Dean stared at the steering wheel of the impala, not quite ready to get out of the car and face life.
Shit.
He kind of didn't want to do it.
But, that was it, right? He'd done the thing. Crowley was no more, number deleted off his phone and everything. That was what he'd gone into counselling to do. And he'd done it. End of.
And any reluctance to do what he had to do now… well, that was just reluctance to part with this part of his routine. Nothing to do with the black haired, blue eyed psychologist who Dean sometimes imagined for no reason other than wishing he could be there.
Because that would be gay, and Dean's not gay, so it's clearly nothing to do with it.
He got out of the car, the gleaming, sleek 67 Chevvy Impala with an engine that ran like a dream and tired that he should probably replace soon, because you don't want the tread to wear out. Cars, he thought, as he entered the building and took the stairs to Castiel's office. Cars cars cars.
When he made it up to Castiel's office, he was greeted with a sight that instantly made all of his intestines try to hide behind his stomach. Stomach told them they could fuck right off because it was freaked enough without looking after them. Brain just heaved a weary sigh and barked something about a polite smile.
Becky was sobbing and sniffing to herself, her usually neat hair messy and only half in its ponytail, her eyes puffy and red.
"Uh… Hi. Becky."
"Oh! Mr Winchester. I'm so sorry, I'm all…" She tried to make herself presentable and act like she hadn't been crying, which made Dean feel even more uncomfortable. He crossed over to the desk awkwardly, trying to appear friendly and like the sight of crying women wasn't something that made him want to disappear into the earth's crust.
"Hey, no, it's… it's cool, I'm a little early. Um… What's… is there a problem, or..?"
Becky sniffed for a moment, looking like she was seriously debating pretending that everything was fine, before breaking into fresh sobs.
"M-m-m-my boyfriend…. D-d-d… dumped me!" She sounded like he'd reached in through her throat and squeezed her heart 'til it burst. She probably felt that way too, and Dean could relate to that.
"I'm, uh… I'm sorry to hear that. You… do you want to… talk?"
"He said I only liked him for his stories. Can you believe that? He accused me of liking his stories more than I like him, and yeah, maybe I think they're the best thing he's ever done but… but…"
"Hey, Becky, calm down." Dean rested an awkward hand on her shoulder, really wishing he knew anything at all about this girl, other than "she works for Castiel". He trailed through his brain, desperately looking for tired clichés.
"And… and Doctor DiAngelo's no help… h-h-he just said… said I 'over-romanticised' what an author's…. what an author's supposed to be like and… and… 'fed the natural inadequacy complex most artists start out from'… I mean… what does that even mean?"
Dean sat back a little, glancing at Castiel's door. Figures the guy would psychoanalyse her problem instead of just patting her on the head and quoting every romantic comedy ever. Dean thought of Sam. Sam was a big girly pain in his ass.
What would Sam do?
"Becky… Don't let Cas get to you. He means well, he just… that's his way of trying to help. Look, your boyfriend, he's… he probably thinks his books are shit, right?"
Becky sniffed thoughtfully, before nodding her little, troubled head.
"So you telling him they're awesome… to you, you're saying he's awesome too. To him, you're saying that's the only good thing he's done."
"But… but that's not what I meant! I just…"
"Hey, woah. I know, ok? I get that, but… Just… ok, think about it this way; if you've got… one thing that you did, that you were proud of, but you knew you could do it better, and someone came along and said that that was the best thing you'd ever done, would you be happy just like that?"
"No…"
"So… you see how there's a misunderstanding, right?"
"Yeah… do you… do you think I should call him?"
"Sure. And tell him he's awesome."
"Yeah… yeah, I'll… I'll do that." She grabbed the phone, already punching numbers in. Dean smiled, feeling a little pleased with himself. There was a quiet cough from the doorway behind him, and Castiel smiled at Dean's embarrassment.
"Good morning, Dean. Shall we begin? That is, if you're quite finished here."
Dean flashed his embarrassed smile around the room once more, before ducking his head and proceeding quickly into Castiel's office.
"You know…" Castiel closed the office door, still quietly smiling, "it may be inappropriate, but I find it amusing you have the ability to help Rebecca confront emotions you cannot face in yourself. Perhaps there is something o be learned there."
"Yeah… maybe." Dean scratched the back of his neck, not quite able to meet Castiel's eye. "So… Crowley, huh?"
"Yes… that was… unexpected." Castiel dropped his quiet smile, before rolling his shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug. "We are both better for having left him, clearly."
"I guess." He scuffed his feet on the floor, looking around the office as if hoping to see some new thing, or notice something that he hadn't seen before (a hopeless task; he could probably draw the damn place blindfold). Eventually, he dragged his eyes up and held out his hand. Castiel stared at it for a moment, uncertain.
"Thanks for everything, Doc." Dean prompted, giving him an almost shameful smile. "I, uh… I guess we're done here."
There was, for a brief instant, what Dean thought might have been hurt or disappointment racing through Castiel's eyes. No, he was imagining it. Or… or, he wasn't because why would he want to see Cas disappointed at the idea? Or at all. He didn't care about Cas, not like that. Sure the guy was nice and they got on well, and he kind of counted him as a friend more than anything, and yet here he was breaking off, well, not 'breaking off' because that's the sort of thing you say about proper romantic relationships which this totally wasn't and which Dean wouldn't want anyway because Cas was a man and Dean wasn't into men because he liked cars and beer and sports, and he wondered what the new line up was for Stanford, and remembered they were playing that day and oh god Cas was talking, looking at him with an emotion in his eyes that Dean did not have the current capacity to comprehend and he had to say something now because he'd totally not listened and he didn't want to look like a total dick-
"D'you like ice hockey?"
Castiel blinked at him, cocking his head to one side in a mannerism that Dean had become familiar with.
"That is something of a non-sequitur… I cannot say I've ever watched a game."
"Never?" Dean liked that. He could focus on that. "You're deprived, man. Come on, there's a game going on in, like, a half hour; if we leave now we could probably get in."
Castiel seemed torn for a moment.
"I would feel better if we were to discuss your feelings towards…"
"Can't we discuss it when we get there?"
Dean grinned at Cas, seeing his resolve crumbling. Eventually, Castiel nodded, and they slipped past Becky (who was still animatedly professing her love to whatever poor sap was on the other end of her phone line) and down to the car park.
(-*-)
The rink was loud with the general bustle of crowds; a strange mid temperature that was cold for the ice, but warm from such a presence of people. Dean sat down next to Castiel with a bag of salted nuts and a hot dog. Had Castiel been a lesser man (say, his brother, Gabriel), he would have asked if Dean would like a cigar with his subconscious innuendo, but he wasn't and he didn't. He just let Dean relax in the pliable plastic seating.
"Love ice hockey, man. Nothing beats the atmosphere. Right after me and Sam moved out here, we came to see every game we could. It was…" Dean stopped himself.
Castiel looked at him, eyes sharp. Dean shrugged, not feeling all that encouraged.
"Please, Dean, tell me."
"Forget it."
"Dean, we are outside of the office. You can consider me a friend." Castiel watched him a moment more, before sighing and relenting. "I promise, whatever it is you share, I will do my best to reciprocate with information about myself."
Dean was intrigued.
"Alright… This was how me and Sam dealt with Dad's death. He died not long before we moved out here. We hadn't lived with him in years, but he… he used to visit us. Check in. it meant… when he died, I guess we finally got to let go, you know? Move on."
Castiel nodded.
"My parents disowned my brother and I when we each… 'came out'. Gabriel suffered the brunt of their emotions, but I… I was already somewhat overlooked as the youngest, least… we shall say, the least extroverted of my brothers."
"Always the quiet ones, huh?"
"Yes. I haven't spoken to any of my family, save Gabriel and a cousin who lives in England, for… possibly the better part of ten years."
"Family stinks." Dean nodded, as the game kicked off. It was fast paced and intoxicating; Castiel couldn't help getting caught up in Dean's excitement. Castiel laughed.
"I admit…" he yelled, over the roar of the crowd, "I've never been one for sports before. But I can see why you enjoy this."
"It's killer, right?" Dean laughed back, telling himself that his breath was catching because of the cold, and not because of how close they were to each other. "This is great, you know, since Sam's started spending so much time with your brother… I've missed hanging out with him, you know?"
"It must be nice to be…" Castiel flinched as two of the players face-planted against the ice. "To… be so close to your brother."
"Yeah. I mean, gets a little tired at times. So busy looking after him, that I…"
"What?"
"No, it's stupid. Forget it."
"That you're worried who's going to look after you?" Castiel finished, giving him a knowing look as the buzzer went for half time. Dean nodded, meekly.
"Is it that obvious?"
"No, it's perfectly normal. Although. Perhaps taking it so personally…"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Dean, you had to be coerced into admitting you needed my help. To want to appear strong for the sake of a younger sibling is understandable, but Sam knows you are not inhuman. You, on the other hand, seem to think otherwise."
"What, that I'm inhuman or that Sam doesn't know it?"
"You tell me."
Dean scowled at Castiel and sat back in his seat, not liking the way Castiel was looking at him. Castiel, as if to prove his point, did likewise. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the arm rest. It was the slightest, most fleeting of contacts, but there it was, sending electricity darting across Dean's skin. And, accordingly, he jumped a foot in the air like someone had hit him with a cattle-prod.
"I, uh… have to use the bathroom."
He practically fled.
Castiel nodded, stared down at the empty ice rink, and bit back the urge to curse. Dean was an utterly frustrating man, composed entirely of mixed signals and loaded suggestions, all wrapped up in an unfairly irresistible package. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe he could never be friends with Dean. Maybe it would just drive both of them insane.
Sure enough, when Dean returned, he was back to being brash and over-compensating. It frustrated Castiel no end, seeing him retreat within layers upon layers of denial and self-doubt. Eventually, by the time the game ended, Castiel had taken about all he could, and it was the fifteenth brotherly punch to his arm that finally made him snap.
"Goodbye Dean." He said, as he headed towards the bus stop.
"Don't you want a lift?"
"No, thank you, I know where I'm going."
"Oh… Well, hey, I, uh, wanted to ask. You know you gave me your number? Do you think it would be ok if we hung out some time?"
"I don't know, Dean." Castiel sighed, as the bus pulled up in front of him. "Why don't you ask yourself?"
Dean stared at him for a moment.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean…" Castiel turned on him, one foot on the bus and the other on the sidewalk, "there's no point getting to know someone else if you don't first know yourself. I helped you return to a safe space, a safe mentality, and I ask no thanks for that. But your next step is facing yourself, and I don't think I can help you."
"What the hell's gotten into you?" Dean barked, his defences on high alert.
"I'm tired, Dean." Castiel glanced at him as he reached into his pocket for change. "I'm tired of always looking at the wrong person in the wrong way." Castiel stepped further into the bus, and the door swung shut on Dean's protests of confusion. Mentally kicking himself, he stormed back to his car. He started the engine, listening to the quiet revs and feeling them soothe him as some are soothed by whale song or white noise. Then, calmed and inspired, he took his phone out of his pocket.
On the bus, Castiel quietly fumed to himself. His phone vibrated with a quiet but clear demand for attention, and he answered it irritably. The display flashed with a message from Dean.
"I know I'm not superman or anything. And I know you're not, either. Although when you get mad, you kind of talk like you're from outer space, so the jury's still out on "inhuman"."
Castiel found himself fighting back a smile, weary in the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help, and distressed in the knowledge that he wished he could, but amused, over all, and unable to fight the creeping sensation that his attraction might be more than fleeting.