A/N: So, more sadness, but at least it comes in the form of another update! (And another piece of the puzzle) I thought an update would be a nice festive gift! I hope everyone has had a lovely day today (with/without celebrations) Next chapter ought to be up before the New Year! It'll also be from Cas's perspective, again, and will hopefully feature some comic relief in the form of Castiel's annoying family (i.e. Gabriel)

QueenWoofy - Ikr! What a fuckload of hurt there is in this story. This chapter is from Cas's perspective so we'll get to see a little of Cas's thought processes from when he and Dean were 18! (So, more hurt) Thanks for commenting!

blackamethyst923 - Aw thank you! That's a very sweet compliment and I was definitely going for an earnest sense of heartbreak here. Dean is 100% such a precious human and so badly hurt in this fic, but no, I don't think he'd be able to even THINK of seeing a counsellor (even if he begs Sammy to see his counsellor). I guess he just has too much trouble asking for help. His music is definitely cathartic, you're right, but obviously it's not the whole solution to the problem, just like you said. At this point in his story, I guess Dean is just trying to get by, no matter how hard it feels. Anyway, that's really sad to think about, and I'm going to promise the happy ending again to make up for it. Thanks for reviewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

reptilegirl - Thank you, lovely! There's a happy ending, I swear ;)

Happy reading!

Chapter 10

9 years, 6 months, 1 week, and 4 days earlier

(Saturday, April 7th, 2007)

(Dean and Cas are 18)

Castiel has had too much to drink. Way too much, not the usual I'm-kinda-wasted-but-I'm-with-Dean-so-it's-cool kind of too much, the I'm-staggering-about-and-can't-find-any-of-my-shit-and-where's-Dean? And Dean-is-straight-Dean-is-straight-shit, my-best-friend-is-straight-and-he-literally-confirmed-it-tonight-but-I'm-so-in-love-with-him-so-I-have-to-drink-away-my-pain kind of too much.

And, apparently, the horny kind of too much.

At least Castiel can say he's kissed a boy, now. Instead of just admiring from afar, instead of just secretly adoring, Castiel has kissed a boy.

Should it hurt that it wasn't Dean?

He stumbles up the stairs, after asking Meg where he will be able to find Dean. Charlie's room, apparently.

Castiel wants to go home. Wants to be in Dean's stupid, beautiful car with stupid, beautiful Dean, in the darkness, wants Dean to tell him that he does like Castiel in that way, even if he isn't gay, or… whatever the hell it is that Castiel is.

He'd thought that tonight could be the night that he told Dean how he felt.

Or maybe the night where he'd kiss Dean.

What a joke.

Charlie's room. Charlie's room? On the left.

Wow. Cas really has drunk too much.

He stumbles to the door and swings it open.

Dimmed lights and two figures woven together.

Castiel blinks.

Then he chokes out a sob and bites down on it just as quickly.

Dean really is straight.

"Shit," Dean mutters, pulling himself off Lisa. "Sorry, Cas,"

He looks mortified that Castiel has caught him and Lisa making out quite so passionately—Lisa's legs are still wrapped around Dean's body, Castiel's eyes burn, Lisa glances up at him and offers a small smile which he can't bring himself to return.

Dean's pants are tented.

Cas knew this would happen, one day, he must have known, but—he never thought it'd hurt this much, honestly. And it really hurts.

A new and raw agony he never expected to feel.

Is this what love feels like? Is this the sensation of a heart actually breaking?

He never had any chance with Dean. Why did he humour himself? Why did he entertain the idea that maybe, possibly, Castiel could have a shot at his own kind of perfect happiness, with his best friend in the whole world? And why did he think that his best friend might want that, too?

"I'm—" Castiel blinks, swallowing. The world still has the odd, hazy quality brought on by too much alcohol and too little water. His head hurts. "No, I'm sorry," He shakes his head. "I—wanted to find you—"

"Oh?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrows. He untangles himself from Lisa. "Why?"

I wanted to be kissing you. Not Samandriel, you. Always you.

"I wanted to go home," Castiel mumbles, looking down, mortified by the dashing of his own hopes, and rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes burn. Dean huffs out a breath, but Cas can't see him. "Sorry—"

"Naw, it's fine," Dean shakes his head. He glances at Lisa. "Sorry, Lise," He starts, smiling that lopsided, charming and slightly apologetic smile that has won Castiel over on countless occasions. "Raincheck?"

"No problem," She shakes her head and smiles too, sweetly, big dark eyes glittering, flicking her ebony hair back, and no wonder Dean likes her. Castiel never had a chance. She's beautiful. What is Castiel? "Call me?" She asks hopefully, and Dean grins a moment, humming, and bends down to kiss her again. Cas can actually see his tongue dipping into Lisa's mouth. He retches at the door.

"Shit, buddy, you okay?" Dean raises his eyebrows at Castiel. "You scared you're gonna puke?"

Right now, Castiel is scared of a lot of things.

"Think I need to go home," He murmurs, and Dean nods, expression sombre.

"That's cool. I'll take you. See you at school, Lise," He gets up, waving goodbye to Lisa, who waves her delicate, golden hand back at him.

"And some other time, I hope," She returns. Dean grins wolfishly. Castiel takes as quiet a gasping breath as he can.

"Yeah," Dean confirms. "I'll call you."

"I look forward to it."

Castiel has started stumbling down the stairs of the house. He can't stand to be in the same room as Dean and Lisa, any longer.

"Dude," Dean sighs, jumping after him and bracing him. "Slow down. No rush, I'm comin'."

"Yeah," Castiel manages to grate out. "Sorry. Thank you."

Straight. Dean straight-as-an-arrow Winchester. Castiel's best friend and fourteen-year-crush is straight.

"It's no problem, Cas," Dean replies. "You got everything?"

"I can't find my bag," Castiel confesses, eyes burning, as they reach the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly, it seems as though they've stepped right back into the vibrant motion of the teenage world they both inhabit; it basks in the orange and yellow lighting of Charlie's house; music throbs and pulses through their surroundings as though it is alive; teens dance and chatter and bustle all around them and seem to create a language of their own in Castiel's ears.

"Well, you had it when we arrived," Dean frowns. "It can't have gone far."

Castiel sighs defeatedly.

Through each of his drunken limbs, sadness is unfurling itself.

This is the sadness that made him kiss Samandriel in the first place, the sadness that swallowed every cell and nerve and fibre in his body when Dean brushed off Charlie's suggestion of hooking up with Aaron, confirming he was straight, only this sadness is deeper, richer, paler, colder.

"Dude," Dean forces out a chuckle and Castiel recognises it to be unnatural the moment it is formed on Dean's lips. "It's okay, we'll find it."

He turns and enters the living room, scanning each corner.

"You were sat there, weren't you?" Dean points over to the corner Castiel had settled in with Samandriel straddling him.

Oh, shit.

Did Dean see? Does Dean know?

Castiel shrugs and looks away. Dean sighs.

"Castiel," Samandriel bounces towards him. Castiel glances up, terrified. "Are you going? You left so suddenly."

"Yes, sorry," Castiel rubs the back of his neck. "I—"

Samandriel shrugs and smiles, leaning forward on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Castiel's lips.

Castiel could die.

He glances at Dean, whose expression is unreadable, who stares for a moment before tearing his gaze away with a frown and a glare at the ground.

Castiel could die.

He hasn't told Dean he even likes guys, and here he is, kissing one of the cutest boys in their grade goodbye.

What must Dean think of him?

It breaks Castiel's heart, but, being realistic, and knowing Dean and his hypermasculinity, his womanising and sporty, beer-drinking, car-fixing nature, he'll hate what Castiel is, hate Castiel for his sexuality.

And that hurts, hurts in big stinging waves of melancholy that wash over Castiel and make him retch. The whole time, since the moment he realised that he was attracted to men, Castiel has known that to tell Dean would mean to risk their friendship.

And in the end, he didn't even get to tell Dean; Dean, Castiel's closest friend of well over a decade, has found out that Castiel is attracted to men because of a drunken mistake Castiel made to get over the hurt of Dean practically confessing his heterosexuality.

What a mess.

"Call me?" Samandriel asks, smiling and raising his eyebrows at Castiel so that his already innocent face is borderline adorable. Castiel smiles distractedly, still feeling ill, and nods, nauseous at the look he sees Dean wearing in his peripherals.

"Of course," Castiel confirms. "I'll see you…"

"Monday," Samandriel finishes for him, quite helpfully. "In Math class. Remember?"

"Of course," Castiel repeats, feigning the same, nauseated smile. "I look forward to it."

Dean seems to be growing tired of waiting. He glares at the ground and Castiel watches as a muscle in his jaw twitches, in little, jolting spasms of disapproval. Castiel never thought rejection would hurt so much.

"Should we…?" He turns to Dean and trails off, his heart breaking in the darkening cave that has become his chest, even as he speaks.

"Sure," Dean nods, curtly, looking away and turning to the door before Castiel is given the opportunity to examine his expression any further.—Not that he needs to: Dean's actions thus far tonight have made his thoughts on Castiel, and people like Castiel, perfectly clear.

Now a rift, gaping and hollowed and sour with resentment, has cracked open between them, and grows larger by the minute.

Dean opens the front door and steps outside the house without a second glance back at Castiel.

Castiel shuffles after him, dragging his feet, face burning with shame.

He climbs into the Impala and has to brace his head between his knees, a wave of nausea washing over him.

"Woah," Dean frowns, killing the engine as quickly as he started it. "Hey, buddy, you afraid you're gonna puke?"

Buddy.

Buddy. And nothing else. Nothing more. Castiel's eyes wring out tears without him even realising it.

"Cas," Dean frowns, apparently noting the tears, panic lingering in his throat, surging through the fingers on Castiel's shoulders. Castiel wants them to stay there forever, in a desperate, earnest, raw kind of way wants them to stay and never leave, wants Dean to feel the same way Castiel does for him, but all that's… useless. Useless, now.

"M'fine," Castiel brushes Dean's concerned hands off himself, shrinking backwards. "M'fine," He says again. "Just… take me home. Please?"

Dean nods and starts up the car again. He begins to drive in silence.

It's stifling, it clumps itself around Castiel and makes him shrink further into his seat out of embarrassment, worry and regret and loneliness biting at his heart.

Dean knows that Castiel likes guys; when Castiel hasn't been able to tell anyone in his life so far, not even his own father. And Dean still hasn't reacted to it, only glares at the road, jaw clenched, knuckles white with the grip he has on the steering wheel.

"Do you hate me?" He asks, gazing into the burning green eyes of his best friend, turned-crush, and possibly unrequited soulmate.

"What?" Dean continues frowning; it does nothing to soothe the bubbling worry deep in Castiel's soul. The darkening sky outside the Impala seems not intimate in the way it did on the journey to Charlie's, where Castiel had allowed himself to get caught up in the bright simmer of possibilities of the night; the possibility that he might tell Dean all that he felt and have Dean return those feelings—instead, the sky is gloomy and heavy, now, fills Castiel with a sense of foreboding for a kind of unavoidable, incomprehensible storm to come.

Maybe that's just his drunkenness.

"I don't hate you, Cas," Dean frowns. "Why would I hate you?"

"Then why are you acting weird?" Castiel asks, expression coming to mirror that of Dean's with a strange, coiled, worming motion that comes over him as suddenly as his feelings of regret and anxiety are overcome by defensiveness and the bitter seed of scorn.

"Acting weird?" Dean repeats. "I could ask the same of you, y'know."

Castiel shrinks into his seat again.

His heart breaks a little more.

This isn't how he imagined the night of his first real kiss with a guy to go, not at all.

He is homesick for a dream he never reached, heartbroken for a love he never even lost, let alone gained.

All the tranquility and familiarity of their ride together to the party has dissipated, now the atmosphere inside the Impala is stale, unforgiving, unfriendly.

"So you're disgusted with me?" He asks, voice filled with more worry than he knew he felt. "You think it's wrong? You do hate me?"

"Cas," Dean's frown grows heavier, brow furrowing about half an inch lower than it was already, if that could even be possible.

"I know you saw," Castiel states. "But whatever you think of me—"

"What do you think of me, Cas?" Dean asks, glaring. Castiel shifts and stares out the window, unable to maintain his friend's gaze. "Castiel," Dean presses, firmly. "This…" He pulls the car to side of the road and stills it to a stop. "This doesn't change anything," He says, voice low and quiet and rough. Castiel glances up at him, the movement gradual and shy. His heart still hurts, for whatever reason, and he isn't able to decipher the cause of his melancholy, now. "You being…" Dean gestures to Castiel, obviously uncomfortable. "I mean, why should it change anything?"

"Then why're you acting weird?"

"I'm not…" Dean attempts to protest frowning, but Castiel doesn't buy into it, only glares back at his friend, still terrified. "I just thought you were—y'know, you're Jewish, aren't you Cas? I thought you couldn't be—I mean, any kind of religious, and—" He looks down, face obviously red even in the dimmed light of the inside of the Impala.

Clearly, talking about sexuality is embarrassing to Dean, which shouldn't be a surprise, considering his blatant straightness.

"You can be religious and be gay, Dean," Castiel squints, inclining his head to the side, lips parted. Dean's gaze flickers over to him and shifts into something new, shrouded by the dark and Dean's own internal barriers, against even Castiel, it would seem.

"I guess I never…" Dean trails off. His voice cracks, though Castiel doesn't understand why. He looks down a moment, fumbling with his hands, before returning his jade gaze to Castiel's own. "So that's what you are then?" Dean asks. "Gay?"

Castiel turns away again and shrugs.

"I don't really…" He considers the identity a moment. It doesn't fit him wholly; nor does 'straight', at all; but nor does anything. "I don't really know," He confesses. "Bisexual, maybe? I suppose I just like people."

"Me—" Dean cuts himself off. A brightness Castiel caught in his eyes is extinguished as soon as it was sparked into life and Castiel watches as Dean's expression falls, as the boy retreats back inside himself, and falters. He looks suddenly ashamed and embarrassed and upset. What had he been going to say? "It doesn't change anything," Dean repeats, instead of continuing. "I mean—maybe you won't want to sleep over with me anymore, 'cause—"

"You don't want to sleep with me anymore?" Castiel asks, then flushes furiously as he realises how it is he phrased that sentence, how terribly it came out. Dean does the same, face turning a bright burning red, and Castiel hurts at the knowledge that Dean is so disgusted at the thought of actually sleeping-sleeping with Castiel. "I mean—" He tries to correct, sputtering, but Dean shakes his head and speaks over him.

"I just thought with you and Samandriel—maybe Samandriel wouldn't be cool with it, or something? It's not that I'm disgusted by it, or anything, or that I think anything would happen—"

"Why would anything happen?" Castiel frowns. "And why wouldn't Samandriel be cool with it? I mean, there's no danger. You're straight, aren't you?"

Dean looks down.

"Right, yeah," He confesses. "As they come," He smiles awkwardly, voice weak. "Bet you're heartbroken about that one, huh, Cas?" He jokes, grinning lopsidedly, something about it forced and insincere. Apparently he can't joke about this kind of thing with Castiel now that he knows that his best friend actually does swing that way, and it isn't all fun and play, isn't only to tease.

Now those jokes bear weight and meaning beyond what Dean must've ever imagined.

In any case, the joke chips away at the remnants of Castiel's heart still more, grinding them up like pieces of broken glass until they feel like a fine, crystal dust, cutting minute wounds inside the cave of Castiel's chest.

"And Samandriel and I aren't dating," Castiel swallows, continuing. "We only kissed."

"Seems as though you did a lot more than just that," Dean counters, frowning unhappily again.

Castiel glares at his friend.

"Take me home, Dean."

Dean falters at Castiel's tone, jade eyes flickering with disbelief.

"Cas, c'mon, you know I didn't mean it like that—"

"And you're the one who was dry humping Lisa Braeden like a bitch in heat—"

"Hey. Don't call her that," Dean glowers, expression turning hard and defensive.

It breaks Castiel that this instinctive defensiveness isn't something that Dean feels towards him.

"I wasn't saying it about her," Castiel folds his arms, lip curling, rolling his eyes as he turns away from Dean.

In the journey so far, he'd near enough forgotten how drunk he was, but he remembers it at what Dean says next.

"Get out my car."

Castiel turns back to see Dean's emerald eyes, usually warm and amiable, now fiercely serious and icy cold as the gems they so resemble.

"Dean—"

"I'm not kidding," Dean's lip curls, as Castiel's did earlier, "get out my car."

"How will I—"

"Walk, run, crawl, I don't give a shit," Dean rolls his eyes. "Just stop being an asshole—"

"I'm being an asshole?!"

"Yes!" Dean shouts. Then he sighs, getting out of his side of the car and striding over to the passenger side, wrenching open Castiel's door. "Get out."

"Dean—" Castiel attempts to look up at his friend, but in the next instant is vomiting on the ground.

He tumbles out of the Impala and hits his head on the curb.

Dean swears above him and in the next instant Castiel is sat up, cool hands are pressing at his too-hot head, watery, concerned emeralds peep at him from behind thick, brown, damp lashes—and is Dean crying? Why is Dean crying?

"Can you hear me? Cas?"

Castiel makes a noise of confirmation and pushes Dean away.

"I'm fine—"

"I'm so sorry, Cas," Dean shakes his head. "I was being a dick, I'll drive you home—you're not bleeding, but please let Jimmy look you over—I'm sorry, buddy—"

"I'm fine," Castiel repeats, shaking his head. He blinks confusedly in the cool night air. "I… fell?"

"Yeah," Dean confirms. "It was my fault, I'm sorry, Cas—"

Castiel shakes his head again.

"I was rude."

"No you weren't—"

Castiel laughs drunkenly and hiccups. Dean's expression softens.

"I was rude," He repeats. "I was feeling…"

Heartbroken.

Depressed.

Hopeless.

"...Embarrassed…"

"You don't need to be embarrassed by your sexuality, Cas," Dean says, gently. Castiel sighs.

"You're great, Dean."

Dean snorts. It sounds somewhat bitter.

"I mean it," Castiel presses. He can't make out Dean's expression.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Castiel says yet again.

He looks up at Dean.

Up to the beautiful eyes framed by beautiful, thick, delicate eyelashes that have been his home for near fourteen years.

The night seems to still around them, still itself to a glittering silence, and if he didn't know any better, he'd think that this was a moment, a glimmering crushed diamond of a moment in which the stars trembled as they looked on, in which all regrets and wounds would disappear, heal, in a moment of unbroken, perfect silence.

But Castiel knows better, and the moment ends, and the stars shift their gaze away to look onto some more interesting subjects.

"I hope you and Lisa had a good night," Castiel manages to rasp out, utterly heartbroken. Dean's expression falls. It seems he can't even talk about girls with Castiel, after finding out that Castiel likes men. "She's… very pretty. I didn't mean what I said. You two would make a good couple… You should go for that, you know?"

Dean swallows and feigns a smile, probably to cover up his lingering disgust at Castiel's identity.

"Yeah…" The response is slow and thoughtful, deliberated in the cool darkness surrounding them. The stars glimmering overhead seem, for the first time in Castiel's life, utterly dispassionate observers to the affairs of men, where he had once adored to deify them to the point of absurdity, to imagine that the stars looked down upon the earth with an endeared kind of fascination.

Castiel must be making a very poor subject for them, right now; all broken and drunken and despondent and sitting on the curb of an empty road under flickering, uncertain amber streetlights.

"She's uh…" Dean swallows. "Great. You're right. Totally. I'll go for it, like you said," Dean forces a smile again. It doesn't nearly reach his now distant moss-coloured eyes. "Why shouldn't I?" He asks, laughing unconvincingly. "She's great. Why shouldn't I?" He repeats. Castiel frowns. Dean looks down, sighs. "She's great." He smiles again, shrugging. "And I've got no reason not to date her, right?" He asks. "Right?" He repeats.

What's Dean looking for, here?

Castiel's heart has nothing left to give, it aches so much.

"Right," He agrees, utterly insincere, broken in a way that he never has been before.

He wants to go home.

He wants his best friend to be in love with him, too.

Dean drives him home. But Dean still doesn't love him back. And Castiel should know better than to ask so much.

...

A/N: And please comment with any feedback :) Thanks to everyone who's been leaving comments so far, you guys are so lovely and honestly 90% of what motivates me! Sorry to leave with such a sad chapter today - remember the happy ending!