Dean hadn't expected to open up to a shrink, he really didn't. And it's not like he enjoyed it, but every day after he walked out of that well-lit room, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Additionally, Dick's name was accurate, so Dean relished weighing the man down as he felt lighter and lighter. It may have been a bit malicious, sure, but sue him for trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

"Are you alright with being gay, Dean?" Dick asked, skillfully moving a coin through the separations of his fingers.

"I'm not gay." He looked up.

"Your ex-boyfriend would likely say otherwise."

The prefix still hurt. "That's not what I meant." He settled upon. "I don't care about that. Getting laid is getting laid, all the same."

"By that logic, do you not classify yourself as having a labeled sexuality?"

"No, it's not that. I'm not ashamed of liking guys, or liking Cas, or whatever. I'm bi, probably. Not because I need to label myself, but because everyone else seems to want me to."

"How do you figure that?" Dick asked.

"It's not like I actively look at every last male and female specimen and say to myself 'that! I will tap that!', it's more that I call myself bi for the sake of leaving my options open."

"Oh, excuse me." He said, a bit incredulously.

"You're excused."

Silence filled the room in a way that Dean was getting more and more used to. Damn therapists. He thought.

"So, Dean, I'd like to talk about your relationship with Castiel." He said.

"Why?" Dean deflected.

"I believe that your and his relationship is the core to your anxiety."

Dean hated that word. The word, regardless of meaning, made him feel uncomfortable. The combination of letters and noises, it sounded so harsh, so nerve-wracking in and of itself. The way that the word looked on paper, the way it flew out of people's mouths, it made him feel like he was reduced to his nervousness' will. That made him feel weak, the weakness made him feel vulnerable, and the vulnerability made him feel nervous. It was a deadly cycle. That was something Dean was used to: deadly cycles.

"He hasn't talked to me since... well, you saw what happened in the hallway." It had been nearly two weeks ago. Dean had been running it through his head non-stop. Each time, it made him more and more nervous that he'd never have that again, and more and more nervous of the vulnerability it would take to try and win him back. Both of them fed off the other. Again: a deadly cycle.

"Do you want him to?"

"Obviously."

"What makes it so obvious?"

"Because I..." He trailed off, unable to come up with the correct words. Dick seemed to understand.

"Is it possible that, without him, you wouldn't do anything for yourself?"

Dean hadn't told Dick about before, about mom or dad, nor did he ask. Dean made a decision not to, and chocked it up to him being a shit therapist that he didn't find out or ask questions. His previous statement was making him start to change his mind.

"I miss him, man." Dean admitted.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Dick called. Dean thought that this must be breaking all kinds of confidentiality laws. But this wasn't a doctor-patient thing so... was it really? Well, in any case, he jumped up and hid behind a conveniently placed, bulky desk.

The door opened. Dean held his breath.

"Hello, Mr. Roman." Said a familiar, gravelly voice.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me 'Dick', Castiel?" Dean choked a bit as he swallowed.

"That name makes me uncomfortable." Castiel stated.

"You're here early." Dick said.

"I didn't have anywhere else to do."

"You seemed busy enough to come fashionably late to our other appointments." He seemed to stress.

Other? Dean thought. Why did Cas need to come here? Shrinks are for crazy people... like me. Cas is too perfect to be here. And then Dean's mind couldn't stop itself. You did this to him. You broke him. You took him apart and didn't have the humanity to put him back together. It's all your fault. Everything is all your fault. He noticed the tiny confines of the desk he'd huddled under. With his arms around his legs, and the conversation going on within earshot, it was almost as if he could pretend him and Cas were together. It was almost as if he could pretend he hadn't fucked everything up... almost.

Dean rubbed his palms up and down his jean-clad knees, the denim rough on his fingers, but not uncomfortable. He tried to focus on the feeling of the material, but all he could think about was how badly he missed that voice talking to him, wanting him, loving him. Not like you deserve it.

He couldn't take it. This feeling was almost as bad as the one he'd felt in Cas' bedroom, but it had a new flavor to it: sadness. He was sweating again, breathing much too loudly. He was sure Cas could hear it, but a part of himself wanted Cas to. He desperately wanted him to. And then it hit him: if anxiety could take control of his actions, why not other emotions? At the moment, this choice emotion seemed to be something in between bravery and stupidity, but he hopped out from under the desk, his heart still racing like a madman, but this was a different kind of anxiety. This was anxiety with promise.

Unfortunately for his ego, he hit his head, and various other body parts, on his way up from underneath. His entrance into Cas' view was by no means graceful or coordinated.

Dick looked from Cas to Dean, not looking surprised in the least.

"I don't know what you see in him." Dick mumbled to Cas.

"Dean?"

"Hiya, Cas." He felt he would have been taken a bit more seriously if he didn't have a grin tugging at his lips.

Dean expected a number of things to happen. What he didn't expect, however, was for Cas to go bright red in the face and run out of the room.

Dick simply stared at the door.

"Cas?" Dean called. "Cas!" He ran out to follow the boy.

School had ended an hour ago, maybe a bit more. The halls were filled to the brim with emptiness. They seemed glad to have two desperately running boys tarnishing it.

Cas rushed into a room. It was familiar. It was Mrs. Hester's.

They had been in this room nearly every day, passing notes to one another and purposefully not paying attention. But for the past two weeks it had been different. They didn't sit together. Dean sat with a bunch of kids who were obnoxious and pointless and Cas sat alone. Dean would look at him. He couldn't see any sign of pain, or hurt, and a selfless part of himself was glad for it.

Cas stood against the whiteboard, huddling in on himself, as if preparing for an attack.

"Castiel?"

"Please leave, Dean."

"Are... are you okay?"

"What the Hell were you doing in there?!" Cas snapped. "Were you spying on me? Is that it? Haven't you done enough already?!"

"Cas-"

"No! I'm not fucking done!" He maintained, testing the word on his tongue. Dean didn't think it suited him. "You just ran off, Dean! Do you know how much I needed you? I've been there for you, every time, but the second that I need help, you go. How am I supposed to react to that, Dean? I thought you cared about me. Then I told you 'I love you', and what did you say? You said-"

"'I gotta go.'" They quoted in unison. They went quiet.

"Cas, I'm so sorry."

"How lowly do you believe I think of myself?"

"What?"

"You ended our relationship. You broke my heart. Now you expect me to jump at the chance to be with you again? Am I supposed to win you back?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what? What could you possibly get out of talking to me!?"

"I just want my best friend back! Cas, I can't stand the thought of living without you. I look back on the days before we met and I don't understand how I got through 'em. If you just want to be friends, then fine, we'll just be friends. Call me selfish, but I need you in my life." He sighed. "God, Cas, when did you make me such a girl?"

"I suspect your internal genitalia was simply remaining dormant considering how emotional that speech was."

"That sounds about right." Dean laughed in relief. "I missed you."

"I- I missed you too, Dean." He stumbled out.

"Of course I care about you, Cas." Dean said. "I care about you so much that I don't know what to do with myself."

"You could stand to do a better job showing it." He mumbled.

"Cas, you need to know that I'll be right here whenever you want me."

"Listen, Dean; either you're there for me all the time, or I need to learn how to get through my problems without you. When you left, for the first time since I've known you, you made me want to pick the latter. I knew how to be alone before. I'm sure I can do it again."

"Please do." Dean nearly whispered.

"What?" He sounded hurt.

"Cas, I will support you whenever I can, but there are times that I won't be around. Just because we care about each other doesn't mean we should need the other to survive. We should still be able to act outside of us."

"I did."

"You did, what?"

"I acted outside of us." He paused, "I saw my mother, Dean." tears began to fill his eyes at whatever memory was plaguing him.

"Oh god, Cas." He walked toward the scared boy. "What happened?"

"We went to Nebraska. Dean, please remind me never to go back there." He laughed, bitterly. "She has a family. Two kids, a boy and a girl. I don't remember their names, I didn't want to. I suppose that was vindictive of me. The children have done nothing wrong, it's our mother who's sinned, and I know her name. But I guess that was never really by choice. She has a dog. A golden lab, it was beautiful. A husband, who looks a lot like my father, based on the pictures I've seen."

"Did you talk to her?"

"I did, Gabriel refused, and Anna came along so that I wouldn't be alone. That's the good thing that has come out of this. I got my sister back." He took a long breath in. "We knocked on her door, we figured it was the best way to do it. She opened it, alone. It was the best case scenario and it still sucked." A tear fell down his cheek that Dean fought the urge to wipe away. He did, however, take another step forward. "She didn't recognize us, not right away. She thought we were Jehovah's Witnesses." Another laugh. "You'd expect more of a look of surprise on the face of a woman who'd been tracked down by her long-lost children. She just kind of stood there. She smiled politely a bit, invited us inside. She was alone. We talked about nothing, it was small talk at its most benign. Then her family came home. Her, well, her real family. They were all coming home from soccer practice." He snickered. "She didn't kick us out. She hardly even acknowledged us. We were introduced, and even her husband didn't seem alarmed. She offered us to stay for dinner, but we declined. We kindly declined! Why were we kind!? We should have been screaming!" A tear sprinted from his eye to the floor and Cas laughed at the sight. "God, I had no idea how right they were when they said apathy was worse than hatred." Cas stopped, and Dean took another step, beginning to close what felt like miles between them, he put a hand on the other boy's shoulder.

"Who needs her, Cas? You turned out amazing." He said.

"Dean, you've got to understand, it's just that, sometimes, what kept me going was the thought that somewhere out there, she was miserable. Now that's shattered. She's happy and she's moved on."

"Well, I gotta tell you, Cas, she doesn't know what she's missing. You and Gabe are two of the greatest people I know."

"Thank you, Dean"

"I mean it."

"I know you do." Cas responded.

Dean pulled him into a hug that Cas returned.

Funny how a new tragedy forces you to move on from the last.

"Please, Cas. Just... just give me a chance to fix this. I need you in my life. I need you."

Cas took a long breath. "Maybe."

Then, Dean took a chance. "Hey, w-w-would you want to see a movie this weekend?"

Cas hesitated. "Okay."

"Okay?!" He yelped, embarrassed by the noise that came out of his mouth.

"Okay." Cas confirmed. "A stutter is cute on you, Dean Winchester."

"So, what color were they?" Dean continued.

"Were what?" Cas asked, confused.

"Her eyes. What color were her eyes?"

Recognition showed on Cas' face. "Dark brown. Almost black."

"Nothing like yours." Dean pointed out.

"No, I guess not." Cas cracked a quick smile.

If anxiety could take control of his actions, why not other emotions? Like hope.