A/N – This is a heavy 'Dean' chapter. If you are triggered by mentions of mental disorders, depression and sedation, then kindly skip this chapter. I'm sure that there will be negative feedback, but my stories always include discussions and support for people suffering from mental struggles.

I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.

JANE AUSTEN, Pride and Prejudice

"Have you been taking your medication?" Rowena asked from across the very spacious room with a view of a beautiful garden of flowers. The temperature was entirely cool and should have been comfortable.

She never needed to take notes during their sessions. They had been acquainted for close to twenty years. And even though she had been seeing him for so long, Rowena still needed to retrack, and to make some mental adjustments during every session.

Dean was fidgeting. He crossed and uncrossed his legs five times in ten minutes. "I've been busy."

"That's not an answer, dear."

"No, okay?"

Rowena's raised eyebrows marked her surprise.

This wasn't a simple lapse in his judgment. What she detected from the moment Dean walked into her office was the heavy burden of depression weighing him down. The downcast eyes and sullen looks were not new. She had seen these signs before and knew them all too well.

"Dean, you can't just decide to stop taking your medication. You're quite aware of why they were prescribed to you. And what happens when you don't take them."

Sighing, he hugged himself and appeared like a petulant child. But he didn't really care. Not anymore. Not when the world seemed duller and he felt like he was living in a black and white tragedy.

"I know that you're under a great amount of pressure right now. With the wedding coming up and everything you've told me about not wanting to get married," Rowena was concerned by the pasty look on the Prince's face. "Has something happened?"

When he refused to answer but chose to stare at his boots, she sighed.

They had been seeing each other since he was nine years old. And twenty years after, he still entertained the awful habit of refusing to speak to her until she practically demanded the truth from him.

"Did you talk to Castiel?" she tried and immediately, there was a reaction resembling a tremor.

He flinched. "I don't want to talk about him."

I don't want to remember your last words as wishing that you never met me.

"Dean, this is not the time or place to pack away your feelings. I want to help you fix it," Rowena said in a comforting tone. "Two days ago, you missed our session. You've never missed a session in over five years."

"Yeah, well I'm not a kid anymore and I have things to do."

"Don't be smart with me, boy," Rowena sassed.

It was one of the things Queen Mary had used to determine who would be able handle her son. To get him to open up required someone with a fierce streak who wasn't afraid to push and push until she managed to unearth the truth. And over the years, because of Rowena's guidance, Dean had been able to weather through any storm.

"I met him, okay?" he shrugged, sinking into the chair as if he wanted to be swallowed by it. The memories alone were so painful like vice-like grips tightening around his heart. "I took him to my place and then everything went to hell."

"Tell me what happened," Rowena urged softly. The bangles around her wrists tinkled as she reached for her glass of water. Sipping, her eyes remained on him and she was studied cautiously by green eyes that tried to seek out distrust. "And don't think for one moment that you're leaving here without telling me everything. You know very well that I care about you like you're my own boy."

"I know that. I'll never forget it," Dean said, regretting his behavior. She saved him too many times before in his life. "I feel moody. Irritated. Like I have a fever and I can't shake it off."

"That's because you haven't been taking your medication."

"Yeah, but they make me sleep when I take them," he offered her a strained look, writhing in the chair. "And when I sleep, you know what kind of nightmares I have."

"The car crash. I'm very well aware, yes. But Dean, you have been battling with something that you can not fight off on your own. I know that it is too much but if you take your medication, at least you will feel calmer. Do I have to remind you what being bipolar can lead to? Do you remember when you trashed your father's chambers and was sedated?"

The feeling of losing his ability to do nothing, of slipping into a world where he kept on reliving the blinding lights of the crash. The hydrant spurting water onto the window of the car and the goddamn awful sound of a blaring horn and then he was screaming.

In his nightmares, he wasn't a kid anymore but old enough to know that when he hit the plastic shield between him and the driver, something cracked inside of his head. Something that opened a dam and changed him forever.

"Tell me what happened between you and Castiel," she urged again. "And why you missed our session."

"Whiskey first," he rose up weakly and his footsteps padded softly on her caramel carpeted floors. Retrieving the bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold, he poured a finger, then another, and the feeling of it burning down his throat was soothing.

At least he was feeling something apart from the hysteria inside of his body. The crashing of waves against his skull. The hammering of a migraine that wouldn't fade, because painkillers never worked. And because he couldn't look Rowena in the eyes whilst he related the disturbing tale, when he lost control, he went to her window.

The view was always stunning.

The river Thames with boats tied to the docks below her apartment and men were throwing nets in the midday sun. Their skin sweaty and their hair slicked back. And the smell of fish still seeped through the cracks of the closed window, a scent that reminded him of coming to her office at the age of nine for the first session when he felt like everything was wrong with him.

Dean elaborated on his mother's intervention, about how she always liked to stick her nose in even when he wished that she wouldn't.

Then his brother's suggestion that they take a turn around the gardens, that he and Castiel entertain each other's company. Although he had been dying inside to act against the whole idea and to retreat to his room and stay there until the world ended.

"You didn't want to see him," Rowena said, studying his profile by the window. Dean was evidently filled with so many emotions at that point, she needed to empty them out so that he could start healing again. "Why?"

"Because he didn't answer my text. I asked him if we could start over and he never said anything."

"And it made you feel like he didn't want to start over."

Dean nodded. He collected the tumbler that was resting on the sill and knocked back the last of the whiskey. And then he told her about their conversation under the gazebo. The way Castiel kept looking at him, like he was terribly frightened, like he was afraid of what was happening between them, and of what was going to happen maybe.

"Do you think that he was forcing himself to talk to you?" Rowena fixed her red satin dress neatly over her lap and pursed her lips.

"Yeah, because mom asked him to." Dean shrugged. "And Sam."

"Or maybe…" she sighed. "Because he really wanted to talk to you. You and I know very well that you're the kind of person that never dulls a conversation. You always have many fantastic stories to tell. But perhaps…Castiel was trying because he wanted to."

"If you could see his eyes," Dean stared at her with widened green ones. "Rowena. His eyes were so blue. Electric. They're so…" and stopping himself, he diverted his gaze to the outside world.

"Say it. Go on," she urged him. "Better out than in."

For a full minute, Dean watched the fishermen fight with a net, gathering it up and rolling the mass between the depths of two white boats.

"His eyes are beautiful," he said softly, trying to blink away the memory. "He kept looking at me, asking me questions like he really wanted to have a conversation with me but I was so uneasy about it because I kept, I don't know," Dean shrugged, "remembering how he said that he didn't want me in his life."

"No," Rowena remembered what was revealed to her in their last session. "He never said such a thing. He perhaps revealed that he is not attracted to you sexually but he never said that doesn't want you in his life."

"It means the same thing."

"Dean, it doesn't mean the same thing."

"He said that we're…whatever we are is complicated and he doesn't know what to feel about me. How can he not know what to feel about me?" Dean's eyes pleaded. "I've been telling him exactly how I feel because I can't hold it inside of me. I can't—" His words trailed off and Rowena blinked slowly. "I've never been this crazy over someone. He's like a damn drug that keeps seeping into my skin and messing with my head and I don't know what to do."

The silence that settled afterwards was filled with the possibility of becoming friends with a man he loved more than understanding the reasons why.

"Maybe it was one of my episodes again," Dean said to her. Thinking about taking another shot, he almost did but stayed by the window. "I've been sailing on a high for close to two weeks now. All the partying and booze. And then I met him and flaunted myself in the media, bringing him into it. Now, look where it got me."

Because you stopped taking your medication.

He looked at Rowena and could read the disappointment in her eyes from his refusal to continue the dosage. It was a little over three weeks now since he stopped swallowing down those awful pills.

"Why did you stop, Dean?" she asked the question that was burning inside of her mind. "The medication. It's not really about the nightmares when you sleep. Why did you suddenly decide that it wasn't necessary to arm yourself against the war inside of your head?"

Dean swallowed hard and stared out of the window. "Because I felt like I couldn't fight anymore and I wanted to give up. Those nights riding on that kind of high?" he gave her a wild expression, "When I stopped taking the meds, I was so close to jumping into doing a lot of crazy things and remembering nothing afterwards. And I just wished that I would…" he trailed off, his tone growing softer.

"That is not a decision you've ever made," Rowena said softly, worrying completely now. "You've always wanted to fight this, Dean."

"Yeah, but you reach a point in your life where you just can't take it anymore. I felt empty and worthless and like I'd rather die at the end of a gun because I couldn't keep fighting my mind. It's a battle I can't win."

"And I've always asked you to come to me the moment you reach that point," Rowena softened her gaze. "I don't care what the time is, you call me. I'm going to drop whatever I'm doing to come to you."

Dean sighed. "You keep moving through the motions, you know?" his disposition was deeply affected by the memories. "Waking up every day, putting on a show at public events then hitting the clubs. And in the middle of all of it, I kept seeing everyone fall in love and feel something special and it never happened to me since Lisa. Never. And I thought something was wrong with me."

Rowena blinked slowly, "Dean, nothing is wrong with you."

"I'm not a teenager sitting in front of you, completely clueless about what bipolar disorder is. I know what's wrong with me. And don't look at me like that," Dean pleaded, and his eyes watered. "You have no idea what it's like to keep flatlining, to feel like you're never going to mean anything to anyone."

Biting his lips, he glanced at her bookcase but wasn't really considering the endless volumes trying to dissect the mind.

"Dean, you're not worthless. Castiel doesn't think that you are. In fact, he's been entertaining conversations with you because he wants to get to know you, doesn't he?"

His face contorted as if struggling to pick sense from nonsense. "No, don't…don't do that. Don't turn it around to make it look good when it's bad. He's just pitying me because I'm young and I do all the wrong things and then I met him and now I've screwed it all up."

"How?" she urged in a light tone, dipping the spoon into the cup and stirring her tea slowly.

He told her about what unfolded at his home a week ago, how he was riding on the adrenaline and could feel the rush. The wildness pumping through his veins of knowing that he could do anything. That he was capable of astounding, of romancing anyone he wanted to if he felt like he should and the other person involved was worthy enough. And then when he thought that maybe there was a chance…

"I tried to kiss him," Dean said, arms folded as he remained seated on the window seat. His face was shadowed. "And he turned me down."

"And how did that make you feel?" her voice remained soft although her mind was unsettled.

"At first it was like…sure I know I'm pushing and I'm going too fast," Dean admitted with another shrug. "But it's like I had no control of myself in that moment. It was like surfing on a wave, knowing that you are climbing and the moment you get to the top, you have to fall back down. So, I felt that I was doing something wrong but I couldn't stop because it hasn't been like this with anyone, especially another man."

"Tell me what you feel when you're with him," Rowena got up to make herself another cup of tea. Chamomile was her preference and the conversation was very common to her in patients who were suffering from bipolar depression.

What she was clearly saddened about was Dean's decision to stop his course of medication.

"It's not just sexual. It's so much more than that. I don't think I can explain it."

"Try." She settled down on the chair and followed his form clad in navy blue jeans with a red and black plaid shirt. And she loved him even more for the man he developed into. Withstanding his mental struggles every day, he was always been a wonderful young man, someone who was so loving and inhabited the capability of being completely happy if he could just pace himself with his acquaintances.

"Um." Dean sat on the chair again and blinked at her. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"Of course, I do. It has nothing to do with magic." She smiled. "Contrary to popular belief, it does happen. And less often than it should. Relationships built on love at first sight happen faster and stronger than any other kind. And why I'm asking you to describe how you feel when you're with him is because you need to figure out if this is just a whim, in a sense, or it's more long term."

It was a whim because it happened suddenly and then Dean remembered being pulled into a sensation that was surreal.

"When I first met him, I couldn't take my eyes off of him because of how different he seemed to be. He was wearing this…ridiculous t-shirt," Dean's eyes were touched with a smile and then he chuckled. "It said 'I'm Mister Darcy' and you know how I'm literally obsessed with Austen. So, I started studying him. I mean, I'm not going to lie. He is attractive in every sense of the word. He's…so handsome with his wild hair and his tight jeans. And then he always wears these beaded bands on his wrists."

"What kind of bands?" Rowena loved to admire the change on Dean's face. And when he talked about Castiel, she was marveled by how bright and beautiful he bloomed like a butterfly stretching its wings.

"Um, nothing special really. Just two of them. One with black and white beads. And the other one has like four or five colors."

"Chakra beads. It sounds like your Castiel is a believer in diffuser bracelets. Did you smell any kind of fruity scent on him?"

Dean frowned. "Tangerine…I guess? Old Spice. Yummy?"

"A calming oil. Hmm. The white beads could very well be Howlite beads," Rowena smiled at his descriptions. "They're made from a calming, soothing stone that dispels anxiety and stress. And the other bracelet…well, chakras, by definition, are energy points within your body that help to regulate organ function, immune system and emotions. Seven chakras are found throughout your body, from the base of your spine to the crown of your head. Each chakra has its own frequency, energy and color. Maintaining its balance keeps you psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually healthy. So, if he has on these bands, it can more than likely mean that he tends to suffer from depression, anxiety, stress… very tricky mix." She sipped her tea and peered at him over her cup. "He wants to balance his life and anything that upsets that balance will scare him."

"Like me," Dean settled back into the chair and stared at her. A moment ago, he hadn't the faintest idea what a chakra was but now he was equipped with enough knowledge to question Castiel's behavior.

"Well, don't blame yourself for all of it. People who are more in tune with their spiritual selves are more than likely to crave deeper connections with someone else. I've always thought that you are a spiritual person. You always had a problem with connecting with your lovers because they just wanted you in a physical sense. And now you've found someone who obviously wants the same thing your soul craves for. But he is terrified by you because you're very forward. And I can guess that he might be turned on…as you might say…by getting to know you on that same deeper level whilst placing anything sexual on the back burner."

"No wonder he didn't want to kiss me. But I couldn't help it."

"Of course, you couldn't, my dear boy," Rowena smiled at him. "You have needs like everyone else. He's a very handsome one too, like you said. It's only natural for your body to react. Now, tell me what happened afterwards."

When Dean finally ended up talking about what transpired, he leaned back in the chair and hated himself. And the more he opened up about accusing Castiel of using him, of wishing that he never met him, Rowena's face didn't change, but rather, she appeared sympathetic.

"Do you feel like you were getting rather upset too fast? Like you were racing ahead and the things coming out of your mouth weren't what you wanted to say?"

"Yeah. I hate myself."

Rowena frowned. "Dean…"

"I keep thinking that I'm not what he wants because I'm too young. And like he said, I come from a world that he only writes about and they talk about on tv. And I just want to make everything better for him by being with him. By showing him that there is so much more, and that I can take him places and we could have all of it."

"And do you think that he wants that?" Rowena asked softly, the cup resting on the saucer on her lap. "A life away from the life he has built?"

"Had I been a woman, he wouldn't have hesitated."

"Dean, don't say things like that. We've talked about this before. You need to stop putting yourself down just to accommodate everyone else. It's never about making them happy first. It's about your happiness. You have a tendency to spoil anyone you're in a relationship with and shower them so much that they never appreciate in the first place because they really and truly only want you. They need you to put yourself first. They want to get to know you."

He was displaying the symptoms of going through a mixture of manic and depressive episodes and the best way to describe it would be as close to climbing a tree, feeling the excitement of being up there. And then after the branch broke off, after you fell and hurt yourself, you're aching and terrified. You're sad and broken with low self-esteem.

"I love him, Rowena," Dean said in an uneven tone and his eyes lowered. "He's not like the others. With him, he fights me back with the same fire and he…he gets me. He gets the simple things like Jane Austen and the 60s. He doesn't judge me and I don't understand why he doesn't want to let go and just…be with me. I want to risk everything for him."

He was expressive and continued to talk excessively. When Dean was on his medication, he measured his speech. He was calmer and composed.

"This is why I need you to start taking your medication," Rowena said with a frown. "You're thinking too rash. I think you're up and down again and it's getting very dangerous because based on your patterns, Dean, you're always on a high wave for more than two weeks. And anything that tries to pull you down from that height is seen as a threat."

"I know what being bipolar feels like, dammit," his voice was hoarser. "I've lived my entire life with it."

"And when you don't take your medication, you will go back down the path again that leads you to nothing but pain. Just like how you snapped at Castiel."

Dean met her eyes and stared back.

"You should have never told him that you wished you never met him because it isn't the truth. And why did you do it? Because you were on a rush. That's what being bipolar does to your mind. It makes your mind soar and then just like that, you're very sad again in the same moment. You could feel like you're not worth it, like you're being hated when you're not. Dean, don't cry."

Rowena rose up, crossed the room and held out her hands to him. He took it, and rising to meet her in an embrace, Dean cried softly in her right shoulder.

She hugged him tenderly because he was fragile in that moment. Very fragile, Rowena didn't believe that anyone else in his family could understand what Dean was experiencing.

It was one of the saddest parts of her job; to shelter a young man who was broken and was trying to fix himself when he shouldn't be alone. When his mind was controlling him and the only way he could regain that control was to rely on pills. And after treating him for twenty years, she kept thinking that she could develop the perfect combination but Dean's condition changed constantly, it was rather impossible to ever prescribe something that would completely settle him.

"Start taking your medication again," she stroked his hair lightly. "You have to promise me that you will."

"I tried calling him," Dean croaked. "Left him messages. Texts. He never responded to any. I fucked up."

"No, you didn't." She hugged him tighter and it was evident that he didn't want to let go. "I think he is giving you time to breathe. You mustn't think that everyone is against you, my dear boy. There are some people who will love you and some who will not. And you will know the good ones from the bad ones. I think Castiel is a good one. But you need to give him time. He will come around."

For two days after resuming his pills, and after Rowena added another one to the pile of four, two times per day, Dean slept through the nights.

He didn't dream but immediately sank into a pit of blackness and rose in the morning feeling calmer and level, almost as if all the tension and the irritation and the doubts were slowing draining from his body. Like he was detoxing himself.

And then the letters started coming in.

At first, there were only two or three per day but then Dean was receiving a little over forty a week. Most of them asking after his health, reporters wishing that he was well and others reminding him that he was loved.

But during the week prior to him resuming his medication, he did at least done two admirable but reckless deeds.

Dean wrote two hefty cheques. The first being a considerable amount donated towards the AIDS fund that his best friend Benny sought help from. And the second one to the Children's Hospital, after selling five of his cars because the material things in live were mattering less to him the more he thought about them.

Every time he did something good, he felt good about himself.

The very next day, the entire country and world lit up with the news.

His father appeared in the library at Westfordshire Palace one evening when it was raining. And when their eyes met, Dean sat up as stiff as a poker and immediately returned to that small boy who was always angry and terrified by a man who didn't love him.

"Well done, son," John smiled stiffly as though the very effort was making him constipated. "What you did, your donation to the hospital was a good sign that you are finally on the road to maturity."

Right. Dean inwardly shook his head and sighed. He stared at the wall in front of him and thought of nothing more than forever being considered as the broken mistake in John's eyes. "Thank you."

"And selling those cars was a good move. You don't need all of that trash sitting in your garage. In fact, whilst you're at it, you should get rid of all those fairytale portraits and sculptures in your castle. It's not becoming for a man. Sell them and use the money wisely."

He said nothing. Dean sat there and felt a sense of calm that was covering his body like a mist.

"I'm glad you stopped the wild horse play at these clubs," John moved to a shelf and plucked a book out. He considered the cover. "Also, this disgusting news I've been privy to…involving a reporter. A Castiel Novak."

When his father said that particular name, Dean immediately felt a streak of pain within his chest. "It's nothing to worry about", he said stiffly.

"Good. Because I will never allow any son of mine to disgrace this family by fornicating with another man. It is scornful. And if I ever hear about this again, I will not hesitate to intervene."

"The military," Dean said sourly, glaring at his father who appeared contented by his son's reaction. "Sending me away because you've always wanted to. Because you can't stand the sight of me. You know what, dad? This is why I've always hated being a part of this family. It's because you've never been proud of me. You never understood the things I suffer from."

"The door is always open when you're ready to leave," John said without smiling. "The problem with you is that you cannot man up and take control of yourself like your brothers do. You've always been messed up in the head because of these fairytales. They've turned you into a Princess. And I will not entertain the thought."

"Why does he upset you so much?" Dean asked bitterly, snapping his book close. "Huh? I've been with men before. Men that did paintings for you, that work in Parliament and come into meetings with you and you still do business with them. Why does this one reporter upset the hell out of you?"

"Because from what I've heard, you have feelings for this man. You claim to have fallen in love with this…person. The rest that came before him never even tormented you as he does. And I will prevent it from happening if it is the last thing I do."

"Then you'll be happy to know that I took care of that without your help," Dean stood up and was on his way out of the room when he was snatched by the back of his shirt.

John whipped him around like a rag doll, and the two of them faced each other, breathing hard.

"You listen to me, and listen to me good, boy. Parliament is arguing about Adam's claim to the throne because of this babbling nonsense about infidelity. But if he has to step down, and you continue with this behavior, I will personally see to it that you're removed from being next in line, do you hear me?"

"I don't want it," Dean seethed, his eyes flaring. "I never wanted any of this. I don't care about a damn crown on my head. And besides, why would you even consider me as an option when I've always been nothing but a daughter to you?"

"You disgrace me," John shoved him away and squared his shoulders. "You're lucky that your mother favors you or else I would have buried you in a military camp somewhere in the middle east years ago. You wouldn't have no choice but to grow up and become a man."

"I hate you," Dean said through tears, although he fought to hold them back. His heart was racing and he wanted to do anything, to throw punches, to fight. But he couldn't because something inside of him was holding him back.

"I didn't ask for sons to love me," John said moving to the door. "And I sure as hell didn't ask for a daughter."

And sinking into the chair by the window afterwards, Dean listened to the rain and he stared through the haze of it, feeling cold, and stunned.

Until the door groaned open and there was the sound of clipped steps of someone entering the library again. This time though, it wasn't his father returning. John's footfalls were heavier.

"The man is an ass to speak to you like that," Adam said, scowling as he came over and perched on the edge of the desk next to Dean. "I was outside. I heard every word."

The younger Winchester sighed, diverted his eyes and wished that he could just be left alone to read his damn book.

"Listen to me, Dean," Adam's tone was sterner. Ducking his head, he tried to meet his brother's eyes. "And listen to me good. I might not always be here for you, but I will not let anyone make you feel as if you're not worth it."

Dean was staring, wondering what brought on the change. And maybe he was being selfish for wishing that his brother would not intervene in his life.

But he had to admit one thing. Over the years whenever he was hospitalized or was ever sick, Adam and Sam always pooled their allowances to buy him anything that would make him happy again.

He remembered the shitload of candy and the toy cars. The bouncy castle they secretly blew up when he was restricted to dwelling inside the castle because of his manic episodes. And whenever he was angry, Adam would pull out two pairs of boxing gloves and challenge Dean to beat the crap out of him until he felt better.

"You are a fighter," Adam said to him in a level tone. "Always remember that. None of us will ever understand the war you're fighting inside your head. But Mom, Sam and I…we will always be here to help you fight it. And…" he lifted his brother's chin up so that those green eyes could meet his, "I just want you to know, bro. That I will love you no matter who you end up with."

Dean sighed, nodded and felt so much better. "Thanks. I needed that."

"I'm not going to ask what happened between you and the reporter," Adam said without smiling. "You just need to follow your heart and if you give him your everything and he still doesn't want you, then my bro, know that you're too awesome to be anything but the best. And walk away."

"I can't."

"Then…" Adam flicked his nose playfully, "don't. Get him like you chase after anything else you want, you dumbass." He laughed. "Out of all three of us, you stole the damn good looks. There's no way anyone would turn you down so, stop sulking. Have you texted him? Called?"

"Yup."

"And?"

Dean sighed. "Nothing."

"Hmm," Adam was knocking around his thoughts. "Have you told him about how hard it is for you because of your magic?"

"Man, come on," Dean actually laughed and stared incredulously at his brother. "You're really going to call it magic after all these years? We were kids."

His brothers came up with the idea of referring to his bipolar disorder as a result from not being able to use his magic. Meaning that because he was suppressing his powers, he suffered from terrible ups and downs. And it could have stemmed from their mother trying her best to get her sons to understand what was happening to their brother. But he never found out if she was behind it.

"You're a wizard. Whilst the rest of us are muggles." Adam seldom laughed but he did afterwards and it was so refreshing for Dean to see the light in his brother's eyes.

"No, I haven't told him. I don't want to use it as an excuse for my behavior."

"It's not an excuse. If you love him and he loves you, he has a right to know about that part of you. It would explain a lot. And you can't keep it a secret until it ends up ruining your moment someday."

Which it already did because he was stupid enough to stop using his medication.

For a long time after Adam left, Dean sat, curled up in a heap on the floor of the library.

Whilst it rained outside and the drops hammered onto the window beside him, a place that he used to come to many times when he was smaller, Dean softly cried from the memories. When he gazed out at the palace grounds, he remembered how he always imagined the kind of freedom only young boys do when they felt caged in.

Running away, and living in another country. Having another father. Leaving on a horse and never coming back.

He pulled out his mobile and tears wet the screen but he couldn't stop himself from going into his messages. Dean kept scrolling and reading them over and over again, wondering more than ever where Castiel was and if he was still in London.

Had he left?

Was he sleeping with someone else right then?

Who was the lucky woman? And he hated that he felt so damn calm so fast as the medication kicked into overdrive.

I'm so sorry for the things I said to you.

I didn't mean it when I said I wished we never met. I felt like a fool.

Cas, are you getting my messages? I miss you. I can't do this.

It's hard for me to say those 3 words when I know that you don't want to hear them from someone like me because I screwed up everything. I shouldn't have let you go. I should have let you come to me, and give me as much as you could give me.

Can we be friends? It hurts to think of you as a friend but if I can have you as a friend, then I will treasure that.

Now though, Dean tapped the bottom of the screen in the text box and although Rowena warned against it, to give it time, he started typing.

I've acted so stupid and so full of pride and arrogance, exactly like Mister Darcy. It shocks me when I think back of how bold I was with you, Cas. I wanted to push you into something that scares you. And I'm a hypocrite for wanting to pluck you out of your life to live in mine. Why must you leave your life because of me?

Cas, I suffer from Bipolar Disorder. I'm not using it to pardon what I did to you. But when I was with you that night, I was riding on a high. I stopped using my medication and I was chasing the way I feel about you recklessly and I wanted you to feel the same way too.

I wanted it more than I've ever wanted anything else in my life. So, when you hit me with the truth, the consequences, I didn't want to face it. And just like I've done with everyone else in my life, I tried to push you away.

I am so sorry that I acted the way I did and I let you go. I'm pumping myself with these pills everyday that numbs me to a point where I end up sleeping for more than twelve hours. And the rest of the day I spend reading a lot about history because any kind of fiction reminds me of us.

This is not easy for me, Cas. The ones before you were never more than flings. But you mean so much to me that when I think of you or I hear someone say your name, I am reduced to something so soft, my father refers to it as unmanly.

Can you please let me know that you're okay? Where are you? I will keep on trying day by day to get over you. It might take me years or a lifetime, but I'm willing to try because I'm trying to put my happiness first. And if I can't find happiness in myself that I can't make anyone else happy.

Best wishes.

He clicked SEND and settled into the chair and then for the first time in many years, Dean didn't rush to undo what he had done. He felt contented with his message. There was that damn calm feeling again, almost like he was sedated and his feelings were covered down in a pot and left to sizzle.

Never before did Dean ever tried to explain his mind's downfalls to anyone he was attracted to because the efforts were never substantial in the first place. If lovers like Ian craved anything else than sex, it was always the gifts and never the time to sit down and understand how chaotic his mind could become.

But with Castiel he felt compelled to at least try to make the effort of introducing the topic.

When his phone beeped, Dean's eyes blinked at the view outside the window. Then he unlocked the mobile and his heart leapt from the one new message flashing on the screen.

It was from Castiel.

I'm not ok. Nowhere of import. Been reading all your msgs but can't reply. This is hard for me as it is for you. Thank you for explaining what happened. Bipolar disorder is a terrible battle to fight alone. PLEASE TAKE YOUR MEDS. I care about you and always will. You have a supportive family. Please stop hating yourself. You are not unmanly because you have feelings. You are even more amazing because you do.

Dean was smiling, his tongue tucked between his teeth when he happened upon the last bit of the text. Cas…had actually replied…to him. He thought that he was amazing. He cared and always would. He hadn't given up on him. Not really.

Rowena had been right as she always was.

Cas was giving him a break. Both of them. And the worst part of it all was knowing that Cas wasn't okay, that both of them were going through this differently. Whether Cas felt the same about him or not, it didn't matter at that point. What mattered was that he was slowly beginning to find happiness and calm again and that was the most important achievement.

Thank you. I care about you and always will too. Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?

Cas replied an hour after, just when Dean was tucking himself into bed. He switched off the lamp, and surrounded by fairytales in his childhood room, he sighed after reading the message.

No. Do what is best for you. I can take care of myself. Good night.

He stared at the message for a long time without feeling anything.

Good night, my Mister Darcy.

Even when he already sent the text and stared at the boldness, Dean still didn't regret the honesty. Then as the rain pelted onto the roof and the windows, as the world outside was flooded with a white haze, Dean turned on his side and stared at the portrait of Beauty and the Beast. And he spent a long time reconsidering the meaning behind the story.

He fell asleep thinking honestly that he was like the beast, cursed by his depression and a disorder that was his enemy.

Cas, was obviously Belle, frightened by what he was, never seeing the possibility of them ever ending up together. And when Dean thought about how the beast was cured, he ended up wetting his pillow with tears.