree on the way home. It wasn't the nicest tree, for it had a crooked branch that stuck up at an odd angle - hence the slightly discounted price - but it would fulfil its purpose.

The decorations were the awkward part - they were in the back of the stair cupboard so he had to drag everything out, hitting his head on the underside of the stairs several times, before he could finally drag the box out. Too annoyed by this point to be bothered putting everything back in properly, he just shoved the stuff in haphazardly and closed the door. He'd have to drag it all out again in a few weeks time anyway.

As he wrapped tinsel around the branches and adorned them with baubles he found himself whistling Christmas songs, and the fact made him chuckle. It was almost terrifying how many Christmases had come and gone whilst he'd sat in his apartment and let the world pass him by. But that was changing. Castiel had come into his life with a second chance, and all Dean had to do was take it.

Except there was Sam. Moving on felt like leaving him behind, and he couldn't do that, no matter how strained things had become between them. He was scoring off days on the calendar; while some were counting down to Christmas, Dean was counting down until the day he could call Sam. Jess had told him he'd signed up for a thirty day stay in rehab, and he wanted to call Sam when he was out. No matter how close they were - or weren't - Dean was still his big brother.

He delved into the box once again, pulling out a wooden 'D' painted red and decorated with holly and ivy. The paint was chipping from where other ornaments had knocked against it over the years. His vision swam as he saw, in his mind's eye, his mother hanging it on the tree. She'd bought it for his first Christmas, and he remembered her telling him that they'd go shopping soon to buy one for Sam.

But she never got the chance.

The light reflected off one of the baubles and for a moment he mistook it for the flicker of flames. He wiped his cheeks with his sleeve and hung the decoration at the front of the tree. He didn't want to overcrowd the branches but before he could pack up the things he hadn't used he needed the tree toppers. As he rummaged for them he noticed a slip of paper tucked into the bottom of the box. Reaching down he pulled it out and saw himself, about three years old, with baubles hanging from his ears and tinsel wrapped around his neck like a necklace. Beside him, his mother was smiling.

He'd never seen that photo before, but had the vaguest recollection of it being taken. Whatever had survived the fire his father had locked up in a storage unit, paying the bill every month and never setting foot in it again. Indeed, it was only after his death that the two of them even knew about the locker. Sam saw no need to keep it so Dean had taken its contents, but he hadn't looked at most of the stuff since. It had just cluttered up his apartment for years. He stroked two fingers across his mother's face then put the photo aside.

Stepping back to view his handiwork, he considered that he'd perhaps gone a little overboard. Despite his best attempts the tree were looking a little cluttered. He looked at the two toppers - a star and an angel - torn between which should adorn the top of the tree.

"Angels are watching over you."

He heard his mother's words as clear as a bell, and he tossed the star in the box before placing the angel on top of the tree. All that was left to do was pack up and put the box away before Cas came home, and then—

The front door opened and closed.

Shit.

"Dean I know you don't do 'tacky' decorations but when I was out for lunch with Balthazar I saw the most wonderful—" Castiel fell silent as he stared at the tree in front of him. "Dean," he breathed.

"I was gonna have all this other crap tidied away before you got back," he said, waving his arm at the mess of tangled tinsel and decorations.

"It's beautiful."

"You think?" Dean asked, taking another look at the tree.

"Yes. Dean, are you alright? Your eyes are red."

Dean rubbed at his eyes. "This shit's dusty."

"If you want I can—"

"No, no," Dean said as Castiel moved to help pack things up. Their fingers brushed and his heart hammered in his chest. "I've got it."

He threw everything into the box and went to shove it in the cupboard. When he came back, Cas was still staring at the tree with an expression of childish awe.

Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other behind Cas. "You don't think it's too much?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. I think it's beautiful."

"'Cause I can take some stuff off it if you—"

"It's perfect."

Dean almost lost his balance as Cas threw himself at him, but he relaxed in Cas's arms and hugged him back. "It's been ages since I did Christmas, but I figured you deserved one."

Cas stepped back and looked from him to the tree. "You did all this for me?" he breathed.

"Well, us," Dean amended. "But yeah."

"I could sit and look at it until Christmas Day."

"Don't be ridiculous," Dean scoffed. "Now are you going to tell me what you saw that was 'wonderful'?"

"It doesn't matter," Castiel said, still staring at the tree.

"Yes, it does. Spill."

Castiel looked at him. "I thought we could put up one small decoration, but we don't need it now."

Dean chewed his lip. He'd spent more than he'd meant to on the tree - he hadn't realised just how much prices had gone up the past few years - and if they weren't careful they could easily run out of money by the end of the month. Except, despite Castiel's words, Dean could see just how much whatever he'd seen meant to him. "Whatever it is, let's go buy it. Unless it lights up and flashes. Or sings," he added as an afterthought.

Castiel shook his head. "We probably can't afford it, anyway. I was being selfish. And what you've done," he gestured to the tree, "is wonderful."

"It's Christmas, Cas. Now am I going out alone to guess what it is you saw, or are you coming with me?"

"Dean, no."

Dean grabbed his car keys. "See you later, then."

"No. Dean!"

He walked out the door and started making his way slowly down the stairs, hoping that his gamble would pay off. Before he'd reached the second floor Cas was shouting at him to wait. He heard the sound of the door being locked, and then Cas was running down the stairs behind him.

When he caught up with him Dean he grabbed his arm and squeezed it tight. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"It's Christmas, Cas!" Dean smirked.

"So you keep telling me," Castiel smiled.

* * *

"It doesn't light up or sing," Castiel insisted. "It lights up and sings."

"Oh, yay!" Dean enthused sarcastically. He took a second look at the snow globe he'd promised to buy Cas.

"If you don't like it we could pick another one," Castiel said, but it was clear that he had his heart set on the Nativity scene.

"No," Dean sighed. "If you like that one then we'll get that one."

"Thank you," Castiel said, scooping up the snowglobe and hurrying over to join the queue for the checkout as if fearing Dean might change his mind.

Dean followed him in no rush, for there were several people in front of Cas. He scanned the shelves, wondering if companies held a competition to see who could design the tackiest ornaments year after year.

He stopped and stared at one of an angel playing the harp, with a glittery star dangling between its legs on a thread. Curious, he pulled it gently. The angel's arms and legs lifted up, and he laughed before he could stop himself. He joined Cas in the queue and held it up to let him see, pulling the star several times.

Castiel rolled his eyes.

Sam had always told him he was as stubborn as an ass and, as he decided to buy it solely so that they were each getting something the other didn't like, he admitted to himself that there might be some truth in the comparison.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure how he'd been persuaded to stay and Christmas window shop, but an hour and a half later they were still wandering around the mall, stopping every five steps to look in yet another window - and they had only covered two of the three floors. Not to mention Castiel had dragged him straight up to the third floor on the way in, so given they were working their way back down to the car he didn't have much of an excuse to give the last floor a miss.

"Didn't you look in all these windows earlier?" Dean asked desperately.

"No - just a couple that caught my eye."

"So now we have to make up for it by looking in every single one?"

Cas said nothing as he disappeared into one of the shops.

A couple of people shot Dean funny looks as he gestured in defeat to Castiel's retreating back, before dutifully following him inside.

"What did you see?"

Castiel held up two stockings, one green and one blue, with matching tartan trim around the top.

"We're not Scottish," Dean heard himself saying.

"I think they're nice," Castiel said a little sharply, putting them back.

"Besides which," Dean continued, "you won't fit many presents in them."

"They're not for presents. Not really. They're more for decoration."

"So basically they're useless?"

A woman with flashing, over-sized festive earrings next to him tutted loudly, but Castiel reluctantly agreed with Dean and allowed his friend to guide him back out of the shop again.

Dean was almost - almost - regretting the decision to celebrate Christmas this year.

They stopped at the railing and looked down at the people milling around the food court in silence for several moments.

"I feel like I've missed out on so much," Castiel declared wistfully. "It's exciting to catch up on, but every time I try something new ten new things follow it."

"You know you don't have to do it all at once, yeah? You've got the rest of your life and, I don't know, about fifty more Christmases to go? Assuming you reach the average life expectancy."

Castiel chuckled. "I could die tomorrow," he pointed out with a wry smile.

"Don't talk like that," Dean said immediately, his expression darkening. He didn't want to think about Cas ever not being around.

"I'm just saying—"

"Well, don't."

They both turned their attention back to the shoppers below.

Dean cocked his head. "Come on," he urged, batting Cas's arm. "We've got to go."

"Where? Why? Dean!" Castiel hurried after him, squeezing past shoppers standing patiently on the escalators with a, "Pardon me... Sorry... Excuse me..." as he struggled to keep Dean in sight. He lost him for a second on the bottom floor and had a fleeting moment of panic at the thought of Dean abandoning him, which he immediately realised was ridiculous because he was a fully grown man in a shopping mall with a cell phone, a key to Dean's apartment, and enough money (he hoped) for a cab home.

Almost as soon as he'd finished berating himself for acting like a child he spotted Dean standing in the midst of a group of children outside Santa's grotto. "Dean, kindly do not race off like that again!" he admonished his friend, realising that he was coming across as the parent in this bizarre scenario.

"Reindeer, Cas," Dean grinned.

Only then did Castiel see the two reindeer fenced off in a small pen, being hand-fed carrots by a group of excited children. As he stared, an unexpected surge of joy threatened to overwhelm him. "Dean..." he breathed, captivated by the smiles on the faces of the parents and children around them. The young ones couldn't stand still as they ran between their parents and the reindeer, jumping up and down when their name was called to sit on Santa's knee. This was the side of Christmas his father had always discouraged celebrating, because it was commercial and supposedly undermined the 'true meaning' behind the day; but, in that moment, Castiel couldn't understand why spreading joy and cheer could be bad.

He didn't realise Dean had disappeared from his side again until he saw him scratching the head of one of the deer as it munched on a carrot. When he moved to Dean's side, a carrot was pressed into his hand.

"Go on," Dean encouraged him.

Slightly intimidated, Castiel held the vegetable out in offering. Dark nostrils flared wide, and Castiel could feel the animal's warm breath as it snorted. Then it closed its enormous mouth around the carrot, devouring it in one bite.

Castiel laughed.

* * *

"So parents lie to their children, telling them that a fat man in a red suit flies through the sky on a sled pulled by reindeer and comes down their chimney to leave them presents under the tree?" Castiel asked, squinting up at the twinkling lights illuminating the huge tree in the center of the mall as they walked in the direction of the exit.

Dean laughed. "Yeah. But don't talk too loudly or else kids'll hear you."

"Why is it acceptable to lie to children?"

Bringing his attention back to Dean, Castiel watched his friend shrug. "Magic of Christmas, Cas - seeing their smiles on Christmas morning when they see that Santa's eaten the cookies they left out the night before."

Castiel was baffled. "Santa eats their cookies, too?"

"And drinks their milk," Dean added. "We also lie to children about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny."

"The..?"

"Never mind," Dean chuckled, shaking his head.

"No, Dean - you have some explaining to do! Who, or what, is the 'Tooth Fairy'?"

Chapter Text

"Ow!" Dean cried out for the fifth time in half an hour. He lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked the tip of his finger.

Castiel paused where he had two ends of a sheet overlapping and stared at Dean's mouth. Inappropriate thoughts hovered at the edge of his mind and he chased them away with thoughts of God.

"You aren't being very successful," he observed. He couldn't believe that Dean so easily agreed to help wrap the presents for the children's party.

"I can't believe that you talked me into this," Dean muttered petulantly, conveniently forgetting that he'd volunteered after Castiel's heavy hinting. "It looks like the only rapping I can do is with song lyrics. Not that I like rap music. At all," he frowned.

"Of course not," Cas told him seriously, an understanding twinkle in his eye. The paper he'd been holding together opened up to reveal a Barbie doll, as he rose from his seat and went to retrieve yet another Band Aid from the first aid box.

"Do you think we should charge Dean for a new box?" Father Reynolds joked.

Castiel huffed a quiet laugh and deliberately ignored the plain beige ones in favour of a girly flowery one. Then it was Father Reynolds turn to laugh.

"Dude, what is that?" Dean asked when he laid eyes on it.

"A Band Aid. Now give me your finger."

Dean shot him a suspicious glare. "What happened to the regular - plain - ones?"

"You're wearing them."

"All of them?"

Castiel opted for the lesser lie of saying nothing, simply grabbing Dean's hand and wrapping the plaster around the tip of his finger. "Perhaps we should join forces," he suggested, looking at the pile of badly wrapped presents on the table in front of Dean.

"Are you saying I suck?"

"I just thought we should make an effort to save your fingers," Cas replied diplomatically.

"Sammy and me used to just cover things with newspaper pages. We didn't have the money to waste on wrapping paper, let alone bows."

Castiel swallowed. The way Dean spoke was so matter-of-fact, and there was no hint of the usual regret he conveyed on the rare occasions he's mention his brother.

"Then we'll make sure that every child gets a bow," he promised.

* * *

"Thank you for helping out today," Castiel said some time later, as he shrugged off his coat in their apartment.

"So when's the party?"

"Next week."

"You got a Santa?"

"Yes. Cain, one of the elders from the church, volunteered."

"Cain, huh?" The name wasn't familiar, but it wasn't like Cas mentioned everyone he spoke to at the church.

"He lives outside of town because he likes the quiet," Cas revealed. "He keeps bees."

"Bees?"

"It was his honey you had on your toast this morning."

"Well I'll have to tell him thank you!" Dean grinned. It had been some damn good honey.

"I'll get a start on dinner," Cas said, already heading towards the kitchen.

"If you want I could—"

But the phone interrupted him before he could offer to help.

"Hello? Sam!" he exclaimed, surprised at hearing his brother's voice on the other end of the line. Wasn't he supposed to still be in rehab? "I thought you got home tomorrow?"

"No, today," Sam told him.

Dean must have miscounted the days. He took the phone into the living room and sat down. "Are you doing okay?"

"All things considered," Sam admitted. There was a moment's pause before he said, "Jess told me she called you."

"Would you have told me if she didn't?" Dean snapped. He shouldn't have to hear about his brother's problems secondhand.

There was a longer pause before Sam answered. "Probably not."

"I didn't think so," Dean said bitterly.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry you don't tell me anything?"

"We're not exactly on speaking terms," Sam pointed out.

"You're still my brother!" he shouted.

His voice must have startled Cas, because there was a loud clang as he dropped something metallic in the kitchen.

"I still want to know that you're doing okay!" he hissed. "Is it... Was it because of mom?"

"No," Sam answered, much too quickly before adding, "Kind of."

"Which is it?"

"I don't have to answer to you!" Sam snapped.

"Oh, yes you do!" Dean growled back. "Unless you want me to come out there and kick your ass?"

"Do you even know where I live?" Sam asked quietly, effectively defusing the argument before it got out of control.

"'S not the point," Dean mumbled. Sam and Jess had lived in several apartments over the years before settling down. How was he supposed to keep up when Sam didn't always tell him they'd moved again?

Sam sighed. "There was a party. A... A work thing. We were drinking, I had a few too many, some guys started doing E, and when they asked me I didn't say no."

"E?" Dean asked carefully, because it wasn't as hard as some of the stuff Sam had been on in the past.

"Yeah. I sobered up and checked myself into rehab first thing in the morning. "

"Jess said you'd relapsed, dude! I was thinking—"

"I... I wanted, Dean. I wanted something so bad. And with the 2nd being so close, I was scared."

Dean let out a breath.

"You were worried about me?" Sam asked, a note of hopefulness in his tone.

"Of course I was worried about you! You think I don't worry about you?"

"I worry about you, too."

Neither of them said anything for a while. It had been a long time since they'd shared a moment like this - talking about their lives, and their feelings. Maybe they didn't always have to fight.

"So, uh, have you and Cas got any plans for Christmas?" Sam asked.

"Not really. I haven't exactly done the whole Christmas thing in years."

"Maybe you should," Sam suggested. "I'm sure Cas would want to."

Dean was sure he did as well. "I put up a tree," he told him.

"Well, that's better than nothing. But what about food? Presents?"

"We'll scrape something together. Keep it cheap and cheerful, you know?"

"I could give you—"

"No!" Dean said adamantly, his neck burning. "I don't need you to keep trying to come to the rescue. We can manage."

"I'm sure you can, but it's Christmas."

"I don't care if it's Star Wars Day and George Lucas is in town, I am not taking your money!"

"I'm giving you it," Sam said firmly. "Call it an early Christmas present."

"I don't want it," Dean said childishly. "You're always bailing me out."

"Then stop needing to be bailed out!" Sam snapped. "Grow up and stop drinking your rent money!"

"Screw you!" Dean yelled, hanging up and throwing the phone across the room.

It smashed off the wall and he stared at it where it lay, in pieces, on the floor.

"Fuck."

So much for not always having to fight.

* * *

The next day Dean left the garage during his lunch hour to check his bank balance at the ATM round the corner. He looked at the number on the screen, telling him that his brother had indeed transferred the grand sum of $200 into his account. He took his card out of the machine and walked away, trying not to think about how happy Sam had sounded when Dean had told him that he and Cas wanted to do the whole Christmas thing.

Well he wasn't going to touch Sam's money because they could have as good a Christmas as anyone on a budget, thank you very much.

* * *

Unfortunately, he quickly realised as his monthly bills came pouring in, refusing Sam's money might be easier said than done.

"Bills, bills, bills," Dean chanted to himself as he flicked through the pile of envelopes: water; electricity; rent. Then he fell silent.

The only sound in the small kitchen was the gurgling of the coffee maker. Castiel glanced over his shoulder to see Dean staring at one envelope, the rest lying forgotten about on the table.

"Dean?" he asked quietly.

Dean didn't answer; just kept staring at the envelope addressed to him as if he was trying to see through it to the contents inside.

Cas moved over to him, and when he rested a hand on Dean's shoulder the other man relaxed minutely at his touch. "What is it?"

"It's, uh," Dean started to say, then cleared his throat. "A while back I was living with this woman, Lisa. We were together, and, ah... She moved away."

"And she writes to you?" Castiel assumed, ignoring the jealousy churning in his stomach.

"No. I mean yeah, occasionally, but... She has a son, Ben. He's a great kid," Dean smiled fondly, and Castiel couldn't help but smile with him. "I thought he might have been mine, 'cause we were together before, but... I don't know."

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and rested his chin on his shoulder. "You miss him," he observed.

An empty laugh burst past Dean's lips. "So much, Cas. You've no idea."

"What does he say?" Castiel asked, slipping into the seat next to him.

Dean looked at him, eyes dropping to stare at Castiel's mouth when he couldn't hold his gaze. Castiel licked his lips as his heart beat a little faster, and Dean's eyes tracked the movement. After a moment Dean looked back at the envelope as he turned it over in his hands and tore it open.

He pulled out a Christmas card - a humorous one in which Santa was stuck in a chimney - and chuckled. When he opened it a folded letter fell out, and he passed the card to Cas.

Cas smiled at the humor, but didn't read the message inside. It was none of his business. The coffee machine had finished so he poured Dean a mug of coffee and put it down in front of him, but Dean was too engrossed in Ben's words to notice. He took the card through to the living room and displayed it next to the TV.

It looked lonely and a little pathetic sitting on its own.

He sat down on the sofa and stared at it, picturing several more standing around the TV.

"I'm going out!" he called through to Dean decidedly, as he retrieved his coat and wallet.

"Thought we were going to the supermarket?"

"Later - I need to do something first!"

"Alright."

Castiel popped his head into the kitchen on his way past. "Will you still be here when I get back?"

"Hmm."

Castiel took that as a yes. "I won't be long."

He all but ran down the stairs. It would take him just over twenty minutes to walk into the town - less if he walked briskly - and he hoped to be back within the hour. He passed the play park at the bottom of the street which sat empty; the day too cold for parents to want to sit and watch as their children ran around.

Considering how reluctant Dean had been to celebrate Thanksgiving, Cas had doubted very much that his friend would get into the so-called 'spirit of Christmas'. But perhaps he'd been wrong. After all, he had bought and decorated a tree for their small apartment. Almost tripping over his feet, he came to a faltering halt as his eyes were drawn to a ground floor apartment with windows framed by fairy lights. There was something about Christmas lights, whether in people's windows or the shopping mall, that made him happy.

He shivered as the wind picked up, and started walking again. Maybe he should have borrowed one of Dean's jackets. He needed to buy a warmer one for himself, he decided, quickening his pace as he neared his destination. The hot blast of air from the overhead heater was a relief as he stepped into the card shop.

It was a small and cramped shop on the best of days, but with the busy festive period bringing more shoppers out more often it was positively claustrophobic. He looked around at the sections, seeing Christmas cards for mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters, sending a pang of remorse coursing through him.

"Excuse me," he said, squeezing past a couple of teenage girls as he spotted the section for friends.

* * *

Dean stared at the blank pad of paper, several sheets crumpled up and tossed in front of him. A floorboard in the corridor creaked, announcing Castiel's return. He was uncomfortably aware of Castiel just being there, like his conscious passing judgement on what a shit excuse he was for being the closest thing Ben had to a father figure.

"I don't know what to say," he said defeatedly when he realised that Castiel wasn't going to say anything. "I never do. Ben sends me these letters about soccer tournaments and school prizes and I just send him a card - Christmas, birthday, Easter..." He trailed off, feeling guilty at how much time he'd wasted. The past few years were just a blur in his mind; a drunken haze of cars and women. The reason he never knew what to say was because he'd never done anything worthwhile, and he was never going to get those years back.

"It's not like you have nothing to tell him," Castiel interrupted his thoughts conversationally.

"No offence, Cas, but I think he'd get bored if I wrote him a letter telling him all about the guy who moved in with me," Dean said lightly.

"I didn't mean me," Castiel chided him gently. "What did we see on Saturday?"

"What do you mean, 'what did we see'?" Dean echoed sceptically. "We only went to the mall."

"And what did they have at the mall?" Castiel pushed patiently.

"Shops?"

"At Santa's Grotto..."

Dean had no idea where Cas was going with this. "Elves?"

"That you spent twenty minutes feeding with carrots..." Castiel prompted, smiling fondly at the memory of Dean being more excited than some of the children.

"Oh," Dean said when he realised what Cas was referring to. It took him a moment longer to realise that Cas meant for him to tell Ben about it. "Oh!" Then he frowned. Ben was, what? Twelve? Thirteen? Even fourteen? God, he couldn't even remember how old his might-be kid was, he thought, rubbing his face with his hands. He tried to remember what he'd been into at that age, but it was mostly looking after Sam and cleaning up after their dad's latest bender. "D'you think he'd want to hear about that?"

"Given the crowds of children gathered round the reindeer I'd say yes."

Cas was looking at him with the patience of a kindergarten teacher explaining (for the hundredth time) why you need to put your hand up and wait instead of just shouting out. Castiel's level of patience for his bullshit never ceased to amaze him because, coming from anyone else, it would probably sound patronising. His pen hovered over the page, but he still wasn't convinced.

"I think he'd have loved to be there with you," Castiel hinted heavily.

Ben, Dean scrawled, wondering if he was supposed to put a 'Dear' before his name. He licked his lips in concentration as he tried to put Cas's suggestions into his own words. You'll never guess what I saw at the mall on Saturday. (Well you might, because it's Christmas.) They had reindeer! Actual reindeer! I'd never seen one before - my dad never really went in for all that Christmas stuff. Dean paused, contemplating striking through that last line before smiling at a memory which they shared. Reminds me of the time me and your mom took you to that crappy grotto, and they had donkeys with antler headbands to make them look like reindeer.

He was so busy scribbling words onto the page that he didn't notice when Cas left the room again.

Chapter Text

"Come on, Dean!" They were going to be late.

"I thought we were leaving at three - you didn't tell me the thing started at three!"

They grabbed their coats on their way out, putting them on as they hurried down the three flights of stairs. When Cas had mentioned to Dean about needing a thicker coat, he'd admitted that Sam had given them some more money and awkwardly shoved $40 in his hand. He hadn't meant it to sound like he was asking for help but Dean wouldn't take it back, so he'd been forced to admit that he needed it and bought himself a thick black coat. With his own money he'd bought a burgundy scarf and matching gloves. He thought he looked rather smart - or at least he would, if he could get the coat buttoned up. As he fought with the large buttons Dean raced ahead, taking the stairs two at a time. Halfway down Castiel had to stop and fumble in his pocket when his phone started ringing.

"I thought you didn't want to be late?" Dean shouted up at him.

"Hello?" Castiel answered his phone, ignoring Dean. "Wait, say that again? ... What do you mean you have the flu? ... Who else is going to be Santa?!" he exclaimed. The phone went dead as Cain hung up.

Dean jogged back up to him. "What's wrong?"

"Santa has the flu."

"Don't you have a back-up Santa?"

"No," Castiel said, stressing out. "I didn't think we'd need one, and everyone else I know is already helping out in one way or another."

"Not everyone," Dean reminded him pointedly.

Castiel stared at him. "Who?"

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Who?"

"Me, dumbass. My only job is to get you there and bring you home."

Castiel stared at him. "You would be Santa?" he clarified.

"You sound surprised. I'm good with kids."

"But you're so... Scrooge-like," Castiel finished.

"I am not Scrooge-y!"

"You drink, you don't go out unless it's to get drunk or laid, you don't celebrate anything—"

"We celebrated Thanksgiving and we have a Christmas tree!"

"Both of which you've admitted are only because of me," Cas pointed out.

"Bah, humbug," Dean grumbled, because he knew Cas was right. "Now do you want there to be a Santa at this thing or not?"

* * *

"I look fat," Dean declared an hour later, staring at himself in a mirror.

"Of course you look fat," Castiel told him impatiently. "You're wearing a fat suit."

Dean rubbed his padded belly and pulled a face.

"You're not fat. Here," Cas said softly, pulling him away from the mirror and handing him the one-piece hat and beard. "Now the presents are in that bag, and they're all labelled."

"Okay."

"And this is for you."

Dean frowned, dropping the hat on the table and taking the envelope from him. He pulled out a classic Christmas card with the Nativity scene on the front, and Castiel watched him as he read the message he'd written neatly inside, underneath the card's message of Seasons Greetings.

A few months ago I didn't think I'd still be alive this Christmas. Because of you I can look forward to a better new year. So thank you for everything. I hope that you get everything you deserve next year.

Dean read it twice, and his eyes were wet when he finally looked at Castiel. "Cas," he breathed, trying to hide how choked-up he was getting.

Castiel simply smiled and nodded.

"Okay let's get this show on the road," Dean said loudly, forcing his emotions down. "Santa is in the building."

"Not quite," Castiel grinned, looking pointedly at the hat sitting on the table.

"Oh, yeah." Dean grabbing it and shoving it on his head.

Cas adjusted it until the beard was sitting straight.

"Let's do this."

* * *

Castiel quietly re-entered the hall where the children were laughing and dancing. Some parents were joining them, while others sat at the tables that lined the walls eating the party food. He sat down near the door he'd just come through and nibbled on a mini sausage roll, waiting for the tell-tale jingle of bells that would announce Santa's arrival.

It only took a minute for Dean to follow him through and, when they could hear the bell on the end of Dean's hat jingling as he paced in the corridor just on the other side of the door, Father Reynolds led the children in a rendition of Jingle Bells. Castiel nodded along waiting to join in at the chorus, for that was all he'd managed to pick up from hearing the song being rehearsed in choir practice after the Sunday service.

The children sang the chorus even louder than the verse and, towards the end of the song, they screamed with excitement when Dean toddled in with a merry, "Ho ho ho!"

Castiel raised a hand to his mouth in an attempt to hide his smile.

"Have you all been good boys and girls this year?" 'Santa' boomed, purposefully deeper and huskier than Cas was used to.

Castiel turned away from the children to let out a soft laugh. Dean hadn't been in the room thirty seconds and already he couldn't imagine Cain playing the part. Straight away the green-eyed Santa Claus had them eating out of his hand. The kids formed an animated, yet orderly crowd as they waited eagerly for him to read their names out and receive their presents.

As he watched Dean interact with the children under the guise of Santa Claus, he couldn't help but feel his heart swell in his chest. His friend had prevented a lot of disappointment and truly saved the day, all for him.

A fond smile lit up his face as he watched him lean over and hand a little blonde girl her present. The way the child's face lit up when Santa wished her a "Merry Christmas!" was worth all the hard work put into today. He watched as she skipped over to her parents, her short curls dancing around her ears, and tore into the wrapping paper, excitedly waving her new Barbie doll at them.

Cas caught Dean's eye a while later and flashed him a discreet thumbs-up. The bright smile peeking through the fake beard he got in return made his heart skip a beat.

"You should tell him," Father Reynolds advised.

Cas jumped in surprise, not having noticed Father Reynolds appear beside him. "Tell him?"

"How you feel about him."

"I don't... No. I have no feelings for Dean except gratitude," he lied. He didn't know why he felt the need to lie to Father Reynolds, when he could simply tell him that Dean already knew.

Father Reynolds tutted. "Perhaps your sessions with Pamela aren't going as well as you have previously suggested, if you can't acknowledge your own feelings. Honesty is important, Castiel."

Perhaps it was his father's influence, he pondered as Father Reynolds made his way over to one of the parents. Admitting his homosexual feelings to a man of God wasn't the same as revealing to Dean that his feelings were becoming increasingly romantic.

There was a chorus of disappointment from the children as they realised there were no more presents, and Castiel volunteered to show Santa the way out.

"You know, there's one in this sack for you," Dean told him once they were back in his makeshift dressing room.

"What?" Castiel asked, as Dean pulled the hat off and scratched his jaw.

"That beard itches," he muttered, reaching into the bottom of the sack and pulling out a small, crudely wrapped present to him. "You must have been a very good boy, this year," Dean told him, winking.

Curiously, Cas tore the wrapping paper off, revealing the green and blue stockings he'd been admiring the other day.

"Thank you," he whispered with a smile, clutching them to his chest.

* * *

When they got home, the first thing Castiel did was get changed. One of the boys had eaten too many sausage rolls and thrown up all over him during a game of musical bumps. He took his soiled clothing to the bathroom, coming to a halt when he saw Dean already in there, shirtless and looking at himself in the mirror. A sudden urge to touch Dean hit him, and he had to clench his hands tighter around the t-shirt he held. Dean was beautiful. It wasn't fair. His gaze was drawn to his muscular back, and he smiled when he noticed that Dean's freckles weren't limited to his face.

Dean hadn't noticed him come in, and he looked down at his stomach as he rubbed a hand across it.

Castiel cleared his throat.

Dean jumped and turned around, reaching for his shirt and yanking it over his head.

"Sorry, I didn't realise you were in here," Cas tried to explain, working on keeping his voice even.

"It's okay," Dean said curtly, moving past him. "I'm done."

When he came out of the bathroom, Castiel found Dean in the kitchen brewing himself a coffee. "I'm sorry," he apologised after a moment. "I really didn't realise you were in there."

Dean just shrugged. "Forget about it."

Castiel remembered Dean's complaints about looking 'fat' as Santa and wondered if his friend might be a little insecure about the softness around his belly. It would be a shame, because Cas quite liked it. Not that he should really be looking, but there were some instances in which he couldn't help but notice. In an attempt to offer some quiet reassurance, he rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I wish I looked half as good as you."

Dean snorted dismissively, but then turned to glance at him with an amused smirk on his face. "Are you flirting with me, Castiel Milton?"

Pulling away, Castiel's cheeks suddenly felt very hot. "No, I just..."

"Relax, dude. I'm just kidding," Dean chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "But at least now I know you think I'm hot."

Castiel rolled his eyes at Dean's teasing and started searching the freezer for something they could defrost for dinner. "I know I've said this already, but thank you for today," he said, as he set a tub of soup on the counter.

Finally Dean looked at him. "The look on those kids' faces, was... They were so happy."

"I know."

"It felt good."

"I know."

"I had fun."

"I could tell," Cas smiled.

"So, uh, what's next?"

"Next?" Cas echoed.

"Yeah. You got any more church stuff that needs doing?"

"Nothing," Castiel shrugged.

Dean almost looked disappointed that there were no other duties for Castiel to rope him into helping with.

"Now we get to focus on our own Christmas," he told him.

Chapter Text

To Dean's surprise, when he walked through to the living room on Christmas morning, there was a small pile of presents under the tree.

"Uh… Cas?" he called unsurely over his shoulder, unable to tear his gaze from the shiny, glittering packages.

"Yes, Dean?"

Dean jumped, because he hadn't realised Cas was right behind him. He waved his hand in the vague direction of the tree. "What is this?"

"It's a Christmas tree."

"Yeah, but what about the stuff under the tree?"

"Christmas presents," Cas smiled, disappearing into the kitchen.

"But where did they come from?" Dean persisted, following him.

"Me, mostly. Some under the guise of Santa Claus, of course."

"I…" Dean looked embarrassed.

"What do you want to eat?" Cas asked, already searching the cupboard for the frying pan.

"I didn't think we were doing gifts. I mean, I thought you might have got me one, but nothing like this."

Castiel shrugged as he moved to the fridge. "Bacon? Pancakes?" he asked, eyeing the available ingredients.

"I'm not really hungry."

Finally Cas stopped and looked at him, immediately concerned. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I didn't… It's too much. You got me too much."

"You won't say that once you've opened them, Dean."

"Yeah, I will."

Castiel grabbed Dean's arm. "Come with me." He didn't give Dean much of a choice as he practically dragged him back into the living room and thrust one of the smaller presents into his hands.

"Do you think you've put enough bows on it?" Dean smiled despite himself.

The parcel in question had two, and okay, Cas might have gotten a little carried away making sure Dean's presents got enough bows to make up for the lack of them on his childhood gifts.

"Open it."

Reluctantly Dean tore at the neatly wrapped package, revealing a bar of festive chocolate.

Castiel looked him in the eye. "I told you, they're not much."

"There's still a lot," Dean complained.

"The quantity is irrelevant," Castiel growled.

"What – 'it's the thought that counts'?" Dean asked mockingly. "You wouldn't be saying that if I was the one who'd bought you a hundred presents."

"Don't be ridiculous. There aren't one hundred presents under our tree."

"No, I was exagg—" Dean stopped. Our tree, Cas had said. It was, wasn't it? It was their tree. This was Castiel's first real Christmas, and already he was starting a fight. "Shit, I'm sorry," he apologised, both for being ungrateful and also for not getting Cas much.

Castiel huffed, already moving back to the kitchen. "I don't need you to apologise, Dean. I need you to tell me what you want for breakfast."

"Bacon," Dean replied.

"Okay."

"And pancakes?" Dean pushed hopefully.

Cas rolled his eyes. "In that case you're helping."

"Got it."

* * *

After a sickeningly fattening breakfast of sausage, bacon and eggs, pancakes with syrup, and then, in Castiel's case, a small bowl of fruit with yoghurt, they collapsed on the sofa and groaned in union.

"Fuck, I can't move," Dean moaned.

"You did not need two breakfasts."

"Says the man who had three!"

"Fruit is healthy," Castiel insisted. "I needed something to make me feel less guilty about the number of calories I'd just consumed."

"Fruit has calories, too," Dean pointed out.

"It also has vitamins."

"Are you gonna pass me my presents before I have a heart attack?"

"Get them yourself."

"You're the one giving me them, so give them to me!"

"They're labelled. And besides, they're not all from me."

"Yeah, some are from Santa," Dean laughed.

"And there's one from Sam."

Dean stopped laughing. "What?"

"Why are you so surprised? He is your brother, after all."

"Yeah," Dean said absently, heaving himself up because he had to see this present for himself before he could believe it. It was the biggest one there, but when he saw the label his shoulders sagged. "From Sam?" he read sceptically. "I know your writing, dude."

"Yes, I wrote the label. Yes, I wrapped it. But that is from Sam."

"Yeah," Dean said disbelievingly.

"Sam mailed it to me, asking me to give it to you."

"Really?"

"Really. But I don't understand why he'd give you that."

Intrigued now, Dean pulled at the ribbon and ripped the paper. A grin spread across his face and he burst out laughing when he saw what was inside. He pulled out the giant rainbow slinky and showed it to Cas, before remembering that Cas had already seen it.

"It's, uh…" But he couldn't really find the words to explain exactly what it symbolised.

"I have no idea what it is, but I don't think it is age appropriate."

Dean laughed. "Not really, no. Do you know what this is?"

"It appears to be a child's toy?" he questioned.

"Dude, what did you play with as a child? No – on second thoughts, don't answer that."

Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean brought his other gifts over to the sofa.

"What should I open first?"

"It really doesn't matter."

"Okay," Dean said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's do this."

One side of Castiel's mouth turned up and he sat back to watch Dean as he unwrapped everything, revealing a navy scarf, a car magazine featuring a special on the '67 Impala ("I had to double check with Bobby that that was your car!") and a copy of the sequel to The Shining, half price sticker still stuck to the cover. Dean laughed at that.

"I didn't want you to feel bad about me spending money," Castiel said. "I remembered you talking about it a while back."

"You do realise you're probably going to get 'round to reading this before me?"

Castiel bit his lip and shrugged, his mouth twitching in a half-smile.

"But seriously, thanks," he said, surveying the items laid out before him. "I mean that."

"I know you do," Castiel smiled. "I told you they weren't much."

"It's more than I've had the past few years, Cas. And they're..." Dean trailed off, reminiscing over past Christmases with his brother. "They're perfect."

"I wouldn't go that—"

"They're perfect, Cas," Dean repeated firmly.

A small, pleased smile spread across Castiel's face. "You're welcome."

"Don't move," Dean commanded, heaving himself to his feet again.

"I don't think I can," Cas replied, rubbing a hand over his bloated belly.

Dean left the room, reappearing a moment later with a rather large present, compared with the ones Cas had given him. It was simply – if untidily – wrapped, and he held it out to Castiel.

"Dean," Cas breathed when he saw the size of it.

"It's not much," Dean said, echoing Castiel's earlier sentiments.

"Stop," Castiel ordered. "You wouldn't let me talk down my gifts to you, so you're not allowed to do that either."

"Okay, okay," Dean said, blushing.

He fidgeted beside Cas as he watched him unwrap it, peeling back layers of paper until several second-hand videos were revealed. Castiel said nothing while he read the titles and examined the covers with interest.

"Stephen King," Dean explained. "I know you've been reading his stuff, so I thought... I'm sorry they're not new," Dean apologised, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

Castiel lunged across the sofa until he was practically in Dean's lap, and threw his arms around him. Chuckling, Dean brought one hand up to pat his back and pressed a kiss into his messy hair without thinking. As he realised what he'd just done, his grin faded into a frown. Why the fuck had he done that?

As suddenly as Castiel was on him, he pulled away again. "I'm sorry, I— Thank you. You don't need to feel bad that someone else enjoyed these before I will."

"You don't know that you'll—"

"After all, you're the one paying the bills and rent. I know what I contribute isn't much."

"I've told you before, you don't have to contribute."

"But I want to."

"And so I let you. I don't grudge you wanting to pay your way. I just wish I could afford to buy you a decent present."

"There is nothing wrong with these, Dean. Perhaps we could watch one tonight?"

"Sure. Horror movies are very Christmassy," Dean said with a smirk.

"Did you want to watch a Christmas film?"

"I thought you might."

"I didn't really think about it."

"He who wanted a 'real' Christmas," Dean chuckled.

"Then what would you recommend?"

* * *

Dean wasn't sure how it happened, but they found themselves watching The Holiday of all things.

Okay, he knew how it happened - he'd wanted to watch Die Hard but they'd put on the TV and Cas got engrossed in The Holiday which had just started - but he wasn't sure how it happened. He should have told Cas that they'd already decided what to watch, but Cameron Diaz had been kicking her boyfriend out and couldn't cry and damn it if Cas hadn't gotten hooked and so now they were watching Cameron fall in love with Kate Winslet's brother while Kate hung out with a bunch of old men - and Jack Black.

"You realise the only reason I haven't put this off is because of Jack Black?" he asked, determined to preserve his reputation because this was a chick flick for crying out loud. They were watching a chick flick!

"What?" Castiel asked, his attention being distracted from the movie.

"Jack Black - he's the only reason we're watching this."

Castiel's brow furrowed, but then he smiled. "Admit it, you're watching it for Kate Winslet, aren't you?"

"No!" Dean cried, scandalised. But he had to give Cas points for remembering her name. "Titanic will never be seen within these four walls."

Cas looked confused but said nothing.

"Dude, you haven't seen any of the movies Jack's raving about. Oh, look - there's Dustin Hoffman!"

"Dean, I have no idea who he is."

"Wait a minute, I know this scene. Hoffman wasn't even supposed to be in this. He just saw the cameras when he was driving by so stopped and they wrote him a cameo part there and then."

"Really?" Castiel asked, impressed. "Wow."

"Yeah, he talked about it on some chat show."

They watched the rest of the film in relative silence; Cas patting Dean's arm and smiling every time something overly romantic happened.

"Dude, you're a man. Act like it," Dean complained half-heartedly. Truth be told, it was nice seeing Cas so happy and relaxed.

"Well that was sentimental," Cas declared once it was over.

"Tell me about it," Dean complained. "Can we watch a real Christmas movie now?" He fumbled with the video tape, at first pushing too hard and not giving the VCR time to take it, before it eventually slid in smoothly. After fast-forwarding the trailers and copyright warnings at the start of the tape, he sat back and declared, "Now this is a real Christmas movie!"

Once bullets started flying and people started dying, Cas had serious doubts as to the accuracy of Dean's statement.

Chapter Text

"So what does your family usually do for New Year's?" Dean asked, still buttoning up his shirt as he walked into the kitchen.

"We pray," Castiel answered, rinsing the suds off a mug and resting it in drying rack.

"You..." Dean trailed off with a shake of his head. He really shouldn't be surprised.

"It's a time for reflection - to give thanks for all the good things we have received in the past year, ask that God look after those we've lost, and pray for his continued love."

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes, telling himself that just because he'd never had much reason to believe in any God didn't mean that it was a load of bull. "You guys prayed a lot, huh?"

"I guess it would seem like a lot to you," Castiel replied as he dried his hands.

That was one of the awesome things about Cas - he never made Dean feel like he was being judged for not believing.

"Hey, man, whatever you wanna do. Here, let me do that," he said, taking the towel from Castiel's hands. He picked up a plate from the draining rack and started drying it off.

"I think I'd like to do whatever it is that you do," Cas said.

Dean looked confused. "What?"

"For New Year."

"You wanna head down to the Roadhouse with me?" Dean questioned because, although Castiel often came down with him, he was never the one to suggest going.

Castiel smiled. "Why am I not surprised that that's where you spend New Year's?" he teased playfully.

"Am I really that obvious?" Dean laughed.

"You are a creature of habit, Dean Winchester. Bad habits, admittedly, but still a creature of habit."

Dean rolled his eyes, throwing the tea towel in Cas's direction playfully. "The Roadhouse it is, then."

* * *

As they waited for Ellen to pour their drinks, they were surprised to see Bobby, Andy, and Benny gathered round a table, until Castiel quietly exclaimed, "Of course - it's the staff night out tonight."

"Do we join them?" Dean asked Cas.

"I suppose it would be rude not to," Castiel replied hesitantly, careful not to sound like he was deciding for them both. This wasn't the night out they'd planned, and he wasn't sure what Dean would prefer to do.

"I suppose you're right," Dean agreed, nodding his thanks to Ellen and picking up their glasses. "Come on." He slid into the chair between Bobby and Benny, deliberately ignoring the surprised looks on their faces.

Castiel moved an empty chair over from a nearby table, causing Andy and Benny to part and make room for him. "Hi," he greeted them.

"Hi," three surprised voices echoed.

"Sorry we're late," Castiel apologised politely, so as not to make things awkward.

"That's okay, son," Bobby said. "You're here now." He cast a sideways glance at Dean.

"Yeah, I get it, none of you expected me to be here. I can go if you want?" Dean grumbled, unable to ignore their stares any longer.

"Don't be like that," Benny drawled. "'Specially not on New Year's."

Dean humphed but let it go, taking a long sip of his beer.

"So, did you boys have a good Christmas?" Bobby asked, throwing a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

"It was alright," Dean shrugged. "Watched TV, ate too much."

"It was really good," Castiel said, casting a frown in Dean's direction. "Dean gave me some Stephen King movies."

"Cool," Benny grinned. "I'll have to borrow them off you some time."

Dean stared at the beer mat he was turning over on the table. "You can't," he said quietly. "Your video player broke."

"Damn thing was ancient!" Benny laughed. "You couldn't get them on DVD?"

"I prefer videos," Castiel cut in, not taking his eyes from Dean. Their Christmas had been special, but it was obvious Dean was ashamed that he couldn't have done more. He wished Dean could understand that what he'd done was enough. "DVDs never remember where I turned it off." Dean glanced up at him over his drink, and Castiel gave him a small smile.

Benny laughed. "Andy, tell them what you got your missus!"

"She's not my missus," Andy grumbled, throwing an empty chip packet at him.

"And she never will be if you keep buying her the wrong sized clothing!"

"Oh, Andy, you didn't!" Dean grinned.

Andy buried his face in his hands as Bobby and Benny laughed loudly, while Cas and Dean waited to get the whole story.

"Didn't you learn your lesson after last time?" Bobby asked.

"I thought I'd gotten it right this time!" Andy practically wailed.

"Last time?" Dean asked.

"Maybe if you got your head out of the cars once in a while you'd know what happened last time!" Bobby told him.

"You pay me to work, not gossip," Dean retorted.

"Bought a dress two sizes too big," he summarised curtly.

"Tracey thought that I thought she was fat, and wouldn't talk to me for a week," Andy elaborated reluctantly.

"This time he bought her underwear that was too small," Benny announced.

"Tell everyone, why don't you," Andy grumbled.

"What's wrong with that?" Castiel asked, confused.

"The panties fit perfectly, but the bra was too small. Now she thinks she isn't 'big enough' for me."

"I'm telling you, women, dude!" Dean laughed, taking a gulp of his beer.

Four pairs of eyes stared at him.

"Now that, Winchester, is why you're single," Benny shook his head disapprovingly.

"I thought it was because I didn't want to get tied down?" he shot back.

"You keep telling yourself that," Andy warned, "and you'll be a lonely old man before you know it."

"Is that a grey hair I see?" Bobby teased.

Dean ran a hand protectively though his hair. "Not as many as if you'd look in a mirror."

"Ohhh!" Benny and Andy exclaimed together as Bobby slapped him round the back of the head.

"Do you want to be unemployed?" he grumbled.

"Easy, old man," Dean grinned. "I'm just kidding."

"Less of the 'old'."

"There's nothing wrong with the hair on his head," Ellen declared, seeming to appear out of nowhere as she leaned over the table to gather their empties.

Bobby's cheeks turned pink.

"Some men younger than him haven't got any," she continued. Pretending to examine Dean's head, she asked, "Is that a bald patch?"

"Is it just me or is the service in this dump really slow?" Dean complained.

"Watch your mouth, Dean, or you'll find out just how slow my service can be when I don't like you."

Dean grinned.

"But seriously, it's good to see you."

Dean waved a hand dismissively. "What are you talking about? You see me all the time!"

"Not like this," she said pointedly. "Another round, boys?"

"Yeah, I think it's Bobby's turn!" Benny exclaimed. "Make mine a double this time," he winked.

"If you want a double you can buy it on your own round," Bobby grumbled, heaving himself up and following Ellen over to the bar.

"Anyone fancy a game of pool?" Andy asked, noticing that there was an empty table.

"I'm in!" Benny said immediately. "I've got to get you back for last time."

"Admit it," Castiel smiled once they were alone. "You're having fun."

Dean shrugged at him. "I never said I wasn't."

"Then why do you never come to the staff Christmas party?"

"It's hardly a party, Cas," he answered, gesturing around them. The usual bikers were lined up at the bar, and several small groups of people were gathered at various tables and around the dartboard to see in the new year. It was still early, so there weren't as many revellers gathered in yet. "Besides, who have you been talking to?"

Castiel glanced over at the bar, where Jo was pretending to flirt with some bikers for tips.

Dean followed his gaze. "Should have known," he muttered. Raising his voice, he hollered over to her, "Harvelle, when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?!"

She looked confused at his seemingly random outburst, but flipped him off before pocketing her tip with a smile.

"Do you want to play?" Castiel asked, as another pool table became free.

Giving Cas a sceptical look, Dean asked, "Can you play?"

"How hard can it be?" Castiel mused as he got to his feet.

Dean sniggered.

* * *

"Yes!" Castiel exclaimed, finally pocketing his first ball of their second game - even if it wasn't the one he'd been aiming for.

"Great," Dean grinned. "Except that wasn't your ball."

Cas pouted and stared at the table, head tilted at a slight angle. "Which colour am I, again?"

"Yellow."

"I thought I was red?"

"You were red last time."

"Oh."

"So that means..?"

"You get two shots," Castiel finished unhappily.

All he could do was watch as Dean cleared the table, potted the black, and then proceeded to pot all of Castiel's balls for good measure.

"Show off."

"Two, nothing. Loser buys the drinks."

"I didn't agree to those tems," Castiel said, nevertheless fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. "Does anybody else want anything?"

"Whisky," Bobby said instantly.

"You've just been waiting for someone else to get a round in, haven't you?" Dean grinned.

"Well, I got the last two," Bobby grumped.

"Two lagers over here," Andy said, waiting until Benny was just about to hit his ball before flicking his cue.

"Hey, that's cheating!" Benny protested, watching in dismay as the white ball sank into the corner pocket.

"Beer?" Castiel asked Dean.

"Yeah."

He had to wait five minutes before Jo was free to serve him. "Same again?" she asked.

"Except make mine a soda."

"Sure thing. Will I just charge you the same and call the extra my tip?"

"You're terrible," Castiel told her. "Fine."

"Aw, thanks!" She smiled sweetly at him as she started pouring drinks.

"Well, hey there, Clarence," Meg purred in his ear as Jo finished lining drinks up in front of him, draping one arm around him. "Gonna buy me a drink, too?"

"How nice to see you again, Meg," Castiel said, sounding anything but pleased to see her again.

Behind the bar Jo raised her eyebrows.

"And another for Meg," he agreed.

Shaking her head at him, she began mixing up another mojito.

"So, is the cutest guy in the room going to ask the prettiest girl in the room for a dance?" Meg asked, trailing a finger down his chest.

"Um," Castiel's breath hitched as he looked around.

Meg sighed. "I mean you and me."

"Oh, I... I can't dance."

"Bull. Come on," she insisted, dragging him into the middle of the room where there was only a handful of other people dancing.

"Dean!" Castiel shouted above the music as they passed their pool table. "The drinks!" He pointed at the bar.

"Twenty-eight, seventy-five," Jo told him as he came up to collect their drinks.

"This was supposed to be his round!" Dean exclaimed, glancing back again at Castiel, who looked horrifically uncomfortable in the middle of the room with Meg.

"Well, he went off for a dance before he paid."

"Son of a... What's this?" he asked, pointing at the mojito.

"That's her's," Jo answered disdainfully, pointing at Meg who was draping herself all over Castiel.

"She doesn't even work at the garage," Dean muttered to himself, glancing back at Meg in disgust before pulling three tens out of his wallet and handing them over. "Keep it," he said as she opened the till.

"You want a hand with these?" Jo asked, as she helped him load the drinks onto a tray.

"Nah, I've got it," he told her.

She grimaced as the drinks wobbled on the tray, and he nearly dropped it twice on the way back to his group. It wasn't his fault - at least, not the second time. It was the dick who shoved his chair back from his table without looking first.

"Where'd Andy go?" Dean asked Benny, looking around for his colleague when he returned with the drinks.

Benny shrugged. "Phone rang and he ran off."

"Is he coming back?"

"How would I know? Do I look like his girlfriend to you?"

"Maybe if you shaved?" Dean joked.

Benny glared at him, taking several large gulps of his drink.

"Well, rack 'em up!" Dean instructed, grabbing a discarded cue.

"Yes, sir!" Benny said sarcastically, nevertheless grabbing the balls out from under the table.

* * *

"Watch this!" Dean commanded, leaning over the table and lining his cue up with the corner pocket. Never taking his eyes off the ball, he slid the cue forward once, twice, three times, before he struck, missing the ball completely.

Benny laughed, doubling over so quickly he lost his balance and had to grab the table to stop from falling over.

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean insisted, lining up to take his shot again. There were two white balls in front of him. Which one did he aim for? He blinked, and there was only one again. "I got this!" This time he hit the ball, which sent his yellow ball rolling away from the pocket he was aiming for. "Damn!"

"Hey, Dean," Benny said, holding his glass upside down. "I'm empty!"

"So get another!"

"'S your turn," Benny slurred.

"No, I got the last..." Dean ticked them off on his fingers. "How many's that?" he asked, holding up three fingers.

"Get your ass up to the bar!" Benny demanded with a grin, pushing him in the direction of Jo.

Dean staggered forward, colliding with two empty chair, before stopping beside her. "Hey, Jo!" he grinned, draping an arm around her. "How's it going?"

Grabbing his hand, she removed it from around her shoulders. "What do you want?"

"Another round!"

"Of..?" she prompted.

"Drinks!"

"Of course," she replied.

"What were we drinking?" Dean asked her.

"You moved onto whiskey," she told him.

"One for me and one for... him," Dean said, pointing to a man sitting two tables away from Benny.

"Aha," she nodded agreeably. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a beer?"

"Do I want a beer?"

"You do," she persuaded him.

"A beer it is!" he exclaimed.

"You know I think this'll be the first year you haven't picked up some random chick?" Jo teased him as she poured his drinks.

"There's still time!" he protested.

"Nah," she said, her nose wrinkling. "The only person you'll be taking home tonight is Cas."

A dopey smile spread across Dean's face as he looked around the bar to locate his blue-eyed friend. He chuckled when he saw him attempting to sway on the spot while Meg twirled herself around him. "Yeah," he agreed, motioning for Jo to give him another beer. "Or maybe he'll be taking me home."

"A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts," Jo teased him, a huge grin on her face.

* * *

Castiel finally managed to escape from Meg's clutches when a sandy-haired man bought her a drink.

"Can I get another beer, please, Jo?" he asked, already reaching for his wallet and thrusting some crumpled ones at her.

"What do I look like, a stripper?" she exclaimed, waving them in front of his face.

"No," Castiel told her seriously. "You're wearing far too many clothes for that."

Jo laughed as she smoothed them out on the counter before slipping them into the till. "You're a hoot, Cas."

"I'm a what?"

"A hoot." When he still looked confused, she tried again. "You're funny!"

"Oh."

"So have you talked to Bobby yet?"

"Yes, we spoke when we arrived."

"About the website?"

"Oh. Oh, no."

"Well, now's your chance," she said, stepping out from behind the bar. Thrusting an almost empty bottle of whiskey into his hand, she shoved him in Bobby's direction.

"I didn't order that," Bobby said as Cas refilled the glass down in front of him. He squinted. "And you're not Jo."

"No," Cas smiled. "I'm not. Jo— I mean, I, uh, thought you'd like another."

Bobby grinned. "Well, you thought right. You're a good kid."

"I realise that now is hardly the time to talk business, Bobby, but I had an idea I wanted to run past you."

Bobby waved a hand to silence him as he drank up. "Keep 'em coming."

Cas poured another generous helping into Bobby's glass. "We both know that the garage is struggling, and the only reason you could afford to pay me to help out in the office was because it allowed you to get back into the shop," he started.

Bobby waved his empty glass in front of Cas, who dutifully refilled it for him.

"Even then, business is still slow." He took a deep breath. "What if I could get you more customers?"

"You can do that?" Bobby slurred.

"I think I can," Cas replied. "But you need to get your computer connected to the internet."

"'S not my computer," Bobby told him. "'S practically yours."

If only it was his.

"'Sides, I dunno how to get inter-thingy."

"Internet. If you give me the okay, I can make some calls and arrange the whole thing. All you have to do is pay for it."

"Okay."

"Oh... Bobby, did you just say okay?"

Bobby nodded, looking at Cas as if he had four heads.

"You—" Castiel beamed. Jo had been right. It felt deceitful, doing it this way, but he genuinely believed it was for the best. He got to his feet, intent on thanking her straight away. "Thank you, Bobby."

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Leave the bottle."

* * *

Castiel gave Jo the thumb's up and she shrieked. "I'll call Charlie tomorrow!"

"It's not set up yet," he reminded her.

"No, but she'll want to start planning a layout. Here," she said, sliding a beer in his direction.

"Thank you," he said, gulping down half the glass.

"Hey, take it easy!" Jo exclaimed, but he barely heard her.

His head was spinning. The garage was going to get internet, Charlie would design it a website, and if all went well there would be more customers to serve. Bobby might even be able to afford to pay Dean overtime! He bit his lip. Best not to get too excited yet.

"There you are!" Meg cried. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Oh, have you?" Cas asked her warily.

"Yes! This is my favourite song!"

Help, he mouthed at Jo as he was dragged back onto the floor.

So much for spending New Year's Eve with Dean.

* * *

"I think Meg likes you," Dean observed, an hour later.

"She's a woman, Dean," Castiel informed him, dropping into the seat next to Dean. His drink sloshed in his glass and spilled over his pants.

Dean grinned. "Just 'cause you're not into her doesn't mean she's not into you."

"Please don't go there."

"So no more of the 'straight-second-chance' crap, then?"

"No," Castiel shook his head. "I'm as gay as a... as a... as a gay man," he declared, throwing his arm around Dean.

"Good for you," Dean grinned, picking up his beer. "Cheers!"

"Cheers," Castiel agreed, clanking Dean's glass with his own. "Although," he began after downing the rest of his beer at a speed that made even Dean's eyes widen, "I am sensing that you don't like Meg very much."

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. "She's like the Devil's daughter, Cas. That woman would have a man like you for breakfast."

"A man like me?"

"You know..." Dean gestured vaguely with his free hand. "Nice guy image with pretty eyes. You're too good for her, dude."

There was a long moment of silence between them as they caught each other's gaze.

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a deep burp. He immediately covered his mouth with a hand, cheeks flushing as Dean threw his head back as a fit of laughter left him gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry. That was rude," Castiel muttered quickly.

When Dean finally caught his breath, stomach aching, he laid a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Oh, dude. Don't ever change."

* * *

"Tell me I'm not blind. Tell me there's something there."

"Where?"

Jo smacked Ash on the arm. "There. Dean and Cas."

"Whoa, slow down! Dean's never batted for that team."

"That we know of."

"That's true," Ash nodded, contemplating the idea.

On the other side of the bar, Benny took a sip of his drink and shook his head. "You're seeing things, sister. They're just good friends, is all."

Jo opened and closed her mouth, because she couldn't tell him that he was half-wrong without betraying Cas's trust. But she was pretty sure she wasn't imagining Dean's feelings, even if they were buried beneath layers of macho, no-homo bullshit.

They all looked across the room, to where Castiel and Dean were sitting practically on top of each other, laughing hysterically.

"See?!" Jo urged.

Ash tutted, shaking his head. "That doesn't prove anything," he pointed-out. "But, I'll give you 30/1 if you want to make it interesting?"

"Ten bucks says Dean is as straight as the pole up Castiel's ass," Benny grinned.

"Fifteen says it'll soon be Dean's dick up Cas's ass," Jo countered, a smug grin creeping onto her lips as Benny choked on his drink.

"Confident. I like it," Ash nodded. "I'm always happy to take your money."

"Joanna Beth!" Ellen called sharply. "You shouldn't be betting on people's love lives. Especially when they're our friends."

"But—"

"Go wipe down some tables."

Jo sighed loudly and flounced off to gather up the empties around the room.

Ellen turned to Ash. "Put me down for twenty," she murmured quietly.

"For or against?"

"For, of course," Ellen replied, as if to bet otherwise would be crazy. "That poor boy doesn't realise it yet, but he's got it bad for Cas."

* * *

"We could walk, you know," Castiel mumbled, as they waited on a cab. Dean's suggestion had come as a surprise given his confession.

Dean snorted, looking down at where Cas was sitting, slumped against the Roadhouse wall. "You think you can?"

"One foot... in front of the other..." Castiel told him, attempting to demonstrate on the ground until his legs were straight out in front of him. He squinted as he became surrounded in bright light, and Dean turned to see the cab pulling up beside them.

"You boys 'Winchester'?" the driver hollered.

"Yeah!" Dean turned back to Cas who was trying, and failing, to get to his feet. "I gotcha," he told him, grabbing his arm and hauling him up so fast that Cas nearly fell over again.

"You boys make a mess, you pay to get it cleaned," the driver warned as the doors clicked open.

The cab drove them home slowly so as not to upset their alcohol-laden stomachs, and probably to fleece more money out of them.

Cas patted Dean's hand. "'S okay," he slurred. 'S not far."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, unconvinced. He wasn't sure it it was alcohol or fear that was twisting his stomach until he wanted to throw up.

Halfway home, Castiel's head landed painfully on his shoulder. "Hey!" he protested but, as he tried to shake him off, he realised Cas was sleeping. "Oh." Cas's hand was warm, and kind of reassuring, where it still sat on his. When the cab ran over a drain cover and jostled him in his seat, Dean slapped his other hand on top, sandwiching Cas's hand between both of his own as he sought reassurance.

"You're here, you can get out," the driver grumbled once they'd jolted to a stop.

Dean opened his mouth to wake Cas, then closed it again. He licked his lips. "D'you mind giving us a minute?"

"Suit yourself, but the meter's running."

Dean peered down at Cas, mouth hanging open and saliva drooling out of the corner or his mouth. "Nice," he mumbled to himself. In the darkness Castiel looked pale, his skin contrasting with the long, dark eyelashes that fluttered every now and then. "What are you dreaming about?" Dean asked him quietly.

When Cas swallowed and mumbled, Dean realised he was awake and shook his shoulder slightly until Cas sat up. "We're here."

Draping one of Castiel's arms around his shoulders, Dean half-carried him into the elevator where Cas nearly fell asleep again. "Whoa, hey, stay awake just another minute, yeah? I don't wanna be carrying you bridal style."

"Am I your bride?" Castiel drawled, a goofy grin on his face, eyes half-lidded.

Dean chuckled. "If you are, this was an arranged marriage."

After the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, Dean practically dragged Cas towards his apartment. He tried to prop his drunken friend up against the wall so he could unlock his door but Cas made a noise of protest and wrapped his arms around his neck, pressing up against him.

"Okay, okay." As Dean tried to peer around Cas' shoulder to get the key in the lock, he caught a whiff of his scent. Cas smelled surprisingly good; a mix between the shampoo they shared and a slight earthy smell. Dean cleared his throat, shaking himself out of his distraction as the door finally swung open after three attempts. "Move," he muttered, slapping Cas' ass as they entered the apartment. There was no way either of them were going to be able to make the sofa bed up, so he half-dragged Cas in the direction of his bedroom. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty."

"Hm, you're beautiful," Cas sighed wistfully.

Dean faltered in the doorway, glancing down at his wasted friend. Why had his heart suddenly began hammering against his ribcage? Suddenly he could hear Jo's voice from earlier as clear as a bell: 'A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.'

"Let's get you in bed," he said, his throat closing up as he tried not to think too much about how genuine Cas sounded, even though he was totally wasted.

At the mention of 'bed', Cas's feet started moving again, and they finished their journey across the room, finally collapsing on top of the covers

Dean did his best to tug the sheet out from under Cas, draping what little of it he'd freed over his already snoring friend and took a few seconds just to gaze down at his peaceful face.

"Night, Cas," he whispered softly before turning out the light.

Chapter Text

In the morning Dean stirred, wondering why his covers felt so heavy. As he tried to kick them off, they grunted. He opened his eyes to find Cas lying half on top of him. Squinting against the light streaming through the curtains, he tried to remember how Castiel ended up in his bed. The pounding in his head served as a reminder, making him groan in discomfort.

"Cas," he mumbled sleepily, trying to untangle himself from the other man's arms, though they only tightened their grip. "Cas!" he tried again, slightly louder. As he tried to nudge his friend off of him, he turned to his friend only to be greeted by warm lips pressing against his own. He froze for a second, feeling like his heart had stopped. "Dude, what the hell?!" he shouted a second later, prying Cas off him and rolling away so fast he fell out of bed with a grunt.

Castiel's eyes flew open and he scrambled into a sitting position as Dean got to his feet. "Dean, I— I'm sorry! I didn't mean..."

"Don't, Cas," Dean said quietly, having a hard time looking directly at him. "Just... don't." He ran a hand through his hair. It had been a shock, yeah, but it wasn't as weird as he'd have thought kissing a guy would be. Not that he'd kissed Cas. But then why should it be weird? A kiss was a kiss, right?

"I'm sorry," Cas whispered again, biting his lip nervously.

Dean finally looked over at him, guilt filling his stomach as he took in the sight of his disheveled friend; hair sticking out in all directions, eyes bloodshot, bottom lip caught between his teeth, a look of pure shame on his face. He couldn't let Cas feel bad about this.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, still not looking him in the eye. "I overreacted. I mean you were half asleep and dreaming, right?"

Castiel nodded quickly.

"Yeah," Dean agreed with himself. Last night Cas had called him beautiful. This morning he'd kissed him. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to that. "I'm gonna go shower now."

"I'll put the coffee on," Cas said automatically.

It was all so domestic, and if Dean wasn't so distracted by the fact he could still feel Cas's lips on his he might actually like it. It had been a long time since any four walls had felt so much like home.

The bathroom felt colder than usual as he stripped off, the hairs on his body standing up on end. He turned the shower dial up a couple of notches, hissing as the hot water hit his skin. After a few seconds, however, it started to feel pleasant. Stretching his neck from side to side, he began to feel angry about what Cas had done. It was irrational, he knew that, and it didn't matter that he didn't hate it because Cas shouldn't have done it in the first place.

He rubbed a hand through his hair frustratedly. It was partly his fault, though, he figured. He was the one who'd dragged Cas into his bed the night before - not that Cas had put up much of a fight. Hell, he probably hadn't even been aware of where they were. His anger at Cas faded and he started to feel angry at himself. Cas liked him. Or at least, he had. Still did, if ten minutes ago meant anything. Had he led Cas on? They were close - closer than a lot of friends - but then neither of them really had anyone else.

Well, he didn't have anyone else. Cas had Balthazar. Jealousy boiled up inside him. It was stupid, but he liked spending time with Cas. Sometimes, when Cas was out, he'd find himself talking to an empty apartment before remembering that Cas wasn't there.

Fuck, Cas had kissed him!

He hadn't kissed him back - or had he? Dean tried to replay the moment in his mind wondering if he'd reciprocated the kiss, but it was like hitting pause on an old video - time froze, but he couldn't get a clear enough picture.

Dragging his hands across his face, he groaned. He'd never been into guys, so shouldn't he have been repulsed by it? Given the choice he'd kiss a woman, but if someone offered him a million bucks to kiss a dude he wouldn't say no. That didn't make him gay.

Being forced to doubt himself directed his anger towards Cas again, and he grabbed the shower gel so forcefully that the gel oozed out from where the cap hadn't been closed properly.

"Damn it!"

* * *

Castiel was standing stiffly beside the cooker when a freshly-showered and dressed Dean stepped into the kitchen.

"I made you a bacon roll," he announced, forcing himself to keep his voice even.

"Thanks, but I'm late," he said hollowly. "I'll just grab a coffee then I'll be off."

It was then that Cas noticed Dean was wearing his work clothes. "Dean."

"I'm really not hungry."

"Dean."

"I'll pick you up at lunch."

"Dean."

"What?!" Finally Dean paid attention to him, but now frustration had crept into his tone.

"It's New Year's Day," Cas told him quietly. "The garage is closed."

Dean was silent for a long moment as the information sank in. "Then I'm going back to bed," he announced, grabbing the bacon roll Cas had made for him and wrapping it in a paper towel. "Alone," he emphasised.

Castiel watched him stride off, swallowing back the hurt of Dean's reminder that their kiss - if you could even call it a kiss - meant nothing to him. Leaving the dishes in the sink for Dean, even though he knew he'd end up being the one who washed them after lunch, he got changed into his running gear and headed out.

* * *

January was always a slow month, or so Bobby had told him. Although it would mean there were would at times be too many mechanics for the amount of work to be done, Cas was looking forward to flying through a stack of paperwork. And, if he was being honest, an excuse to avoid Dean. The past couple of days had been unbearably uncomfortable around Dean. It had gotten to the point that, if Dean was in the living room, he'd find chores to do in the kitchen to put space between them - he wasn't above spending the morning on his hands and knees, scrubbing the oven until it shone, to avoid making conversation with his friend.

Unfortunately, Bobby had decided that getting Dean to help him with the paperwork would be a good idea.

"So what can I do?" Dean asked after Bobby had left, shuffling from one foot to the other and not looking at Cas.

"Um, those need sorting into date order, starting with the nearest," Cas suggested quietly, gesturing to a tall stack of papers.

"Okay. You know, I can't believe you know how to use one of those," he said conversationally.

Castiel's eyes flicked up over the top of the computer monitor. "I wasn't raised in a barn."

"No, but—"

"I really need to concentrate on this," he interrupted, focusing his eyes on the screen again. The tiny numbers were a blur, however, as his attention remained solely with Dean.

"Right," Dean said, picking up the stack of papers and looking around for somewhere to sit. "Sure." He settled on the floor in front of the filing cabinet, where there was space to spread the papers out.

It was a lie - what he was doing was simple and didn't require a lot of concentration - but Cas couldn't pretend like everything was normal. Not after... Another wave of shame washed over him as he wondered what he'd been thinking. Except, he hadn't been thinking. He's been dreaming that he and Dean were together and— It didn't matter. They weren't, and never would be, together.

Now he had no idea whether he'd messed up their friendship for good.

* * *

Castiel pushed himself a little harder, and ran a little further every day. Today was like no other; keeping his mind purposefully blank, he focused on the sound of his feet hitting the pavement. Thump! Thump! Thump! The past few days hadn't just been about burning off the pounds, though. So long as he focused on his feet, he was able to keep his thoughts from straying to Dean; able to forget the crushing rejection he's experienced after a moment of madness; able to pretend that the past few days hadn't been hellishly awkward and uncomfortable.

He could see the bridge up ahead. Every day when he reached the bridge, he crossed at the crossing at the far end, then turned back. He'd never made it there without stopping, yet. Gritting his teeth he pushed himself harder still. Timed his breathing to the fall of his feet - in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four - he ignored the fire burning in his lungs and the way his legs were begging him to stop.

Lunging towards the railing with heavy footsteps, he doubled over it to catch his breath. Below him, the fast-moving water churned; white froth gathering on the surface and quickly being dragged downstream by the strong current.

Shaking his water bottle to find it all but empty, he trudged across the road when the little light told him to walk and stumbled into the newsagents. Paying for a refreshingly cold water straight from the fridge, he downed half before he even left the shop.

"Someone chasing you?" Balthazar asked as he stepped outside.

Castiel started, water dribbling down his chin as he turned to face his friend.

"Hi," he panted. Then he realised that he hadn't fully heard what Balthazar had said. "What?"

Leaning against the wall, Balthazar took a long drag of his cigarette. "The only excuse for running is if you're being chased."

Castiel laughed, his gaze falling to the cigarette burning in Balthazar's hand. The curl of smoke seemed to beckon him closer. "Can I..?" he asked, pointing at it.

"No," Balthazar told him. "It's a filthy habit."

"Please?"

Balthazar looked him up and down quizzically, before holding it out to him. "Breathe deep."

Castiel raised it to his lips and did just that. Warm smoke filled his mouth, travelling down his throat which constricted involuntarily. Choking, he doubled over and tried to take several gulps of water to ease his retching.

Balthazar laughed and grabbed the cigarette from his hand before he dropped it.

"How can you do that?" he asked, repulsed.

"Practice," Balthazar said. "Like a lot of things, it gets easier."

"It's disgusting."

"I did warn you. So what's up?"

"Not much."

"Bullshit. The running I can take. This," he said, waving his cigarette in front of Castiel's face, "tells me there's something wrong."

"Why, is it a psychic cigarette?" Castiel asked humorlessly.

"It's Dean, isn't it?" Balthazar guessed.

Castiel pressed his lips together and avoided his friend's gaze.

"Come on. I'll buy you a coffee and you can tell me all about it."

Allowing himself to be led round the corner to Starbucks, Castiel wondered if loving Dean would ever get any easier.

"I kissed him," he revealed, once he had his hands curled around a warm Styrofoam cup.

Balthazar's eyes widened. "Dean?"

"I was half asleep and dreaming," he explained, echoing Dean's words. "Except I wasn't. Not really. I just... forgot... for a moment."

"You forgot that you weren't together?" Balthazar queried in disbelief. "Oh, Cas, that's not good."

Castiel bit his lip. "I'd been dreaming. About us," he explained. It had been nice. He and Dean, snuggled together on the sofa, together... And then he'd woken up.

"Are you sure you don't want to move in with me?" Balthazar asked softly.

It hurt to think about leaving Dean, but he wasn't sure if it hurt more or less than it would to stay with him. "Maybe I should," he said quietly.

"Just say the word, and I'll make up the couch. It's starting to sag a little, but it's got some life left in it yet."

Maybe some space would help him, and help their friendship. "I'll think about it," Cas promised.

* * *

Dean was bored. He'd been matching purchase orders with delivery notes for over an hour, and he still wasn't halfway through the pile Cas had allocated him. He had no idea how Cas had managed to take on the whole damn office, when he was bored after just a few days.

He glanced over at Cas, who was staring intently at the screen on front of him, fingers tapping wildly at the keyboard. As he'd done the past few days, Castiel had asked for silence as soon as he'd given Dean a task. Neither of them had said a word since, and it was suffocating. It wasn't like that morning they'd woken up together had meant anything, right? So it shouldn't be so uncomfortable.

Except a little voice in his head pointed out that that wasn't strictly true. Cas liked him. So even if Cas had been half asleep, it hadn't been meaningless.

And Dean hadn't exactly pulled back straight away. Sure, he'd been shocked, but he also hadn't been completely turned off by it. He couldn't count the number of women he'd been with, and he could count the number of guys he'd been into on one hand.

Wait. That made it sound like... He'd never been into a guy. Not like that, not... He forced that particular memory back into the depths of his mind. But then there was Cas, who had wormed his way into Dean's life until Dean never wanted him to leave. He felt whole when Cas was with him, in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

He was confused.

Cas was confusing.

There was an old lunch order among the invoices, so he crumpled it up and threw it at Cas. When it hit off his nose, he laughed.

"Dean, what—"

"The silence is driving me mad."

"I told you, I need to—"

"Concentrate, yeah. Except you've never complained about me interrupting you before."

Cas said nothing, and Dean knew he'd got him.

"You're not still embarrassed about... you know... Are you?" he asked, desperately trying to make it a bit of a joke.

"Dean, I never intended to—"

"I know," Dean said, staring into Cas's eyes firmly to get his point across. "Now, if I put the coffee pot on do you want some?"

Cas's hard expression softened slightly. "Yes, please. Some coffee would be nice. It's freezing in here."

"Maybe I'll take a look at that heater - see if I can't get it to actually give us some heat," Dean grinned.

"My feet would be very grateful," Cas quipped.

* * *

Clearing the air between them helped ease the tension that had been building, and Cas forgot about his promise to consider moving in with Balthazar. Until, that is, his friend reminded him the following week.

"I... Things are good, now."

"Good?"

"Yes."

"Do you still love him?"

"Yes," Castiel answered truthfully.

"Then things aren't good," Balthazar insisted, shaking his head. "They're extremely unhealthy."

"Balthazar—"

"No, I don't want to hear it. You've got yourself twisted into this deluded fantasy that something's actually going to happen—"

"I know it's not."

"But you hope it will."

Castiel couldn't deny it. "Are you still coming to Dean's party?" he asked, changing the subject.

"It might be his birthday, but I'm not going for him."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," Balthazar said reluctantly. "I'll be there."

Chapter Text

"Jo doesn't believe that Dean's really going to go through with this."

Castiel looked over at Charlie, who was taking photos of Dean's car before fiddling with buttons on her camera. "Why not?"

"Something about him 'being objectified'?" she replied. "Personally I think he's being a bit overdramatic. I mean, it's not like we're asking him to pose in the nude or anything."

Castiel bit back an aroused smile at the image Charlie's words put in his head, hoping his cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

"Though that would go viral," she mused thoughtfully.

Before Castiel could ask whether 'going viral' was good or bad, Dean stepped out of the office and made his way over to them.

"I'm ready for my close-up," he purred, posing seductively over the hood of his car.

Castiel cleared his throat and turned his attention to Charlie. "Are we ready?"

"Almost," she replied absently, still puzzling over her camera.

Castiel turned back to Dean, a conflicted expression clouding his face as he looked him up and down.

"What?"

"You look very... clean," Cas observed.

Dean looked down at himself. "Yeah?" he said questioningly, unsure what Cas's problem was. "I got scrubbed up and changed my overalls."

"You're a mechanic, Dean. We don't want people to think you're just a pretty face. We need them to know you're more than just a model we hired."

Dean clenched his jaw. You're pretty. You have delicate features for a mechanic. You're just edible. All things he'd been told by much older men, determined to make him uncomfortable. Especially in his younger years. But Cas didn't mean it like that, he reminded himself. Cas wasn't like any of the sleazy guys who'd tried to hit on him in the past. He forced himself to shoot Cas a flirty smile and flutter his eyelashes. "You think I'm pretty?" he asked, attempting to deflect any awkwardness he felt.

The way Castiel's cheeks flushed as he cleared his throat had Dean grinning to himself. He had no idea why, but he loved the way he could get Cas all worked-up with something as simple as a flirtatious comment or look. The sound of Andy laughing caused him to straighten up self-consciously and look away from Cas. Jesus, what was wrong with him?

"I think Cas is right," Andy said, handing him a can of oil. "We need to dirty you up a little."

"Oh, no," Dean protested, shaking his head and stepping away from his baby. "No, no, no!" He screwed his face up as Cas dragged an oily hand down his chest. "I hate you," he grumbled, dutifully standing still as Cas spread dark stains across his clean overalls.

"Don't forget his face!" Andy shouted out gleefully.

"Bite me, Gallagher. Don't you dare!" Dean told Cas, taking the oil can from him and dirtying his own hands. He scratched his chin and wiped the side of his thumb across his forehead, both natural actions that had Cas nodding in approval. "How do I look?"

Castiel cocked his head. "Boop," he said, tapping Dean's nose with a finger, leaving a black smudge.

Dean scowled.

"You look like a mechanic," Cas told him fondly.

Dean stared at Castiel's lips as he spoke, a fleeting urge to press his own against them - so that this time he could remember what it felt like - hitting him before he swallowed it down. As he moved towards the Impala, that he'd somehow been convinced to volunteer for their photoshoot, Cas grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Thank you for doing this."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Yeah, thanks for doing this, Dean," Andy swooned, in a not unkind impression of Castiel.

Castiel lowered his gaze to the oil can.

"Give me that," Dean said, taking it from him. "Make yourself useful, Andy! Take this away and don't come back."

Still laughing, Andy took the can from him and retreated into the garage.

"Ready!" Charlie declared finally.

"Pop the hood," Cas instructed him smugly.

"Oh, you've got the dialogue down," Dean teased him. Then he stared at the torque wrench Cas was holding out to him.

"Wrong size?" Cas asked, all traces of him knowing what he was talking about rapidly fading.

Silently Dean walked past him and exchanged it for a socket wrench, playfully booping Cas on the nose with it in passing.

They took several shots of Dean tinkering with the Impala and, as Charlie circled the car to get a different angle, she laughed.

"What?"

"Look at your arm."

Dean glanced at where she and Cas were looking. A large, oily handprint marked him. "Great," Dean smirked. "Now I look like I'm getting molested on the job."

"I could have grabbed your ass," Cas joked, causing Benny to laugh loudly. "Try hiding that when you're bent over her."

Warmth spread through him that Cas had addressed the Impala as her, and he was glad that Cas was feeling relaxed enough about their kiss to joke with him again.

"Now, we'll have none of that talk," Benny drawled, coming up behind Dean. "If anyone's gonna grab that ass, it'll be me."

A deep, throaty chuckle caused Dean to shudder. Spinning round, he smacked Benny's hand aside from where it was miming grabbing his ass. Benny stared at him, eyebrows raised. Benny. The guy he'd worked with the past three years and had never once treated Dean like... He took a couple of calming breaths, forcing his pounding heart to slow down. "You're just jealous," Dean said, forcing himself to laugh it off. He slapped his own ass for good measure.

"Yeah, that's it" Benny agreed carefully, as if trying not to spook a wild animal. "'Cause maybe if I had an ass as fine as that, the girls would be all over me!"

Dean grinned, and Benny relaxed enough to laugh again.

Castiel just stared at his friend who, just a split second ago, had been unrecognisable from the man he knew.

* * *

"Dean?" Castiel asked hesitantly, when he saw him lying on the sofa watching TV. "Are we staying in tonight?"

"You can go out if you want - I'm not stopping you. But I just don't really feel like it."

"Are you unwell?"

"No."

"Then forgive me, but who are you and where is my Dean?"

That elicited a small chuckle. "Your Dean?"

"Come on," Castiel urged, tugging at one arm. "Just a few quiet drinks."

"Not tonight, Cas."

"Please?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed as he struggled to form words. Castiel was looking at him so pleadingly that he'd almost - almost - be tempted to compare his expression to Sam's infamous puppy dog eyes. "Why are you so desperate to go out?" he asked suspiciously. "Usually you leave me to go and hang around at the bar."

"No, you usually leave me to go and steal people's money!"

"That's not— I don't—" Dean spluttered. "I leave you?"

Castiel nodded, and he could almost see the wheels turn in Dean's head. "Why don't we go out and you can teach me how to play pool," Cas suggested. "Just you and me. And we won't leave each other."

Dean looked from Cas to the TV and back to Cas again. "Oh, alright," he sighed, heaving himself to his feet. "But I think you're up to something."

"What could I possibly be up to?" Castiel asked innocently.

* * *

"Surprise!" several voices shouted in unison as they walked through the doors of the Roadhouse.

Dean shook his head and turned to Cas. "I'm gonna kill you."

"No you won't," Castiel said smoothly. "And Bobby's given you the week off, so you can - and I quote - let your hair down."

"The week?"

"He also said to make sure I told you that next year if you don't book your holidays he's not going to give you them."

"That's illegal."

"I don't think he was being serious."

Cas moved over to talk to Ellen, and he could hear him telling her she'd done a wonderful job decorating and he looked round the Roadhouse. Sure, there was the usual crowd of people hanging around - bikers and students and what Ellen affectionately called 'her regulars' propping up the bar - but a birthday banner had been strung up in one corner of the room with balloons and streamers and party hats and Dean really was going to kill Cas, but after. There were two groups of people - he could see Bobby, and was surprised to see Benny and Andy as well; and he assumed the other group was Castiel's friends because he recognised Balthazar. It said a lot about him, didn't it?

Castiel reappeared at his side. "Are you going to stare at us all evening or are you going to join us?"

"You arranged all this for me?"

"Yes."

"Do you not think it says a lot about me?" When Castiel looked confused, he elaborated. "I mean, your friends and my colleagues? You must think I'm so pathetic."

He meant it as a general 'you' as in 'everyone who came', but Castiel took it personally.

"I don't think you're pathetic, Dean," he said, a hint of anger in his tone. "I think you've cut yourself off from people for too long and I wanted to do something nice for you! We all did."

"No, no, Cas, I get it. I do," Dean said, hastily backtracking. "And I'm grateful."

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"I really am. I just don't know half these people."

"Then introduce yourself," Castiel stated, a little curtly.

Dean looked over at everyone, and Balthazar caught his eye. "Okay, okay, but I've got to do something first." He strode over to Balthazar and greeted him with a, "Hey."

"Dean," Balthazar greeted him coolly.

Dean couldn't blame the other guy for being a little unsure of him. "Uh, thanks for coming," he started awkwardly.

"I didn't come for you. I came for Cas."

Dean bristled, but he buried his retort. "Yeah, well, I would have understood if you didn't. What I'm trying to say is sorry," he said, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "I was worried, I was stressed, and I was rude," he continued, when Balthazar said nothing.

Balthazar looked him up and down. "You should be sorry. But buy me a drink and we'll call it even."

He looked like he wanted to say something else but didn't, so Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. That hadn't been so hard. But he still wanted to smack Balthazar one in his smug face. "Sure." He turned to head over to the bar and found Castiel standing behind him, grinning. "What?"

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Don't get too happy," Dean smirked. "It doesn't mean I like him."

"Then thank you even more."

"Eh." Dean shrugged off his thanks and went to buy Balthazar a drink. As he reached the bar, however, he let himself smile as he glanced over his shoulder at Cas. It was crazy how something as simple as making Cas happy could make him happy.

* * *

It was weird, being at his own birthday party and not knowing a lot of the people there. He moved around, meeting the people that Castiel had become close to, and was pleasantly surprised to find that they weren't all as annoying as Balthazar. Meg creeped him out, but Zeke seemed like a nice enough guy - the kind of guy Dean himself might socialise with. And maybe he should start socialising more. Cas had always wanted to go bowling again - maybe Zeke would want to go. He looked around, wondering who else might be up for it and who Dean could stand for more than five minutes.

"Meg is making sexual advances towards me again," Castiel announced.

Dean jumped, because a minute ago Cas had been on the other side of the room.

"Tell her that unless she's hiding a dick underneath that leather skirt of hers you're not interested."

"I did - though not in so many words - but it doesn't seem to make a difference. If I understood her correctly she implied that she could be an active third party." He turned to Dean and in all seriousness stated, "I don't think sexual intercourse is an instance in which a third wheel would provide greater stability."

Dean could argue given his experience with two girls he'd mentally nicknamed the Doublemint Twins, but chose not to. "Thanks for all this, by the way. So when's your birthday, anyway?"

"Oh, not for a while," Cas replied mysteriously.

"No, come on! You can't throw me a birthday party and then not tell me when yours is!"

"I think I just did," Castiel smiled.

"Evening, boys," a familiar female voice said from behind them. "Is someone having a party?"

They both turned round to see Sheriff Mills smiling at them.

"Uh, yeah."

"It's Dean's birthday," Cas explained.

"Well then, happy birthday. I hope you left that car of yours at home if you're planning on having another of those," she warned, nodding at the beer in his hand.

"Of course," he lied.

"Well I'm not driving, so would you excuse me while I get another?" Cas asked them, holding up his empty glass. "Excuse me."

"I hope you got that taillight fixed."

"I did," he growled. "No thanks to you."

"If it wasn't for me you'd probably be in jail," she reminded him. "So the way I see it, I did you a favour."

Dean scowled at her.

"So, how you doing?"

"Fine," he shrugged. What was with the Twenty Questions?

"Good. 'Cause you weren't so 'fine' the last time we spoke."

Dean clenched his jaw. "I was having a bad week," he said coolly.

"I hope that—"

Raised voices cut her off before she could tell Dean what she hoped. They both looked in the direction of the bar in time to see a guy push Cas backwards so hard that he fell over a bar stool.

Dean's face darkened as images of Castiel's battered and bruised body flashed before his eyes.

"Son of a bitch!" he roared, before storming across the bar, shoving out of his way those too slow to move.

"Dean, I'm alright," Cas assured him as he strode past him. "He's not worth it."

"Buddy, stay out of this," the guy told Dean, backing off. "I don't got a problem with you - just this cock-sucker."

Fisting the man's lapels in his hands, Dean shoved him hard enough against the wall to shake the dartboard off its hook.

"Dean! Dean, stop it! Let him go!" Cas cried from behind him, still rubbing his hip where he'd landed on the floor.

"Why're you so pissed?" the man asked. "It's not your cock he's sucking, is it?"

"Boys! Break - it - up!" Jody yelled.

"You sure don't look like a fag," the man continued.

"You piece of shit!" Dean yelled, fist slamming into the douchebag's jaw. Pain flared through his hand but he barely noticed it. There was nothing wrong with Cas being gay, and he wasn't gonna let anyone, let alone this asshole, hurt Cas. Not like the guy who'd put him in hospital. Dean may not have been there to look out for him then, but he was there now.

"Dean!"

Cas's hand on his arm distracted him for a second, and then he was shoved into a table. Glasses smashed onto the floor and Jo swore. "You get off on beating up nice guys?" Dean snapped, wiping blood from his mouth and taking another swing at the sonofabitch who thought he could come into Cas's regular and pick a fight with him.

The man ducked and Dean collided with Benny.

"Easy, there," Benny said, but Dean batted away the hands trying to help him. He didn't want anyone taking Cas away from him. He wasn't going to lose Cas. Throwing himself at the man and fisting his hands in the guy's jacket, which steadied him as the room started to spin around him, he growled, "Look at me!"

When the man did, Dean punched him straight in the face.

"Dean, stop!" Castiel begged from behind him.

Several other people were by now shouting at him by now, but he could only pick out Ellen above them all.

"DEAN WINCHESTER!"

Dean ignored her, blind with rage as he rained blows down on every inch of the man's body that he could reach. In the end it took three well-built bikers to haul him back, allowing the stranger to crumple to the floor.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Ellen shrieked in his face.

Dean was red-faced and panting as he watched the man straighten his jacket. "He was hassling Cas!"

"He's a faggot, and we don't want his kind here!"

The man's friends, who had been noticeably absent during his altercation with Dean, all voiced in agreement.

Cas became visibly upset, and seemed to curl in on himself. Jo stepped around her mother and wrapped an arm around him, whispering something in his ear that seemed to reassure him slightly.

"We don't want your kind here!" Dean shot back, leading to scattered laughter. Belatedly realising how his words had put him in the same boat with Cas, he tried to make himself clearer. "Fucking homophobes!"

Jody stepped forward. "Alright, why don't we all calm down, huh? My name's Jody Mills, and I'm the sheriff round these parts."

"I wanna press charges!" the stranger shouted immediately.

She held up one finger to silence him. "First things first - are you alright?"

"I think so, yeah," he replied, rubbing at a cut over his eyebrow. "Nothing serious, anyway."

"Good."

"So this guy here," the guy began, motioning at Dean, "comes out of nowhere, and then just--"

But Jody ignored him, instead turning her narrowed eyes to Cas.

His eyes widened as she turned to him and he shot a fearful glance at Dean, who tried to shoot him a supportive smile even though his lip was bleeding.

"Now, Castiel. Would you also like to make a formal report about your attack?"

"Not really, I don't—" He stopped before he could say 'want any trouble' when he saw the slight nod of Jody's head. "I mean, yes?" he asked her.

She smiled at him. "Then might I suggest that instead of pressing charges against one another you all just walk away?"

"Absolutely not!" The man protested angrily. "I have rights!"

"So does Cas," Jody told him coolly. "And that includes the right to drink wherever he damn well likes, unhindered by people like you."

Ellen turned her furious expression from Dean to the stranger. "You're barred," she told him, her voice lower and deadlier than Dean had ever heard it. "And so help me, if I ever see you in here again, it'll be me you have to deal with."

"You can't stop me from pressing charges!" the man insisted.

"We all saw you start that fight," Ellen said. "Didn't we, boys?" She shouted the last three words into the crowd, who all vocalised their acknowledgement. No-one crossed Ellen. Period. "Now get out," she hissed.

"Get him out of here!" Jody yelled.

Two more bikers grabbed him and dragged him out and, after a warning from Ellen never to pull a stunt like that again, Dean was released. He pulled his shirt back down and straightened his jacket as Ellen cried, "Free round, boys!" – a cry which was welcomed with a raucous applause.

"Damn, boy," Benny drawled in his ear. "Looks like I've been missing out on a lot of fun. Are your nights out always as fun as this?"

Dean laughed. "Only for whoever's lucky enough to take me home."

Benny grinned. "Why haven't we gone out before?"

"Uh, because I'm a rude, selfish dick who keeps himself to himself?"

"That'd be it," Benny grinned.

"But not so much these days. Or so I'm told."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." He grinned, clapping Dean on the back. "Maybe we can grab a bite sometime after work. See if we can't have ourselves a little fun."

He swallowed down the automatic no thanks that he'd usually say when offered half-hearted invitations to the pub when he passed within earshot and said, "Yeah. Alright."

"Cool." He motioned to the table where Dean had left his drink sitting. "When you've finished your beer let me buy you another."

Disbelief crossed his face as he nodded. "Thanks."

"Happy birthday, Dean."

As Benny walked back over to the rest of the guys from work, Dean called out to him. "Hey, Benny. Do you like bowling?"

* * *

Castiel tapped Jody on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Sheriff Mills?"

"Sweetheart, do you see a badge on me?"

"Um, no?"

"Then I'm just plain Jody tonight, okay?"

"Am I still supposed to be making a statement? Because I'd really rather not."

"I wouldn't stir up that hornets' nest. Just let it go, and I'll make sure that a-hole out there doesn't cause you and Dean any more trouble. From the sounds of it, any bullshit statement he makes will be contradicted by a lot of other witness accounts."

Castiel looked visibly relieved. "Thank you. And thank you, for... Well, it's not not everyone that would stand up for someone like me."

"You don't have to thank me for doing the right thing," she told him. "But might I suggest - and I know it's Dean's party and all - but why don't the two of you head home?"

* * *

Cas wasn't entirely convinced that Dean was fit to drive home, but once he was behind the wheel his doubts vanished. Even after a few drinks, Dean could always be counted on to keep his baby in one piece. As they passed under a streetlight, Castiel noticed that Dean's hand was bleeding. When Dean dropped him at the apartment door and circled round the block again to try and find a parking space, Castiel went upstairs and looked out the first aid kit.

He knew Dean was back when he heard the apartment door slam shut.

"Dean?" he called.

There was a clatter in the corridor. "Son of a bitch!" Another slam – that would be the bathroom door, Castiel deduced. A few minutes later Dean came storming up the corridor and into the front room, his hand wrapped in toilet paper.

Cas stood and gently removed the paper from Dean's hand to get a better look, undeterred by the fact he was trying to pull away.

"It's nothing, really," Dean insisted.

Castiel shot him a disapproving look. "Sit," he instructed.

"I'm not a dog," Dean protested, but as Cas sat down on the sofa he perched his ass on the table in front of him with a dramatic, inconvenienced sigh. Castiel opened the first aid kit and removed some antiseptic and cotton balls. "I'm not sorry for what I did."

Castiel said nothing.

"How'd those guys know... that you were... about you?" Dean asked him.

"I don't know," Castiel said quietly. "I don't know them."

"You ever see them around?"

"I said I've never seen them before!" Cas snapped.

Dean's mouth screwed up as the antiseptic stung his hand. "I'm sorry," Castiel murmured, as he tried to be more gentle.

"It's not your fault, Cas. I'm the one who got into the fight."

"I did mean because of this," he waved the cotton ball at Dean, "but then you did get into that fight because of me."

"He deserved it."

"No-one deserves violence, Dean."

"I thought you guys went for whole 'an eye for an eye' stuff?"

"No," Castiel said flatly. "There. You're done."

"Thanks," Dean said, clenching and relaxing his fist several times. He looked at Castiel, who suddenly looked very small and afraid. "You know I'd never..." How did he say it? "No matter what, Cas, I'd never..." Hit you, he finished in his head. He could never hit Cas. Good, kind, gentle Cas who'd spent fifteen minutes chasing a bee around the apartment the day before, just so that he could be sure it got out safely. He wondered how the hell Cas had put up with being beaten without ever fighting back. "Cas?" he said softly. "Why didn't you move out – you know, get away from your dad?"

Castiel paused for a moment. "I had no money, no job, and nowhere to go," he answered matter-of-factly. Before Dean could pity him, he elaborated, "I didn't have any friends, or savings. What little I earned went to my father as rent, but I lost my part-time job when he... found out... about me."

"You father took your paycheck?!"

"I gave it to him," Castiel corrected.

"Yeah, but all of it? What if you wanted to buy something?"

Castiel shrugged. "I've never really wanted for anything. I always had everything I needed."

"Yes, but what about what you wanted?" Dean pressed. "There must have been something."

You, Castiel thought to himself. "Nothing money could buy," was what he said. "Unfortunately that meant when he decided I would no longer have something I had no other means of keeping it," he added bitterly.

"They shouldn't have sacked you," Dean declared, shaking his head. "They can't do that. It's called..." He racked through his brain for the term he'd heard Sam use once. "Wrongful dismissal, or something like that."

Castiel smiled sadly, and shook his head. "They didn't sack me. I lived in a small, very religious town. If I hadn't handed in my resignation the townspeople would have boycotted the shop had my sexuality become public knowledge. They were nice people – I didn't wish to see them go out of business."

Dean scoffed. "'Nice people'. If they were really that nice they'd have stuck up for you."

"I know you do not agree with their religious beliefs, but please try to understand that it was my choice to leave."

"'Their religious beliefs'?" Dean echoed.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said their religious beliefs, not our religious beliefs."

Castiel looked at his hands and picked at a piece of skin beside his fingernail.

"Cas?"

"I... I find myself disagreeing with a lot of what I have been taught is right." He licked his lips nervously. "Father Reynolds teaches a more open and accepting version of God's word. I don't always know what to think any more."

Castiel's words resonated with Dean and he placed his hands over Castiel's, which stilled at his touch. He swallowed. "Neither do I," he said softly.

Castiel glanced up at him, head cocked to the side and brow furrowed as he tried to dissect the meaning behind Dean's words. "Dean?" he murmured hesitantly.

"Don't," Dean breathed, hands stroking lightly down Castiel's thighs.

Castiel swallowed, skin tingling and his lips parting at Dean's touch. Dean couldn't really be about to do what Cas thought he was going to do - could he? It had to be Castiel's imagination running wild with want. Dean had made it perfectly clear that he cared for Cas only as a friend, and yet... There was a look in his eyes that Castiel hadn't seen before. Please. Oh, please, he wished. He forgot to breathe as Dean leaned in closer. He was really going to do it! Dean's breath was warm on his mouth as Dean's lips hovered millimeters away from his own. He wanted desperately to lean forward; to close the gap between them and steal the kiss before Dean could change his mind. But he forced himself to wait. He'd already risked their friendship once - he refused to do so again.

God, his heart was hammering in his chest and it felt like they'd been like this forever and yet no time at all. When Dean's warm lips pressed against his, it felt like time stopped. The rest of the world seemed to melt away, like he was floating and only Dean's lips anchored him. All too soon, Dean pulled back; but not far. He rested his head against Castiel's, eyes closed and waiting.

Dean let out a shaky breath. He hadn't planned that, though the idea had been forcing its way more insistently into his mind recently. Cas kissing him had been like a dam breaking; he'd never thought about it before but now it was all that he could think about.

It wasn't enough. Reason gave way to want and Castiel greedily chased Dean's mouth, his hand coming up to cup his cheek. His head was spinning, too focused on the feeling of Dean's lips on his, Dean's hands gripping his thighs, to pay attention to the way their teeth knocked together or the slight taste of blood from Dean's bottom lip.

"Cas, I—" Dean stopped, lost for words. He what? It was too much. Too fast. A part of him wanted this, but another part of him wanted to walk away; to find a willing woman, and lose himself in her soft curves. But if he did that, he'd surely break Cas. And he'd promised that he'd never hurt him.

Castiel stared at him, waiting for Dean to make excuses and reject him. He could almost feel his heart breaking in his chest. If his love for Dean was somehow less than another man's love for a woman, well then he didn't want to be straight. Even his father's beatings had hurt less than this.

Dean kissed him again, but it was forced this time; Cas could feel it. Though he kissed him back, it was with reluctance. He pulled away.

Dean chased his mouth, his kisses slowing to a halt when Castiel failed to reciprocate. "What?" he asked, frowning a little.

"You don't want to do this," Cas observed, avoiding his gaze.

Dean stared at him. Cas wanted this - it was obvious he did - so why was he fighting it? Anger bubbled beneath his hardened gaze. Did he think it had been easy for Dean to kiss him? That Dean understood anything he was feeling? Unable to look at Cas any longer, he rose to his feet so suddenly that Cas instinctively jerk away from him with a start.

"But you do."

Cas focused all his energy on staying stoic as Dean walked away without another word. He couldn't watch as Dean stood up and walked away. Footsteps retreated down the hallway, with the bedroom door closing moments later. Only then, did he let a choked sob escape him. Only then did he let himself fall apart, the feeling of Dean's kiss still on his lips.

Chapter Text

Dean didn't sleep much that night. At all, actually. He kept thinking about what he'd done, and how there was no going back from it. He couldn't even pass it off on him being drunk because he'd only had a couple of beers. Fuck... What had he done?

He'd kissed a guy... He'd kissed Cas!

Except Cas wasn't just a guy - Cas was Cas. Whatever that meant.

Maybe he was just suffering from a lack of sex. It had been a while - too long, actually - since he'd gone home with a woman. Maybe he should have picked someone up on New Year's, instead of taking Cas home. Jo's words from that night echoed in his mind: a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. Did Jo know something? Did she suspect... he didn't know what. But if there was something, what did that mean? Was Jo teasing? Or did she know?

He buried his face in his pillow with a frustrated groan. There was nothing for her to know! Because if there was, then everything he'd ever known about himself was a lie. Nearing the middle of his thirties, surely he had to know who he was by now?

Except he was a completely different person with Cas. He was a better person.

Despite the fact he was exhausted and he still had the day off, Dean went in to work. He couldn't face Castiel – not yet.

Engines were simple, and they helped him think. But it didn't help his thought process much that Bobby was pissed to see him buried in an engine, and got even more pissed when he fixed the right parts on the wrong car. In the end, after giving him an ear-bashing about not paying attention, Bobby sent him home at lunch telling him that he didn't want to see his sorry ass 'til next Monday.

Only Dean didn't go home. He drove around aimlessly until he knew Ellen would have opened the Roadhouse, and he was her first customer that day.

"You've started early today," she noted as she poured his requested whiskey.

"Not as early as I'd have liked," he grumbled in response.

"Oh, honey," she acknowledged sympathetically. "Girl problems?"

Dean flushed. "I— What— When have I ever had girl problems?" he all but yelled at her.

"Hey, easy there, tiger – I'm just asking. We don't want you picking another fight today." She wiped down the bar, making herself look busy, while watching the way Dean studied the liquid in his glass as he swirled it around and around and around, before finally knocking it back and resting the glass on the wooden surface.

"Another," he said, nudging it forward with his fingertips.

"I didn't hear the magic word," Ellen teased, leaning forward with one eyebrow raised.

He leaned forward to meet her. "Another. Before I take my money elsewhere."

"Whatever," she tutted unhappily, and refilled his glass.

He knocked it back and sighed.

"Have you had anything to eat today?"

Dean ran his tongue across his lower lip and froze, remembering the feel of Castiel's lips pressed against them. He shook his head at the thought. "No."

"Hey Jo! Make up a sandwich for Dean – I don't want him drunk before the lunch crowd gets in!"

Several minutes later, a very large sandwich and a glass of water was thrust at him. "Eat," Ellen insisted. "Or so help me I will send you packing."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew better than to try when she got that steely glint in her eye. Obediently he took a large bite, groaning as the flavours exploded across his tongue.

"Good?" Jo asked.

"Oh my God," he mumbled in awe through the food in his mouth.

Jo grinned smugly as she took away his empty glass.

"Can I get another whiskey after I've finished this?" he asked, even though he was the customer and could have anything he damn well liked.

"No."

"No?"

"I will not be responsible for you if you get drunk this early. You can have a beer."

"I don't want a beer!"

"Well you’re not getting anything stronger."

Dean groaned. "Fine! I'll have that beer."

"Sure," Ellen smiled. "Once you've eaten that," she added, pointing to the sandwich.

Dean rolled his eyes, but dutifully took another bite because Jo really did make a great sandwich.

"Where's Ash?" Dean asked her after a moment.

"He's out back, trying to devise some method of predicting crop circles or whatever. Something to do with 'subsonic wavelengths' or something like that." She eyed him up carefully. "You know, if it's a guy chat you need, I don't think he's going to be able to help much – unless you've got a robot girlfriend that's malfunctioning," she added with a sly grin.

"I am more than capable of getting a real girl, thank you very much, Ellen," he said defensively, thinking that the last one he'd been with was on the night Cas had ended up in hospital. That had been months ago. And he hadn't been able to get it up. Definitely not his finest moment. He'd really gotten off his game lately.

He took an angry bite of his sandwich and chewed it aggressively. As he swallowed, he thought about how much Cas seemed to float into his mind when he wasn't paying attention. "Have you ever... Nah, forget it."

"Have I ever what?" she asked suspiciously. "Because if the end of that sentence was going to be 'ever considered a threesome' I am kicking you out on your ass."

"MOM!" Jo's shocked voice called out, a grimace on her face.

"You close your ears girl, if you don't want to hear what I have to say!" Ellen replied, laughing at her daughter's obvious discomfort.

Dean shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth and Ellen exchanged his empty plate for a beer.

"Ever been attracted to someone you wouldn't normally?"

"Like..?"

Dean stared at his drink. "Like… someone who others might think is wrong."

"Define 'wrong'."

"Just... wrong!"

"Like when you were chasing after that Talbot girl even after I told you she was bad news?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

Ellen heaved a great sigh. "Look, as much as I am grateful for you keeping me in business, I am not your therapist. If you can't even spit out what it is you're trying to ask me then you need to quit your whining, be a man, and make your own decisions".

Not long after, the bar began to fill with patrons hungry for their lunch, and Ellen's attention was no longer focused solely on him. Jo, however, was always keen to talk to him. She harboured a bit of a crush on him, he knew that, but she wasn't much older than a kid in his eyes. Besides, Ellen could be scary when she got mad. So, when Jo sidled up beside him he immediately shuffled further away from her.

"I think that so long as you're happy, and you aren't hurting anyone, then what's the problem?"

Dean thought that it was funny how he'd once said the exact same thing to Castiel.

"What anyone else thinks doesn't matter as long as you've got someone who makes you smile. And I can't ever remember seeing you as happy as you've been since Cas came along."

"What makes you think... I'm not talking about Cas!" Dean blustered, forcing a laugh.

"I do have eyes, you know. And it's no secret I had a bit of a crush on you," she admitted, glancing away as redness coloured her cheeks. Then she looked him straight in the eye. "I know you better than you think."

"Joanna Beth, these tables aren't going to clear themselves!" her mother's sharp voice sliced through the lunchtime chatter easily.

"I've got to go," she said with an apologetic smile, and disappeared to clear the empty tables.

He sat there nursing his beer until it could no longer be considered chilled, musing over Jo's words. She was right, and he hadn't realised just how unhappy he'd been until Castiel had literally fallen into his life, and now... Now he couldn't imagine not having Castiel there. He had nothing against gay people, it was just he'd really never been that way inclined. Though kissing him had felt nice, before he'd started overthinking it. He dragged a hand down his face, realising that he needed to be having this conversation with Castiel. Awkward.

He heaved himself off the stool with difficulty, for his legs had begun to cramp from sitting squashed up at the bar for so long. After he tossed a few crumpled bills down beside his glass, he shouted, "The change is yours, Jo!" as he turned to leave.

* * *

As he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by the smell of apple pie baking in the oven.

"Where did you go so early this morning?" Castiel asked carefully.

Dean swallowed, everything he'd practiced saying in the car on the way home fading from his mind. Every move Castiel made as he cleaned up the mess on the counter was controlled and deliberate, like a beaten wife trying to prevent an argument. He'd never seen Castiel like this, not even when he first moved in, and he wondered if this was what life had been like for him at home. "I needed to clear my head."

"At Ellen's?"

The words were casual, but there was a hint of accusation beneath them.

"Did she call?" He was seriously beginning to regret giving Jo his number.

"You smell like whiskey."

"I only had one," he said, wondering when he'd gotten so defensive about his drinking habits.

"It's barely past lunch."

"Yeah. I know. That's early even for me," he conceded with a half-hearted/bitter chuckle.

Castiel walked over to him and placed a tentative hand on his arm. "Is everything alright?"

Dean looked down at his hand and a thousand thoughts flew through his mind: that he wanted Cas to touch him more; that he wanted to do anything and everything he could to bring back his Cas; that he wanted to kiss Cas again; that he always ended up hurting the people he cared about.

"Don't," he snapped a little too sharply, jerking his arm away.

Immediately, Castiel put space between them. "I made pie," he said quietly.

"It smells good." Dean stood there, watching Cas as he tidied up after himself. "Look, about last night... Well, you know I'm not gay, right?"

"I know. It was a mistake," Castiel said for him.

That wasn't what he was trying to say at all but Dean, ever the coward when it came to talking about his emotions, didn't correct him.

"You were drunk," Cas continued.

"No I wasn't, I only had—" He stopped, realising that Cas was offering him a way out. He could take it, or he could ignore it. He could tell Cas that he wasn't drunk. That it wasn't a mistake, and that he wanted to do it again. He could admit to Cas that he was scared. That he had no idea what he was doing. That he had feelings, desires he didn't understand. "Yeah," he heard himself agreeing. "I was drunk."

* * *

The sound of a truck reversing outside woke Dean at ten past four. He sat up and stretched his stiff neck as he tried to remember why he was sleeping on the couch. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He'd come through here to give Cas space and must have dozed off.

The sun was going down, so he closed the curtains and put the light on. "Cas!" he called out, heading through to the kitchen. It was empty, the pie Cas had baked that morning still cooling on top of the cooker. He checked the back of the apartment, rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door before opening it. "Cas? Cas!" he shouted, trying his own bedroom - though what the hell would Cas be doing in there? There was no answer, and no-one there. Returning to living room, he looked around like he'd somehow missed him the first time. That's when he noticed Cas's cupboard door was ajar He kicked it open and found it empty.

He groaned. He'd royally fucked up when talking to Cas earlier, but he'd fix it. He still wasn't sure how he felt or what he was going to say, but he could at least tell Cas that it wasn't a mistake. Right?

He called Castiel, leaving him a message when it went to voicemail asking him to come home.

Then he called Castiel again, leaving another message asking him to call back.

Dialing Cas's number a third time, he left a message that he was going out to look for him.

He strode into the Roadhouse. Jo and Ellen were nowhere to be seen, which meant they were through the back. Not having time to wait he stormed past Bobby, who was sitting at the bar, and pushed open the door to the back room.

"Ellen, have you—"

"If you're not stock you don't belong back here."

"I just—"

"Out!"

He shuffled back with an impatient sigh until he was on the other side of the door again.

"Behind the bar!" she insisted, shooing him round the front of the counter. "Now, what do you want?"

"Have you seen Cas?"

"Not since last night. You want your usual?"

"I... No," he said, shaking his head as he slid onto a stool and dropped his head into his hands.

"Well you shout if you change your mind, but keep your ass on that side of the bar!"

He groaned, running his hands roughly through his hair as if trying to stimulate his brain to work harder.

"Somethin' wrong, boy?" Bobby asked.

"You haven't seen Cas, have you?"

"Nope."

"I— I think I've done something stupid."

"What did you— No, I don't want to know. Just fix it."

"I don't know how."

"Idjit!" Bobby exclaimed. Then he sighed. "If anyone's going to know where that boy'd go when he was hurtin', it's you."

But Dean didn't have a clue. Apart from Balthazar, who Dean had no way of getting in contact with and who he doubted would tell him anything even if he could, the only people who might be able to help him were in the Roadhouse and hadn't seen him.

Everyone except Father Reynolds.

"Thanks, Bobby," he called over his shoulder, already on his way out again.

Driving out of the parking lot and turning back the way he came, Dean drove past his apartment block and kept going. He swerved to a stop in front of the church, spraying gravel up behind him. Reaching the top of the church steps, he wasn't sure if he should knock even though the door was open. Making his decision he headed inside, momentarily struck by the grandeur of the interior. Though he'd been here several times before, now, he'd never set foot in the nave.

"Father Reynolds?" he called out, before wondering if you weren't supposed to shout in a house of God. "Father?" he called again as he made his way closer to the altar, in a more hushed tone this time.

"Can I help you?"

Dean turned, and the Father's eyes widened in recognition.

"Dean! This visit is... unexpected. I hope Castiel is well?"

His concern for Cas was comforting. "That's why I'm here. You haven't seen him today, have you?" he asked urgently.

"No. No, I haven't. Is something wrong?"

"I, uh, I hope not."

"I know you don't believe, but would you like to talk about whatever it is?"

It'd be awesome if someone could explain his feelings to him, but he wasn't the type to talk about them. Besides, even if he was, he didn't have the time to offload onto the Father. "No. I mean, no thanks. I just want to find Cas."

"Have you tried calling him?"

A sarcastic laugh burst past his lips before he could stop it. "Yeah. Several times. He's not answering."

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully.

"What?" Dean asked.

"You seem troubled."

"Yeah, my best friend's gone missing and he hasn't exactly got the best track record."

"Did something happen?"

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What makes you ask that?"

"In my experience, I find that people who 'go missing' don't normally do so for no reason."

Dean clenched his jaw.

"Perhaps, if something did happen, that is where the answer lies."

Dean hesitated. The Father's logic made sense. What was it Bobby had said? Something about Cas going somewhere when he was hurting? "Have you got a number for that shrink he was talking to?"

"I have some of her cards in my office, yes. I'll be right back. I'm not sure how much help she'll be, however, as her conversations with her clients are confidential."

"Yeah, well, I'm desperate."

Time seemed to drag on forever as he waited for Father Reynolds to return. While he waited, he cast a glance up at the crucified Jesus hanging above the altar. "I don't even know if you're real, but I could use a little help here."

He'd told Cas that he wasn't gay, but he couldn't deny that he felt something for Cas, whatever it was. There were so many things he'd wanted to say to him; that he'd been afraid to say, or even admit them to himself. He'd thought there would be plenty of time to figure it all out.

"Here you go."

Dean snatched the card out of his hand with a hurried, "Thanks!" before all but running down the aisle and out the door. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he tapped his hand impatiently off the roof of the Impala as he waited for his signal bars to light up.

Curse buildings that seemed to repel mobile phone signal.

He had to force himself to take his time typing the number in so he didn't make a mistake.

"Hi, can I talk to Pamela Barnes please?" he asked when her assistant answered the phone.

"I'm sorry, she's busy at the moment. Can I take s—"

"My name's Castiel Milton, I'm a client of hers," he lied.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Castiel. This is important!"

"Hold for one moment; I'll see if she can spare a minute."

Dean kicked the gravel as an annoying tune tinkled in his ear.

"Castiel?"

"Ms Barnes, have you heard from Castiel today?"

There was a pause before the therapist spoke again. "Who is this?"

"My name's Dean, I'm a friend of—"

"My assistant said you were Castiel."

Dean cleared his throat. "I, uh, don't know where she got that idea," he lied.

"I see," she said coolly. "Dean, I am a very busy woman, so make this quick."

"That's what I'm trying to do!" he snapped, taking a second to pull himself together before he spoke again. "Have you heard from Cas today?"

"Is there a problem?"

Dean huffed out a bitter laugh. "Hell yeah, there's a problem!" he cried, running a hand frustratedly through his hair. "He's gone! He was there, and then he wasn't, and now... I'm worried about him."

"I see," she said, sounding troubled.

"You've heard from him. Please, you've got to tell me where he is!"

"I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't," she said crisply, "because he didn't tell me."

"Fuck!" Dean shouted at the empty parking lot.

"He called me to apologise," Pamela said carefully.

"For what?"

"I... I can't," she said, sounding upset. "It's confidential."

"You've got to give me something here!" Dean begged. "I've got... I've got to fix this!"

"You know him better than anyone, Dean."

"Did he say he was going to leave?" he pleaded. "Please, I don't want anything to happen to him. I can't let it!"

"He apologised quite a lot. I offered to clear my schedule so we could talk through whatever problems he might have been having, but he said no," she replied. "I'm sorry, Dean, that's really all I can say."

Great, so Dean was a problem now. He tried to focus on Cas and not his own failings. Running his hand through his hair again, he tried to work out where Cas might go if he was upset. Shit, when he'd met Cas Cas was a wreck. Wait, what if Dean had pushed him over the edge? He started to panic, thinking of where Cas could be, what he could have done, of how alone he was...

Over the edge.

Dean's stomach dropped. It was an innocent expression but, with a sinking feeling, he realised he knew where he might find Cas. As much as he wanted to find him, he hoped that he was wrong. If he was right, though...

"Dean? Dean?"

Dean hung up on her without another word. He drove slightly too fast and slightly too dangerously until he was on the back roads out of town, driving to where he'd first seen Cas all those months ago. Hunching over the wheel, trying to peer for a better view through the trees, he thought he could see a figure standing on the bridge, looking down.

"Cas!" he shouted desperately out of the window, not even waiting until the car had come to a complete stop.

Castiel turned back to him, obviously surprised to see him. "Dean? What... What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"I just knew. Don't ask me how, I just did," he babbled, hurrying towards his friend. "I looked everywhere for you, dude! I didn't hear you leave—"

"You were sleeping."

"—and when I woke up you were gone. Just gone. You didn't even say goodbye, or leave me so much as a note, so I called everyone you knew, and I think I ran a red light on the way over here 'cause I was so freaking worried!" He paused then, forcing himself to speak more calmly, asked, "What are you doing up here?"

Castiel looked from Dean back to the churning water below. Dean's concern was just another reason to love him, and it hurt. He'd been afraid that if he'd tried to say goodbye he wouldn't leave, and he needed to. Balthazar was right - he couldn't stay. So he'd done what Pamela was always chastising him for - not facing up to things by running away. "I wasn't going to jump, if that's what you mean."

"No, that's not— I didn't think you were," Dean told him, inching closer anyway. "Not really."

"Being rejected by you isn't quite enough to make me suicidal, Dean," Cas told him sharply. "I'm stronger than that. It took my father years to push me to that point. Not even you could do it in just a few months."

"No, of course you are. I didn't— I don't know what I was thinking. I was just afraid. What were you thinking? Coming up here?"

"I wasn't thinking - not really. I was drawn here. I needed space - room to breathe. I was suffocating in the apartment."

"But why here?" Dean pressed. "If you weren't planning to... you know."

"I suppose it's because I feel closer to you here. You touched me for the first time on this bridge, and you changed my life," Castiel explained. "You changed me. I'm stronger, now – more in control of everything I do. And that's all down to you."

"Not all of it," Dean pointed out. There were so many others who had helped shape Castiel into the hardy man he was now.

"But I can't stay with you," Cas continued. "Not any more."

Dean's heart wrenched painfully in his chest. "Cas—"

"I think I'm going to stay with Balthazar for a while."

"Balthazar?" Dean spat, jealousy replacing the worry twisting his stomach. How the hell could Cas choose Balthazar over him? After everything they'd been through?

"He offered me his couch. It might not be as comfortable as yours, but I think we both need space."

It sounded like Cas was trying to break up with him, and if it wasn't so painfully close to the truth it might have been funny. "I don't need space, Cas! I need—"

"You're not the only one who needed to clear their head," Castiel continued over him. Dean didn't know if he was even listening. "I don't know what happened last night, but I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Cas!" Dean exclaimed, practically shouting to get Cas to listen to him.

"I do!" Castiel shouted, fighting back tears as he fisted his hands in Dean's jacket. God, how he hated that thing. Dean had such a beautiful body, and to hide it away in a leather jacket two sizes too big should be a sin. "Last night you were drunk and I let you kiss me when I should have told you to stop, but I was weak and selfish and I just wanted to pretend that you actually wanted me except now I ache inside and I don't think I can stay with you any more," he said in a rush, dropping his hands to his side and turning away.

Dean's head was spinning. "You've got nothing to be sorry for," he emphasised. "It's me who should be apologising." He took a breath, building himself up to say what he knew he had to before he chickened out. "What I said this morning about me being drunk and it being a mistake, that's bullshit. I wasn't drunk, and I don't know what it was."

"Dean—"

"I don't know what it was, but it was something," Dean continued, grabbing his arm to make him listen, "and that scares the shit out of me. I mean I know I've done a lot of things with a lot of people, but this," he said, waving a hand between them, "isn't one of them. I like being with you. I have fun with you, but I—"

"I love you," Cas blurted.

Dean fell silent. He'd known that Cas had a thing for him, because he'd admitted as much, but loved him? Love was such a strong... It was...

Castiel was no longer looking at Dean; perhaps because of his silence. "If you don't want me to leave, you have to give me a reason to stay."

A reason? Dean could give him a hundred reasons if given enough time - he just wasn't ready to acknowledge any of them. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he could finally force words out. "We're friends," Dean told him.

Cas shook his head slightly; that's not a good enough reason.

"Cas, I don't know what it is that you want me to say!" Dean exclaimed, angry at himself for not being able to find the right words. He wasn't even sure that if he knew the right words to say, he'd be able to get them past his lips.

Castiel looked disappointed but resolute. "Can you please take me to Balthazar's?"

* * *

Arriving back at his apartment some time later Dean found himself standing, alone, in the middle of their living room.

His living room, he reminded himself. Cas didn't live there any more.

The walls had once felt too close together, but with Cas they had begun to feel homely. Now, however, they felt a hundred miles apart. And the silence... The silence was suffocating. He felt like a stranger in his own apartment.

Moving almost on autopilot, he walked to the kitchen and pulled out a glass and the bottle of Jack that sat beside it. It felt like he'd barely touched the stuff since Castiel moved in, except when he'd been trying to chase his nightmares away. He sat down in the dark living room and, pouring himself a generous glass, tried to forget about Cas.

* * *

"You're doing the right thing," Balthazar told Cas as he set his small bag down beside the sofa.

"It doesn't feel like it," he replied hollowly. Every fibre of his being felt like he was being ripped apart; his heart screaming to return home.

"It might feel like that now but, I promise, it'll get better."

"It'll get better." Castiel's father had said those exact words to him when he'd proclaimed that he couldn't force himself to want a female partner, and he replied the same way now as he did then; "How do you know?"

Unlike his father, who was so full of conviction without justification that he could argue until he lost his voice, Balthazar was at a loss for words.

"I'm tired," he lied and - thankfully - Balthazar left him alone, squeezing his shoulder in silent support as he passed.

Chapter Text

The shrill ringing of his alarm woke Dean the next morning, and he buried his face in his pillow as he blindly fumbled to turn it off. Stretching his neck as he trudged towards the kitchen, he realised he couldn't smell any coffee brewing. That was strange, he mused to himself as he stopped in front of the empty coffee pot. Cas usually— Oh. Yeah. Cas was gone.

He shook cereal into a bowl, the noise deafening in the silence. As he reached out to fill the coffee pot, he paused with his hand on the handle. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. The coffee machine wasn't gurgling, the newspaper wasn't rustling, the shower wasn't running, Cas wasn't talking. He let go of the pot, suddenly losing his appetite. That was when he noticed Castiel's pie, still sitting on top of the cooker, mocking him. Cas had gone, but the pie was still here. Lashing out, he grabbed the pie and tossed it in the trash. Leaving his breakfast on the counter, he went back to bed.

* * *

On the other side of town, Castiel woke up to a spring digging into his back and an ache in his neck. For a moment he was disorientated because he wasn't at home, but then he remembered. Dean's apartment wasn't home any more. Technically speaking, he supposed he was homeless again - because staying with Balthazar wasn't meant to be permanent. But then again, neither had staying with Dean.

The kitchen was empty, so he ventured in the direction of his friend's bedroom to see if he was awake. The sound of snoring told him that, for the moment, he was alone. Hesitating, he wondered if it would be rude to help himself to breakfast. But then his stomach, grumbling loudly, made up his mind for him. It wasn't like Balthazar was the type to take offence over little things. Come to think of it, he'd never seen Balthazar take offence at anything.

Opening and closing cupboard doors, he tried to find everything he might need to make himself breakfast. He put two slices of bread in the toaster, then turned to the coffee pot. It was different from Dean's - more complicated with a lot more buttons - but after pushing several it finally whirred into life with a beep, so he assumed he'd worked it out. As he waited for the toast to jump up suitable browned, he found himself reaching for things that weren't there: the jar of jam that Dean always left out to grow mould, despite Castiel telling him almost daily that it should be stored in the fridge and would keep longer if done so; the long-handled cappuccino spoon Dean claimed he had stolen from Starbucks many years ago during a trip with his brother, that he insisted was better than an ordinary teaspoon for reaching into the bottom of jars; the sugar sachets taken from cafés that he kept for 'emergencies' - namely when he had drunk his grocery money.

An irrational thought flew through Castiel's mind before he was even aware of thinking it - I want to steal my own Starbucks spoon. His toast popped and he shook his head at the ridiculous thought. "You're pining," he told himself disapprovingly, but without conviction.

* * *

Dean rose sometime around noon, resolving to go to the garage and see Cas once he'd scrubbed up. When he pulled into the yard some time later, however, he realised that he should probably have some excuse for dropping by when he's not scheduled to be working. After all, everyone he worked with knew that he and Cas lived together, and he doubted that Cas would be in any hurry to tell them all that that had changed.

"Dean, I distinctly remember taking you off the rota this week," Bobby grumbled when he laid eyes on him.

"I just wanted to check my tyre pressure," he lied, his eyes staring at the office door. It was open, and he could see that it was empty. "Where's Cas?" he asked, forcing himself to sound casual as he nodded his head in the direction of the empty office.

"Cas asked for this week off," Bobby told him, scrutinising him from under the brim of his dirty baseball cap. "I figured you two had plans."

"Plans?" Dean echoed, his voice coming out in a squeak. He cleared his throat. "As in, together?"

Bobby touched one hand to the brim of his cap, nudging it upwards on his head. "Yeah. Friends tend to do that."

"Right," Dean breathed, his face relaxing into a grin. "Duh. He went out before lunch, so I guess I just forgot."

"Unlike some people," Bobby said, staring at Dean, "Cas knows that when he's got time off work, he doesn't have to come into work."

"Tyres," Dean reminded him tightly.

"Right," Bobby said, not sounding entirely convinced. "Well, you know what you're doing. Unless you're gonna pay me to do it?"

When Bobby laughed, Dean grinned. "I can do it," he told him. "I can't afford to pay you, what with all the overtime you don't have."

Bobby humphed as Dean moved around the Impala and got to work on his tyres. As he expected, they were well within the recommended range. He waved in Bobby's direction when he left, double parking outside an off licence on the way home to buy himself a bottle of whiskey.

* * *

Castiel stared at his crossword, not seeing the words as he tapped the end of his pencil absently against the page.

"Stuck?" Balthazar asked him. "Or thinking about a certain man?"

Castiel straightened in his seat as he cast a guilty look at his friend.

"It's not going to do you any good if you pine after him."

"I'm not pining for him," Cas protested, even though he knew it was a lie. "He's a friend. I miss him."

"He's more than 'a friend' and you know it," Balthazar pointed out. "That's why you're here."

Castiel stared at his crossword puzzle. "What's a six-lettered word for a 'dilapidated car'?" he asked.

"How should I know?" Balthazar asked.

Dean would know. Castiel pouted at the page as he moved onto the next clue.

* * *

Watching Balthazar push the cart around the supermarket was very different from watching Dean, Cas mused. Whereas Dean's grumbling about the length of time it took to get 'round the shop tended to increase the further down their shopping list they got, Balthazar was more laid back and took take his time. His list contained only the essentials - milk, bread, eggs, laundry detergent - while he was content to make up the rest as he went along, depending on special offers or simply whatever took his fancy.

Castiel walked alongside his friend as they meandered through the aisles. Occasionally Balthazar would stop to put something in the cart and Cas would find his attention falling on something he never intended to buy, but found Balthazar tossing it into the trolley despite his protests that he didn't want it.

All in all, shopping with Balthazar was a surprisingly relaxing experience, and it seemed like they reached the checkout in no time at all - despite the very full trolley in front of them that suggested otherwise.

As they unloaded their shopping onto the conveyor belt, Cas wondered how much of it they actually needed. He was aware that Balthazar had no reason to be as frugal as he and Dean, but it felt like a terrible waste if they didn't need it. He put the thought out of his mind as he helped his friend pack their shopping away, getting Balthazar to follow his lead on bagging similar things together - chilled items, fruit and veg, tinned goods. As Balthazar put the last of their bags back into the cart, the cashier totalled up their bill and a chill ran down Castiel's spine. What Balthazar was spending for a week was more than what what Dean would spend in a month. He tapped his friend on the arm.

"In a minute," Balthazar said, rifling through his wallet for his card.

A wave of nausea came over him. "Balthazar—"

"What is it?"

Cas's eyes flicked down and, in a low voice, told his friend, "I can't afford to pay my share."

Balthazar simply rolled his eyes with a fond smile on his face. "Don't worry about it, Cas."

Lines creased Castiel's forehead. He always paid his way - it was something he and Dean had eventually come to agree on - and he felt better when he wasn't imposing on someone.

"No, I have to pay you."

"No, you don't," Balthazar told him.

"Well at least take this for now," Cas said, hurriedly digging through his wallet and thrusting a few notes at him and a coupon at the cashier.

"Cas—"

"Please."

Balthazar sighed. "Fine."

"Thank you." It really wasn't much - barely a fifth of their groceries - but it was something.

* * *

Cigar smoke formed a noose around Dean's throat, making him gag. He didn't understand the appeal, but he'd bear it as long as his luck held out. His eyes flicked from the cards in his hand to Cole, sitting opposite him, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

The man to his right exchanged an old card for a new one, then contemplated the cards in his hand for a moment. "All in!" he declared in a booming voice.

Confidence dictating his actions, Dean responded by scooping the untidy pile of money sitting in front of him and pushing it into the middle of the table; crumpled notes disappearing under toppling towers of coins.

The other players around the table either followed suit or threw their cards face town on the table. They weren't as brave as Dean, who was getting giddy at the sight of what would surely be his growing pile of winnings because his hand could beat just about anything the rest of the men could put down.

As he watched the others lay down hands that his would easily trump, he became more and more certain that he would be going home a rich man tonight.

But then Cole played his cards and Dean's mouth went dry. All of a sudden, he became painfully aware of just how much money he was throwing away. It wasn't bravery. It was stupidity. He tossed his cards down, allowing the others to see his hand. He'd thought he had a sure thing - queens over aces - but that was before Cole laid down four threes. There was a hollow pit in Dean's stomach as he walked out of the back room and into the bar, through the throng of people who could afford to throw their money away on a night of drinking and gambling.

You should never gamble more than you can afford to lose, and that was a lesson Dean doubted he'd ever learn. He settled in the driver's seat of the Impala and sat there for a long while, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. As it sank in just how much money he'd thrown away, he felt like he might throw up. He always paid his rent as soon as his paycheck came in, but other bills weren't due until the end of the month, not to mention four weeks of food to buy. He thumped his forehead against the wheel, groaning when it hurt more than he thought it would.

How the hell was he going to explain this to Sam? Because he'd have to call him - there was no way he'd last the month on the loose change that rattled around in the glove box every time he drove around a corner. And it wasn't like he even had Cas's meagre income to help any more.

He was fucked.

* * *

When Balthazar went out that night, Castiel declined the offer to go with him. Instead he washed up their dinner dishes and put a load of washing on, before wondering what the hell he was actually going to do with himself that evening. If he hadn't moved in with Balthazar, he'd probably read a little. By now he might even have finished the book he was halfway through and started another. He wished he could have brought the book with him, but it was Dean's. If he'd asked he was sure Dean would have said yes, but it wouldn't have felt right.

He soon found himself browsing Balthazar's movie collection. Dean had always been good at recommending movies he should watch (or, more precisely, insisted), but he saw none of them on Balthazar's shelves. He started sliding some at random off the shelves, reading the descriptions on the backs before returning them to their places on the shelf.

He paused at a film called Brokeback Mountain. It sounded like the exact opposite of what he needed right now but, for whatever reason, he found himself sliding the disc into the player. With a bit of luck and a couple of wrong moves, he finally got the film up and running. Pausing it while he checked for snacks, he was disappointed not to find any popcorn. He did, however, find a small bag of marshmallows. Given there was nothing else, he decided that marshmallows would have to do.

He wasn't ashamed to admit that the film moved him, both in terms of plot and the through the way he could relate to Jack. Unlike Dean, who bottled up most of his emotions under some illusion of being more 'manly' for doing so. When Balthazar came home, he found him sobbing on the couch, surrounded by damp, snotty tissues.

"Brokeback Mountain?" Balthazar chuckled, looked at the DVD box lying on the table. "I can't say I blame you. That film's depressing. And don't expect bottoming to be quite so easy your first time without any preparation!" he advised with a grin, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"I wish I knew how to quit him," Castiel cried, echoing the words of one of the film's central characters.

"Oh, Cassie," Balthazar sighed, dropping onto the sofa beside his friend and wrapping an arm around him in a one-armed hug.

"It feels like a sick joke. I finally begin to accept who I am, and the man I fall for... I have no doubts he loves me in his own way, but it's not enough."

"There are plenty more fish in the sea," Balthazar told him, stroking a soothing hand through Castiel's hair.

"Why would I want fish?" Cas sniffed.

Balthazar laughed. "It's an expression, sweetie. It means there are more men out there for you to choose from, once you get over this one."

Cas slipped his arms around his friend's waist and snuggled his face into his jacket. "What would I do without you?"

* * *

"You look like you're holding something back," Pamela said, topping up his glass of water even though he'd barely touched it.

"I..." He trailed off, realising that it would do him no good to lie. "You know me too well."

She smiled at him. "It's what you pay me for. Or rather, your church."

"And I'm grateful for that. I'm happier, now. Stronger."

"And yet, you don't look happy. Not today, anyway." When he didn't answer straight away, she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together in her lap. "Is it... Dean?"

His silence answered her question.

"What has he done?"

"Nothing! Well not nothing... He kissed me."

Her eyes widened minutely. "And, despite your feelings for him, this makes you unhappy? Regretful? Guilty?" she pushed.

"No, nothing like that. I don't think— He didn't want to."

She frowned. "He kissed you because he didn't want to?"

"Yes. No!" Castiel buried his face in his hands. "I moved out," he mumbled against his skin.

"I see. Can I ask why?"

Castiel thought long and hard before speaking. Balthazar had been urging him to leave for some time, and being rejected by Dean had hurt. Though it had been almost a knee-jerk reaction, he still thought it had been the right thing to do. "I know what I want," he said carefully. "I'm not sure Dean does."

"But why did you leave?"

"Because I had to," Cas admitted. "It would hurt too much to stay, even though I didn't want to leave."

Pamela nodded, scribbling some notes down before speaking again. "So you made a choice based on what you thought was best for you. You put yourself first, Castiel. I'm proud of you." She noticed how torn he looked. "How do you feel about the decision you've made?"

Reluctantly, Cas shook his head. "I miss him."

"I understand how difficult this must be for you, Castiel," Pamela said sympathetically. "But what makes you so sure that the kiss was a mistake?"

"Because he told me so." I was drunk. Except... Later, Dean had admitted, I wasn't drunk, and I don't know what it was.

I was drunk.

I wasn't drunk.

I was drunk.

I wasn't drunk.

I was drunk.

I wasn't drunk.

What if... He swallowed. "Have I made a mistake?" he asked her quietly.

Pamela pursed her lips as she thought how best to respond to his question. "Putting yourself first is never a mistake, Castiel."

"But what if..." He trailed off, knowing how Balthazar would scorn his pitiful hope that maybe, just maybe, Dean's feelings had changed.

"What if Dean feels the same way?" she guessed.

He nodded. "Go on. Tell me I'm being delusional."

"You're not delusional, Castiel. At least not medically speaking." She sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't know how Dean feels about you. What I do know is that you have to weigh up the pros and cons of holding on to that hope. The way I see it, you have two choices. If you believe there to be more positives than negatives, you have an honest discussion with Dean about your feelings. If you believe there to be more negatives, you're going to have to let go, Castiel. The most important question is: What's best for you?"

Chapter Text

Dean leaned over the pool table, bringing his hands together and sticking his elbows out to form a triangle around the balls and the cushion. After moving the balls into their correct positions within the triangle, he took aim with the cue and fired the white ball in their direction. Ball after ball, he sank them with ease.

He got no pleasure in clearing the table, for it was no challenge messing about by himself. As he bent over to take an easy shot at the black, he glanced up at a couple sitting in his line of vision. A bald guy and his Latino friend were sitting at a table, drinking and chatting quietly between themselves. They might be decent opponents, he decided, tossing his cue down on the table and making his way over to them.

"Hey," he said when they looked up at him. "Wanna play?" He beckoned in the direction of the pool table.

"Depends," the Latino guy said. "Is it going to be worth my while?"

Dean shrugged. "I could throw some money down."

"Cesar, don't," the bald guy pleaded. "We didn't come out for this."

"It's just a little fun, Jesse."

"It's no fun for me if I'm watching you play pool with someone else."

"Don't be such a bonehead. What's wrong with making a little money off the guy?"

"Nothing, if you win. What if you don't?"

Dean laughed. "You guys fight like me and my brother."

Jesse seemed to curl in on himself as Cesar said, "Well... it's more like an old married couple."

Dean chuckled, but Cesar leveled a challenging stare at him as if waiting for Dean to start a fight. Jesse, on the other hand, simply dropped his head and closed his eyes as if awaiting the inevitable abuse he thought Dean might throw at them. Another glance between the two men, and his eyes widened in realisation. "Oh! So..." As Dean motioned between the two of them Cesar visibly relaxed, a grin spreading across his face at Dean's acceptance.

"So, uh, do you want to play or not"?

Cesar looked at Jesse, who looked a little more secure than he had a moment ago but gave a small shake of his head. With obvious reluctance, Cesar said, "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Fair enough," Dean said, moving back to the table to rack the balls up again. "Hey!" he snapped at the youths gathering around the table. "Did I say I was finished?"

They scarpered back to their table, grumbling amongst themselves. As he played, Dean found himself paying more attention to Cesar and Jesse than the balls. A look here, a touch there... It went against everything he'd ever believed gay men could be - real men, as his dad would probably have put it, and yet completely in love with each other. But then, it wasn't like Cas fit Dean's image of what a gay man should be like, either.

As they murmured quietly between themselves, occasionally laughing at something the other said, Dean wondered if this would be Cas for the rest of his life - introducing his partner and bracing for a fight. Cas didn't deserve that. Dean would make sure that nobody gave him shit for loving someone. His gut wrenched as he realised that Cesar was him, ready to leap to Jesse's defence if need be.

He hit the cue ball so hard it missed the ball he was aiming at entirely and jumped off the table.

"Foul!" Cesar shouted over with a laugh.

Dean forced a half-assed grin.

"Come on over, friend - we'll buy you a drink. It'll make a change from being alone?"

Only the temptation of a free drink stopped him from saying no. "Alright," he said, dropping the cue ball and his cue on the pool table. As he sat down, he could see the students on the other side of the room eyeing up the table. He glared at them for a long moment, before nodding his head at the table. In a blink they were crowded around it, jostling each other as they set up for a game.

Jesse nodded at him, a small smile pulling one corner of his mouth upwards. Maybe something Cesar had said had loosened him up a bit, Dean mused.

They beckoned over to the waitress to bring them another round, then Dean began to realise that Cesar didn't do small talk.

"So tell us - why's a man as good-looking as you moping around a pool table all alone on a weeknight?"

Whether it was because he knew they were married or due to his conflicted feelings for Cas he didn't know, but his instinctual response to tell the guy he was barking up the wrong tree died in his throat. Instead he let out a self-conscious chuckle, wishing he had a beer in front of him already. Being able to down a beer would delay, however briefly, having to answer that question.

"It's a girl," Jesse predicted in a murmur, sounding bored with the conversation.

"It's not a girl!" Dean protested. Why did everyone always think he had girl troubles these days?

"You mean it's a guy?" Cesar asked, sounding surprised.

At Cesar's surprise, Dean found himself wishing that he hadn't been so quick to correct them.

"You didn't strike me as the type."

"I didn't say that!"

Cesar laughed. "So it is a guy." His eyes raked over Dean thoughtfully. "Is he straight?"

"No," Dean replied automatically. As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he wanted to smash his head off the nearest wall. Why didn't he just tattoo it on his fucking forehead that a part of him wanted more than friendship from Cas?

Cesar's eyes softened in sympathy. "First time?"

Dean clenched his jaw, unwilling to answer the question, and ignored the waitress as she placed a drink in front of him.

"Well, you're never too old to switch teams," Cesar told him warmly. "If you've got a good support network, you should do alright."

He wasn't switching teams, damn it! Liking Cas didn't make him gay. He didn't know what it made him, but he still liked women. Still thought about their soft curves when he took his hand to himself at night.

"I know how you feel," Jesse started. "Conflicted. Confused. Everyone telling you you'll meet a nice girl who'll make your feelings for him go away. But you won't. Not if you're like me." He swallowed. "Sometimes I still don't feel like I fit in."

At this, Cesar reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"But I know I'm not wrong. You're not wrong."

It was the most Dean had been aware of Jesse saying all night. All three of them sat in silence for a long moment, letting his words sink in.

"It's not like that," Dean croaked, breaking the silence. His mouth was dry, and he reached for his drink.

"No?" Cesar questioned.

"I got nothing against...you know... people like you."

"Except being one."

Cesar's accusation hung in the air, creating a barrier between them.

Dean's hand, resting on his knee, clenched under the table. He wasn't homophobic! He supported Cas. He'd taken the guy to a damn gay bar! "It's not... I'm not..." He couldn't deny it. His hard expression softened as he thought about Cas. "It's complicated," he settled for.

"Love isn't complicated," Cesar told him.

"Who said I loved him?" Dean exclaimed, straightening up in his seat.

"You didn't have to."

"Cesar's right," Jesse told him. "Love isn't complicated unless you make it that way."

"Whatever it is - and I'm not saying it's love - I don't know how to uncomplicate it," Dean admitted after a moment's pause.

"Do you want to?" Cesar asked.

"Yes. No... Maybe."

"Start by figuring out which it is," he advised. "Don't mess him around, whoever he is. Whoever he is, he deserves better than that."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "He does."

"Who is he?" Jesse asked.

"Who? Cas?"

"If that's the guy you like," Cesar nodded.

"Yeah, he's... he's weird," Dean remarked thoughtfully, smiling to himself as he pictured Cas in his mind. "He's a weird, dorky little guy. Dark hair, blue eyes... Sensible shoes." He stopped when he saw Cesar's wide grin. "What?"

"I was expecting something a bit more personal."

Dean's cheeks grew warm and he leaned forward to grab his beer. After taking a long sip, he set it back on the table, index finger running around the rim as he stared into the half-empty glass. "What? You want me to tell you about the little things? Like the way he tilts his head when he's confused? Or that when he smiles it's like the freakin' sun? Or maybe you want to know how smart, forgiving and friggin' selfless he is? How about the fact that when he looks at me, I feel like I mean something - like just being around him makes me a better man."

"He sounds like a nice guy."

"He is," Dean agreed quickly. "He's the best."

"It's no wonder he turned your head."

"Might turn mine, if I didn't have Cesar."

As if receiving a signal, they both reached out to touch the other; a shoulder, a knee. There was nothing sexual about their actions, but at the same time there was an intimacy that had Dean's stomach twisting in jealousy.

"What's it like?" he heard himself ask. "Settling down with a guy?"

"Smelly, hairy. Twice the worrying about getting prostate cancer."

Cesar's tone was light-hearted, and though it wasn't funny Dean laughed anyway.

"Well, what did you expect me to say?"

"I dunno."

"We've got a nice little spread in New Mexico where we raise horses. Tomorrow we pick up a new stallion before making the long drive back."

"It's a life," Jesse said. "A happy one. Better than anything I thought I'd have when I was a kid. Back then, all I had was my brother. Everyone else..." He trailed off with a small shake of his head.

Dean licked his lips, wondering what his brother would say, knowing how screwed up he was getting over a guy. He finished his drink, then left enough money to buy the couple another round. "I gotta get out of here," he declared. Before he told them anything else. Before he thought too hard about their questions, and the implications of his responses. He'd already shared too much with them. He'd never have said this much to Jo, or Ellen, or anyone else he knew. So why, then, had it been easier to confide in these strangers he'd never see again?

"Take care," Cesar told him.

Jesse, a man of few words, echoed his husband's sentiments with a nod.

* * *

Castiel walked up the steps to Balthazar's front door, reaching into his pocket for his keys. His friend had given him a spare key so he could come and go as he pleased, which came in useful when Balthazar was out and he wanted to go for a run. Running usually cleared his head, but tonight he couldn't help but wonder what Dean was doing.

Balthazar was right. He was pining.

When he walked into the living room, the last thing he expected to see was his friend's naked ass greeting him over the arm of the sofa.

"Balthazar! What?!" he spluttered.

"Shit, sorry!" Balthazar laughed. "I forgot this was your bed now."

Castiel really didn't want to think about how many times Balthazar had had sex where he now spent his nights.

"Did you have a nice run?" Balthazar asked as he rose to his feet, his hard cock jutting out proudly and bouncing a little as he moved.

Cas could feel his face flushing and he focused his attention behind his friend, on the darkened screen of the television set. "Yes, thank you."

The girl Balthazar had on the sofa giggled and murmured something in his ear, then Castiel was relieved to hear his friend say, "We'll take this to my room."

"Okay." Feeling hot and sweaty after his run, Cas decided that once Balthazar had retreated to his room he'd have a shower and try to forget about the antics he'd intruded on so that he could eventually sleep.

"You're welcome to join us," Balthazar offered, interrupting his thoughts. "It might take your mind off of—"

"No, thank you!" Castiel said quickly. His first time certainly wasn't going to be in a loveless orgy. Not that he'd judge anyone who engaged so freely in such sexual activities, but it just wasn't for him.

"Suit yourself," Balthazar shrugged, ushering his 'guest' in the direction of his bedroom. "My door won't be locked if you change your mind."

Starting to feel peckish after his run, Castiel mentally postponed his shower in order to prepare himself a snack. While Dean had fattened him up on a wide variety of Eastern takeaways, Balthazar had introduced him to Mediterranean tapas and he knew his friend had some leftovers in the fridge. Helping himself, he piled a plate with a piece of Spanish omelette, some stuffed olives, a few slices of cured meats - the names of which he couldn't pronounce - and a wedge of focaccia bread. He quickly sliced up a small carrot and a stick of celery as well, finishing off the plateful with a large spoonful of hummus.

He couldn't imagine Dean eating this without a great deal of persuasion - but it would be his loss.

He left it sitting on the table in the living room with a glass of red wine - not the usual beer that Dean would accompany any and every meal with - while he showered. He could make out Balthazar's and the girl's grunts and groans of pleasure above the sound of the water, and he was grateful that Dean had never brought anyone home while he'd lived there.

The headboard started to bang vigorously against the wall and Castiel was hit with the sudden and unexpected urge to cry. He missed Dean. He missed his bed, not that it was even a proper bed. And he wanted to go home. Balthazar was a good friend, but Dean was family.

As Balthazar and the girl quietened down, Castiel dried himself off and went to eat his supper. He found that the wine burned a little on the way down, but it didn't mess with his head the way the tequila had on Balthazar's birthday.

He'd forgotten a fork so he ate with his fingers, wiping up the last of the hummus with the bread. After rinsing his dishes and leaving them beside the sink for morning, he tucked a sheet around the sofa cushions. As he settled down beneath a layer of thin blankets, he heard the girl start moaning again. He hoped they wouldn't be at it all night, or else he might not get any sleep.

Though, he thought to himself with a half-hearted chuckle, he probably wouldn't be complaining about being kept up all night if he were in Balthazar's shoes.

Chapter Text

"Just checkin' in. Hope you're okay." Dean sounded miserable.

Beep.

"The hell does everyone think I have girl troubles?" Dean slurred down the phone. He snorted, then added, "Only trouble is I haven't had a girl in... in... I dunno, dude. Weeks. ... Never thought I'd settle down. Tried, 'course. Lisa. Fucked that up, didn' I? 'M no good. Not cut out for domestic shit. ... Alone's underrated. Can't lose what you don't have."

Beep.

"When did things get so complicated 'tween us, huh? Things were good. We were good. ... 'S probably for the best tha' you moved out. Don' have to deal with my crap no more. Deserve better than—"

Beep.

"Y'know 'm not hom'phobic, don't you? Tell me you know."

A single tear slipped down Castiel's cheek as he clutched the phone harder to his ear. "I know," he whispered.

"Not sayin' I'm not an ass..." There was a pause and the sound of something hitting the floor with a soft thud before Dean's voice broke as he whispered, "Please come home."

With a heavy heart, Castiel erased the fourth and final voicemail that Dean had left him last night. He had clearly been drinking, and the eleven text messages he'd also sent had just been a mass of random letters.

"You should tell him to stop calling."

"He's my friend, Balthazar. And he was drunk. He probably doesn't even remember what he said."