"Aren't you going to be early for your appointment?" Cas asked as Dean pulled up outside the restaurant he was meeting Balthazar at for lunch.
Dean shrugged. "I can read a magazine, or drive around a bit."
"I really am very proud of you," Castiel told him.
Dean scoffed and turned away before Cas could see the rising heat in his cheeks.
"I mean it," he insisted, reaching for Dean's hand. "This is clearly something very far outside your comfort zone, but you're doing it anyway. It would be easy for you to say you weren't going to do it."
Dean's jaw trembled, imperceptibly, and he swallowed thickly. Without looking at Cas he spoke quietly, almost as if to himself. "If I don't, what chance do we have?"
It was a rhetorical question, but if it hadn't been Castiel couldn't have given him an answer. At least not one he'd have been willing to give. He wondered if Dean had even realised he'd spoken aloud.
"If you want to talk to me afterwards, I'll be there," Cas told him instead. "Or if you don't want to talk any more, I can sit with you. Or, if you want space, all you have to do is tell me."
Castiel's concern was touching, but a heavy feeling was growing in Dean's stomach at the implication of his words. "We're just going to talk," he said, dismissing Castiel's worries.
A frown lined Cas's forehead, and he didn't look at all reassured by Dean's shrugging it off so easily.
Unbuckling his seatbelt as he saw Balthazar walking along the pavement, he gave Dean a quick hug before stepping out of the car. Giving his approaching friend a quick wave of acknowledgement, he turned back to Dean before shutting the car door.
"I'll be there if you need me," he reiterated. "And if you need to call me or text me during lunch, my phone is on."
"Damn it, Cas, I'm not a child!" Dean exclaimed. He glanced at Balthazar, who'd come to a stop at Cas's side. "Go have lunch, enjoy yourself, and I'll see you at home, okay?" he instructed, his tone effectively ending the conversation.
"Alright." Cas sighed in defeat. "I just want you to know that you are not alone." He closed the door and turned to greet Balthazar, who smiled and pulled him into a one-armed embrace as they moved towards the restaurant door.
Dean's stomach somersaulted and he put the car into gear, the engine roaring as he rejoined the flow of traffic.
So he was jealous of Balthazar. Okay - he was man enough to admit it. The guy had a little bit of class - certainly more than Dean had - and more money, too. He could afford to take Cas nice places, whereas Dean took him to free car shows and the beach. Nothing flashy. But then Cas had been keen to assure him that he didn't really mind where Dean took him - just that he went with him.
He fidgeted in his seat as he waited for the light to turn green.
Castiel might mean it, but Dean knew that he deserved better. If he could afford it, he'd take Cas to nice places. He wished he could afford it. But even if he cut back on his drinking permanently, they still wouldn't be hugely better off. He was just a grease monkey, whereas Balthazar was... whatever he was. And if Cas went back to university and graduated this time, well, it should just put him even further out of Dean's league than he already was. All he had was a GED and a guarantee of coming home from work filthy every day.
But Cas loved him, and Cas was loyal. Deep down he knew it was unlikely that he'd leave Dean to be with Balthazar, which kind of took the edge off his jealousy, but it didn't make him dislike him any less.
He turned the radio on, recognising Air Supply immediately despite not having heard the song for years, hoping some music would settle him before he faced Pamela again. He wouldn't admit to being scared, but the more Cas inadvertently built it up like this giant hurdle to be overcome the more apprehensive he got.
I'm reaching for you, are you feeling it too?
Does the feeling seem oh, so right?
Yeah. And no. Fuck, this whole thing with Cas was complicated. When it was just him and Cas, spending time together, then yeah, it felt right. It felt right in a way that terrified him because it was so different to anything he'd had before - to have a relationship that was built on friendship and... emotions... rather than sex. But then he started overthinking the future or they got closer and it started to feel wrong.
Please love me or I'll be gone, I'll be gone.
He didn't want Cas to be gone. Not again. He wanted... What did he want? Damn it, he was overthinking things again. Music was supposed to be clearing his head, not cluttering it with more thoughts.
As the song came into the chorus, he sang along in the hopes of shaking off the thoughts spinning around in his head.
I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you
I know you were right, believing for so long
I'm all out of love, what am I without you.
His throat seized up around the lyrics, catching him by surprise. Without Cas, he wouldn't have to face whatever it was that was holding him back. But without Cas, he'd be alone. He roughly twisted the dial - scanning for the next station, searching for a different song. After a moment of static something classical started playing. Another twist, and something poppy burst out of the speakers.
'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
He cast a considering glance down at the radio, contemplating whether or not the tune was tolerable, before deciding to let it play on. Only because he couldn't be bothered searching for something better.
Tuning the words out as he drove the rest of the way to Pamela's office, they gradually started to register in his mind when the chorus came around again.
Heart-breakers gonna break, break, break, break, break
And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake
What if his feelings were... fake? If whatever he felt for Cas was nothing more than a deep-seated fear of being alone? What if he was a total fake - a phoney who'd manipulated Cas into falling for him only to turn his back at the last moment? But if it wasn't real, then he surely wouldn't be this conflicted over it.
He turned into the parking lot outside Pamela's office and let the engine idle until the song played out.
When he'd taken Cas in, it had almost been as a replacement for his brother - finding that having someone to care for and look after gave his life purpose, and filled part of the hole in his heart that couldn't be healed with meaningless flings that were over almost as soon as they'd started. He longed for deeper relationships with the people around him, but pushed them away to protect himself from being hurt again. He cared deeply about the people in his life - though he acted otherwise - but emotional attachments caused nothing but heartache in the long run, when the people involved inevitable left. However, as time had passed and Dean had gotten to know him, Castiel had created his own little space in Dean's heart. Cas had grown to love him. Or at least, he said he did - believed he did. Dean really hoped that he wasn't going to break Cas's heart, because he didn't even want to imagine the pain in those blue eyes if he hurt him again.
Dean didn't want to be a fake. He didn't want to break Castiel's heart. He wanted, he realised with sudden clarity, for his feelings to be real. He liked the sense of assurance he got from having Castiel's complete support, of sharing his life with someone, of being loved. He'd never had called himself gay, but there was something about Cas that drew him in and made him want more, made him crave everything he had to offer.
He dropped his forehead against the steering wheel and groaned. This was the kind of crap he should be sharing with Pamela, but he didn't feel comfortable sharing stuff with her that he'd barely begun to process for himself.
I, I, I shake it off, I shake it off,
I, I, I shake it off, I shake it off,
I, I, I shake it off, I shake it off.
Turning the engine off, the radio dying with it, Dean got out of the car. He was going to try to shake off all his doubts and hopefully Pamela could help him be a better man, for himself and Cas.
This time when he walked into Pamela's, he walked up to the woman at the desk. "Dean Winchester," he said blandly, no trace of the irritation he'd felt last time.
Her expression made it clear that she remembered him. "Take a seat," she stated coolly. "Ms Barnes is running late."
Sitting down on the other side of the room, he took in his surroundings. The walls were a soft, soothing green, a few plants were dotted around the waiting area - a tall palm in the corner, a fern on the table, and some kind of cactus thing on the desk - and a large, black and white print of a wave hung on the largest wall. The new office was an upgrade since the last time he'd been forced into sessions with her, and he found that he liked the decor. It gave the room a sense of life. And, he supposed, it was kind of relaxing.
It made him think again about doing something with the living room in their small apartment - maybe Cas would have some suggestions, if he asked? He'd considered movie posters, or maybe some music memorabilia. As he thought more about it, however, he realised it all reflected who he was and gave no indication that Cas lived there, too. Movies and music were his thing, not Castiel's.
Dean frowned.
What was his thing? Castiel was religious, but he couldn't see him decorating a room with crucifixes and paintings of Jesus. It frustrated him to realise that he didn't really know what Cas liked. He'd always been happy to do whatever Dean did.
No. He had to know Cas better than this. Maybe he was just putting himself on the spot. He racked his brain, trying to think about Cas and what he liked. Reading. Crosswords. Neither of which really made for good decorating ideas.
Fish.
When they'd gone to the beach and visited the small aquarium, Cas had been really into the fish. And the bugs at the museum. See? He did know Cas. So maybe something to do with fish... Not bugs, though. It was bad enough when the real things got into the apartment, never mind having pictures of them on the walls.
Pamela's door opened and a sniffly woman, eyes visibly red and cheeks still damp, walked into the waiting area.
"Same time next week?" the receptionist asked kindly, and Dean nearly stood up and walked out there and then.
He watched Pamela comfort the crying woman, who was very insistent that she leave instead of staying until she'd calmed down.
Maybe his apprehension showed, because when she turned to him she winked and said, "I promise I'll go easy on you."
A strangled laugh died in his throat as he got to his feet and followed her into her office.
"In all seriousness, I'm glad you've come back, Dean."
"Well, that makes one of us," he grumbled as he dutifully took his place on the couch. He'd accepted that counselling was something he needed to try, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be there.
Pamela sat down on the chair beside him and crossed her legs, adjusting her skirt slightly as she did so. She had nice legs, he noticed. He couldn't tell before because she usually wore trousers.
"How have you been?"
His eyes snapped up to her face guiltily. "Fine."
"Is there anything you'd like to focus on?"
Dean opened and closed his mouth, his resolve to cooperate already crumbling. Too soon. After all, you don't tell someone that you'd changed the sheets that morning on the first date. "Not really," he said noncommittally.
"Are you being honest with me, Dean?"
He rolled his eyes in response.
"Because this isn't going to work if you're not honest with me."
"You want honesty? Okay, fine - I don't want to be here. I don't want to talk to a stranger about the crap in my head. I've spent twenty years burying stuff at the bottom of a bottle, and it's worked out just fine so far," he snapped knowing, even as he spoke, the he wasn't being entirely truthful. "Are you happy now?"
"Yes." She smiled when he looked confused. "I said I wanted honesty - that doesn't mean I have to accept what you say. And if you don't want to be here, well, that just means I have to work harder to convince you this is worth committing to." Taking a sip of her water, she leaned back in her seat. "So, how about we start somewhere easy? How have you been since our last session?"
Looking at Pamela now, Dean found himself thinking back to his court-mandated sessions long ago. She'd sat there observing him as he slouched sullenly in his chair, but had never let his attitude phase her. He figured that if he gave her an inch she'd take a mile, and that because he'd made the choice to come here, she'd drag him that inch.
It was irritating. All of it. Her patient smile, her quiet confidence, her calm attitude. Dean had no idea how Cas put up with her. But as much as she got under his skin, he knew how good she'd been for Cas. If anything, the progress Castiel had made during his time with her should be enough for him to trust that she knew what she was doing - even if he didn't trust her.
And it was Cas he was here for, anyway - him and Cas. He closed his eyes and thought about Cas and Chuck Norris; laughing, smiling, and carefree.
"We got this cat," he began.
"O-kay," she said slowly, waiting to see where his statement was leading.
"We called him Chuck - Chuck Norris - because he's ginger. We can't keep him, 'cause I'm allergic to cats, but he's staying with us until we can find him a home. Cas found him on the street," he explained. Then his tone turned hopeful. "You don't want a cat, do you?"
She chuckled. "No. But thanks for the offer. If you ever find the real man, though, give me a call."
Dean couldn't help but laugh at that.
"So why are you telling me about Chuck?" she prompted when Dean didn't say anything more.
"The way Cas is with him... I want him to be like that with me," Dean admitted softly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.
"You want your ears scratched?" Pamela joked with a smirk.
"No," he huffed. Damn it, how did she keep making him laugh? "Open. Honest. Carefree."
"You said 'honest' - do you think that Cas is lying to you?"
"No, I mean... like emotionally." A shiver ran up Dean's spine. "He holds back around me." He scratched his jaw, painfully aware of Pamela's eyes boring into him as he willed himself to keep talking despite his discomfort, reminding himself that he was doing this for Cas, because Cas deserved better. "He does it for me. Because I get weird around him." He took a long, shaky breath.
"You're doing great, Dean," Pam praised him warmly.
Dean glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and looked away again. "You don't need to talk to me like I'm a kid," he told her.
"I'm sorry if you feel that way. It's not my intention to talk down to you."
"Hmph." Dean fiddled with the ring on his finger, twisting it around and around and around.
"So what kind of 'weird' are we talking about?" she pressed gently, before he could completely shut down on her.
Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then pushed himself up off the couch and began to pace.
"It shouldn't be weird," he argued with himself, not answering her question. "I mean, it's not like I've never been serious about someone before. There was Cassie, and Lisa. Just because they didn't work out doesn't mean I wasn't serious about them."
"That's twice you've stressed that these were serious relationships. Would you describe your relationship with Cas as 'serious'?"
Dean stopped pacing and looked at her. "We don't have a relationship," he told her. "Not really. That's the problem - a problem."
She cocked her head thoughtfully in a way that reminded Dean of Cas.
"Are you together, or aren't you?"
"There's friendship," he explained, holding out his left hand palm up, "and there's being in a relationship." He brought his right hand up to illustrate the difference between the two. "Somewhere in the middle," he gestured vaguely at the space between them with his right hand, "there's a grey area between the two. That's where we are. That grey area. A kind of... purgatory."
"I'm guessing you're not talking about the one in Miami."
He shot her an unimpressed frown, a pair of dimples forming as he pursed his lips in disapproval.
"I'll take that as a 'no', then," she said.
Dean's leg twitched, then he started to move around the room again. She spun around in her chair slowly, watching as he examined the various ornaments and trinkets she had on display. Some he simply ran his fingers over, others he picked up and examined before putting them back down again. One of them was a slender white angel, about six inches high. A gentle touch to its head had it toppling over, and his whole body lurched as he tried desperately to catch it before it fell to the ground.
Once he'd placed it back on the desk, still in one piece, he took an exaggerated step away from the shelf. He was pretty sure his clumsiness hadn't gone unnoticed, and he turned around to see if she looked annoyed with him
Instead he found her smiling at him in amusement.
"Sorry."
"They're gifts from patients," she told him. "You might be able to guess who gave me that one," she said, pointing to the one Dean had nearly broken.
He moved away from the shelves and over to her desk, watching as she wrote something down. "What are you writing?"
"Just some notes to myself about things you say, or do."
"Why?"
"So I can help you."
"What do you need to write stuff down for? Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, listen to me whine about my bullshit problems?"
"Your problems aren't 'bullshit', Dean. Whatever you feel is valid. Know that."
Dean scoffed. "Whatever." He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "But why do you have to take notes?"
"Because sometimes I make observations about things you say or do that I feel might be important to address in the future, or to help me understand where you're at mentally if you're being uncommunicative. Sometimes people say the most when they say nothing at all."
"So what are you writing about me?"
"Why is it so important to you to know?"
Dean's jaw twitched.
She leaned back in her chair. "I'll make you a deal - you tell me why it's so important that you know what I'm writing, and I'll tell you the last thing I wrote."
Dean leaned against the edge of her desk and crossed his ankles. He said nothing for a long moment, either considering her proposal quietly or wondering how best to answer. It was hard to tell when he tried so hard to internalise what he was feeling.
"I guess I want to know if it's all bad stuff you're writing down. I don't need another person in my life to let down."
"The only person you can let down in this room is yourself," Pamela told him gently.
Dean's guarded expression became one of puzzlement, and the fact he conveyed the emotion so openly told Pam her words had taken him by surprise.
"You're coming here for you, to make your life better," she explained. "I'm just a tool that you can use to help achieve that. I don't want you to hold back for fear that I'm judging you, or that you'll disappoint me. That's not my role, here. As I've already said, the only thing I need from you is honesty so that I can help you to the best of my ability."
She watched Dean closely, unsure if she'd hit a nerve or not. Many expressions crossed his face as he processed her words, and she was sure she could detect a flicker of relief among them. He was so quiet that, in the moments where traffic outside came to a stop to let pedestrians cross, the quiet clock in the room seemed to tick louder than normal.
Eventually he looked up from the spot on the floor at which he'd been staring, and asked, "So what's the last thing you wrote?"
Pamela let the question hang in the air for a second before answering. "I noted that you're pacing and it might be an indication of your inner turmoil."
"My inner what?"
"You're clearly a very conflicted man, Dean. You say you have no issue with homosexual men, you don't come across as intolerant - on the contrary, you've been very supportive of Castiel - and yet you have some latent issue about being perceived as gay."
"I'm not gay," Dean told her defensively, crossing his arms.
"And yet you're trying to commit to a relationship with another man."
"I've dated women."
Pamela spread her hands in an open gesture. "So you have no preference."
Dean opened and closed his mouth. "I like women."
"Do you like Cas?"
Dean's silence was his answer.
"I don't want to scare you with labels, or force an identity on you that you don't feel comfortable with, but there are other sexualities out there. I'll let you take some leaflets home with you that you can read in your own time, when you're ready. And then, when you feel you are able to, we can talk some more about it. Or not," she added, when self-conscious embarrassment clouded his features. "It's entirely up to you."
Quietly Dean moved back to the couch.
"Can we talk some more about your relationship with Cas?"
. * * * .
"So what's eating Dean? Knowing him, it's probably not you," Balthazar sniggered.
"Must you be so crude?"
Balthazar raised his eyebrows, silently demanding an answer.
"He's fine. Just... stressed."
"About?"
Castiel looked at him across the table. While Dean was attending his first official session with Pamela, Castiel was having lunch with Balthazar - who was using it as another opportunity to voice his negative opinion on his relationship with Dean. "You'll laugh."
"I won't."
"Yes, you will."
"Okay, so I probably will, but I'll try not to. How's that?"
Castiel was silent for a moment, narrowed eyes scrutinising Balthazar's expression. "Dean's seeing Pamela."
"He's dating your therapist?!"
"No!" Cas exclaimed, slamming a hand off the table in irritation. If he wasn't so exasperated at Balthazar's low expectations of Dean he'd find the assumption amusing. "He's a patient," he explained in a low voice.
"Oh," Balthazar said, sounding surprised. Then he chuckled. "I thought he was the strong, sullen type."
"Only when you're involved," Cas said tiredly.
Balthazar snorted. "I'm flattered."
"He's accepted that he has some issues, and Pamela is trying to help him deal with them."
Balthazar sighed. "You know what I'm going to say."
"Save your breath, Balthazar," Castiel told him, placing his cutlery on his empty plate.
"After everything you've been through, with your family and the church, you shouldn't have to be forced back into the closet. It's not fair on you."
"Dean is a good, kind man—"
"Who doesn't know what he wants," Balthazar finished for him.
"He wants me to be happy. He wants to make me happy."
"But can he?"
"Balthazar, I want this to work." Cas told him adamantly. "And Dean is seeking help. If you can't be happy for me then can you at least stop trying to make me doubt him? He is trying, and I have faith that he means it when he says he want to make it work."
"'It'?" Balthazar echoed.
"Us."
"I'm sorry," his friend sighed. "I just don't want to see you compromise yourself for a man who might not be able to give you what you want."
Much to Balthazar's surprise, Castiel let out a bitter laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Please don't let Dean hear you trying to persuade me to end things with him," Cas asked him. "He already thinks that I deserve better than him, and I think he worries that you're perhaps better suited to me than he is."
Balthazar sniggered. "Are you trying to tell me that he thinks I'm going to steal you from him? Cassie, I hate to break it to you, but you're not my type."
Castiel chuckled despite himself. "Try telling Dean that."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Balthazar smirked, taking a sip of his drink. "It'd be too much fun flirting with you just to see him squirm."
"That would be cruel," Castiel chided him.
"It might make him jealous enough to realise how he feels about you. If he really cares about you."
"Or you could force him to repress his feelings even further, if he truly believes that you're interested," Castiel countered. "Leave the psychology to Pamela."
. * * * .
"It sounds to me that you need to move past your fear of losing Cas before you can accept that you want him."
"So how do I do that?" Dean asked sceptically.
"Have you tried speaking to him about this?"
"A little."
"And?"
"And he just tells me that he's always going to be my friend."
"So why isn't that good enough?"
"Huh?"
"Why isn't it enough that Cas has told you this? Don't you believe him?"
"I don't know."
"Take a moment to think about it. Be honest with yourself."
Dean already knew the answer to her question; it was just harder to be honest with a stranger than it was someone you knew. Except, he'd opened up to those two gay guys in the bar that one time. That hadn't hurt. In fact, it had helped.
"Because he deserves better," he told her. And Cas did - he really did. "He deserves someone that can make him happy. One day he's going to realise that."
"You don't think you make him happy?" Pamela asked him, her expression one of puzzled intrigue.
"I think he doesn't know any better." Because really, how many other guys had Cas been with? None.
"And you do?"
Dean opened and closed his mouth. Lisa had been a fantasy, he knew that now. He loved Cassie, but he'd been young and she'd dumped him. Every other short-lived fling or one night stand had been... not meaningless, but nothing special either. The unions had been born out of a physical need; a desire to move together, dancing under the sheets until they were both sweaty and sated.
"Not really," he admitted.
"Then why are you so convinced he's wrong? That you can't make him happy?"
The muscle in Dean's jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth together. "Because that's the way it always is, alright?!" Dean snapped. "Now can we talk about something else?"
"We could, but whatever you're avoiding telling me is probably important." When Dean stayed silent, she continued, "If you want to move on, that's fine. Remember, you set the pace here."
The pace had been the problem with Cassie - he'd wanted serious for the first time in his life, but she'd just wanted casual. With Lisa he'd wanted stability and to be needed, whereas she'd wanted serious and dependable. It was no wonder they'd both given up on him.
"Everyone leaves," he said quietly.
"What was that?"
"I said everyone leaves," he repeated, louder this time. "My mum died, my dad was AWOL most of the time growing up, then he died. The only woman I've ever really cared about left me. The only other woman I've tried to have a relationship with left me, too. My brother's all but disowned me." He said all of this in a forced, matter-of-fact tone to hide how much it really bothered him. Before he spoke again, he shrugged dismissively. "Cas is the only person I've got left. It just makes sense that he's going to leave at some point. I mean, he already has once."
"But he came back," she reminded him.
"It's not really the point, is it?"
"Isn't it?"
Dean looked at her.
"Cas didn't want to leave; he was only doing what he thought was best for his own well-being. As soon as you made it clear you wished to pursue a relationship with him, he came back. So I think it really does matter." Pamela picked up her glass of water and took several gulps. Holding it up to Dean, she asked, "Would you say this glass is half empty or half full?"
"Half empty."
"You're a rather pessimistic person," Pamela observed.
"No," Dean disagreed. "You just emptied it."
"What do you mean?"
Dean took an empty glass and filled it halfway up. "That's half full."
Pamela rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. "You are a very interesting individual, Dean Winchester."
. * * * .
"Dean?" Cas called as he opened the front door.
He didn't know how long Dean would be; if he'd come straight home after Pamela's or drive around for a while. Go for a drink, maybe. Or two, or three. He knew that talking about the stuff that mattered to him wasn't something Dean was comfortable with, and he desperately hoped that his boyfriend wasn't going to take one step forwards and two steps back.
There was no answer to his call, so he assumed that Dean still wasn't home yet. He popped into the kitchen to see Chuck Norris, who was becoming much more of a handful now that he was settling in. To prevent him from climbing onto the table again, they now had to place the chairs upturned atop it when they weren't in use. They didn't want any repeat disappearing acts. Although now whenever they ate at the table Chuck sat and glared at them from his box, as if silently judging them for going places he wasn't allowed.
Making himself a coffee, he took it into the living room and discovered he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.
"Dean?" he asked, putting his mug on the table and kneeling beside the sofa.
Dean was lying on on his back with his eyes closed.
"Are you asleep?" he whispered lightly.
"Yes," Dean grunted.
"Oh. Sorry."
"I'm kidding, Cas, I'm not asleep."
He shifted onto his butt and crossed his legs, deciding that he'd sit beside Dean for a while. Close by, but not crowding him.
"So it turns out that spilling your guts for an hour is emotionally draining," Dean continued, trying and failing to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.
Castiel raised a hand to stroke through his hair. "It does get easier," he promised. "So how did it go?"
"You said I didn't have to talk about it."
Cas nodded, and dropped his hand. "And you don't," he agreed. "If you don't want to."
"I don't."
"Okay, then. Would you like anything?"
Dean shook his head.
Castiel reached for his coffee and took a sip. "I thought, maybe, I could help you wash the car this afternoon," he said, cradling the mug in his hands. "If you were still planning on washing it, that is. Where is it, by the way? I didn't see it when I came in."
"I had to park it 'round the corner. Some asshole in a Buick was taking up two spaces."
"Well, I don't know what a Buick looks like, but I think they must have gone because I don't remember seeing anyone parked so inconsiderately."
Dean snorted half-heartedly.
"What's so funny?"
"You work in a garage."
"In the office," Cas reminded him.
"Still."
Dean fell silent, after that, and Cas didn't push him. He was content just to sit and drink his coffee while Dean recharged mentally. When he was finished, he swapped his empty mug for a puzzle book and started a new crossword.
"How was your lunch?" Dean asked eventually.
"Pleasant."
When he said nothing else, Cas thought that Dean had lapsed into silence again.
A moment later, he spoke. "Why are you on the floor?"
"So that I'm here if you need anything."
"Why don't you just sit up here?"
"Because you're lying across the sofa," Cas reminded him.
"I could move," Dean offered.
"There's no need. I'm fine here."
Dean exhaled audibly. "I want you to do that thing where you run your fingers through my hair," he admitted quickly, as if he thought that speaking fast made him sound less vulnerable.
"Oh," Cas said. "Okay."
Dean sat up to let Cas sit down, before lying down again with his head in Castiel's lap. He closed his eyes as Cas stroked his fingers through his hair
"You and Chuck Norris have a lot in common," Cas chuckled softly. "You like food, you enjoy being stroked—"
"But I don't shit on the kitchen floor," Dean pointed out.
"How do I know what you did before I moved in?"
Dean laughed at that, before remembering that Pam had made a similar joke about being stroked.
"We talked about you," he revealed quietly.
Castiel's hand froze for a second in his hair, before resuming its path around his ear. The light scrape of nails over the back of his neck sent a light shudder through Dean's body.
"I want this to work."
Cas didn't know if he meant the therapy, or their relationship, or both. And, as he'd promised, he didn't pry.
