"Dad was a good guy," Dean began, sinking into Cas' couch. Castiel perched on the coffee table, their knees resting against each other. Dean couldn't quite meet his unrelenting gaze.

"Abusive, though?"

"It's what the judge said. I don't think he meant to, though. He never meant to. He got drunk a lot."

"And you think that excuses his behaviour?"

"Yeah… no. I mean, not… not totally, but you have to see it from his side. He'd lost Mom, lost his job, and gotten stuck with me and Sam, and I think he knew, deep down, that we weren't going to be the John Juniors he wanted. Not that he didn't love us, you know, he did, but I always got the feeling like he knew our lives were going to be messed up in a way he couldn't help, and he was trying to get us used to that. To make sure we knew how to take the bad with the good."

Cas continued to stare at him. Dean let his head fall back against the couch and stared up against the ceiling. He felt Castiel's hand on his knee, his thumb gently stroking the groove at the side of his kneecap.

They sat in silence.

"Sam got more of it than me," Dean continued, unprompted. "He was smaller, clumsier… Dad always treated him like he had more to prove. Like he needed the extra attention."

"Did Sam get much more attention?"

"Yeah. Like I said, he was younger, he needed it."

"And what about you?"

"I was the big brother. I didn't need as much, it was my job to look after Sam when Dad couldn't."

"And you were how old?"

"Christ, I don't know… I guess this was just the way it was, up until I moved in with Bobby and Ellen. Like, age twelve or something."

Another silent pause.

"How did Sam feel about the extra attention?"

"He didn't like it. Thought Dad was picking on him."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Dean managed to level Castiel with a scornful look.

"Really?"

"It's a simple enough question."

"You know, sometimes it's real hard to tell whether your being serious or not."

"Most people pay two hundred dollars an hour for that privilege. You're getting it for free. How did Sam's response make you feel?"

"Annoyed. He didn't get it. I wished Dad would care about me like that. I could do pretty much whatever I wanted and he wouldn't say a word. Sam runs with scissors and he got sense smacked into him. Because Dad was afraid of seeing him hurt himself."

"And what about after your father was arrested?"

"What about it?"

"How did you feel about Sam then?"

"It was me and him," Dean said, with a shrug. "I had to look out for him. That was just… it."

There was another pause, this time stretching on for a while. Dean's fingertips brushed the back of Cas' hand.

"When did you first begin to feel that you were gay?"

"Probably… really, when I was about ten. But I didn't have time to think about it, with Dad and Sam and everything."

"Did you not explore that aspect of your sexuality?"

"I thought Dad wouldn't like me. And then we moved in with Bobby and I had the same thing. 'Course, then everyone started thinking Sam was gay so I… I dunno. I figured he was the gay one, so I was just weird. Pushed it all away."

"And do you think that was healthy?"

"Fuck off, Cas." Dean sent him another glare, but couldn't help softening as he saw a wry smirk paint the other man's features. "No. It wasn't. But the longer I left it, the harder it was to say anything."

"That seems to be something of a pattern with you."

"They know, anyway. Bobby, Ellen… everyone. They know, and they're just waiting for me to say it to them. But every time I try… something gets in the way. There's something more important."

"Like what?"

"Sam's exams, Jo's high school graduation… Bobby needing help at the auto-yard… Just stuff, you know? It gets in the way, distracts me. There's just more important stuff to be worrying about than me and my issues."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You are important."

Dean stared at the ceiling again, and didn't say anything. Without breaking the silence, Cas moved next to him on the couch, and rested a hand on his shoulder, watching his lips turn white as he bit into them, and watching his eyes screw themselves shut.

The silence stretched on.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be alright if I kissed you?"

Dean nodded, and Cas pressed his lips to Dean's neck. Dean's jaw set again, before he eventually relaxed enough to let his lips part.

"I don't feel important."

"Ever?"

Dean turned his head, looking down at Cas, before turning away again.

"Not when I'm on my own."

He didn't move as Cas kissed his jaw again, his arms tensing as he felt Castel's warmth against them.

"It's ok to need someone, Dean… It's ok to be weak sometimes."

If Dean had started to cry then, Castiel would never say anything. Such was the confidentiality of these sorts of conversations.

(-*-)

Castiel and Dean did not sleep together that day. They sat on the couch and talked, probing into Dean's past and discussing what may or may not have been the root of his problems with intimacy and understanding his own worth. Cas told him that there was no one cause, no simple fix, and that if he wanted to get better, he would have to change his whole way of thinking.

Dean asked if Cas would be there to help him.

Cas said he would.

The next day, Castiel's phone bleeped just as his last appointment entered the office. The text from Dean was short, but carried a wealth of meaning.

"Want to hang out this evening?"

Castiel smiled a quick hello to his patient, before sending a simple "I'm free from 6".

At 6:05, Dean arrived at Castiel's front door with a six pack of beer and a sorry smile. Cas had already prepared some chicken noodle soup for them both. They sat and talked, about everything and nothing, for hours.

This was a routine that carried on for almost a week, before the fateful phonecall from Pamela.

"Cas, honey, don't worry, but I'm going to need you over at Gabriel's as soon as possible. There's… something's up."