Dean felt incredibly out of place in the artfully lit restaurant. He looked imploringly across the table at Castiel (who of course seemed right at home in his suit and tie). Dean really wished he'd dressed smarter.

"He's not here yet. Can't we move it some place else?"

"No, Dean. Relax." Castiel placed a calming hand on Dean's shoulder and stared into his eyes. "You are fine here. This restaurant is neutral ground, neither of you will have the upper hand. It will make for a fair, mutual discussion."

Dean still looked indecisive.

"You are just as entitled to be here as any other person."

Dean looked up, knocking Castiel for six with a timid smile.

"Thanks, Cas. I'm so glad you're here. It helps to have someone I can trust, you know?"

Castiel balked slightly at that word. Hoping he hadn't visibly done anything to distress Dean, he smiled and stood.

"Yes. Excuse me, I… need to use the facilities." Castiel strode quickly across the lavishly decorated restaurant and ducked into the men's bathroom. He gripped the sink with both hands and stared at himself in the mirror.

What did he think he was doing?

He had known for some time now that he was attracted to Dean, and here he was luring the man away from what could ostensibly become a healthy relationship.

Yes, Gabriel and Pamela had both told him that it was excusable behaviour, yes they'd both reassured him that he wasn't technically doing anything immoral, but Castiel knew better than anyone that their definitions of "moral" were loose. Had he suggested Dean and his man, whoever the man be, attempt counselling? Had he suggested Dean take a different form of therapy to cope with the concept of his sexuality? No. He was in a faux French restaurant, helping him sever his attachments in the hope that he might turn to Castiel for more than friendship. He was a bad counsellor.

Still, he clung to the fact that he had sat in his brother's bachelor apartment, a glass of wine pressed into his hands, while Gabriel had told him it was perfectly acceptable. Pamela had even gone as far as saying it was a good deed. And Pamela wouldn't lie. He'd been her friend for the better part of fifteen years; she wouldn't lie to him.

He felt terrible. He was consciously choosing to ignore his own moral obligations, considering not only attempting to encourage romantic relations with a patient, but with one who was clearly emotionally vulnerable and who, worst of all, trusted Castiel as an advisor and confidante.

No, actually, that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was that he didn't really care.

He wanted Dean, and the more his rational mind told him it was wrong, the more his impulsive, emotional mind came up with ways to ignore his moral compass. He glared at himself in the mirror. Taking a few deep breaths, Castiel stared deep into the eyes of his reflection, and spoke in a hoarse, quiet whisper.

"It doesn't matter what you want. This is not about you. This is about him. He needs a friend, and a confidante. Your needs are irrelevant. Treat them as such until the patient is better."

It may not have been healthy, but it was the only way he knew how to deal with it.

(-*-)

In the main body of the 'Couers de Couers' restaurant, meanwhile, Dean was nervously picking at one of the soft white napkins. Everything on the table was soft and white, except for his beer, and at this point he honestly wasn't sure which was really soothing him. He was getting agitated, so much so that whenever he cast a glance around the restaurant he kept thinking he saw people he knew. He shook aside the idea and focused on remembering what he was going to say.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering the relaxation techniques Castiel had taught him.

And not at all remembering the sex dream.

Or the weird urge he'd had to kiss Castiel when they'd been going through that stupid role play exercise in his office.

Or the fact that he had almost used the "L" word to describe why Crowley managed to mess him up so much. Not that he was in love with Crowley, but he kept almost feeling like he was, and it confused him.

"Dean?" The familiar voice made him jump a little. Dean forced an awkward smile and stood, extending his hand to Crowley.

"Hey."

Crowley looked curiously at the extended hand, but shook it all the same. Dean mentally ticked step one off of his list; clearly defined physical boundaries.

"Well, this is… new." Crowley looked around the restaurant as he sat in the chair opposite Dean. "I have to say, it's nice to get a change from the routine, but…"

"Look, cut the small talk. I've got something to say, and I want to just… say it." Dean looked down at the table, drumming his fingers awkwardly against the table top as he desperately tried to remember the way Castiel had helped him word his speech. "You and me, uh, I… have both had… well, we've been doing this stupid on-and-off thing for a while now, and it's not right. It's… it's not fair on either of us, and I feel that…"

Castiel walked quickly towards the table, and Dean practically sagged with relief, just at the idea of having some moral support close at hand. However, he seemed to slow as he realised there was someone else at the table, eventually stopping dead when he reached Dean's shoulder.

"Crowley?"

"Castiel." Crowley blinked up at him, looking quite amused. "What a small world. Here with some lucky date, no doubt? Have you met Mr Winchester? He's an ex-student of…"

"Yes." Castiel said, his curt tone losing a little definition through his obvious confusion. "Yes, we've met. He's actually… I'm his counsellor. I've been helping him deal with… I should go."

"No, Cas, please." Dean was staring at Crowley, as the full impact of the situation sank into the group like a sudden deluge of very awkward rain. "Do you know each other?"

"Yes." Crowley straightened his cuffs and rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the awkwardness. "We were actually involved at one point. Much like you and I, Dean."

"Bullshit." Dean scowled, looking from Castiel to Crowley. "You and…"

"Dean, I had no idea it was…"

"Yes." Crowley said again, standing. "Well, I think we all get the idea. Crowley's a bad man, no one wants anything to do with him. I'll just be…"

"You bastard." Dean stood, indignant fury sparking and spreading through him like fire. He jabbed a finger at Crowley. "You mean to say you've been dicking both of us around?"

"Yes, although I would have worded it slightly differently." Crowley shot a winning smile at Castiel, who almost physically retreated from it.

"How long?" Dean growled, glaring at Crowley. Crowley just raised an eyebrow at him. Dean was not impressed. "How long have you been playing us?"

Crowley thought for a moment, before shrugging again.

"With him, four years or so, off and on. With you… About two, three? Hard to say."

"So what are we, week A and week B?"

"Again, essentially right, but I would have worded it…"

"You bastard. You've been playing us."

"Yes. And now I've quite clearly been rumbled, so I'll take my leave."

"I should beat you to a goddamn pulp."

"Dean, that's enough." Castiel rested a hand on his shoulder, but Dean shrugged him off and turned to Crowley.

"How can you stand there and just accept this?" His voice was rising dangerously, and people at the surrounding tables were starting to watch. "How can you just stand there and not even try to defend what you did?"

"Because I don't care." Crowley shrugged. "Neither of you meant anything to me, other than a decent lay once or twice a week. I thought I'd made that clear…"

"So you have no problem screwing with us? Not even to people like him?" He pointed at Castiel, who was trying to recover his dignity under the judging glares from nearby tables.

"Dean…"

"Who, by the way, is too nice a guy to ever call you on being the goddamn bastard that you are, and who a scumbag like you didn't even deserve in the first place."

"Dean. That's enough." Castiel spoke quietly, but his voice resonated with the sort of power that only wounded pride can generate. He fixed Dean with a forceful stare, his blue eyes cold and rounded with hurt. "I think we should go. We can discuss this more at our next session."

Dean shot one more glare at Crowley, clearly wanting to stay and fight, but after a tense pause, he nodded and let Castiel lead him from the restaurant. They were almost out of earshot when Crowley called after them;

"Enjoy dealing with the closet case, Castiel. I'm sure he'll fill all those lovely little Daddy issues for you."

Castiel stopped dead, seemingly composing himself. Dean saw, in that instant, the full extent of the pain Crowley had caused Castiel flicker across his face. Cas could deny, could distance it, but Dean wasn't about to see a good man get hurt.

He spun on his heel, marched over to Crowley, punched him so hard that he crumpled against the table, and grabbed the leather jacket he had almost forgotten. Then he marched right on out of the Couers de Couers restaurant, vowing to himself that he would never go back in there.

Castiel caught up to Dean when he was halfway across the car lot.

"Dean."

"No."

"Dean!"

"Leave me alone, Cas."

"Dean, we need to talk about this…"

"Why?" Dean spun around to face him, hoping he didn't look as bad as he felt, but half resigned to the idea that he probably did. "Why do we have to talk? What is there to even talk about? We both got screwed over, by the same guy no less. You know, I thought talking to you would help me because we had two sides of the same problem. I was stupid. It doesn't work. It doesn't help."

"It can help, Dean. I can help. It just takes time…"

"We're the blind leading the blind, Cas!" Dean was shouting, and only getting more annoyed that Castiel wasn't shouting back. "I mean, ok, you can brush yourself off and carry on with life, but I can't even begin to figure out why that hurt me so much…"

In a sudden movement, Castiel had grabbed Dean's jaw and was forcing the taller man to look at him.

"You presume me happy? You think, because I'm not screaming and throwing punches, that I'm not just as hurt, as… as betrayed as you are? I put my everything in to the lost cause of hoping I could win that man's heart the way he won mine, and now I find that he never even intended more than the most physical of connections. You are an intelligent man, Dean, or at least I considered you one. Don't sully my image of you by reacting like a common animal."

Castiel let go of Dean's jaw, and seemed just as stunned as Dean was by the sudden outburst. His phone rang, and he answered it almost without thinking.

"Hello?"

He heard Gabriel's voice, and a curious amount of background noise.

"Castiel. So, its seven thirty, didn't you say Dean was meeting mystery guy at seven? What happened? The suspense is killing me!"

"Gabriel… I really do not wish to talk about it…" he glanced at Dean, who seemed o be calming himself down.

"But Murdock and I want to know!"

"I… There was an… altercation." Castiel placed a hand on Dean's arm, silently entreating him to stay. Dean dragged his eyes up to meet Castiel's and he nodded.

"What? You mean like a fight? Why?"

"Gabriel…"

"What?"

Castiel sighed, regretting having answered the phone at all.

"I knew the man Dean was involved with. I had… been in a similar situation with him, in fact."

"Wait, whoa…Are you saying that… your mystery guy, and Dean's mystery guy…"

"Yes." Castiel had to restrain himself from throwing his phone on the ground and stamping on it. "Now please, Gabriel, I can't talk. Goodbye." He hung up the phone and smiled weakly at Dean, who most emphatically didn't smile back. He realised his hand was still on Dean's arm, and he retracted it awkwardly. Dean looked at him with tired, hurt eyes.

"It's normal to feel this shit, right? After something like that?"

"'Normal' would imply this situation was a regular occurrence." Castiel smiled weakly. "But I believe you are within your rights to feel…"

"Like shit?" Dean supplied. Castiel nodded.

"Yes. I believe that is the perfect summary of your feelings. And… and mine." He sighed, and ran a hand over his face.

"So this really couldn't have gone worse, huh?"

"Well… the restaurant could have caught fire."

Dean gave a sharp bark of laughter, before pulling his car keys out of his pocket.

"I think I should go home."

"That's probably wise."

"Need a lift?"

"No, I'm within walking distance of my apartment. Thank you, though."

"Don't mention it. And, uh… thanks." Dean smiled, as he started walking towards his car. "For… you know, everything. See you on Monday?"

"Of course." Castiel smiled, watching Dean walk away. Maybe he wasn't such a bad counsellor after all.