Author's Note: So, this is more of Cas' side to Relax. And this part's been haunting me to finish it. But it's done~

I'm not even quite sure who's still reading this series any more...

There was a damn good reason why Cas never talked to his cousin Lucifer.
Mainly, this was entirely his fault.

Everything could be traced back to the day before he'd received his call from Ana. That's when everything started crumbling between his fingers.

-/-

He'd been poking and prodding at a cheeseburger soup recipe he'd more or less scratched into a paper towel while shuddering down the Itch. The Itch was what he'd been calling his aching withdrawal—the less extrinsic signs, anyway. It was the claws at his throat and mind, the sharp, jagged teeth of pure unadulterated Want for his oxy, to dig out the pipe he hadn't exactly thrown away—something to take the hidden edge out. He never allowed Dean to see the monster his withdrawal was slowly becoming, but it was scratching at the surface and wanting to get free.

He didn't want to hurt Dean. But their fights were becoming more heated, with more sand and grit thrown between them then ever. It was hard to deal with everything, on top of the only person he ever saw was his flaky lover or an empty apartment.

Dean...
He loved Dean, he was completely sure. But he was an idiot, who couldn't see the signs even if Cas all but yelled them to him.

With tension brewing up inside him, he wasn't sure how much longer he could last without throwing something he'd eternally regret into Dean's face.
And, from what Dean had told him on and off over time, there was plenty to choose from that could rift their.. relationship, if it could be called that, permanently.

Cas definitely did not want to hurt Dean. He was not that kind of person. Especially to the one man that had carved himself a special place in Castiel's mind, heart, and, dare he say it, soul. But his addiction, the constant cravings that had slowly morphed into a monster inside of him was changing him. And that scared him, more than anything.

He couldn't tell Dean about the monster in the dark-he'd think he was crazy, a nut case—when he wasn't. He was just sick, and needing his medicine. But Cas couldn't exactly leave and go get some—no car, no money. It was a damper on everything, and another weight to his side for their arguments.

Then, like an angel on damned wings, Lucifer had appeared in his doorstep.

His eyes were bloodshot, a fine tremble in his fingers as his frame settled heavily on the doorway. Cas knew he was half blissed out of his mind-he had a habit of going for the bigger prize, the heavier trip. But for him to still be this stressed and worried had put Cas on high alert as soon as he saw his disheveled cousin. Lucifer was usually so poised, so calm that he usually gave off an air of disinterest.

But, this. This was not his cousin.

"Luce?" Those roaming eyes half focused on his for a second, before he lurched forward, enveloping his younger cousin into a tight hug. "You okay?" He squeaked, only partially returning the harsh embrace.

"Oh, Cassy, Cassy, Cassy..." Lucifer pulled back, eyeing him with a critical look. "You're in so much pain... Why do you do this to yourself?"

Leave it to Lucifer to drive straight to the point the first time they'd seen each other in years.

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Exactly."

"I'm cleaning myself up." The other man snorted, resting his chin into Cas' forehead. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"Except when you live in total denial and you're shaking like a leaf." His breath tickled the whirls of dark hair on his head.

Castiel pushed himself away, out of his embrace and glared at his cousin. "I am not." But he knew he was shaking. He hadn't stopped since yesterday.

"Cas..." Lucifer sighed, resting his hip against the door jam slot. "I didn't come here to fight. I just.. wanted to see if you were okay."

Eyebrows furrowing, Castiel's head tilted to the side slightly. "I'm fine, cousin. But you never visit. Why the sudden visit now?"

Lucifer didn't say anything for a long moment, just surveying him over. "Good." He reached forward, enveloping his cousin in a hug once more. Before Castiel could react or return the hug, Lucifer pulled back, straightening the collar of his jacket and smoothening it down. "Take care, Castiel." And he was strolling away, down the walkway and out of sight.

Castiel stared at where he'd disappeared to, shaking his head and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets before his hand met a strange obstruction. A small orange bottle, with a few pills lying innocently in the bottom.

He didn't know whether to bless Lucifer, or swear.

-/-

The pills sat heavily on his conscious for the rest of the day. He'd moved them from his pocket to the computer desk, to the void under the kitchen sink, to finally the niche cut into his mattress. The pills called his name, utter sweet temptation to finally still the craving crawling underneath his skin and burrowing into his heart.

Castiel hadn't slept well that night.

But by midday, he felt as if he was going crazy. Castiel practically clawed the mattress off the bedspring to pull the bottle free. Ripping the lid off, he let the pills roll into his palm and counted them out with cynical glee all while ignoring the voice screaming in the back of his head to Stop, Please Just Think About This. The small weight was a comfort, a minor pressure in the centre of his palm that was severely missed. Throwing two back, he dry swallowed before letting the others roll back into the bottle, stashing it back under his bed and rearranging the sheets.

Already the pills were starting to have an effect. The voice had shut up. He felt calmer, more himself then he had in the past week. This time, he would keep control. No more slip ups. No worrying Dean.

The phone rang, and Cas almost skipped off to answer it.

It was Ana.

-/-

The sounds of the shower ricocheted around the tiny apartment, punctuated by the occasional sluicing of water rolling off a body as they washed. A sound and body Cas knew oh so well, a combination that tempted him any other day. Especially after Dean was returning from work, body sore and responsive to even the slightest of touches. Not that he wasn't responsive any other time. But a massage in the shower; the sounds that man could make...

But he sat numbly on the corner of his bed, rolling the petite orange bottle between his fingers. The pills rattled gently as it turned, like a poor echo of a rain stick.

Balthazar was dead. Reverse. This is entirely your fault. Reverse. So disappointed in you, Castiel. Reverse...

He wasn't quite sure when the sound had started to sound like Michael.

Ripping off the lid, he threw back two and dry-swallowed them, screwing the white plastic lid back on just as the shower shut off. He managed to hide the bottle and straighten out the bed as Dean opened the door wearing only boxers, steam flooding all around him in a wreath of white and for a moment, Cas could do nothing more than stare at his lover.

Dean smiled almost shyly, approaching and slipping his hands onto his pajama-clad hips. "Feels better being less greasy." Lips gently touched his forehead, and the shorter man wanted to lean into the touch and leap away in the same instant. He opted for neither. "You okay?"

"No."

A callused, warm hand slid up his chest, skimming over his neck to cradle the junction of his neck. Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead against his. Their noses brushed gently. "I'm sorry."

The soft, almost loving touches were shattering his light high. His betrayal of his broken promise to Dean more prominent in each coming caress. It was sweet; too sweet. Under any other circumstances, Cas would have gladly relished the touch. He always did. These sweet touches and gentle kisses made him almost truly believe Dean loved him back; that he could pretend these few precious moments never came with the accompaniment of heavy scotch on Dean's breath; that they were an item and not, well, one another's relief. But these ministrations only served as a reminder; of what they were not, and just what he was willing to gamble and lose. Would he be this tender if he knew? Probably not.

"What do you want me to do, Cas?" The voice broke his train of thought clearly.

"Take me to bed, Dean."

That night, through the soft haze of a broken high, Dean handled Cas like he were made of precious metal; caressing and kissing and utterly worshipping the dark haired man's body like he hadn't before.

Castiel would have normally loved the attention, were it not for the deep-seeded self-hatred roiling in his gut.

-/-

"Do you not know how to dress? Seriously, if I didn't know any better..."

Deft hands worked at straightening his pressed white collar, a small smile playing at his lips in accompany to his gentle, teasing tone. Castiel stared at the scrubbed clean fingers so close to his throat, following the fingers to the wrist, to cuff, jacket; until finally he looked over the clean-shaven face of his lover. Dean had actually shaved clean for the funeral—the notion made his heart twinge. Dean had dressed to the nine's for the somber event; he wore a suit well. If Castiel didn't know any better, he'd never assume this same man was a mechanic.

A pair of lips to his forehead shocked him out of his reverie.

"C'mon, we don't want to be late." A coat was being offered out to him; the tan material catching the dim light of the apartment. It was his coat, when had Dean gotten it?

"I just need to get something..." His pills. He hadn't had a dose all day, with Dean hovering and lavishing attention onto him. The overcoat was suddenly thrusted into his hands, as Dean ambled down towards their bedrooms.

"I'll get it. I need to grab my wallet anyway. What do you need?"

Ice slid down Castiel's spine, chilling him from the inside, out. He couldn't... No...

"Dean, it's fine. I can..."

"Dude, I can get it. Trust me. What is it?" Dean's voice called from his bedroom.

He was going to get caught.

"I, uh."

Dean peeked out from the bedroom, staring at Castiel with a critical eye. "You okay, Cas?"

No.

"Y-Yeah. Yes, I'm fine, Dean." Clearing his throat, Cas slipped the coat over his shoulders, smoothening out the material. "Could you grab my watch?"

"Sure thing, Cas."

Dean returned momentarily, taking the initiative to slip the wrist watch onto his room mate's wrist. The shorter man smiled, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him in for a kiss.

He would be okay. So long as he kept everything under wraps. He'd lasted two weeks without a hit; he could last a few hours.

-/-

He could not manage a few hours.

Why had this seemed like any sort of good idea in the first place?

When they first arrived, Castiel had a feeling this would all end badly. The one to receive them at the door just had to be Michael. Their reunion was a moment of high tension, forced pleasantries, and thinly veiled 'fuck you's'. Michael had regarded Dean with such a dirty look, it had taken all his self control to not say something back.

He could handle Michael making disparaging remarks and ugly looks at him. But not towards Dean.

His aunt Hester had broken them up before anything could result from it, taking Castiel's coat and giving him a hug. She'd smiled at Dean, shook his head, and drifted off to put the overcoat into the hallway closet. They'd made rounds, Castiel making false pleasantries with his family members, all talking about 'Poor Balthazar' and 'I didn't know he had any heart conditions' and him forcing himself to keep his tongue in check; because while his family knew him, they didn't. Not really. They didn't know the history they shared. They didn't know about the pills, the needles, the binges on everything under the sun. They would never know, as Castiel was a good cousin and wouldn't rat out his kin. But he knew the truth. Dean was a constant presence at his side through all of this, oblivious though he may be to his internal strife. It would have been a comfort, if his skin weren't crawling.

They'd eventually collapsed into the back row of chairs, both seeking to get away from the swarm of mourners. There was a chasm of space between them, helping keep up isolation even with Dean sitting so close. All he wanted was some time alone with his thoughts. He never assumed he'd ever want a moment away from Dean. But his Itch was gaining strength, and he damn sure didn't want to lose control.

His shoulders curled forward as he stared at his folded hands, willing them not to shake. Idly, he wondered if his whole body was shaking. "I'm sorry you had to come, Dean."

"Cas, you asked me to come." The responding voice sounded worried and reassuring in the same breath.

Castiel winced. "I know, but..."

"Dude, seriously." Suddenly a hand slid around his bicep, and his entire being froze. "It's fine. I'm here for you."

Dean would feel the trembles, his mind screamed. He'll feel them, and he'll know. It's all over.

Cas pulled himself from Dean's touch, practically sprawling himself out into the empty seat next to him. "Don't touch me." He hadn't meant for it to sound so angry, so defensive. Finally, he glanced up at Dean, and his heart froze in his chest. Hurt and confusion warred on his features, the hand that had been in contact with his arm returning to his side.

Perhaps, perhaps Dean honestly just meant to comfort him.
Like he had been doing all along, the past two days.

And he had just thrown it back in his face.

Damn it all.

Schooling his features into a mask, Cas stood quietly and walked away without saying a word. He wished with every step he took Dean would come after him. But as he stepped out into the hallway, unaware of the passing faces even as he bodily shoulder-checked Rachael as he approached the front doors to get some air, it became clear Dean wasn't coming after.

-/-

The damp air, in combination to the cigarette smoke surrounding the doorway of the funeral home, stung at his lungs and swamped his brain even more than the Itch did. A few relatives were hanging out, smoking their choice of tobacco. Lucifer was smoking at the corner of the building, swirling a water bottle idly. Castiel gravitated towards him instantly.

"Hey, cous'." Lucifer grinned, holding out the cig. Castiel just shook his head. "Suit yourself. What'cha need."

"Why did you leave me those pills?"

"Always straight to the point." The blonde man drew back, raising an eyebrow before huffing out a laugh. The smoke eked out between his lips lazily, putting forth the meaning behind his cousin's name more prominently in his brain. "You needed them. Duh."

"Do you have any more?"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I couldn't—" Cas sighed, leaning against the siding of the building. "We left before I could hit. And I'm losing control." Biting his lip, Cas shifted and looked imploringly at his relative. "Please. I don't want to lose more control."

"You mean you don't want your fuck boy to find out you're popping again."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Don't call him that."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"... Yes."

A slow smile spread across his face, digging through his jacket until he slipped a plastic bag into Cas' hand. Inside were two white pills. Lucifer pushed the water bottle into Cas' hand as he ripped the bag open, tossing both back. That would help. He would be in control now.

Lucifer smiled almost sadly at him, clapping him on the shoulder and snuffing out his cigarette. "Take a few minutes and relax, Castiel. I'll see you back inside."

-/-

With a deep breath, Castiel shook himself out and re-entered the funeral home. He felt more in control, more like himself. He would go find Dean, apologize, and hopefully kiss it better if he could sneak one. Tonight, he'd fully make it up to Dean.

"Castiel?" Hester called, gently tapping him on the shoulder.

"Yes, aunt Hester?" He smiled wanly at her. She returned it.

"Have you seen Rachael? I've been looking, but she seems to have disappeared. Again." She frowned, a worried crease between her eyebrows.

"I think I saw her heading towards the back, mom." They both jumped, glancing over at Lucifer. Neither had seen him approach. The man in question just shrugged.

"Castiel? Could you go fetch her for me? I need to—" There was a significant crash from the other room. "Oh, what happened now...?" She drifted off to go see what had happened, Lucifer at her heels.

Figuring he could kill two birds with one stone, Castiel set off to find his cousin and look for Dean at the same time. There were only two rooms in the back of the building; a 'family' bathroom, and a small spare room. The bathroom had been empty, still propped open. Which left the back room.

Turning the handle, he heard the shift of movement and figured he'd had a winner. "Rachael, Aunt Hester is looking for you, and Luce said he saw you.." His voice faltered slightly as he took in the scene in front of him. "..head into here..."

He watched as Dean's body went rigid, hands falling away from his cousin. Castiel couldn't believe the sight in front of him. Dean, and Rachael... His blood burned hot, staring at the back of his lover's head as the unwanted party of the room silently excused herself.

The door closing snapped him out from his trance.
"Dean."

"No."

"Look at me."

"I said no, Cas. Now go away." Cas had to grit his teeth, taking a silent breath before he trusted himself to speak again. Raising his voice with Dean got him no where. He'd learned that from past experience. But it was hard to be neutral when his chest ached so much.

"Dean Winchester, look at me." Slowly, Dean turned to meet his gaze. It was turmoil; shame and fear, guilt and reluctance. He wondered, if briefly, what he must look like to Dean. Being selective about keeping his tone flat and not screaming like he wanted to be, he couldn't exactly stop the next words from slipping from his mouth, "You look like a cheap whore."

Dean flinched slightly at the bluntness of his statement; but it had been true. Face flushed mildly, lipstick staining his lips and chin pale red, hair mussed up from fingers not his own. It set his stomach ablaze once more; anyone touching Dean in such a manner unearthed a jealousy he hadn't been aware he had possessed. Down at his side, Dean's fingers twitched. That was curious...

Suddenly, Dean's posture changed.

"What do you care, Cas?" Dean leaned back against the wall, attempting to pull off nonchalance. The emotions in his eyes were hidden behind that wall, shoulders standing straighter in a classic defensive move.

And that, only served to add fuel to his fire.

"Are you kidding?" It was a hard struggle to keep himself in check. But how audacious did Dean think he was, assuming he didn't care. If he had to spell everything out for Dean, then so be it.

"I love you, you assbutt. And here I find you making out like some horny teenager in the back room with my grieving cousin at her brother's funeral?"

Dean was quick on the return volley, however. "It's not like we were a thing! We've never been anything, except an easy-accessed lay." Cas could see the contempt burning in those green eyes. This conversation was skimming very close to a 'chick-flick' moment, something he knew the other man hated. At his side, Dean's fingers twitched again.

Was Dean that arrogant, that stubborn that he truly could not see what Castiel conveyed to him? The trust, the love? Was he blind, or just purposely looking away? "There has never been anyone but you, Dean. Not for me, at least."

Slowly, Castiel started walking towards Dean, letting the distance close gradually. His eyes never left the other man's face, studying as he approached. Dean looked uneasy, but not trapped. It was a start. "I've been waiting for you to see that. But you haven't, and I don't have the patience of a saint, Dean."

Watching the volley of emotions across Dean's face was almost worth the burn in his gut, the sting of hurt. He went from confusion, to disbelief, to even mild trepidation before almost.. anticipation?

"What are you saying, Cas?"

He stopped in Dean's personal space, not quite touching but close enough that if either wanted to bridge the gap, it was possible now to just lean in and have it.

"I'm saying, I'm tired of sharing you. I want to be selfish." One of his hands came up to cradle his face gently, framing his jaw perfectly as his fingers caressed skin, his thumb dragging slowly over his bottom lip. "But give me a reason, Dean. And I'll stop."

Those too-green eyes slid shut, nuzzling his face into the center of his palm. The action actually made Cas smile; it was a sign of trust. They still had groundwork left to rebuild on.

But Dean's mumbled statement made his blood freeze in his veins.
"You deserve better, Cas."

He deserved better?
He was the one using behind his back. He was the one who was having all these crises lately. Cas was not the one having to clean up someone else's messes. Cas was not the one who utterly loved on someone, to help them feel better.

If anyone deserved better...

"You're cleaning up. You deserve better, I'll only drag you back down."

"Dean, look at me."

Slowly, those emerald eyes flickered open to meet his, looking as raw and exposed as he had earlier. This was uncharted waters for one Dean Winchester. Castiel sure and hell wasn't going to kill a golden moment, even if it was tarnished. If anything, it just made him resolve to earn Dean's love strengthen. "You won't drag me down. I'll raise you up if you get too low."
He leaned forward until their chests were pressed together, the warmth seeping through the fabric. It was a welcomed comfort, one they both seemed to savor.

"Will you let me love you, Dean?"

It was the million dollar question. Bottom of the ninth, and they were the only ones left in the game (he was still getting the hang of baseball, admittingly...) but his lover would surprise him yet again. Dean leaned in, resting his forehead against his lover's. Cas' hand continued stroking his cheek tenderly, noses brushing together naturally every now and again as they breathed.

They stared at each other, unwavering. A storm of unspoken but heard emotion in those powerful looks. It wasn't until Dean's eyes softened, an acceptance in his eyes that Castiel finally smiled, leaning in to catch his lips in a slow heated kiss that made him weak in the knees and itching for more. The kiss was almost everything it should be; hot, burning with promise with the small, tainting reminder of the past. He wondered if they, both, would ever be free.

Pulling back, he made a face at the taste of lipstick wax on his palette. "Go wash it off." Laughing softly, Dean extracted himself from Castiel and began heading towards the door. Cas let his eyes drift, hand snaking out to playfully smack his boyfriend's ass. The other man jumped, turning to level a glare at him. But all he could do is smile, taking his hand and ushering him out.

Castiel felt good; he felt like he was in control. He would not, could not, will not let his habit fly away from him again.

His relationship, his way of life, depended on it. He loved Dean too much to allow something to mess everything up.