A.N: Lawks-a-mercy! It's been ages since I updated, and I'm so sorry! Life has a horrible habit of getting in the way, doesn't it? Still, here's an update which will (hopefully) make up some of the lost ground for the people who are still reading this. And it shouldn't be quite as long until the next update, either.

(*****)

"Cas."

"No. Good day, Mr Winchester."

"Cas, don't go all antsy and formal on me, I…"

"You are disturbing my patient."

Dean hammered on the closed office door, fully aware that Becky was picking ineffectively at his sleeve in an attempt to get him to stop.

"She's at a psych office, how much more disturbed can she get…" Dean growled, and hammered on the door some more. "Cas, dammit, at least let me explain."

"Get out of my office, Mr Winchester."

"Cas…"

"Dean." Becky finally found her voice, her hands shaking as she patted Dean's back. "Maybe you should… give him some space."

"But I just… If I could explain…"

"I'll talk to him." She smiled, the sympathetic, pitying sort of smile that Dean hated to be on the receiving end of. "I will. But… You should probably leave, for now at least."

Trying his best to leave his pride less than totally annihilated, and realising that a stony silence had fallen on the other side of Cas' door, Dean ducked his head and dragged his feet back to the Impala.

Meanwhile, Cas was biting his lip and forcing himself to sit still and silent. He couldn't react badly if he didn't react at all.

(-*-)

Dean tried to call Cas. He tried to visit him. He tried to call Becky. He wasn't far from just waiting around outside Castiel's apartment, knowing that eventually he'd have to come out for food, or air, or anything. He knew that, if he could just talk, he'd be able to explain.

But, he realised, with a gnawing sense of dread that grew every time he heard the phone line go dead, he was starting to doubt he had much to explain.

Over the two days after he humiliated himself in Cas' office, he found himself getting more and more familiar with the idea that he had utterly blown his chances.

(-*-)

The car's interior was beige, leathery and sickeningly cool. It spoke of a lot of money and not much responsibility.

"Not bad, for a rental." Balthazar flashed a thin-lipped smile, aware that Castiel hadn't said a word since he'd pulled up outside the apartment and made a joke about weddings and funerals. Even then, that word had been 'hello'.

"Are we picking up Gabriel?"

"He said he'd make his own way, if he went at all."

"Oh."

Balthazar drove on in silence. If he'd known Michael's funeral was going to be this depressing, he wouldn't have bothered going.

"So…" Balthazar tried again, after a while, "how are you?"

"My brother, whom I have not spoken with since I was fifteen years old, died in a car accident, and I am about to attend his funeral. My second brother, whom I have always privately deemed more dysfunctional than me, not only seems to have a better, more stable love-life than me, but also seems to think I only exist as a sounding-board for his insecurities. My own love-life, which has up until now greatly resembled a particularly hideous fairground ride, was for one moment a shining, glorious sunscape until Dean Winchester decided not only to lie to my face, but to lie behind my back as well. I am angry, tired and resigned to my fate as a pathetic excuse for a human being. And how are you?"

Balthazar stared at the road ahead of them.

"Mustn't grumble… where is this cemetery?"

The cemetery was a further hour's drive away. In the end, Castiel turned his phone off altogether. He couldn't stand watching as the voicemail picked up missed call after missed call.

If Balthazar noticed, he didn't say anything.

The cemetery was an old one, surrounded by thick, groomed forests and filled with chipped, weathered headstones. The Di Angelo family stood around the mahogany coffin as it was lowered into the ground, silent as the graves they stood by. And, for once, Castiel felt certain.

(-*-)

"You're sure you'll be alright?"

The voice roused Dean from his slumber, and he really wished it hadn't. Go away, voice.

"And what about Murdock?"

I give up, thought Dean, what about Murdock?

He was very hung-over at this point. Well… no, actually, he was pretty sure he was still drunk. He wasn't happy. Or comfortable. Where the hell was he, anyway? Because it was definitely not bed.

"No," the voice continued, getting louder. And more familiar.

Oh, thought Dean, crap.

"No, Balthazar's staying in a hotel for the rest of the holidays… He said he was bored with England, which I think meant he has many outstanding warrants on his head… mm." The voice hummed an agreement.

Dean, using every ounce of strength he could muster, opened his eyes.

It was daylight. He was inside. That was a plus.

Not his apartment. That was a minus.

Where was he?

"Yes, Gabriel, I…" Dean fell backwards, as the thing he was leaning on suddenly disappeared. He blinked up from the floor, and found two very blue eyes staring back at him. Castiel stared down, shocked and unimpressed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.

"Alright, I have to go. Have a nice tour. Give my regards to Pamela." He hung up the cell phone that was tucked between his ear and shoulder, and tucked it back into his pocket before staring down at Dean again. "I told you to go home."

"You did?" Dean croaked, his own raspy voice surprising him.

"At about two o'clock this morning. Balthazar brought me back from Michael's funeral, and you were out here waiting for me."

Dean thought about this.

"Was I drunk?"

"You still are."

"M'not."

"Then why are you on the floor?"

Dean didn't answer.

"Move, please, I can't shut the door."

"No. No, Cas, I came here to talk to you."

"So you said."

"I did?"

"Very loudly, and insistently, between the hours of two and three."

"Really?"

"Yes, I think you must have fallen asleep around then."

Cas stared down at Dean for another second, before turning and walking back into the apartment. Dean, seeing his opportunity, scrambled to his feet (wobbled, held back the urge to vomit, decided to push through the pain) and followed Cas inside. Cas had made his way through to the kitchen area (a modest black and white tile affair with stainless steel appliances and a round wooden table), and was busying himself with his breakfast.

"Wait, so you didn't let me sleep on the couch?"

"No."

"Why? I mean, I get that you're mad at me…"

"Mad?" Castiel repeated, stopping halfway through clearing dishes. He dropped the dishes in the sink with a level of force that sliced through Dean's queasy brain. "No, Dean, I am not 'mad'. I was 'mad' at Gabriel when he used my apartment for something close to an orgy. I was 'angry' at Michael when he broke up with Pamela after she had her accident. I was 'furious' with my parents when they disowned me. But you… your behaviour is something I cannot even find words for."

"And… yeah, I get that."

"Do you? Do you really? Do you understand how much I risked for you? Dating a patient? A patient who I… I believed was…" Cas stared at the floor. "Get out of my apartment, Dean."

Dean felt the familiar, ground-falling-out-from-under-him sensation that he'd felt in Castiel's office.

"No, Cas…"

"Go, Dean."

"No, I just… so I lied. Big whoop. Everyone lies, Cas, it's how people get by. You can't just go around telling the truth all the time-"

"Don't act like this is some grand question of ethics!" Cas looked like he was about to throw one of the chairs at Dean. "You told me you were out. You told me you'd come to terms with yourself. You hadn't, haven't, clearly, and you continue to lie to your family about us, seemingly with no comprehension of the sort of painful position that puts me in."

"Cas…"

"It's as good as cheating on a person, Dean, and it's not something I can abide in a relationship."

"Oh, apart from the one with Crowley, you mean."
"That…" Cas started, hurt, before looking away. "That's exactly why I won't put up with men like you any more, Dean."

"Men like me? I'm nothing like Crowley! Cas, I didn't mean to hurt you or anything…"

"Then why lie, Dean?"

"You know what, forget it, maybe I don't need you."

"Lying. Again. You wouldn't be here if…"

"Cas, don't turn your back on me…"

Dean grabbed Cas' shoulder.

Cas shrugged him off.

Dean grabbed his shoulder again.

Cas turned to push him away.

Dean grabbed Cas' shirt with both hands to get his eye contact.

Cas grabbed Dean's wrists and tried to prize the hands away.

Dean's hands were on Cas' neck.

Cas' hands were on Dean's biceps.

There was a second, a half a second, a moment, in which they shared the same breath. They gasped, taking all the air from the short space between them and creating a sort of vacuum. A vacuum of charged, free space that was filled with so much intoxicating potential.

One rough hand pulling at the back of his neck, the other slipping to his waist, Cas felt himself being swept up into a deep, passionate kiss as Dean manoeuvred him around, away from the pile of dishes. He felt the table top bump into the underside of his ass.

"Dean…" Cas muttered against the other man's lips, not having the strength to pull away. Not that he even wanted to. But he did. But he didn't.

"I'll never do it again." Dean muttered back, his hands fisting in Cas' hair as he slipped between the psychiatrist's legs, just happy to find himself in the same space as the body that had haunted his mind for a week. The smell, the feel, the taste… things he didn't know he'd memorised until he'd been told he couldn't have them any more. "I promise, Cas, no more lies, nothing, just… Just do this for me, for us."

"Dean…" Cas tried again, his disobedient hands wrapping themselves around Dean's waist and finding their way up his back. Dean's tongue probed and pushed, and his hands trailed over Castiel's jaw and neck, down his chest.

The table behind them scraped a little against the floor as Cas let himself be pushed against it, leant down, the hard unvarnished wood lying underneath him as though it had been waiting for this.

He knew he should fight it. He knew this wasn't going to help either of them. But he missed Dean. Wanted Dean so badly…

The continued kissing, lazier now, enjoying the tug and caress of each other's lips. Castiel could feel Dean's crotch pressed against his, and couldn't help rubbing his thigh against Dean's, eliciting a murmur of pleasure from the other man.

Dean's hands slipped to Castiel's belt buckle, and suddenly he felt the cool, fierce certainty that he had known by Michael's graveside fall into his brain. It was like an ice cube falling into a tall drink of water.

"No." Cas took Dean's wrists and pushed him back, standing up straight and staring at him. His lips were red and puffy from kissing, and his eyes were petulant and lust-filled. Castiel wasn't going to let Dean's lust get the better of him, though.

"Cas…"

"No. You said you needed to talk to me. Well, maybe I need to talk to you, too. We can't do this; I won't let us fall into this destructive pattern of replacing real resolution with sex."

Dean closed his eyes, and sank heavily into one of the kitchen chairs.

"I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry I lied. Does that… I mean, I know it doesn't make it better, but…"

"Why?" Castiel straightened his shirt and sat opposite Dean, his half-achieved arousal making it very difficult to appear the unbiased psychologist. "Why did you lie to me?"

"It was… I hadn't meant to." Dean looked up at him, tired and sad, and Castiel had to get a choke hold on his urge to kiss the frown away. "You gotta know that, first of all, I never meant to lie to you, Cas. But… I messed up. I couldn't tell everyone, at Thanksgiving, I just couldn't. I tried, and I chickened out, and… when I went to tell you, I was afraid you'd… I don't know… I mean, no one wants to hang out with someone that pathetic, right? And I panicked, and I lied, and it didn't seem like a big deal. But the longer I left it, the bigger it got." Dean shrugged, and Castiel was hit with another wave of wanting to hold him. Wanting to protect him. Another wave of that realisation that Dean was just as fragile, if not moreso, than anyone else. He hated himself, he didn't think himself worth half as much as any other human being, and he could not see what Castiel saw.

Castiel saw a man trying to be brave, a man trying so hard to admit and understand who he was. A man who had, as he so rightfully said, "messed up".

Castiel let those words sit in silence for a moment, before quietly turning on the coffee percolator.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about your father."