Part IV:
Denial seems it had to come – relied on me to say it all

A/N: I. Am. Dead. Seven reviews, nine story faves, and twelve follows. I love you, all, gosh my beautiful amazing readers. I will marry all of you, and invite Cass to our honeymoon. I love you.

Oh, gosh and thank you for the constructive criticism, really it means so much to me. I'm taking it into account, and I'm going to try extra hard with this chap, just for you guys. Did I mention I love you?

*Cracks neck* *Flexes fingers* LETS DO THIS.

Oh, Godstiel, and a big thanks to my Best Fangirl For Life, Haylee (chickyoudon'tknow), who gave me so many eautiful wonderful fantastic ideas for this. I. Really. Owe. You. One.

And an even bigger thanks to my beautiful amazing wonderful Beta Meg ( angels-hunters-n-fiyahflies). Because she took a piece of garbage and made it golden. I. Love. You. So. Much.

The second thing Castiel Shurley notices about Dean Winchester is that he is different.

He can't tell you what it is about Dean. Not yet at least. But it's there. It's beautiful. And it just rolls off Dean in waves. And Castiel basks in them.

So he makes a decision. He makes a decision as he feels his way along the rough stone wall, down the metal stairs that always creak (its sound being the reason of many a sleepless nights for Cass) and into the porch (or whatever it is in front of his building).

And then there's a sudden, warm grasp on his forearm and a worried voice in his ears, "Where's Balthy?"

Mm. That voice. "He's not always needed."

He hears a swallow, feels a tug and then there's the smooth surface of a car hood under his palm. "Cass, meet my baby." There's a lilt in Dean's tone, like he's afraid the joke will be taken the wrong way.

Castiel tilts his head towards the sound of Dean's voice and offers a smile, "She seems beautiful."

He can't see Dean's grin, but he can feel it, tingling at the back of his neck. "She is."

Castiel trails his hand along the car, catching every little scratch and dent that's more than likely to be missed by the naked eye, until he finds the door handle. That tingling feeling on the back of his neck migrates to his cheeks and he knows Dean is watching his every move.

He climbs into the car without another word.

~X~

The next thing Dean notices is that Castiel can read him like an open book.

It's evident in his intense and fractured gazes that never quite find his face, in the tilts of his head and the slight smiles that Dean's sure Cass doesn't even know about. He doesn't know what Cass reads, how he interprets them, and that's what worries him more than anything.

God, don't screw this up.

"Dean?" Cass angles his head towards him when Dean climbs into the driver's seat of his baby. "Can we not take the stereotypical dinner route? There's a place I would like you to see."

The statement catches him off-guard and he drops his keys; they chime when they hit the floorboard, and the sound brings him out of his momentary stupor. "Uh, yeah, Cass, of course." He feels for his keys as he says this, and ends up hitting his forehead on the steering wheel with a rather loud thump.

"Son of a bitch." Dean rubs his forehead and shoots Cass a sideways glance when he begins laughing.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asks, trying to hide his grin behind his hands.

F.M.L. "Yeah, yeah, fine," Dean mutters, probably blushing madly, as he shoves the keys into the ignition. "So, where's this place?"

Castiel's smile disappears and he turns away, towards the windshield. "1963 Damon Road."

"An address?" Dean questions, pulling the car into reverse.

"Yes."

It's raining by the time they pull onto the main road, and Dean leans forward, squinting. (He's only slightly jealous that all Cass has to do is lean back in his seat and enjoy the ride, but then again, he just looks so adorable, and any negative thoughts are gone.) "Where is this place, exactly?"

"It's in Mulberry Hallow, behind the church." Cass closes his eyes.

"That rich neighborhood?" Dean gives up and turns the windshield wipers on, noting how they creak and groan in protest.

Castiel chuckles, "I suppose."

"Can I ask why?"

"Why what?" Cass' eyes fly open and he turns towards Dean, gaze settling just over his shoulder.

"Why there?"

The corner of Cass' mouth twitches again, but Dean can't tell if it's itching to go up or down. The swirling emotion in his eyes doesn't help decipher this either. "It was my parents' house."

"Was?"

"Yes. They both passed away when I was fifteen."

"I'm sorry." There's a sudden lump in Dean's throat. "My Mom and Dad are dead, too."

"My apologies," Castiel whispers, staring at the dashboard with unseeing eyes.

"S'not your fault," Dean's whispering too, and for a moment it's just the two of them, reliving grief and drowning in memories they'd much rather forget.

The rain lets up a bit when Dean directs the car into the entrance of the neighborhood, allowing him a better view of the houses and the road. The moon shines through a break in the clouds, casting eerie shadows across prim-and-proper lawns and shiny new cars.

For the most part, all of the houses aren't really houses as much as mansions – large, sprawling with Victorian-style trim and tinted windows. Dean never really knew nice – he practically raised Sammy, what with his dad working two or more jobs at a time just to put food on the table– and he looks at the large structures with an almost longing.

The road stretches beyond Dean's range of vision, with twisting side roads branching off on either side, leading to more (probably bigger) homes. "You grew up here?" There's a twist in his voice.

"Yes," Castiel says, and he's leaning forward, hand braced against the dash. "How many side roads have we passed?"

"Uhm," Dean glances in his rear-view mirror, "About four."

"There will be a side road to your left, the seventh from the entrance. Turn there."

"Alright," Dean does as he's told, and as he turns onto said road, he sees that it dead-ends on the long driveway of a two-story home, more modern-looking then the rest, with spacious windows and a soft-cream color paint job. Various parts of the walls are covered in sprawling vines, and Dean is reminded of that one time Sam made him try fresh squid. (Not the best meal he's ever had, but the not the worst.)

"It's the one at the end," Castiel's voice is soft when he speaks, and he's gripping the dashboard ever tighter, knuckles white.

"Cass, are you alright?" Dean alternates between looking at the road and Castiel in the passenger seat, a worried expression dashing across his features.

"I'm fine," Cass reassures, swallowing hard. "I just haven't been here in quite a while."

"Does your family, y'know, still own the house?" The Impala whines as he pushes it up the steep driveway, still stealing looks to his right.

"My brother and I do." There's a gasp when Dean kills the engine. "Dean, what does it look like?"

Dean studies Cass' face before looking towards the house, leaning over his steering wheel and peering out the windshield. "Well, it's . . . nice. You know, good paint job, big windows. There's a lot of vines though, all up and down the walls. And the lawn's not exactly Home Owners Weekly material. No offense."

"None taken," Castiel frowns and finally releases his hold on the dashboard. "Gabriel and I, we took care of it for as long as we could. But then –" he breaks off and there's a long moment of silence, stretching and pulling at the two of them, shoving itself into their ears and down their throats. And somehow, Dean knows.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Dean isn't okay with the emotions flitting across Cass' face – they frighten him, and he has the distinct itch to just take Cass in his arms and tell him that everything would be okay. "I mean, you just- You don't seem okay."

"I'm fine," Castiel snaps, and in one fluid motion is out of the car and feeling his way forward.

Dean gets out after him and takes his forearm, "Here."

"I'm not helpless, Dean," Cass pulls away harshly, and in the soft light of the moon, Dean can see tears glinting in his deep blue eyes.

"Hey," Dean grabs both of Cass shoulders, "I know you're not helpless, you're actually pretty damn strong. Stronger than me even. Cass, I know it hasn't been long enough, but I care about you. A lot. And I just want to make sure you're okay. And right now, I don't think you are."

The tears come freely now, and there's not much thought between that last word and the quick () brush of the lips Dean's commencing.

"You don't have to do this, y'know," Dean whispers, pressing his forehead against Cass and closing his eyes, still reveling in the fireworks just beginning to fade behind his lids.

"I want to," Cass whispers back, voice calmer than before. "It's important to me."

Dean doesn't ask Cass again if he is sure. Somehow, someway, he suddenly just knows this is something Cass needs to do. He doesn't know why, not yet – but he's content without the piece of information, so he pulls the smaller man closer to him, cradling the head of dark hair under his chin and tightens his grip.

And when Cass takes a deep breath and deepens the embrace, he knows he did the right thing.

~X~

Compared to the state of the lawn outside, the interior is elegant Dean decides. The carpet is thick and lush beneath his feet – he wonders to himself if he should take his shoes off – and the color matches the trim of the expensive furniture scattered about. One step over the threshold of the door opens up to an expansive living room that fades into an oddly empty dining room several feet away.

He isn't allowed much time to admire the rest of the house – only glimpses of paintings and vases with long-dead flowers, photographs that are too small to register – before he's being pulled towards a grand staircase off to his left.

It's Cass, guiding both of them to the foot of the stairs – he releases his hold on Dean's wrist when he finds the banister.

They stay in silence, and when they reach the top, Castiel stops at the first doorway, fingertips barely touching the dust-covered knob. "This was my parent's room."

Dean doesn't reply, only brushes his hand against Castiel's in silent encouragement. Castiel responds though, grabbing Dean's hand in his free one and pushing open the door – and Dean can't say that he's entirely surprised. Or against it, even though Cass is squeezing with all his strength.

The room is more or less normal, not all that extraordinary. There's a king-sized bed by the window, a non-descript dresser and a side-table next to it. A small door off to the side leads to the closet, and the far walls, opposite to the door, has large windows with heavy, velvet curtains on. Every surface has thin layer of dust but for a room that hasn't been used for a very long time, it's pretty clean.

Dean stays back as Castiel feels his way into the room. He wants to give Castiel some amount of privacy since this obviously means a lot to him.

Castiel walks straight to the bed in the middle, like he has the path memorized – come to think about it, that's probably not far from the truth.

When he reaches it, he turns in the general direction of Dean with a frown. "Dean, where are you?" Dean mutters an automatic here from his place, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

Castiel sighs, but doesn't say anything, simply lies down on the bed without bothering to remove the covers.

Castiel closes his eyes and folds his hand across his stomach, breathing in deeply and evenly. "Dean, tell me what you see."

Dean crosses the room in a few strides, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Cass, I –"

"Please?"

He doesn't know what happened inside of him, but all of a sudden, everything makes so much sense, and he's saying, "I see something incredible."

"What's that?"

"You." And it's more than likely the most truthful thing he's ever said in his whole life.

"That's sweet," Cass replies, but Dean can detect the incredulous undertone under those softly spoken words.

"I mean it, Cass. You mean a lot to me. I know we haven't known each other for long, I know it's like one of them lame-ass teenage romance novels where they meet someone once and think it's the love of their lives, but . . . I care about you, like you're my own family –" Dean stops abruptly, voice cracking on the last syllable.

There's a moment of silence. "What happened to your family, Dean?" Cass whispers. Like he understands. And more than likely, he does – more than likely, he can read Dean in everything he says or does, even if he can't see him.

Dean's not entirely opposed to that, even if the defense mechanisms in his brain are screeching in rage for letting things get this far, this deep, this intimate. They roar even louder in his skull when he finds himself curling up next to Cass on the bed, struggling to keep his breath even.

He picks up Cass' hand without really thinking about it and begins to trace circles on his palm. "My mom, she died in a fire when I was four. I barely got out in time with my brother, Sammy. And my dad, he had a heart attack a few months back. Just dropped dead out of nowhere."

"Is that why you came back?"

"No, it's actually why I left in the first place. But then . . . I heard Sammy was in trouble, so I brought him to Topeka and decided to stay in Lawrence, if only for a while."

"Gabriel, and Sam, they are in the same rehabilitation center. Your brother – what's he . . .?"

"What's his poison?" Dean laughs bitterly. "It was heroin, for a long time. And it's my fault."

"I'm sure that's not true."

Dean drops Cass hand. "I'm the one who introduced him to it. Just, 'here, Sammy, I know how you can have some real fun!' God, I was such an idiot."

"You were young," Cass counters.

"That's not a good excuse," Dean turns over on his side and traces over Cass' facial features with his eyes. "What about your parents? I mean, I don't wanna push – "

"Today's the ten year anniversary of when I saw them die." The comment is blunt and it stops Dean's words in his throat; he chokes on them. "The police say it was merely a robbery gone wrong, but somehow, I don't believe that's the truth." His tone is surprisingly void of emotion, like he's told this story, or at least practiced telling it, so many times he's grown detached. "Dean, that's how I know Alistair."

The world's awash in red. "Alistair?" The name is like fire in his mouth.

"He stabbed my mother first," Cass voice is lower, deeper, but still as monotonous as when he spoke that first altering sentence, "And then my father, just to be sure, I suppose. It's one of the few things I wish I didn't remember seeing."

"Cass –"

"I stood in that very doorway," Cass gestures towards such, "Gabriel had to drag me away, more or less. The cops were already outside, but somehow he escaped. There was never enough proof to convict him for it, he had an alibi. But, Dean, I know it was him."

"I don't doubt that," Dean rolls on his back again, staring angrily at the ceiling, the corners of his vision still crimson. It's not fair, he decides. Alistair's tainted so many lives, destroyed so many more. "You don't know how sorry I am."

"You have no reason to be."

I do. Dean almost says these words out loud, but something stops him, and they die in his chest before they have the chance to enter the world. Because that's exactly the right time frame when –

"I know what you're thinking," Castiel murmurs with a dark chuckle. "This is the worst 'first date' that ever existed."

"Actually, the opposite." Cass is doing that fantastic thing he does – he's making all the anger and guilt and everything in between cease to exist, and the next thing Dean knows he's smiling again. "I'm just surprised you trust me so much."

"You're different, Dean Winchester. I can feel it. You're . . . a righteous man." And his face shows nothing other than sincerity.

"Oh, Cass." it's Dean's turning to laugh sarcastically. "Trust me, I'm anything but righteous."

Castiel frowns. "I don't care about past lives or sins, I only care that the both of us are here, now, and it's right."

Dean stops laughing. He feels the bitterness rise through his throat. God, he should've known, he should've known he'd screw up somewhere along the way – Cass' is too good for him, anyway. But it still hurts and he can't help but ask, "Why am I sensing a but at the end of that sentence?"

And in that brief second, something changes drastically about Castiel's face – his sightless eyes become shadowed, his mouth set in a firm line and frowning, eyebrows drawn together. "I should never have brought you here. I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" Dean sits up then, panic worming into his voice.

Cass tilts his head in the opposite direction, "I've made a mistake."

"Cass -"

"It's not a good idea to get attached to me, Dean."

A/N: Reviews are love. Seriously, I'll pay you in CassBucks. :D