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Balthazar's messages continue to come as the days roll by. Castiel ignores them still, goes about his work with fixated skill and swiftness. He spends his nights either in the on call room or at home, alone. Dean has been busy for the last week, working on the apartments in the building, one of which was recently vacated and needs renovating. When the building lacks the sounds of work, Dean is noticeably absent, gone; Castiel does not know where. The loss of Dean is palpable as if the dusty old building is missing it's beating heart.
Castiel sleeps in his lonely bed, wondering why he misses Dean so badly, Dean who is still practically a stranger. Perhaps it is only company he misses, indiscriminately. He still has his doubts as to the wisdom of beginning an affair with Dean, though the other man seems amenable to the concept. Castiel can't shake the feeling that it would be a mistake to start a new relationship from the embers of his marriage, especially with shy, almost naive Dean.
One thing that Castiel is settled on is that his marriage is most definitely over. Infidelity is not something he is prepared to accept as a mistake, or a slip on his partner part. Marriage is the essence of monogamy, and the fact that Balthazar reneged on that goes against the concept utterly. There is another side to it as well, should Balthazar have slept with another man, even a woman – Castiel could have seen the infidelity as something to do with Balthazar, something he himself wanted, or found lacking. But it had been Meg, Castiel's sister, not only that but his twin. That made the action about himself, something Balthazar wanted to do to Castiel, by way of this betrayal.
He wasn't sure how to respond to that.
In light of everything that had happened, Castiel felt somewhat entitled to avoid Balthazar's messages. He had no children to consider, no one to avoid hurting save himself. And he knew it would hurt, hearing Balthazar explain that he and Meg were in love, that despite everything, Castiel had just not been...enough.
Fun enough, sexy enough, female enough – the list would be endless.
So, almost a week after his return to the hospital, upon hearing a knock at his door, Castiel answered in his casual jeans and sweater, privately debating whether he should invite Dean in for another drink.
He opens the door to find Balthazar in a drenched black greatcoat.
His surprise lasts maybe a tenth of a second.
"Leave."
"Cassy, please just let me in." To his credit Balthazar looks awful, blond stubble sands his cheeks and his eyes have the hollow look they used to get when he'd spent the night working rather than sleeping.
Castiel steps back a little, against his better judgement. The look of relief on his husbands face is immediate, and Castiel tries hard to maintain his coolness in the face of it. He had not anticipated the depth of feeling Balthazar's appearance would evoke, but he feels it now, so familiar and so alien at the same time.
The door swings closed at Balthazar's back and he stands, half gesturing as if unsure what to do with his hands.
"I've missed you, so much." He says finally, stopping to lick his dry lower lip, worrying at it. "Castiel..."
"How's my sister?" Castiel interrupts.
"I haven't seen Meg since that day, I promise." Balthazar holds up his hands. "It didn't mean anything, I swear...I just..." He pauses at Castiel's heartbroken face. "That's not what I meant."
"It's what you said." Castiel takes a shaky breath. "You...you slept with someone else, Balthazar...I had to see that, I...and now you're telling me it was nothing. Glad to know this past week, feeling like this, was over nothing."
"She, meant nothing, but you mean everything." Balthazar is fierce as he ever was, pushing Castiel's boundaries as he moves closer. "Cassy...I felt like everything was just...passing me by, and we'd lost, whatever it was that made us...us." He touches Castiel's arm, feels him quiver. "I was lonely, and stupid and...I can't apologise enough, I know that...so please...just come home with me." His face drifts closer, and he's warm and familiar, smelling like ginger and coffee. "Please let me try to make this up to you...don't throw me away after all this time." The hand on his arm reaches up and touches Castiel's face, the thumb stroking across his cheek beseechingly.
"Why Meg?" He whispers desolately. "Anyone else...why her?"
"Because I have never liked her." Balthazar promises. "And I didn't want to feel anything, with anyone who wasn't you."
Castiel looks up into his husbands crinkled blue eyes. "You'd rather sleep with someone you hate, than with me."
"I'd rather cut out my heart than love anyone else." Balthazar vows, all his writerly viciousness showing in his words. "I'd rather die than lose you."
Castiel has always been sensitive to the artistic, the dramatic, being such a logical, staid soul himself. And with Balthazar's declaration in his ears, and his husbands familiar, warm body so near his own, he allows himself to relax just a little, to allow his beaten, broken love to crawl from its hiding place and show its face. His heart is bruised, but it still feels for Balthazar, so deeply.
When Balthazar kisses him it feels so normal, so right, that he doesn't even think to push him away, for at least a minute they cling together. Then Castiel remembers Dean, patient, plain Dean, and he pulls away from Balthazar's embrace.
"I need you to leave now."
"Cassy..."
"No, Balthazar. This is not something you can...romance away. You had sex with my sister, in my bed. Not even you can make that a gesture of love."
Balthazar at least has the decency to look thoroughly chided.
"I think you should go." Castiel tells him.
"If I come back, will you let me in again?"
Castiel honestly doesn't know.
"I still love you." Balthazar tells him at the door.
"I don't think that's enough." Castiel murmurs.
He feels flat once his husband has gone. He takes a beer out of the fridge, goes into the bathroom and runs a hot bath. He strips off, climbs into the plain, hot water, and uncaps the beer bottle. He can still feel the warm ghost of Balthazar on his skin, the touch of his soft, achingly familiar lips. God, it would be so easy to go back – but one there, back in that house...Castiel didn't think he'd be able to cope with the memories.
But he was so lonely. Odd and cold he may be, but he's human, and he misses the touch of another body, misses kissing and holding someone, misses sex.
Castiel drinks his beer, allowing the slight infusion of alcohol to soothe the edge off of his bitter loss. It does nothing alleviate his depression, but it allows him to relax. He sets the empty bottle aside and lowers his hands into the steaming water. Leaning his head back against a folded towel with a sigh he begins to touch himself, feeling only faint stirrings of lust – but comforted by their presence, he can still feel that at least.
He closes his eyes, feels the sweat brought on by the hot water flavour the chapped softness of his lips. He shifts his legs in the steaming bath, finding a rhythm, pushing upwards into his hand. Behind his closed lids he discards images of Balthazar, memories too painful to contemplate in this vulnerable moment. Instead he thinks of Dean on his ladder, the smooth flesh of his lower back revealed by the risen hem of his t-shirt. The way his smile curves, lopsided and self-effacing, the depth of his green eyes, soft, feminine mouth and stubborn jaw...
Castiel leans back, head rolling to one side, and in the last instant before his world shivers into warmth and feeling, he gasps Dean's name.
In the warren of wall cavities and dead spaces that make up the hidden portion of the building, Dean leans against the one way glass of the mirror, one hand and his forehead resting on the cold glass, the other hand down the front of his jeans.
His last, ragged breath chases a circle in the condensation on the mirror in the bathroom. A ghost breath.
He whispers 'Cas' as he closes his eyes,
