"Peace be with you," a beautiful dark-haired woman with modest makeup approached Castiel with her hand stretched out. The service was almost over, and Michael had assured everyone they would have a chance to meet the new intern during coffee hour, but none-the-less, people had swarmed him when it came time to pass the peace.

"And also with you," he replied automatically, taking her hand and feeling the soft skin against his own.

"It's so lovely to meet you, Castiel. I'm Duma."

"Duma? Like Doumah? Patron Saint of Unbelievers?"

She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. "Yes, Shield of the Lord, exactly like that."

"No one ever knows the meaning of my name," Castiel smiled.

"I know the feeling. Most people assume mine is Russian."

Castiel barked out a laugh and looked around, but no one had noticed.

"Don't worry, most people here are pretty laid back. Michael has managed to fill the pews, but he's still a ways from his vision."

"I'd like to hear more about that." Castiel smiled, enjoying the ease with which he could talk to the woman. She appeared younger than him by a few years, but they clearly had a lot in common.

"Any time. I work in the office here, part-time, and clean houses to make up the rest of what I need for income," she shrugged, and Castiel instantly liked how comfortable she was with who she was and what she did.

"Maybe, we could have lunch after coffee hour," he offered.

Duma laughed. You've never been to a traditional coffee hour, have you?"

"No, why?"

"You won't be hungry afterward, trust me. But maybe we could go for a walk. You're new. Someone should show you around town."

Castiel smiled and nodded, not informing her that Dean had already driven him around town and shown him many of the sights. Dean was something he couldn't bear to think about right now. He'd managed to get up and out of the house without having to face him this morning, but he was equal parts dreading and longing to see him again later today.

That darkness that followed him around licked at his toes, trying to pull his attention down into the black. Castiel closed his eyes and focused on the bustle of activity around him, connecting himself to the hum of people, letting it soothe him and bring him into the present.

Music for the next hymn began to play and Duma returned to her seat as everyone turned their attention to Michael, who sang out with a full beautiful voice. Castiel found himself swaying to the music like they did back home and singing out the baritone medley he'd known all his life. He guessed Meg was right. He was a choir boy.

Coffee Hour sped by, with Castiel having plate after plate of food shoved into his hands and so many people wanting to stop and talk to him. Names and faces flit by, and he tried to lodge them into his brain. Everyone seemed to be in the small church, the town vet, the local barkeep, and a young dark-haired woman who cleaned houses and never seemed to be far from sight.

A friendly black woman named Missouri talked to him for a long time, filling him in on all the church gossip. He clung to each piece of information like lifeblood, hoping he remembered it all, and a rough voiced woman named Ellen shook his hand but didn't say much. Eventually, a family came over and introduced themselves—Jimmy, Amelia, and their daughter Claire.

Jimmy and Amelia made the usual small talk and said all the things expected of small-town Christians. It was comfortable. Castiel may not believe exactly what they did, but the people were familiar. In the end, weren't they all the same under Heaven's Light? So he slipped back into his role. It was a suit he knew how to fit into, unlike his own skin, which always felt alien and too tight.

Claire, though, was dressed all in black, hair in a tangle of braids and knots, heavy black eyeliner, and what appeared to be a permanent eye roll.

"Claire, you don't by chance work with Charlie Bradburry, do you?" Castiel asked as her parents began to walk away.

She held back and eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah, why?"

"I'm staying with Dean Winchester, and he introduced me to her. You came up in conversation."

"What kind of conversation?" the look of panic in Claire's eyes as she simultaneously tried to silence him and look around to make sure she's safe.

"The kind that's no one's business but ours," Castiel smiled, holding eye contact for as long as she would allow. She was scared. He knew that feeling.

"So, you're Cas?"

"Oh, ha, yeah, yeah, that's what Dean calls me."

"So, you're like his friend?"

"I think so," Castiel said, his own turmoil threatening to come to the surface. "I've only known him a few days, but I like him quite a bit. And from what I hear, Charlie likes you quite a bit."

"Yeah, she's, uh, helped me out sometimes when I needed a place to stay."

"Good." Cas didn't ask any questions. The meeting room where coffee hour was held was emptying out and he didn't want to risk anyone overhearing them. "Just, for the record, you can count me as someone you can come to if you need help again. In case Charlie's not available."

"You know… why?"

"Yes." He said before smiling gently. "And you can still count on me."

"Claire!" Amelia called from the doorway and Claire turned around to rush out, but before she got to her parents, she turned with a small smile and a wave.

Castiel breathed out. This was why he was here. To see that look. He took a bite of coffee cake and sighed.

"You got Claire to talk to you?" Michael asked, coming up next to him.

"Along with many others."

"You're the right man for the youth program if you can get Claire to talk. That girl is as tight-lipped as they come, and not very open to redirection."

"I have a lot of cousins. Teenagers are fun to work with. I find them refreshingly straightforward." Castiel smiled in the direction Claire had gone and took another bite.

"So, are you hungry, or was I right?" Duma teased as she joined them.

Castiel turned and took in her beaming face. Her smile lit up her eyes, shining through her very being.

"You were correct," he grinned, his lips disappearing as he forced himself to give her all of his attention. Duma was kind. Duma was objectively beautiful. Duma was in the church. He missed his sister. Perhaps Duma could be the answer and ease the loneliness that colored everything he did because the rest of it just hurt too much to think about.

When they walked out, Castiel held out his arm so Duma could take his elbow, and her eyes fluttered up at him from under his lashes. Yes, he would focus his attention on his work, writing his thesis, and making a friend in Duma. He felt contentment settle into his bones as they chatted, looking at the birds as they flew by and stopping to admire the spring flowers in the small downtown park. It was simple. It was easy.

By the time Castiel returned to the small cabin in the woods, Dean was already working in the kitchen. "Welcome home!" he called over his shoulder, his voice slightly strained, but he didn't turn his head, allowing Castiel to grunt a greeting and disappear into his room to change out of his church clothes.

The tension from earlier in the day returned. It gripped him by the shoulder blades, weighing him down. The blackness swelling beneath his feet lurched up, grasping for purchase. Castiel had to sit down. It hurt so much it took his strength away. There had to be another answer to this life he lived.

His mind continuously drifted to the strong, rugged man in the next room. He could hear him singing along with the music, dancing with himself barefoot as he cooked in the kitchen he built with his own two hands. The image in his mind made him lick his lips, remembering the hunger of their kiss. His treacherous body woke up in ways it hadn't in years, in ways he'd trained it not to.

He stood and changed quickly, heading back out, planning to tell Dean not to worry about his dinner, and disappearing into the evening in the truck that still smelled vaguely of precisely the person he was trying to escape.

But when he stepped out, the table was set and Dean stood in his silly apron and a smile on his face as broad as morning. "Perfect timing!" He sat down and gestured to what had now become Castiel's seat. "I didn't know what you wanted to drink, so I just got water, but there's soda and beer in the fridge if you want."

"Water is perfect." Castiel sat, feeling like he was all elbows and knees like he might tip sideways and fall right out of his chair.

"So, Cas," Dean said after chewing for a while. He put down his utensils and looked directly at him, not giving Castiel a single molecule of oxygen to try to breathe. "I feel like I owe you an apology."

Castiel looked at him, eyes frozen on the other man's lips as he chewed on the inside of his mouth.

"I've been thinking about it, and I really wasn't fair to you last night. I mean, you're new and you live here and I put you on the spot. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or like you owed me something."

Castiel shook his head, "It's not of import."

"Well, it kind of is."

Now it was Castiel's turn to put down his utensils.

"I like you, and I'd like us to be friends, regardless of last night. But more than that, Charlie called me today." Dean paused and Castiel felt like he was inspecting his very soul.

"She, um, she said Claire came into work today from Church in a good mood, which has literally never happened in the history of all things Claire. She said you and she talked. That you told her you were there if she needed you?"

"Yes."

"Look, man, Claire's a good kid and she's in desperate need of some adults who give a shit about her. Charlie does what she can, but to have someone at the church her parents drag her to, I don't know, try and "pray the gay away" or whatever, say they're on her side, that's a big deal. Don't fuck with her."

Castiel flinched at the language and noticed how rigid Dean's posture had become. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

Dean's voice turned tender. "I'm not entirely sure you know what you think you're doing, Cas."

Castiel blanched. He could feel the blood leaving his face, dripping down his arms, and pooling on the floor where it dripped from his fingers. He didn't think anyone had ever summed him up quite so succinctly or clearly.

"Well, it's not a pray the gay away kind of church from what I can tell so far. If it were, I wouldn't have come here."

Dean snorted but waived for Castiel to continue.

"And if I'm wrong and it is, I'll do what I can to change it, or if there's another influence trying to hurt Claire, I meant what I said. I don't care if she's gay, just like I don't care if you are. If she needs someone to talk to or rely on, I'll do whatever I can to be there for her. I won't... " he stammered and then looked Dean in the eye… "I won't let anyone else get hurt."

"I don't get you, man." Dean shook his head.

"What do you mean."

"Nevermind, we don't have to talk about it," Dean went to pick his utensils back up but Castiel reached out, letting his long thick fingers touch Dean's strong slender ones for just an instant. The contact like electricity flying up his arm.

"You clearly have something to say, and I'm honestly worried that you could think I'd lie to Claire or betray her in some way, so you might as well just say it."

"Cas, you kissed me last night." The words were blunt and straightforward, but Dean's eyes were kind.

Castiel looked away, feeling the rising nausea he was so familiar with. To talk about this, in the light of day… He broke out in a sweat and his mouth filled with saliva.

"I mean, I think you did," Dean continued. "I asked if it was okay and, yeah, I'm pretty damn sure you kissed me."

"Can we stop talking about this," Cas said, turning his head fully to the left.

"You ran, Cas. I thought… but if you're not interested, that's fine, I'm not gonna be a dick about it, but you just ran. Did I do something wrong?"

Castiel couldn't resist then, turning to look into the soulful green eyes that were trying so desperately to figure out the indecipherable realities of who he was. There was hurt in their depths—hurt he had put there. Castiel was nothing. He was the worst kind of hypocrite. He deserved the blackness.

"You did nothing wrong." He stood up, backing up toward the hall. "I didn't run from you, Dean. I ran from me." He took a few shallow breaths trying to stave back the tears. "I can believe God loves you and Claire while still knowing without a doubt that there's a place reserved for me in hell I can't ever escape."

A sob broke from his lips and through watery eyes, he saw Dean stand, but he was already halfway turned away. He locked himself in the bathroom and threw up, the remnants of coffee hour splashing in the bowl. He flushed and leaned against the cool porcelain, ignoring the man knocking on the door, calling his name.