Chapter 10: Just like Jesse James

'Dr. Barnes?'

A middle-aged man with shifty eyes stood in the hallway, not daring to enter Dean's apartment. The man took in the scene; the dead silence, Castiel's failing attempt at invisibility and Dean and Pamela clutching at each other and cleared his throat.

'Dr. Barnes, our session was supposed to start five minutes ago,' the man awkwardly explained, looking at his watch. Dean watched as Pamela straightened her back and composed her face.

'I'm coming, Patrick. Dean, call Sam and tell me when you know he's okay,' she instructed and calmly lead Patrick to her apartment. Dean closed the door behind her. His fingers trembled as he called Sam.

'Hi Dean.'

That voice; Dean had never been happier to hear it. Unfortunately, his happiness was short lived as he asked himself why Sam hadn't called of his own accord instead of letting him find out about the accident on the fucking radio.

'You dickhead! Why didn't you call to say you were alright?' he shouted.

Sam had the gall to chuckle and say, 'Aw, you were worried? I'm fine. It was another condo than the one I was working on. Building at the site is suspended indefinitely. Also, and Castiel will not be happy to hear this, the rumour is that the flaw is not in the construction but in the design.'

Dean glanced at Castiel, who was looking mightily relieved that their conversation had been interrupted, even if that meant Dean had been having heart palpitations about his brother's welfare. This only made Dean more determined to get to the bottom of Castiel's issues.

'That's great. Any other good news to tell me?' Dean asked, sarcasm dripping off his response.

'I can't come over tonight. I'm going to tell Stephenie Meyer she's a horrible writer,' Sam proudly proclaimed. Dean was still pissed off and dreading his upcoming talk with Castiel, so he replied more crankily than intended.

'Yeah, because nothing says 'you suck as a writer' like waiting in line for hours to have her sign four threadbare copies of her novels,' Dean bit at him and, before Sam could defend his actions, added, 'Glad you're alive. Bye.'

Now, he should tell Castiel about the rumours, because Castiel had designed the condos after all. However, if they got started on that, he would never be able to steer Castiel back to the topic of his problems with feelings, so he was simply going to ask about that first. Setting priorities was important. So, he went over to Pamela's and told her Sam was alive and kicking. She smiled wickedly and kissed him. Then he entered his apartment and asked again.

'Why?'

Castiel sighed heavily and pulled a kitchen chair towards him. He sat down and rubbed his face. Dean crossed his arms and waited.

'Because I break everything,' Castiel said, sounding beyond tired.

'Why?'

At Dean's repeated question, Castiel sighed again.

'Why do you always do that? The never ending questions. Why can't you just believe what I tell you?' Castiel asked. The older Winchester had no idea what the hell Castiel was talking about. They barely talked and Dean was also not exactly persistent at anything and what did he mean by 'always'?

'I believe you. You break everything. But I've already had everything broken. I can take anything,' Dean stated. Castiel apparently thought that was a dubious statement, so Dean pulled off his shirt and showed the faded cigarette marks.

'Don't pretend you haven't seen them. This happened to me and worse. Trust me, if you can give it, I can take it,' Dean asserted.

This was so stupid. Of course, Castiel wasn't talking about physical abuse, about the literal breaking of bones; he was being o so very melodramatic and saying that he messed everything up. Dean knew this. Which is why the cigarette marks were irrelevant. Dean knew this too. It was just a way of gaining Castiel's attention and at the same time showing off his abs.

Also, while it was true that Dean's body could take anything, – and had – Dean had known from the start that it wasn't his body that was in danger with Castiel. Dean liked him, Dean cared about him. It would be better to walk away right now. But I'm an idiot, so I'm just going ignore all the warning signs, Dean thought.

Warily, Castiel approached him. Dean flexed his muscles, which made Castiel laugh unexpectedly. The soft fingertips of the architect lightly traced the scars on Dean's abdomen, before those blue eyes peered into Dean's eyes.

'Who did that to you?' Castiel asked.

'No. You're not talking about your issues; you don't get to know mine either. Point is, I'm like Jesse James: people keep trying to kill me and I survive,' Dean said. Castiel grimaced and took his hand off Dean's skin.

'Except, eventually he was murdered,' he pointed out. Dean felt he should listen to whatever Castiel was saying, but he was too busy slipping his hands under Castiel's shirt. He liked the hardness of Castiel's body. It was strange and so different from his own. Dean was pretty sure that if he upped his beer intake a bit, he would sport a paunch in no time; Castiel would have a lot more trouble become fleshier. The guy simply had very little meat on his bones. Dean's hands travelled over Castiel's ribs up to his nipples. He tweaked them slightly and Castiel whimpered.

'You are aware that your brother is in love with Pamela and that the feeling is mutual?' Castiel whispered in a husky voice. Dean's hands continued their journey, oblivious to the meaning of Castiel's words.

'Hmmm,' Dean murmured as he placed his hands on his lover's neck. Castiel's shirt had ridden up and displayed his taut stomach. Dean let his hands glide down again, his right one slipping between the waistband of Castiel's jeans and his warm skin. The left hand grabbed Castiel's belt and yanked him closer.

Castiel squirmed as Dean's fingers enveloped his hardening cock and twisted a fraction. Cautiously, Dean's other hand snaked up and gripped Castiel's neck tightly. Dean leaned in for his umpteenth attempt at a kiss, but Castiel violently jerked away. They stared at each other, panting.

'Sam said that there are rumours that the design is the issue. Yep, your design is causing the beams to snap. How about that, huh?' Dean remarked casually. He shoved Castiel out of the way and retired to the bedroom. Suck on that jerk, he thought, while he selected a volume of poetry by Dylan Thomas. He especially liked Do not go gentle into that good night, because it called for anger.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light and all that. Pretty neat. Byron had some angry stuff too, but it was a little too 'Good day to you, Sir. I said good day!' for Dean's taste. Why wasn't there any good angry poetry out there? For when a guy who wasn't your boyfriend didn't even want to fucking kiss you. I mean, that must have happened before to other people, Dean thought. Furious, he slammed the book shut.

The problem wasn't Dean's body. Many men, one man in particular, had tried to break Dean's body and none of them had succeeded. Dean's heart, however, was definitely breakable. It would take a lot, but it could be done. And Castiel was certainly capable of doing it. Dean wanted to ask Castiel not to break his heart, but that would be so gay. Then again, Dean was gay.

(***)

Author's note: If anyone knows some good angry poetry; leave a review and share.