Castiel was a bad psychiatrist.

Not just in the fact that last night he had kissed a man who was currently seeking advice on how to deal with his newfound sexuality.

Not just in the fact that he had actually felt bad that he'd been too drunk at the time to really remember it, either.

Now, here he was, failing to pay attention to other clients (who came to him, paid him money to help them, by the way) because he was so busy thinking about how he'd kissed Dean.

And worst of all, he wanted to do it again.

Castiel was the worst psychiatrist in the world. In fact, he was a bad person. Bad, horrible, good for nothing who should crawl under his ikea desk and live there like a troll, mired in shame and low quality pine.

After his eleven thirty appointment left, he was tempted to seriously slide under his chair and pretend he wasn't there. He hadn't listened to a word Ruby had to say concerning her family issues, her dependency on gang culture or anything else, for that matter. Not that it mattered; she was a compulsive liar.

He couldn't believe he'd even thought that.

Bad psychiatrist.

Becky poked her head around the door, giving him a curious look. That was probably understandable, given that he was slumped over his desk and staring at the window the way a bank robber eyes the fire exit.

"Doctor DiAngelo, I'm going to go get some lunch. Do you want anything?"

"No… no, wait, I'll go with you."

"Don't you have an appointment? In… five minutes?"

"No…" Castiel attempted to lie, standing up and avidly not meeting Becky's eye.

"Doctor DiAngelo." Becky crossed her arms, watching him closely. "Is this a Dean thing?"

"No…"

"Doctor DiAngelo." She tutted, her eyes narrowed, and Cas really wished she would stop reminding him of the title he wasn't worthy of. "You have agreed to help that poor man come to terms with himself. You know he can do it, and I know you can help him. Just because he makes you uncomfortable, it gives you no reason to try and push him away. You…" She wandered around his desk, tidying away the papers that his idle fingers had been shredding, "are a professional, and you are good at your job. So you will stay here and speak to Dean."

"But…"

"I am going to lunch." Becky smiled, walking smartly from his office. "I am going to see my boyfriend. Mr Winchester will be here in five minutes."

Castiel doubted that.

He sat behind his desk, tapping his fingers awkwardly against the desk.

Five minutes ticked by.

Ten.

Well, at least he was still right about some things.

Castiel sighed, deciding he would use the brief reprieve to go to the fast food restaurant downstairs. Dean wasn't going to turn up, and Castiel honestly couldn't blame him. Being taken advantage of like that, being taken to a place so utterly new and unusual; he could fully understand-

"Cas?"

Dean was sat outside the office door, looking small and awkward.

"Dean." Castiel managed, mentally swatting away the gushing feelings of excitement.

Bad psychiatrist.

"Sorry I'm late." Dean managed. "I… I wasn't going to come but I…"

"No, no, I… completely understand." Both men were staring at each other, trying desperately to look as though the situation wasn't as hideously awkward as it felt. Cas consulted his brain for advice on how to resolve it, and the suggestions he was getting back were most emphatically not helpful.

They probably weren't legal, in a few states.

Bad psychiatrist.

"I mean… I am glad you came, but…"

"I wanted to apologise."

Castiel's stumbling train of thought promptly derailed and flipped over.

"What?"

"I shouldn't have… last night. I was drunk and I… I was pushing my boundaries, trying what was comfortable… I shouldn't have, uh… kissed. You."

Castiel stared at him for a moment, still frozen halfway out of his office door.

"Oh…" He forced a smile, waving his hand. "It was… nothing. I mean, yes, you did but… Understandable. Meant nothing. Shall we start the session?" He stood aside, to let Dean stagger sheepishly into the office. Inwardly he could actually feel his moral compass break free of its moorings and begin jabbing him in the gut. Even his inner Gabriel was standing back and refusing to applaud the palming off of responsibility.

He was a very, very bad psychiatrist.

(-*-)

For two weeks, Dean saw Castiel twice weekly, and they rehearsed the events of Thanksgiving, making sure Dean was comfortable with what he was going to tell Bobby and Ellen. And Sam. Jo. And Gabriel, he supposed. He did as Castiel asked, he answered questions and he was, to all extents and purposes, a willing patient.

He didn't ask Castiel out for drinks again.

He kept replaying that word, that one word over and over in his head, pushing away the feelings that were at once so wonderful and so confusing.

Nothing.

It had meant nothing. Cas had said so. And Dean had told himself that he shouldn't be surprised. In his more hopeful moments, he thought Cas might be worried for him, might think Dean resented or disliked him, but then he remembered that one little word, and kept his mouth shut.

(-*-)

Thanksgiving rolled around quickly, and Dean fled before Sam was even awake. He did not want to be stuck for an hour's drive with the two terrified love-birds, not when he had his own news to worry about. The impala was his zone, his safe space. It was filled with his smells, his music, and laid out how he wanted it. It was a space where he could let his thoughts out, where he could practice saying what it was he wanted to say, and where he could pull over by the side of the road and just yell at nothing for a while.

By the time he got to Bobby's he was filled with nervous energy, but he was coping. He pushed open the door, and was greeted by a great, booming bark. Rumsfeld, Bobby's pet Rottweiler, leapt up and slobbered over Dean's jeans. Like Dean didn't see the great mutt every week.

"Hey?" He called, petting the excited dog.

"Through here!" Ellen called back from the kitchen, apparently still preparing everything for the afternoon meal. Dean checked his watch. He was an hour early, which probably explained a few things. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it onto the couch, before joining the woman who had raised him in the kitchen he had been raised in. There were so many memories tied up with the old tiles and faded cupboards.

He mentally slapped himself; getting sentimental wouldn't help things. He was on a mission.

Ellen smiled at him over her shoulder, in the middle of trying to force a turkey into an oven which, according to physics, was not going to do the job. The laws of physics, however, had nothing on Ellen Singer.

"You're early."

"You're cooking turkey."

"Stating the obvious wasn't cute when you were a kid, and it's not winning you favours now." She backed away from the oven, pulling off oven mits with a finality that said the oven had better not question her.

"Hey, I have it on good authority that I'm adorable." Dean grinned, fetching himself some water from the pitcher in the fridge. Ellen then took his glass from him, so Dean poured himself another one. Casual theft was probably one of the best signs of a close family, he thought, as he watched Ellen eyeing the oven. He was bluntly reminded of Castiel's story concerning his own parents, and felt suddenly very glad to have people as truly good as Bobby and Ellen.

"Speaking of adorable, Bobby's picking up Jo from the bus depot. They should be here… I don't know, twenty minutes or so."

"Cool. It'll be nice to see how she's doing with college."

"You alright?" Ellen looked up at him, concerned.

Damn mother figures and their damn psychic abilities.

"Fine." Dean lied, leaning against the counter. "So, meeting Gabriel."

"Yeah. What's he like?" Ellen grinned, her eyes shining. She wanted nothing more than to see her "boys" happy, but that didn't mean she wouldn't tease the living hell out of them.

"Short." Dean said, straining back to the one time he had really managed to have a conversation with him. "Cocky."

"That's it?" Ellen scowled, slapping him lightly on the arm. "You're no help."

Dean shrugged, sharing Ellen's smile, before setting down his glass and pulling her into a hug. After a moment of surprise, Ellen hugged him back.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah." Dean muttered, into her shoulder. "I just… I need…"

"Ok." Ellen said, knowing from years of experience when to speak and when to act. They stood in silence, wrapped in each other's arms, with no intention other than to be exactly where they were. After a while, Dean pulled back.

"Don't tell anyone about that."

"Wouldn't dare." Ellen grinned, taking a chopping board from one of the cupboards and beginning to peel vegetables. "Imagine how they would react if they knew that Dean had a feeling."

"You're hilarious."

"Funniest person you'll ever meet. Now run to the store and get us some rum, we're going to need it for the desserts."

Dean exchanged one more smile with Ellen before going gladly. Somehow, Ellen always knew.

(-*-)

When Sam and Gabriel eventually arrived, Dean had lapsed into a conversation with Bobby about why a season ticket to the hockey rink was totally justifiable, and why he didn't want to go back to college and no he wouldn't and money wasn't an issue, and anyway back to hockey, and no he wasn't going back to college, because he didn't want to because he just didn't, ok?

He was almost glad to see them turn up, even if only as a distraction. Sam was already bitching about Dean driving here without him, and Dean was happy to watch Ellen and Bobby instantly start summing up the newcomer. Jo soon descended on them too, giving Sam a hug that would kill a lesser man. Dinner was served pretty much immediately, and Dean was really starting to get nervous.

They were all clustered around the kitchen table, and all making amicable discussion, although Dean honestly couldn't say what about. Bobby would occasionally mention college, Dean would tell him he wasn't going back to college. Then there was some other stuff. He was just trying to not watch Sam and Gabriel. Every time their hands brushed, they glanced at each other. They kept exchanging private smiles, quiet whispers, sharing something with each other that was so not like anything Dean had shared with anyone.

He focused hard on trying not to watch them. On trying not to want something like that. He had enough to focus on, and had to deal with one thing at a time.

That was when Jo said the magic words that made the entire conversation flip on its head.

"You're that Gabriel DiAngelo?"

Dean looked up. He wished he'd been following the conversation now.

"Yeah…" Gabriel was dismissing, looking very embarrassed. "No, it wasn't…"

"Oh my god! You used to write for Doctor Sexy!"

That did it. From then on, the conversation was Dean, Jo and Ellen discussing the soap that they hated to admit they loved so much, while Gabriel imparted backstage gossip, and Sam and Bobby shared oblivious shrugs with each other.

The next half hour was eating and talking, and Dean found himself less and less uncomfortable with the image of Sam and Gabriel sharing intimate moments over the sweet potatoes. That was when Ellen suggested they start the old tradition of sharing their Thanks before dessert.

This was it, then. Dean had determined that this was when he was going to do it; he would say what Castiel had been helping him practice for two and a half weeks. He could, he would… he had to tell them.

They worked their way around the table, and Dean honestly wasn't listening to what everyone else was saying. He couldn't hear them. His blood was pumping in his ears, and he could swear everyone else could hear it.

"Uh… actually, I want to say something." He stared at his plate, suddenly very aware that everyone was watching him. "I, uh, want to say I'm thankful that I finally kicked a very bad relationship to the curb. I was… with a guy who treated me bad, and I didn't have the confidence in myself to end it. But it was my friends and family who helped me through. And, uh, I suppose thanks to Gabriel for introducing me to his brother, who is helping me face up to my issues…"

He managed to drag his eyes up, his brain withering and dying on the word, his mouth drying up.

"I'm gay." Say it.

It was stupid. He was stupid.

They'd be fine with it.

"Gay."

They probably already knew.

Say it, he told himself. Just say it.

"And… that's it."

He won a few congratulations for saying what he had, but Dean was far too busy cursing himself. He'd failed. The one thing he'd wanted to do, and he'd failed.

When they set up the barbecue pit for the dessert, Dean was all too glad to leave Bobby and Gabriel to their awkward "what are your intentions" talk. He wandered into the autoyard, kicking at any loose bits of scrap that dared to lie in his path. Eventually, he sat on the ground and stared up at the evening sky, tending to his wounded pride.

He'd lied to them. Again. Lied to himself.

He could deal with that. He'd been doing it long enough. But through all of it, like the fragment of a bullet that is too small to be found and removed, was the ever-present pain of humiliation.

Cas would eventually find out.

He knew, he could just see, the pity, the disappointment that Cas would look at him with. Tutting, telling him that it didn't matter and that he can still do it, but looking at him with eyes that said he'd expected nothing more than failure from one so dense as Dean.

Because that was Dean, wasn't it? Failure. He'd failed his dad, he'd failed Sam, and now he was failing himself. Of course he'd fail Cas.

Jo's laughter cut through the evening air, and Dean realised he should rejoin everyone. He stood, wiping his itchy face. Had he been crying? He wanted to think he couldn't remember the last time he cried, except he really could. He just didn't want to.