The shrill ringing of his alarm woke Dean the next morning, and he buried his face in his pillow as he blindly fumbled to turn it off. Stretching his neck as he trudged towards the kitchen, he realised he couldn't smell any coffee brewing. That was strange, he mused to himself as he stopped in front of the empty coffee pot. Cas usually— Oh. Yeah. Cas was gone.
He shook cereal into a bowl, the noise deafening in the silence. As he reached out to fill the coffee pot, he paused with his hand on the handle. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. The coffee machine wasn't gurgling, the newspaper wasn't rustling, the shower wasn't running, Cas wasn't talking. He let go of the pot, suddenly losing his appetite. Leaving his breakfast on the counter, he went back to bed.
. * * * .
On the other side of town, Castiel woke up to a spring digging into his back and an ache in his neck. For a moment he was disorientated because he wasn't at home, but then he remembered. Dean's apartment wasn't home any more. Technically speaking, he supposed he was homeless again - because staying with Balthazar wasn't meant to be permanent. But then again, neither had staying with Dean.
The kitchen was empty, so he ventured in the direction of his friend's bedroom to see if he was awake. The sound of snoring told him that, for the moment, he was alone. Hesitating, he wondered if it would be rude to help himself to breakfast. But then his stomach, grumbling loudly, made up his mind for him. It wasn't like Balthazar was the type to take offence over little things. Come to think of it, he'd never seen Balthazar take offence at anything.
Opening and closing cupboard doors, he tried to find everything he might need to make himself breakfast. He put two slices of bread in the toaster, then turned to the coffee pot. It was different from Dean's - more complicated with a lot more buttons - but after pushing several it finally whirred into life with a beep, so he assumed he'd worked it out. As he waited for the toast to jump up suitable browned, he found himself reaching for things that weren't there: the jar of jam that Dean always left out to grow mould, despite Castiel telling him almost daily that it should be stored in the fridge and would keep longer if done so; the long-handled cappuccino spoon Dean claimed he had stolen from Starbucks many years ago during a trip with his brother, that he insisted was better than an ordinary teaspoon for reaching into the bottom of jars; the sugar sachets taken from cafés that he kept for 'emergencies' - namely when he had drunk his grocery money.
An irrational thought flew through Castiel's mind before he was even aware of thinking it - I want to steal my own Starbucks spoon. His toast popped and he shook his head at the ridiculous thought. "You're pining," he told himself disapprovingly, but without conviction.
. * * * .
Dean rose sometime around noon, resolving to go to the garage and see Cas once he'd scrubbed up. When he pulled into the yard some time later, however, he realised that he should probably have some excuse for dropping by when he's not scheduled to be working. After all, everyone he worked with knew that he and Cas lived together, and he doubted that Cas would be in any hurry to tell them all that that had changed.
"Dean, I distinctly remember taking you off the rota this week," Bobby grumbled when he laid eyes on him.
"I just wanted to check my tyre pressure," he lied, his eyes staring at the office door. It was open, and he could see that it was empty. "Where's Cas?" he asked, forcing himself to sound casual as he nodded his head in the direction of the empty office.
"Cas asked for this week off," Bobby told him, scrutinising him from under the brim of his dirty baseball cap. "I figured you two had plans."
"Plans?" Dean echoed, his voice coming out in a squeak. He cleared his throat. "As in, together?"
Bobby touched one hand to the brim of his cap, nudging it upwards on his head. "Yeah. Friends tend to do that."
"Right," Dean breathed, his face relaxing into a grin. "Duh. He went out before lunch, so I guess I just forgot."
"Unlike some people," Bobby said, staring at Dean, "Cas knows that when he's got time off work, he doesn't have to come into work."
"Tyres," Dean reminded him tightly.
"Right," Bobby said, not sounding entirely convinced. "Well, you know what you're doing. Unless you're gonna pay me to do it?"
When Bobby laughed, Dean grinned. "I can do it," he told him. "I can't afford to pay you, what with all the overtime you don't have."
Bobby humphed as Dean moved around the Impala and got to work on his tyres. As he expected, they were well within the recommended range. He waved in Bobby's direction when he left, double parking outside an off licence on the way home to buy himself a bottle of whiskey.
. * * * .
Castiel stared at his crossword, not seeing the words as he tapped the end of his pencil absently against the page.
"Stuck?" Balthazar asked him. "Or thinking about a certain man?"
Castiel straightened in his seat as he cast a guilty look at his friend.
"It's not going to do you any good if you pine after him."
"I'm not pining for him," Cas protested, even though he knew it was a lie. "He's a friend. I miss him."
"He's more than 'a friend' and you know it," Balthazar pointed out. "That's why you're here."
Castiel stared at his crossword puzzle. "What's a six-lettered word for a 'dilapidated car'?" he asked.
"How should I know?" Balthazar asked.
Dean would know. Castiel pouted at the page as he moved onto the next clue.
. * * * .
Watching Balthazar push the cart around the supermarket was very different from watching Dean, Cas mused. Whereas Dean's grumbling about the length of time it took to get 'round the shop tended to increase the further down their shopping list they got, Balthazar was more laid back and took take his time. His list contained only the essentials - milk, bread, eggs, laundry detergent - while he was content to make up the rest as he went along, depending on special offers or simply whatever took his fancy.
Castiel walked alongside his friend as they meandered through the aisles. Occasionally Balthazar would stop to put something in the cart and Cas would find his attention falling on something he never intended to buy, but found Balthazar tossing it into the trolley despite his protests that he didn't want it.
All in all, shopping with Balthazar was a surprisingly relaxing experience, and it seemed like they reached the checkout in no time at all - despite the very full trolley in front of them that suggested otherwise.
As they unloaded their shopping onto the conveyor belt, Cas wondered how much of it they actually needed. He was aware that Balthazar had no reason to be as frugal as he and Dean, but it felt like a terrible waste if they didn't need it. He put the thought out of his mind as he helped his friend pack their shopping away, getting Balthazar to follow his lead on bagging similar things together - chilled items, fruit and veg, tinned goods. As Balthazar put the last of their bags back into the cart, the cashier totalled up their bill and a chill ran down Castiel's spine. What Balthazar was spending for a week was more than what what Dean would spend in a month. He tapped his friend on the arm.
"In a minute," Balthazar said, rifling through his wallet for his card.
A wave of nausea came over him. "Balthazar—"
"What is it?"
Cas's eyes flicked down and, in a low voice, told his friend, "I can't afford to pay my share."
Balthazar simply rolled his eyes with a fond smile on his face. "Don't worry about it, Cas."
Lines creased Castiel's forehead. He always paid his way - it was something he and Dean had eventually come to agree on - and he felt better when he wasn't imposing on someone.
"No, I have to pay you."
"No, you don't," Balthazar told him.
"Well at least take this for now," Cas said, hurriedly digging through his wallet and thrusting a few notes at him and a coupon at the cashier.
"Cas—"
"Please."
Balthazar sighed. "Fine."
"Thank you." It really wasn't much - barely a fifth of their groceries - but it was something.
. * * * .
Cigar smoke formed a noose around Dean's throat, making him gag. He didn't understand the appeal, but he'd bear it as long as his luck held out. His eyes flicked from the cards in his hand to Cole, sitting opposite him, and he allowed himself a small smirk.
The man to his right exchanged an old card for a new one, then contemplated the cards in his hand for a moment. "All in!" he declared in a booming voice.
Confidence dictating his actions, Dean responded by scooping the untidy pile of money sitting in front of him and pushing it into the middle of the table; crumpled notes disappearing under toppling towers of coins.
The other players around the table either followed suit or threw their cards face town on the table. They weren't as brave as Dean, who was getting giddy at the sight of what would surely be his growing pile of winnings because his hand could beat just about anything the rest of the men could put down.
As he watched the others lay down hands that his would easily trump, he became more and more certain that he would be going home a rich man tonight.
But then Cole played his cards and Dean's mouth went dry. All of a sudden, he became painfully aware of just how much money he was throwing away. It wasn't bravery. It was stupidity. He tossed his cards down, allowing the others to see his hand. He'd thought he had a sure thing - queens over aces - but that was before Cole laid down four threes. There was a hollow pit in Dean's stomach as he walked out of the back room and into the bar, through the throng of people who could afford to throw their money away on a night of drinking and gambling.
You should never gamble more than you can afford to lose, and that was a lesson Dean doubted he'd ever learn. He settled in the driver's seat of the Impala and sat there for a long while, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. As it sank in just how much money he'd thrown away, he felt like he might throw up. He always paid his rent as soon as his paycheck came in, but other bills weren't due until the end of the month, not to mention four weeks of food to buy. He thumped his forehead against the wheel, groaning when it hurt more than he thought it would.
How the hell was he going to explain this to Sam? Because he'd have to call him - there was no way he'd last the month on the loose change that rattled around in the glove box every time he drove around a corner. And it wasn't like he even had Cas's meagre income to help any more.
He was fucked.
. * * * .
When Balthazar went out that night, Castiel declined the offer to go with him. Instead he washed up their dinner dishes and put a load of washing on, before wondering what the hell he was actually going to do with himself that evening. If he hadn't moved in with Balthazar, he'd probably read a little. By now he might even have finished the book he was halfway through and started another. He wished he could have brought the book with him, but it was Dean's. If he'd asked he was sure Dean would have said yes, but it wouldn't have felt right.
He soon found himself browsing Balthazar's movie collection. Dean had always been good at recommending movies he should watch (or, more precisely, insisted), but he saw none of them on Balthazar's shelves. He started sliding some at random off the shelves, reading the descriptions on the backs before returning them to their places on the shelf.
He paused at a film called Brokeback Mountain. It sounded like the exact opposite of what he needed right now but, for whatever reason, he found himself sliding the disc into the player. With a bit of luck and a couple of wrong moves, he finally got the film up and running. Pausing it while he checked for snacks, he was disappointed not to find any popcorn. He did, however, find a small bag of marshmallows. Given there was nothing else, he decided that marshmallows would have to do.
He wasn't ashamed to admit that the film moved him, both in terms of plot and the through the way he could relate to Jack. Unlike Dean, who bottled up most of his emotions under some illusion of being more 'manly' for doing so. When Balthazar came home, he found him sobbing on the couch, surrounded by damp, snotty tissues.
"Brokeback Mountain?" Balthazar chuckled, looked at the DVD box lying on the table. "I can't say I blame you. That film's depressing. And don't expect bottoming to be quite so easy your first time without any preparation!" he advised with a grin, trying to lighten the mood a little.
"I wish I knew how to quit him," Castiel cried, echoing the words of one of the film's central characters.
"Oh, Cassie," Balthazar sighed, dropping onto the sofa beside his friend and wrapping an arm around him in a one-armed hug.
"It feels like a sick joke. I finally begin to accept who I am, and the man I fall for... I have no doubts he loves me in his own way, but it's not enough."
"There are plenty more fish in the sea," Balthazar told him, stroking a soothing hand through Castiel's hair.
"Why would I want fish?" Cas sniffed.
Balthazar laughed. "It's an expression, sweetie. It means there are more men out there for you to choose from, once you get over this one."
Cas slipped his arms around his friend's waist and snuggled his face into his jacket. "What would I do without you?"
. * * * .
"You look like you're holding something back," Pamela said, topping up his glass of water even though he'd barely touched it.
"I..." He trailed off, realising that it would do him no good to lie. "You know me too well."
She smiled at him. "It's what you pay me for. Or rather, your church."
"And I'm grateful for that. I'm happier, now. Stronger."
"And yet, you don't look happy. Not today, anyway." When he didn't answer straight away, she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together in her lap. "Is it... Dean?"
His silence answered her question.
"What has he done?"
"Nothing! Well not nothing... He kissed me."
Her eyes widened minutely. "And, despite your feelings for him, this makes you unhappy? Regretful? Guilty?" she pushed.
"No, nothing like that. I don't think— He didn't want to."
She frowned. "He kissed you because he didn't want to?"
"Yes. No!" Castiel buried his face in his hands. "I moved out," he mumbled against his skin.
"I see. Can I ask why?"
Castiel thought long and hard before speaking. Balthazar had been urging him to leave for some time, and being rejected by Dean had hurt. Though it had been almost a knee-jerk reaction, he still thought it had been the right thing to do. "I know what I want," he said carefully. "I'm not sure Dean does."
"But why did you leave?"
"Because I had to," Cas admitted. "It would hurt too much to stay, even though I didn't want to leave."
Pamela nodded, scribbling some notes down before speaking again. "So you made a choice based on what you thought was best for you. You put yourself first, Castiel. I'm proud of you." She noticed how torn he looked. "How do you feel about the decision you've made?"
Reluctantly, Cas shook his head. "I miss him."
"I understand how difficult this must be for you, Castiel," Pamela said sympathetically. "But what makes you so sure that the kiss was a mistake?"
"Because he told me so." I was drunk. Except... Later, Dean had admitted, I wasn't drunk, and I don't know what it was.
I was drunk.
I wasn't drunk.
I was drunk.
I wasn't drunk.
I was drunk.
I wasn't drunk.
What if... He swallowed. "Have I made a mistake?" he asked her quietly.
Pamela pursed her lips as she thought how best to respond to his question. "Putting yourself first is never a mistake, Castiel."
"But what if..." He trailed off, knowing how Balthazar would scorn his pitiful hope that maybe, just maybe, Dean's feelings had changed.
"What if Dean feels the same way?" she guessed.
He nodded. "Go on. Tell me I'm being delusional."
"You're not delusional, Castiel. At least not medically speaking." She sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't know how Dean feels about you. What I do know is that you have to weigh up the pros and cons of holding on to that hope. The way I see it, you have two choices. If you believe there to be more positives than negatives, you have an honest discussion with Dean about your feelings. If you believe there to be more negatives, you're going to have to let go, Castiel. The most important question is: What's best for you?"