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(-*-)

At five minutes past nine, Dean stormed into Castiel's office, let the door slam shut behind him, and threw himself into the chair on the other side of the desk. Castiel blinked up at him, seemingly unfazed.

"Am I to understand you are not having a good day?"

Dean huffed a bitter, humourless laugh, and glared at the wall. Castiel nodded, stood, and went to one of his bookcases.

"Would you like to discuss it?"

Dean gave a gruff grumble which Castiel surmised was an answer in the negative. He ran his fingers across the spines of his books, scanning the titles.

"Very well. Would you suggest something else to talk about?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Castiel blinked, but didn't turn around.

"No. I have recently reunited with a… an ex-partner, I suppose."

Dean was silent for a moment.

"You're gay."

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, just… How do you know that you like someone?"

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Dean was looking in his direction, but not really seeing him.

"It used to be easy, right? In school… college. Find someone you like the look of, ask them to see a movie, keep asking them out places 'til they sleep with you, right?"

"That is certainly the pattern I've seen most follow."

"But once you're an adult it gets all complicated, right? It's like playing emotional poker or something."

"I'm not sure I understand…"

"You're not allowed to just say 'I like you' or… or, 'there's this thing about me', or 'you need to know this about me'. You have to play your cards and make sure they don't know when you're bluffing. It's like you have to play it so you're trying not to get attached, even though that's the only reason people get involved, right?"

"A lot of relationships run that way." Castiel nodded, finally selecting a book and crossing back to lean against his desk. "We all aim for finding our one true love, but when we do find someone, we're reluctant to commit, in case that person isn't our 'one' right person. We worry we'll have some sort of… commitment buyer's remorse."

"So how do you know?" Dean looked at him for the first time, brow creased with legitimate concern. "How do you know that you want to commit to someone?"

Castiel thought for a moment, running a hand over his chin.

"I doubt I am the… best person to discuss this with you." Castiel smiled, sheepishly. "To use your previous analogy, my recent reunion has been the result of a rather longwinded game of poorly played cards. There have been many instances of people leaving the table over... discrepancies with the rules."

"Sounds familiar." Dean gave another humourless laugh. "So how long do you think people need before they can know each other well enough to commit?"

"It varies. Some people form an attachment instantly, but with most it takes longer. I'd say usually a month or two."

"Right!" Dean's anger was renewed, and the sudden spark of irritation seemed to surge him into standing. Castiel blinked, but didn't recoil. "So I was totally right."

"Right?"

"Sam. Sam and his stupid boyfriend. I mean, no offence, I know he's your brother, but what a dick!"

Castiel sat up a little straighter, watching Dean cautiously.

"What happened?"

"Sam went over there the night before last for a date. And I figured I'd wait up for him, because… I don't know, he's all stressed and freaking out lately, and figured it'd be better to wait up and have nothing be wrong than fall asleep when he needed me. So I wait up for him, and it gets to like half eleven and I realise he's probably not coming home. Sam's been on three dates with this guy, there's no way he knows him well enough to… I mean, Sam's been through serious shit, he doesn't need some guy messing him around. And I told Sam all of this yesterday, and he refused to see reason, just because…"

Dean stopped himself, and glared at the wall again. Castiel had a horrible feeling two weeks of steady progress were about to be undone.

"Why wouldn't he believe you, Dean?"

"Because… I was really angry and I needed a drinking buddy, so I… I called him."

"Your partner."

"Yes."

"Who you want to leave."

"Yes. Ok, I know it was stupid, but… I just needed something to take my mind off the idea that Sam was throwing his heart away again."

"I see." Castiel kept his tone neutral as he grabbed his notepad and pen.

"No you don't. Sam's had a chain of horrible relationships because he's afraid to go near anyone who might treat him right. He's stressing over law school and work, and I don't think he's over what happened between us and Dad. He doesn't need some… comedian… blowing into his life and using him. And I told him that, and Sam said he "refused to speak to me", because he's a massive girl. But you said yourself, I'm totally in the right."

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, trying to navigate the perilous territory that was Dean's logic, before tearing a sheet of paper from the notepad.

"First, I want to give you this. This is my telephone number. Whenever you feel yourself going to call this man of yours, you must call me instead. You're clearly not strong enough yet to confront him. Take it." He pressed the piece of paper into Dean's hand, before moving back to sit behind the desk. "Secondly, I have noticed you often speak about yourself in the context of your family, and I feel the root of your problems may lie within your family history. If you'd be so kind as to indulge me, I'd like to know what exactly transpired between your father and yourself."

"No, I don't…"

"Dean. Please. Let me help you."

Dean shot him a resentful glare, before shrugging.

"Mom died when Sam was a baby. I was four. Dad tried to bring us up best he could on his own, but he was broken. Drank. A lot. He was real strict; ran our house like a freakin' army base, but that was the only way he knew how to deal with us. When I was ten, social services took us away from him, and we got adopted by Bobby and Ellen. Not much to say."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but Dean just glared back. He didn't want to elaborate, and he knew Castiel wouldn't make him. True enough, Castiel sighed and sat back in his chair, watching Dean closely.

"I take it your father was deemed unsuitable to care for children."

"Yes."

"May I ask how?"

"No… He never hurt us, though, if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't suggesting anything." Castiel turned a calming gaze on Dean. "What happened, between yourself and your… partner?"

"I went out drinking with him." Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Stayed the night. Ended up agreeing to do it again tonight." He looked suitably ashamed of himself, at least. Dean pressed his hands over his eyes. "I don't even… I'm not… attracted. To him, really."

"Have you ever found yourself attracted to a man?" Castiel gazed unquestioningly at him.

"No." Dean stated, with a little too much insistence to be true. Castiel stared at him. Dean glared at the floor. "I don't know. I mean, I can appreciate when a guy's good looking, but that doesn't make me gay."

"Not at all."

"And wanting to look like them… that's not gay, that's just… body consciousness."

"Indeed. But looking at them and perhaps finding that interesting… appealing…"

"I'm not gay." Dean glared at him, a very final note to his statement. Castiel allowed the conversation to drop. Dean sat down again, looking uncomfortable in the small chair. "Look, whether I'm gay or not isn't what I'm here to sort out. I just want to get rid of this guy."

"My apologies." Castiel rested his pen neatly above his notepad.

"I just… I'm still pissed at Sam. Sometimes it's like he doesn't even want to help himself. And he gets all offended when I worry for him, but it's not like he's going to worry for himself. He's just…"

"Perhaps it is time for you to accept that Sam is an adult? Perhaps the more you try to control him, the more he will try to act outside of your control."

"Trust him, you mean?" Dean laughed. "Yeah… I try, doc. He doesn't give me much hope."

"Dean." Castiel smiled. "As the youngest of my family, I feel I would be doing Sam a very large favour if I encourage you to put your trust in him. He is an adult, you cannot change that. Perhaps you should accept it, and trust that if he has a problem, he'll come to you."

Dean stared at him.

"Smart-ass… but you're probably right. Dammit, I'm just a total mess lately."

"I was actually considering, for our sessions, taking them out of office." Castiel smiled at him. "You seem to be the sort of man who would benefit from a more casual setting."

"Really?" Dean smiled back. "We can do that?"

"If you feel it will help our counselling sessions."

"Well, uh… we've got fifteen minutes left… could we start now and go to that burger place downstairs? I skipped breakfast."

"Of course."

They stood and left the office, and Dean was slightly unnerved to see Becky start nervously, failing to convince anyone that she hadn't been listening in.

"Mr Winchester and I will be continuing his session downstairs. Hold my calls, please, Rebecca."

"Yes, Doctor DiAngelo." She stammered, fumbling with the sheets of paper on her desk. "And… and it's Becky…"

"Ah." Castiel nodded. "Of course. My apologies."

(-*-)

The fast food restaurant was quiet, but not empty. Castiel didn't order any food, but did get a coffee. Dean got himself a quarter pounder and fries, and was not ashamed to eat in front of Castiel.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"No, thank you. I try to avoid fast food wherever possible."

"Yeah… Sam's always saying I should eat more healthily, but salad just isn't as satisfying as a big old hunk of processed meat, you know?"

Castiel nodded, stirring his coffee. He looked like he was about to answer when his phone trilled, primly.

"I apologise…"

"No, dude, it's cool."

"It's only a message. It can wait."

"No, go ahead."

Castiel smiled thankfully, and checked his phone. It was a message from Crowley, consisting of four bleak little words. "Have to cancel tonight."

No explanation. No apology. The same message Castiel had received countless times before, and yet it still felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under him. He forced a deep breath, and returned his phone to his pocket. Dean was not ignorant.

"Something up?"

"Oh, nothing." Castiel dismissed. "A… cancellation."

"A patient or..?"

"No, more personal."

"Oh." Dean nodded, awkwardly. "Well… sorry."

"It is not your fault."

"Yeah, but… that sucks. Was it your not-an-ex-anymore?"

"Yes." Castiel sighed, sitting back in his chair. "I had thought we were on amicable terms, but… I'm sorry, it's a complicated arrangement."

"No sweat." Dean shrugged. "I mean, I tell you stuff, right?"

"Yes, but I am your counsellor. It would be unprofessional to exchange problems…"

"But…" Dean grinned, eyes shining. "It might encourage me to share more. And that would help, right?"

Castiel got the distinct image of a child trying to weasel his way out of a lesson by distracting the teacher. He shook his head.

"It is much the same as your own situation. I ask too much too soon and scare him away." Castiel sniffed. "The problem is that he will never explain exactly what I have said or done to cool his affections. He is a frustrating man."

"So why do you keep going back to him? Sounds like he's messing you around."

"So everyone tells me." Castiel sighed. "But he keeps taking me back."

"Dude." Dean chuckled, around a mouthful of burger. "You and me are both really up shit creek, huh?"

"Something like it, yes."

(-*-)

Castiel returned to the office to see Becky staring slightly open mouthed at her computer screen. He cleared his throat, and she jumped almost a foot in the air, instantly turning bright red and clicking frantically to clear whatever it was she had been looking at.

"Um, Doctor DiAngelo, welcome back. You have, um… three messages, one from a miss Pamela Barnes saying she had some "vitally important gossip" for you, one from a Mr Crowley, but he said he'd reach you on your cell, and one from your next appointment. He was booked for an hour but he said he was cancelling because he didn't feel up to it."

She smiled feebly at him, and instantly buckled under his stare.

"Cancelled." Castiel repeated. Becky nodded dumbly. Castiel's fingers twitched, clenching into a fist and relaxing, the only sign of emotion about him. He rolled his shoulders, and swung around on his heel. "I have no reason to be here. You may finish whatever tasks you have to do and close the office."

And he left. It seemed everyone was cancelling on him, and he just couldn't take it. So he decided to fixate on the one thing he'd made a mental note not to fixate on. He marched over to Gabriel's apartment, set on yelling at him about distressing the Winchester brothers and directly contravening everything he had told Dean not a half hour previously. He was aware, of course, that he was suffering from a textbook case of displaced anger, but damn if it wasn't easier to deal with.